#and like. from the pov of those wanting to ascend. I think it's not 'I want to die' it's 'I want to be free from suffering'

[kargaroc]

I don't even know exactly how I feel about ascension in rain world, but it drives me up the wall when people equate it to suicide

[miss-fanfictions]

Sundays at the Library

Part Two

Pairing] Spencer Reader x glasses wearing! shy! librarian! fem!Reader

Synopsis] Spencer talks to the sweet librarian at his new library and slowly Sundays become his favorite day of the week.

Warnings] Cursing, creepy guy, misunderstandings (but its cute I promise), written from Spencer's POV

Word Count] 8.9k

Author's Note] This is my first fic here! I'm planning on doing a few more parts to this, so this is only the beginning 🙃

The first time Spencer saw you, the encounter wasn’t anything special. 

If he wasn’t working, he was reading, and because he can read 20,000 thousand words per minute, he needed new books often. Not even his FBI salary could afford the amount of books he consumed in a month and his cozy apartment certainly couldn’t contain them all. Already his bookcases were spilling out onto nearby surfaces. So to quench his constant need for new books, Spencer borrowed books from the library. However, since the one near his apartment closed just a week ago, he had to find a new one. That led him to drive to the library ten minutes away. 

It was larger than the one down the street from his apartment—it had a full three floors. Beyond the double doors, he followed two velvet rope barriers onto the main floor of the library, wandering past a grand front desk to his left to where the room divided into two sections and the barriers ended. In the left section, beside the desk, there were a couple computers set up, as well as two printers and a side wall dedicated to DVDs. In the other section there were tables and chairs set up for quiet studying, as well as more comfortable lounges for reading. Behind those two sections started the book shelves, nearly ceiling high and organized via genre and then further alphabetized. When he ascended the staircase at the back of the main floor, he found the upper levels were fully dedicated to rows of shelving containing books, interspersed with a few tables and lounges for reading. 

 He spent approximately 45 minutes getting the layout of the library, as large as it was, and finding the books he wanted to read. Of course, he got a range of books. Two books on psychology, a mathematical textbook, and another two books based in the sciences. A bit of light reading, really, just to occupy his time at home during a busy caseload week. 

He balanced the heavy books awkwardly in his arms as he made his way to the front desk, practically dropping them onto the counter. His lips twisted up in embarrassment, glancing around to see if anyone was disturbed by the loud clatter. When his eyes turned back to the desk, they met the bespeckled ones of you, the librarian, seated behind the counter. They were wide behind the frames, doe-like and startled by the noise. He winced and stuttered out an apology.

Too often he embarrassed himself due to his clumsiness. Over the years, Spencer got a lot better at the shooting range, but he still couldn’t run a mile without tripping a few times, or be able to participate in sports, and he didn’t even want to think about his driving. JJ often compared the experience of being in his passenger seat to riding shotgun with her senile grandmother. No matter what he did, the awkwardness crept in and all he could do was apologize. He didn’t mean to startle the nice librarian who he would seeing every week for the foreseeable future. 

“It’s fine,” your voice was a gentle whisper, perfect for the quiet of the library. You closed the book on your lap and placed it out of sight under the counter, standing up to help him. That’s when he could take you in completely, with your long flowy skirt and oversized sweater. Perhaps a shy attempt to battle the chill running through the library, or maybe a purposeful effort to hide yourself away from prying eyes. He could tell—despite your attire—that you were his age or maybe a little younger. You lacked the wrinkles, grays, and even the weathered dullness associated with age. Your hair was done up messily, effortlessly, and his eyes tracked your chewed up fingernails as you tucked a few strands behind your ears, out of the way of your eyesight. 

He thought you were plain and shy. The soft pastels and neutrals that colored your clothes and the fact the garments covered you so entirely, made you blend into the background. Had he not needed to speak to you directly, he might not have noticed you tucked behind the desk, folded up in your chair with your nose deep in a book. 

“Can I check these out for you?” You asked him, and he almost missed it due to both his staring and your airy cadence. 

“Oh, uh, yes,” he said, then quickly added. “And a library card, please. I’m new to this library.”

“I’ll just need an ID then,” you held out your hand while he rummaged through his wallet for his state ID, and when he placed it into your palm he was careful not to touch your hand. It was less about you as a person as it was his disdain for germs. 

You went about clicking and typing at the computer to the side of the desk, face plain as if whatever you were doing you had done a thousand times. Your nimble fingers only stuttered when you glanced back at him, catching his eyes as he watched you before he darted them away from your face, caught. Quickly, you grabbed the mouse, clicking only three more times before handing back his ID. He was careful not to touch your hand or meet your eyes as he took it back. 

He didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable with his staring, he had a habit of it, always trying to profile. But you were just a meek librarian, and there was no reason to take note of your behavior. You went about printing out a physical copy of his new library card, and he opened one of his books to occupy himself as you did so. 

When you turned back to him, you scanned a plastic card before offering it to him with a small smile. “Thank you,” he mumbled as you went about scanning the books on the counter with the same barcode reader. You were on the fourth book when your brows creased and you looked back up at him. 

“Are you studying?” You asked, the words sudden as if you couldn’t hold the thought off your lips. 

“No, this is just some light reading,” he answered politely, because it was. Though he forgot that was maybe not normal, because you giggled at his reply. 

The sound brought his eyes to your lips, the way they parted to let the breathy noise out. It was a unique giggle, though he supposed everyone’s is, but something about it suited you so completely. It was soft, and when he glanced around the library to see that no one else had heard it, he thought it was also just for him. There was no taunting, just joy that you emitted in the most delicate of sounds. If only he could understand what he did to extract it from you. 

“Right,” You said jokingly, and then he thought maybe you didn’t believe him, but he didn’t get a chance to assure you he was being truthful before you finished checking out the books. “Here you go, have a nice day, Spencer.”

He hesitated, thrown off by your use of his name, but cleared his throat and collected his books nonetheless. He thanked you and mumbled a brief goodbye as he did so, not looking back as he rushed out of the library. When he got to his car, he used a pack of disinfectant wipes on the books and set them up in his passenger seat, thoughts of the little librarian withering away to the casework waiting for him at work tomorrow.

—

He finished the books quickly, in only two days actually, but thankfully most of his time was taken up by his work. In his remaining free hours, he resorted to rereading a few books on his shelves. On Sunday, he collected his library books and drove the ten minutes back to his new library, exactly one week since his last visit. 

The inside was chilly and smelled like old paper and leather. There weren't many people he could see on the main floor, a few of what looked like college students spread out studying and some preteens huddled on the computers, whispering snarks and giggles. He walked up to the front desk, following the rug and the velvet rope barriers that led right to it from the entrance. This time he didn’t pass by the desk, but stopped at it to place down his books—quietly.

Your familiar framed eyes looked up at him, just as doe-like as surprise crossed them right before a smile took hold. Again, you closed the book in your lap, though this time Spencer caught a glimpse of its orange and yellow cover before you hid it from sight. He couldn’t make out the title. “Back so soon?”

It had been exactly a week since he’d seen you, and though he had not thought of you much since then, Spencer was incapable of forgetting a face. You looked just as you did last week—messy updo, baggy clothes, bare face. It seemed that was your natural state, or at least what you wore to work, but what Spencer wore to work was pretty much his normal wardrobe and he worked in the FBI, not a library.

“Yes, I need to return these books,” he told you, returning your smile with a quirk of his lips and placing his library card on top of the stack of books. 

When your eyes roamed back down from his to the five books, your brows furrowed. “Give up on studying then?” You asked, scanning the books back into the system. 

For a moment, Spencer was confused, then he recalled every word of your last interaction, and realized you still thought he checked the books out to study them, likely for some graduate classes, given his age. “No, I wasn’t studying them. I just needed a few books for casual reading after work.”

You paused once you turned to the computer, looking at him down your glasses. “Casual reading?” Your eyes went back between the thick books and his face, a smirk of disbelief growing. “You read all these books in a week?”

“Yes.” He shrugged. 

“For fun?” You had a skeptical eyebrow quirked.

“That’s what casual reading normally implies.” Spencer furrowed his brows at your line of questioning. Maybe most people wouldn’t read such topics simply for fun, but why would he lie about that? 

At that, you giggled again, a bird’s song, and resumed clicking at your computer. Your gentle laugh tickled something deep in his chest. Again, there was no malice or ill intent to it, not any that he could see behind your genuine eyes and smile. You simply thought he was a funny guy, and no one ever thought that of Spencer. He was too awkward, or too serious, or even too annoying to be fun. 

You took the stack of books in your arms, the pile reaching right up to your chin, and walked them to a cart behind you. When you turned back, you were still smiling sweetly at him. “Your light reading has been checked back in.” You slid his library card across the counter.

He plucked the card back off it with a thanks, tucking it into the pocket of his sweater vest. For a moment, he debated telling you about his PhDs, his eidetic memory, and maybe even his genius IQ because Spencer always felt the need to prove himself—to state facts—because he wasn’t the funny guy. He was very serious and all the things he was telling you weren’t just silly jokes. Then he worried he might wipe the smile right off your face, and he couldn’t let himself do that. So instead he gave you a stiff nod and continued into the library.

. . . Only to spin right back around, fist awkwardly pressed against his lips. “Oh, also, what is the maximum amount of books I could have checked out at once?”

You had just cracked the spine of your book again when you looked back up at him, a swirling look of confusion on your face. “Ten books, but you don’t have any out so I wouldn’t worry about it.” 

Spencer gave another nod, spinning back around on his heels and taking himself right up to the second floor of the library. He spent approximately 37 minutes collecting books from around the library, setting them aside at tables as he weaved through the rows of bookcases for the different genres. A wealth of knowledge in all areas was useful for his job, and also just for him personally. He found great pride in knowing many things, as annoying as others might find his incessant info-dumping. 

When he finished, he took a stack of books from the table and carried them down from the second floor, slowly stepping down the stairs and craning his neck around the stack to watch his steps. He could be uncoordinated at his best, so there was no need to tempt fate into sending him tumbling down the staircase by not paying attention. 

After successfully making it down, he took long strides to the main desk and set the stack down on the counter. Of course, you looked up at him again, however skipped surprise and jumped into an inviting smile. You closed your book and stood up, taking in the books he set in front of you. “Another five to check out then?”

“No, actually, I’ll be right back.” He turned away so fast he almost missed the way your smile faded and you leaned over the counter to watch him ascending the stairs again, spindly legs taking them two at a time.

He grabbed hold of the second tower of books, nearly dropping the top one in his haste to get back to you. After that he continued to take the stairs carefully even as he felt your eyes on him. Maybe especially because he felt your eyes on him, because if you watched him fall down the stairs he’d have to drive an additional ten minutes away to find another new library, because he certainly wouldn’t be able to look you in the eyes anymore. 

Beside the first stack on the counter, he set the second, then placed his library card between them. “This is it, I promise.”

Again, you glanced between him and the books, eyes bugging behind their glass shelter. After a moment or so, as if you were making sure he was serious (he was), you began scanning his card and the books. Despite the larger quantity of books, you were slower as you ran the barcodes on the back, taking the time to read the titles and authors. 

“Are you a graduate student?” You asked, looking at a book on human genealogy. 

Spencer twiddled his thumbs. “No, I’m finished with school for now, but I might go back for another PhD in the future when I have more time,” he answered honestly, the words flowing out quickly, even though he wasn’t sure why he was telling you that. Only about two percent of the U.S. population has a PhD, and an even slimmer percent had more than one. So it was an unusual thing to say.

He thought you might laugh again, or even question him, but you simply hummed and moved onto the next book, chewing your lip. “I’m in a graduate program for poetry,” your voice was quiet, as required by the library environment, but more so than usual, like you seemed embarrassed to share that information. 

It made sense you were a graduate student working in a library while earning your MA in writing. He wondered if you had plans for your degree beyond getting a slight pay increase as a librarian. There was a career as an author, or maybe you wanted to be a teacher or a professor, he could see you doing that, standing in front of a class in your skirts and sweaters pointing at a chalkboard with a ruler, though that image was outdated. More likely you’d be in front of a white board or presenting from a projector. 

“That’s interesting. I find myself reading a lot of nonfiction recently—it helps more with my job, though I also just enjoy facts and statistics—but I’ll always have a special appreciation for fiction. I’m fond of poetry in particular because it’s created for multifaceted analysis,” even in his own whisper, the words were breathy and fast. He had to catch his tongue between his teeth when he caught your eyes trailing back up to him. “What do you plan on doing with your degree?”

“Write poetry hopefully,” the words came out in a gust of wind and your eyebrows quirked up, as if you didn’t believe even your own dream. “Maybe you can analyze it one day.” You finished scanning out the books, putting them back into two neat piles as you did. You went about clicking at your computer, making sure the books were grayed out in the system, avoiding his eyes.

So you did want to be a writer then. He could easily see that as well. Though he got the sense you didn’t believe your aspiration was attainable, and it likely wasn’t due to lack of skill. He told himself he wouldn’t profile you, but he did it practically subconsciously. Your lowered gaze, modest clothes, shy smile, and even chewed nails all pointed to a lack of confidence in yourself. He wasn’t sure why. You were pretty in your own right, and were clearly intelligent and hard working if your pursuit of a masters degree said anything. If you needed a little encouragement, the least he could do was give it to you.  “I look forward to it,” he said, and he was just as sincere as he always had been. 

It only seemed to increase your embarrassment, causing your face to shy further away from his gaze. “Thank you, Spencer.” Even if you couldn’t look at him, your tone was of genuine appreciation, and if he tilted his head just right, he could see the wisp of a smile on your face.

He nodded with a tight lipped smile, staring at you while he waited for the conversation to continue, only to realize you’d finished with his books and it was over. His hands stuttered to gather up the first heap of books, muttering about how he’d be back. However he only got a few paces when he heard you say his name again, feet stopping dead.

“Would you like me to help you carry these out?” You were already trying to get a hold on the books.

Quickly, he shook his head. “No,” the words came out abrupt and firm, louder than he’d ever spoken before in the library, and you flinched. 

“You shouldn’t be following anyone out of here to their cars. This library has a disturbing lack of cameras and an abduction, even in a public area, can happen in less than ten seconds. It’s safest for you to remain in the library and follow the good practice of having someone walk you to your car after your shifts.” Spencer felt obligated to warn you strictly, because your distinct quietness and sweetness made you the perfect prey for the killers he hunted daily. 

Though he almost regretted it as he watched the way your hands retreated from the books, crossing around yourself, and the gentle smile became forced. “Oh. I–I guess I’ll keep that in mind.”

Spencer nodded and hesitated, but didn’t linger much longer before exiting the library and heading back to his car. He was quick to toss the books into his car, your tangled smile stuck in his mind. Was it an odd thing to say? He was only trying to warn you, to keep you safe. But the look on your face, you didn’t seem at all grateful for the advice. Spencer took brisk strides back to the library entrance. You were standing there behind the front desk, arms still crossed, a distant look on your face. When you heard him approaching the counter taking in breath just a little faster from boardline jogging back, you barely spared him a glance. He scared you a bit, he realized, and he didn’t want to leave you like that. 

He paused beside his leftover books, wetting his lips.  “I didn’t mean to scare you with what I said before.” He finally caught your eyes and you seemed to hear him out. “I work in law enforcement, for the FBI actually, and all too often I see cases of nice girls like you who go missing just because you want to help people. Unfortunately it’s a pretty common ruse. So, I—I didn’t tell you all that to make you worry, but because I want you to be safe,” he admitted, and your face softened again, your hands falling back to the counter. It brought a smile to his own face to see you relax your guard again. “It’d also be awful if my librarian went missing. Who will check out the heap of books I keep bringing you?” 

You giggled, your lips pulling into a toothy smile. “It’d definitely suck, but I’d hope you’d put those FBI skills of yours into finding me.”

Spencer chuckled, ducking his head into his chest to quiet the sound as he pulled his books into his arms. “Of course I would, and I wouldn’t stop until I did.” He was good at his job, he never stopped until he found their victim, their unsub. 

You bowed your own head, hand holding your glasses to keep them from slipping down your nose. “Goodbye, Spencer.” You gave him a small wave with the other hand, ending the conversation with averted eyes, but he still noticed the growing color in your cheeks. 

He fumbled with his own wave under the stack of books, really just an outward flash of the fingers he could manage to peel away for a second, and he was glad you weren’t looking at him with how awkward it was. He turned on his heel, pink growing in his own cheeks, and exited the library again for the final time today. The gears in his head grinded the whole way to the car and continued as he grappled to get into it and wiped the books with disinfectant. 

You lingered in his mind longer than a librarian should have. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to warn you, to explain himself to you, or even comfort you. There was something about you, as meek and bashful as you were, that he found charming. Perhaps he saw himself in you, the insecurity. Or maybe it was how different you were from his job, where he was met with the most wicked minds and evil acts. You in comparison were the very image of innocence and life, in your pastel purples and yellows, lively eyes magnified behind glass, and your—your laugh. He liked your giggle. Even though he suspected at times it meant you didn’t fully believe him, he let you find him unserious, just so he could continue to hear that sweet sound tickle his ears in a way that scratched an itch inside him.

He was sitting in the parking lot staring out the windshield lost in his thoughts of you. When someone walked by, he found himself clearing his throat and finally putting his car in drive. You dissipated from his mind as he pulled out of the parking space because his Sunday at the library was over. 

—

It took five days for him to finish the ten books from the library. The team was in California from Tuesday through Thursday, but he took four books with him to read during his down time and while on the jet. He still ended up with spare time that he spent shopping with Penelope and babysitting Henry for JJ and Will’s date night. It was for this reason he was glad to be back in the library on Sunday.

Inside he was hit with the familiar crisp air and the vague smell of paper and coffee. The tables to the left had quite a few more students than usual, though there were not very many to start with previously. He wondered if a bout of exams were coming up. As Spencer neared the front desk, he could smell something else, a faint vanilla scent maybe.

You were there as always, standing this time, and almost leaning over the counter to see the door. You smiled when you saw him and he realized that you must be wearing perfume, because around you the vanilla air became thicker.

“Sunday at 11am. You're more reliable than my alarm clock,” you hummed cheekily.

Spencer set the books he held in his hands on the counter, his messenger bag following them up. “Having a routine is actually really good for you. It’s been proven to reduce anxiety and stress and also helps people to cope with certain mental illnesses,” he told you, pulling the rest of his books out of his bag.

If you were thrown off by his fact telling, you didn’t show it. “That makes sense. I like having a routine, but I’m pretty sure my friends think it makes me boring.”

Spencer dug around in his vest pocket for his library card, brows furrowing. “Why would you think that?”

You plucked it from his fingers, bringing it to the barcode reader without breaking your eye contact. “Because they say it to me all the time.”

“Oh,” Spencer snorted a little and clutched the strap of his bag closer. There’s something different about you today. You’re much more talkative and playful, but it’s also in your appearance too. Your glasses are still perched on your nose and your face is bare as it always is, but your updo is more put together, less stands fall away into your face. You wear another long skirt, but it's tighter, less flowy, and he can nearly make out the shape of your legs through it. You’re wrapped in a cardigan too, but where one side falls open he can see your tank top underneath and the sight of your skin has him clearing his throat and bringing his eyes back to your face. 

“And how was your recreational reading?” You’ve started to scan the books back into the system. “You must have been pretty entertained with ten books in seven days.” You state it like a fact, but your tone has a whimsical disbelief to it.

“Actually I finished them in five days,” he corrected with an incline of his head. 

You reply quickly, like the words were primed in your mind. “Then you should have come back sooner.” Under the teasing, you sound serious, looking up from the books at him, lashes fluttering against their glass encasement. 

“I would, but I’ve been pretty busy at work.” He was too. He would spend hours in the library reading if working at the BAU didn’t take up so much of his time. He loved his job of course, and he wouldn’t have it any other way, but what is someone with his talents to do but hole himself up gorging every book he can get his hands on. Spencer had a thirst for knowledge, that’s why he wanted to be in the library so much. 

“Well, that’s too bad then. What do you do for work?” Your head tilts with interest and he almost mirrors the movement, brows furrowed. 

 “I told you—I work for the FBI. Specifically, I’m an agent in the Behavioral Analysis Unit.” He has an eidetic memory which means he can remember every word you’ve said to him and every word he’s ever said to you, so he knows he’s told you this before. Of course he knows people forget things, but they also normally remember when he tells them he’s in the FBI.

Your face falls a bit and you chew your bottom lip, brows creasing. “Oh. . . right.” You finish scanning the last book quickly, gathering a couple into a pile to carry to a cart behind you. 

Spencer’s not exactly sure what he’s done to upset you, but his fingers twitch with the itch to fix it. Unfortunately, he’s got the idea his job is what makes you so uncomfortable. It wouldn’t be the first time someone was unsettled by the fact he carried a badge and gun, or that he had the authority to arrest people. But you had joked about it last week, possibly were soothed by the fact he was a cop after his blunt and maybe eerie warning. So why were you suddenly so upset with him? 

The thought occurred to him then that  maybe it was because you didn’t completely believe the things he was saying. Not only that, but you were no longer finding whatever game you think he’s playing by telling you those things to be funny. As you carry the rest of the books back to the cart, he fidgets with his fingers, wondering if it was time to show you proof of what he’s been saying. Or did you really even care? Maybe he was wrong and you would be even more frightened by him presenting you with his badge. Was it odd to flash his FBI credentials at his librarian? That was all you were after all. He didn’t even know your name.

You were back to clicking at the computer when you glanced at him. “They’re all checked in.”

Spencer froze as you pulled him out of his thoughts, his hands locking in the joints before dropping to his sides into fists. That was your cue for him to leave. “Right, thank you.” He went to walk away, but his feet were stuck. “. . .thank you, um, I just realized I don’t know your name.”

You didn’t have to tell him, you could have brushed it off. You were just the librarian and one didn’t need to know the librarian's name, but you looked back at him again, eyes studying his face. Then, you murmured your name so softly he almost leaned in to hear it louder. Soundlessly, he let your name ghost over his lips.

He used it as he thanked you one last time, certainly overkill but it seemed like the only correct way to exit. Although he only got a few feet before he heard you call his name.

“Spencer, wait!” You didn’t yell, he’s never heard you yell, but your voice was the loudest he’s ever heard it. You always spoke in a whisper or a hushed tone, but your voice was nearly normal when you called him back. The urgency of it had him back in front of you in just two strides.

You dipped beneath the counter and when you came back up you placed a basket on it. “When I used to go on picnics to read in the park, I used this basket. Well, I haven’t gone in a long time actually, but I thought maybe you could use it for all the books you check out,” you were bashful, tilting your head down and only sparingly meeting his eyes. Spencer was in shock, all he could think about was how this was one of the nicest things someone’s ever done for him. You gave him whiplash with how quickly you seemed to forgive whatever trespass he committed against you. He wondered even if he exaggerated the interaction in his head. 

The basket was woven, made from wicker, and had two handles at the top. It was rectangular in shape, pretty deep, and large for a picnic basket, he thought, big enough for fruits, pastries, sandwiches, and maybe more. It was a very nice basket, and the thought that you were giving it to him made his heart ache the most. You’d considered him, truly sat down and thought about him and then decided you were going to gift him a solution to his awkward problem. Not often did people solve his problems, it was always the other way around.

“Wow,” his finger grazed the side, considering the cost such a nice piece must be. “Are you sure? I really couldn’t take your basket it’s—”

“I don’t use it anymore,” you interrupted him for the first time. He realized that you never cut him off, you had always listened to him. “You can have it. . .” Your face was kind, then suddenly dropped into a panic. “Only if you want it of course! You don’t have to take it. I guess it’s kind of silly, carrying a picnic basket in a library. . .” You started to pick your nails, not meeting his eyes.

“I don’t think it’s silly,” he assured you quickly, leaning just a bit closer so he could catch your eyes again. “Thank you so much. Now I don’t have to worry about falling down the stairs or taking two trips to my car.” 

Your smile returned with a breathy chuckle. “Yeah, you kind of made me nervous going down the stairs like that with all those books. You don’t strike me as very. . . coordinated.”

“Ouch,” Spencer said, though he smiled back at you. You’d read him there, he was not very coordinated at all. Knowing physics was one thing, existing smoothly and with grace on the physical plane was another. 

“Sorry,” you shrugged half heartedly.

“No, you’re right. Thank you for the basket and uh, I’ll be back,” he waved you goodbye as he walked toward the stairs and you fluttered your fingers back at him. 

Spencer took exactly 52 minutes and 34 seconds adding books to his new basket. He got a few stares and side glances as he toted it around, mainly from a group of teenagers huddled at a miniature table and chair set in the children’s section. They snickered as they peeked up from their circle at him, but it wasn’t anything Spencer wasn’t used to. All his life people had laughed at him for a variety of reasons—he was too scrawny, too small, too bumbling, too nerdy—the list was miles long. All he could do was grow thicker skin, and he had. So he didn’t let it bother him as he wandered the library, adding books to his basket. 

No, the reason Spencer took so long to pick books was because each time he slipped one into a wicker embrace, he thought of you. He blinked and saw your face like a phantom burned into his retinas. The way the corners of your mouth twisted in your smile when you were so excited to give him the basket flashed and faded in his vision. Sometimes he cursed his eidetic memory because he’d memorized your face in its entirety with all its most miniscule details and peculiarities—and he didn’t even mean to. He would find himself staring into the empty space in the basket and have to drag his brain clawing back into reality.

His watch had ticked past 12 when he made his way back down the stairs to the main floor, lugging his basket in his right hand. It was heavy, weighed by two textbooks and eight other decently thick books, but the woven willow held strong. 

At the landing he could see across the library that you were already checking someone out. He meant to add himself to the queue, but pivoted to a lounge chair between two bookcases just as he got close enough to hear your voice. Immediately he felt wrong, a churning disgust with himself in the pit of his stomach. It was weird, wasn’t it? To watch you from afar just to gauge your behavior? But he had to know, it burdened his brain to wonder if you were just so saccharine it spilled out to everyone around you or if particularly you poured your sugar onto him.

You didn’t see him duck between the shelves to the lounge chair, not in any way that he could tell. With a tranquil neutral face you scanned the book that the college girl at the counter placed in front of you. The interaction was done in comfortable silence, even when you finished the transaction and she said her thank yous, you merely mumbled a “you’re welcome.”

It was different from how you interacted with him, he realized. You were much more playful and chatty with him, but he wasn’t sure what exactly inspired it in you. You were clearly shy, maybe anxious, but in some moments it faded when you talked to him. He didn’t think he said anything particularly special, but thinking you saw something in him that made you so comfortable, so cheerful, made his stomach flip in a way he couldn’t understand.

The next man in the queue placed his book on the counter. He was the only other person waiting. You asked him absent-mindedly for his library card. He was older than you and Spencer, mid to late 40s if Spencer had to guess, but it gave him an idea about how you interacted with men as well. Which was just as bland as your interaction with the college girl before you. Spencer had a fleeting thought that maybe—just maybe—you liked him. Why else would you be so inclined to laugh with him? To be so shy sometimes you couldn’t meet his eyes? He’d read books, watched movies, and he knew the signs. He was just not used to spotting them in women interacting with him.

He cleared his throat as if to shake off the idea. It was vain, and in all likelihood an arrogant over analysis of the little interaction he’s had with you. He was about to get up and put himself in line behind the man when he heard his lurid voice croak out.

“How about you give me a smile, pretty?”

Spencer froze in place, white knuckle grip engraving the grooves of the entwined handle into his palm. Something like anger flared in his chest. It grew hotter as he saw the way you bowed your head even further from the man's sight, pulling your cardigan closer around your body.

“Um, yeah, could I just get your library card?” You squirmed under his leering gaze, lips faintly curling into the most awkward half-smile you could muster. 

Despite the way you clearly showed you were in duress, the man leaned closer over the counter. “My name’s Todd.” He slid his book across the counter to you like that tidbit of information helped any. “I’ll take this book and your number, baby.” Spencer’s jaw clenched.

His body tingled with the readiness to step in, to tell this Todd fucker to leave you be because obviously you weren’t interested. But his mind, the logical side of him, stopped him because Spencer also respected you and your autonomy. He was not an expert on women, but he knew quite a few strong women in the BAU who would be offended if he stepped in to defend them when they were capable of doing it themselves. He definitely didn’t want to offend you if you were able to brush off Todd on your own.

The uncomfortable smile dropped to a grimace. “If I could get your library card. . .” Your hand hesitantly reached for the book only for Todd to grasp your wrist in a tight hand.

“Stop asking for the damn card,” his voice dropped into a growl. “Baby, I’m just trying to talk to you.”

Your arm fought to pull your hand back behind the counter, but Todd’s grip tightened and pulled back to keep you close. “Sir!” Your voice pitched higher, eyes widening almost too big for their frames. “Sir, please let go—”

Todd huffed, face screwing up in frustration. “Why’re you being so difficult?”

“Sir, you’re hurting her and you need to let go now.” Spencer practically flew over to the front desk. It was his instincts as an FBI agent kicking in. The need to de-escalate and protect was driving him. This man was now hurting you and he was not going to allow it to go any further.

Todd’s scowl looked Spencer up and down, assessing whether or not he could take him. He must have come to the conclusion Spencer was not a threat because he puffed up his chest and continued gripping your wrist. However, he was so distracted by Spencer, you were able to yank your arm away, rubbing at your wrist with your free hand. Todd shot you a similar glare before leveling his even angrier gaze back on Spencer.

“We’re just having a conversation here, asshole. So why don’t you get back to your books,” Todd barked at him so loud they had now attracted all the eyes in the library. But Spencer was only looking over at yours—your creased brow and the watery worry the glass highlighted. 

“Spencer, it’s—” You didn’t get to finish as Todd whirled his head between you and Spencer. 

“Spencer? No fucking way this wimp is your boyfriend.” Behind the rage, Todd looked almost smug.

But Spencer wasn’t. He hit his own boiling point and was passed asking politely. He pulled his credentials from his pocket and flipped them open in Todd’s face. “No, I’m the FBI agent who is going to arrest you for harassment, assault, and public disturbance if you don’t get out of this library right now.”

Todd’s head reeled back at the badge in his face, eyes squinting between the lettering and Spencer’s face. Realization of how much shit he was in passed briefly over Todd’s face before reverting to his glower. He must not have wanted trouble with the FBI though, because he started taking steps backwards toward the exit. But he couldn’t leave with a completely bruised ego.

“Whatever man. If you want the uppity bitch so bad you can have her!” Todd slammed open and closed the door as he made his grand exit. The entire library watched it, listening to him as he got his last dig in and fleeing before Spencer could make him eat his words. He didn’t have his cuffs or gun on him, but he’d dealt with enough unsubs to know he didn’t need them to handle Todd. 

When all the eyes slowly went back to their business, sure that Todd wasn’t coming back into the library, Spencer’s gaze returned to you. Your eyes were dinner plates, mouth agape, still clutching your wrist.

Spencer frowned, whispering your name. “Are you okay?”

“You’re an FBI agent. . .” The words slipped out of you in one shocked exhale. His brows furrowed. He just rescued you from an arrogant asshole and that was what you were stuck on, something he’d told you several times.

“Yes? But I told you—” 

“You were serious?” Your head bobbed forward in disbelief. So you really hadn’t been believing what he was saying. 

“Of course, why would I lie about that?” Spencer was confused and deep down a little hurt. It was such an odd thing to lie about to a stranger, he didn’t understand why you thought he wasn’t truthful. 

“I–I don’t know,” your eyes bounced around in a panic. “I thought you were just trying to impress me. I mean—you don’t really look like an FBI agent you’re. . . young? I don’t know, I thought you were flirting with me so I—” Your hand clasped over your mouth. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry, sir—agent—”

“Spencer.”

“What?”

“Call me Spencer,” he gave you a tight lipped smile, a near look of pity on his face. Your complete panic reassured him you were just as embarrassed over the miscommunication as he was. “Technically it would be Doctor, since I have three PhDs—but you can just call me Spencer.”

“But—But I didn’t. . . you were being serious the whole time and I. . .” You stuttered, shaking your head in confusion. “I was so unprofessional. . .”

Spencer chuckled, unable to hold it back. “Unprofessional? Just because I’m an FBI doesn’t mean I can’t like to talk to people. And I like talking to you, you don’t have to be embarrassed about it.” His disappointment dissipated quickly. Your shyness and embarrassment was so genuine and charming he couldn’t find the space to be upset with you beside all his amusement. 

You crossed your arms, somehow becoming even more bashful. “You’re sure it's okay?”

“Of course it's okay.” Spencer grinned.

A small sigh of relief breezed past your lips. “Okay. . . I should—I should definitely apologize for not believing you.” You meet his eyes then with such profound remorse. “Because I am really sorry. It’s just. . . your accomplishments seemed so amazing they were kind of hard to believe, especially for someone so young.”

It was Spencer’s turn to become bashful. His head ducked and he laughed quietly. “I guess they can be hard to believe. Especially when you aren’t meeting me at work. I just thought maybe all the books helped prove it.”

You let out a shaky laugh, eyes wandering back down to the countertop. “I kinda thought that was also to impress me. I didn’t really think you were reading all of them.”

“Well. . . I do.” He shrugged, figuring you had to believe him now. As you smiled at him, he realized he left his basket and books back at the chair. “Speaking of reading, I’ll be right back.”

You eyed him as he retrieved the basket and set it on the counter in front of you along with his library card. “Oh, were you sitting over there?” You looked curious. Certainly you hadn’t seen him sitting there today or anytime before.

Spencer coughed into his fist. “Um, just for a second.” He moved on quickly, removing the books from the basket. “Thank you for this again, by the way, it’s so much easier to carry all the books.”

You hummed, eyebrows jumping up. “Yeah. . . I’m having trouble believing I really gave an FBI agent a picnic basket to carry books in.” You started swiping the books over the barcode scanner, adding them back into the basket once they appeared on the computer screen next to you.

He cracked a half smile. “I think you watch too many movies. We’re not as serious as you think we are.” Hotch’s face flashed in his eyes and he thought maybe they were pretty serious, but not off duty. Hotch could also be serious enough for the whole team sometimes, so maybe he wasn’t a very good example. “And I like the basket. It was nice of you to think about me.”

Your eyes caught on his for a moment, glazed over in thought, so deep you bumped the basket as you went to set the book you held into it. It snapped you back into reality and you watched your hand as you tucked away the book, clearing your throat. “You’re sure it’s not weird?”

Spencer’s head tilted to the left, considering you. He didn’t know what he could do to pull you back from this rut of self-consciousness. He was starting to regret ever pulling out his badge because now you seem standoffish in a way you never were with him before. He wanted to go back to when you laughed and smiled at him and didn’t find him intimidating. “Of course it’s not,” he paused a moment, wetting his lips. “And this isn’t weird either, y’know? Me being in the FBI? I’m still Spencer.”

You looked back at him again, eyes searching his face. “I know that. I’m. . .” You stared at him a second longer, taking in a deep breath and releasing it with a smile. “I’m letting it sink in.” You continued scanning the books quietly, not meeting Spencer’s eyes as he absentmindedly picked at a loose string in his pocket.

His thumb brushed against his FBI credentials and the encounter just before this revelation came flooding back. He glanced over at the double doors as if to make sure Todd had not come back, though Spencer already knew he didn’t. 

“Are you okay?” You met his eyes, brows pulled together. “About before—with that guy?”

“Oh.” You shrugged, rolling your wrist unconsciously. “Yeah, I’m fine. We get one of them every now and again. Normally they’re pretty harmless.” A glimmer of realization passed over your face. “Um, thank you! I should have said that before. Not everyone would have done that.”

Spencer shook his head, waving off your thanks. “Of course. I’m sorry you have to deal with that.” He was again reminded of the fact he was not a woman, and even though his job was to put away serial killers—monsters, creeps, pervs—he couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be in your shoes. You shook it off well, but he didn’t doubt you were scared in the moment. Probably wondering how far he would take it, whether your reaction was appropriate, if your employer would be angry at you. He was just glad he was there to step in.

Slowly, you finished scanning all the books, tucking them neatly into the basket in an organized order he thoroughly appreciated. Heaviest books sat at the bottom and lighter books were stacked on top of them. You paused, flipping through the last book in your hand, a biography of Max Born, a German-British physicist. 

“So. . . you really do read 20,000 words per minute?” You had a cheeky grin as you peeked up at him from beneath those frames, and suddenly you were back. Spencer smiled.

“Yup. I also have an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory.” He shrugged as if it was no big deal.

You giggled, nodding along. “Right. Well then I guess this isn’t even enough books for you.” A finger waved over at the basket.

“It depends on work, actually. I’m usually busy, but I often have to travel too and then I become really busy so I don’t have time to read,” he explained. When he did sit down to read, he could get through one to three books, depending on their volume. “But yeah, ten books in a week is kind of light.”

You tapped the book in your hand with your thumbs, thinking. “Okay.” Suddenly you dropped the book into the basket, dipping below the desk to set another book in front of him. Examining it, he realized by its orange and yellow coloring it was the same book you had been reading the last time he was in the library. It was The Poetry of Pablo Neruda and from the look of its creased spine and faded orange cover, it was well loved. “You should read this too then.”

Spencer turned the book over in his hands, looking at you with a twisted face of confusion. “But the check out limit is ten books?”

You shook your head, gesturing for him to add it to the basket. “It’s not a library book,” when he still looked puzzled, you continued. “It’s my book. You can borrow it from me.”

Your kindness and generosity was both shocking and overwhelming. Spencer wasn’t sure how he was to thank you for being so gracious to him. He could only think of one thing. So he quickly fumbled his wallet up onto the countertop. “You have to let me give you something for this—”

“Spencer,” as you said his name, your hand covered his as he dug for bills to give you. “You don’t owe me anything.”

He shook his head, bewildered. Not only was your kindness startling, but so was the feeling of your hand on his. He had to stop his body from flinching at the contact. He was mostly uncomfortable at the thought of people touching him, but your palm was warm, soft, and offered the most comfort he’d felt in a while. “The basket and the book? It’s too much. I mean. . . you’re too nice.”

Your lips spread into a bright smile, flashing him your teeth. “Just bring me back your analysis. I’d love to hear what an IQ of 187 can cook up. Deal?”

Spencer laughed, ducking his head as he nodded in agreement. “Deal.”

When the laughter faded and his head came back up, he looked at you for a while longer, just feeling the paperback cover underneath his fingertips. You met his eyes just for a few moments, twiddling your own fingers. “So um, see you next Sunday?” You asked. He dared to see hope in your eyes.

“See you next Sunday,” Spencer agreed again. He hesitated putting the book in his new basket then finally left the front desk, waving you goodbye as he did. He watched over his shoulder you return his wave as he exited through the double doors. 

Spencer walked back to his car practically swinging the basket, so in his head he didn’t even realize he still had a smile on his face. He set The Poetry of Pablo Neruda aside as he disinfected his books and wondered what he would do the rest of his day off. What he was sure of, deep in his chest, was that he was excited for next Sunday. 

-

Part Two

[mattsbrowser]

I think they call this love

shy!matt x fem!reader

| “I think they call this love”

summary: Matt falls in love

warnings: flufffff, kissing!, alcohol

written in matts pov !!

♪they say, you know when you know, so let’s face it you had me at hello ♪

5th period math class. I sit down taking my materials out of my bag. As I look up I notice her. Her hair is perfectly flowing down her back. The glimmer in her eyes was vibrant and enticing, I noticed the pull on her lips, a gentle smile complimenting her features. It was warm and inviting--practically biting onto my racing heart. She was perfect. She is perfect.

She smiles at the teacher as she takes a seat near the front. I couldn’t stop looking at her, It was as if an angel just ascended from heaven. She was—- everything. I could feel myself leaning into her aura subconsciously. I don’t think there’s words to describe her. I don’t even feel privileged enough to look at her.

Time ticks by while I remain in a dazed awe. My eyes are trained on her far longer than I had meant them to be.. “Matthew,” the teacher says abruptly, pulling me out of my trained gaze. Shaking my head and pulling myself together I look up at her. “Uh— yeah sorry” I sink into my chair, ashamed that I’ve been caught.

“Are you going to pay attention or keep staring at y/n?” She asks, placing a hand on her hip.

“Uh— I—“ I look at y/n and stutter before sinking further into my chair. I look down at my books. I’ve never been so embarrassed

Silence consumes me as the class pushes time tremendously slow. Each minute feels like an hour as I try to keep my eyes latched onto the table in front of me.

The chairs screeching as kids start to walk out the door bring me back to reality. I rush to pack my things. Each folder slipping into my bag makes me cringe with regret while the embarrassing moment replays on a loop.

I curse to myself under my breath as everyone else has left. Or so I thought. "Um, hi," her voice echoes against the polished floors. My hand slaps onto my chest as l inhale sharply. I had thought I was alone, but here she was. Right in front of me.

I turn around and I’m met with those eyes. My body sinks down as I place my hands on the desk behind me.

“Uh— hi” I say back. She smiles at me reaching her hand out, “I’m y/n” she says chirpily.

I reach my hand out to shake hers, my fingers trembling. Could I embarrass myself even more? “Hi I’m… I’m Matt” I reply scratching the back of my neck.

“Lovely to meet you Matt” she says with a soft grin.

My lips form into a shy smile while I swallow the lump in my throat. “Uh— it’s… its lovely to meet you too, y/n” I mumble back. My nerves start to race as she starts rummaging through her back.

“I uh…. I was just wondering if you wanted to come to my, um— party on Saturday night?” she pulls out an eye grabbing pink flyer. “The details are all there, most of the people going are from school so um— you don’t have to come if you don’t want to” she rasps, her voice getting quieter.

“No no—- I’d… I’d love to” I announce taking the flyer out of her hand.

Her gentle laugh echoes quietly. My chest tightens as I try to swallow a deep breath. “Great, see you then” her lips tug at the corner of her mouth, casting a glow upon her face. “—-bye Matt” she says before walking out.

“Bye…. Y/n” I whisper to myself. As she curves the corner walking down the hallway.

♪all I dream of is your eyes, all I long for is your touch and darling something tells me, that’s enough ♪

The next day she’s in math again. My eyes were sullen in, darker than usual. I was exhausted, but seeing her...it felt like a dream. She turns around to talk to her friends, her eyes still glistening as her smile seems to get brighter each day. I stare at her again. She really is perfect. Noises of the monotone voice lecturing are drowned by my heart pulsing loudly, creating a soft buzz in my ears. Discretion is my main priority as I slip small glances over to the dream-like girl.

“—-get into partners for this next assignment, it’s due next Monday so you have all weekend” the teacher states. A loud bell makes my bones itch with an anxious discomfort as l start to pile my folders and pencils back into my bag.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the familiar outline of her figure.I turn around, anxiety filling my chest causing my heart to race. She’s there again, looking as beautiful as always. “Hi Matt, I was just wondering if you’d… you know wanna partner up for the assignment?” She asks.

I pause for a moment trying to comprehend what she has just said. She wants to be partners with me? Why?

“— you don’t have to of course, I just… don’t have a partner” she adds .

“No no I’d… I’d love to be your partner” I reply.

She lets out a gentle laugh. The soft noise makes my palms feel clammy as I wipe them slowly on my jeans. “Ok great, here” she pulls out her phone. “Put in your number and I’ll text you so you have mine— just text me when you’re free and we can work on it. My fingers stumble on the digital keyboard, padding in each digit of my phone number.“uh— I’m free today, since you know you’ve your party tomorrow” I say scratching the back of my neck again.

“Perfect do you wanna come over to mine orrr?” she asks.

“Uh— we can go to yours, my… um- my brothers will be too noisy anyways” I say.

The sound that leaves her mouth is majestic. A giggle from her lips leaves my feet shifting nervously on the ground. “Okay great! Just text me whenever you can come over” she offers followed by a soft smile. I watch her disappear from my eye line and take a deep sigh.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

Too much time filled with consuming thoughts tires me through the day as I wait. Impatience is lonely. The thought of her smile— her eyes, her anything, makes me hypnotized in a day dream.

Soon enough my fingers are typing shakily into my phone. ‘I’m on the way’ I text her. ‘Great!’ She replies. Even her energy over text is beautiful.

I pull up outside her house after a good bit of driving. I wipe my palms on my jeans to discard the partial sweat forming. I take a deep breath and ring her doorbell. I hear a shout from inside “I’ll get it!” She opens the door smiling as usual. “Hi Matt, c'mon in” she motions for me to come in.

“Thank you, your house is um.. it’s really nice” I admit looking around with my hand shoved downwards in my pockets.

“My mom would love to hear that she’s been redecorating for months” She rolls her eyes and closes the door. “You can come to my room, it’ll probably be quieter” She walks up stairs as I trail behind her.

We get to her room and sit down at her desk. I place my bag down and take out my materials. We get started as I check the clock to notice it’s near nine o’ clock.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

An hour or two pass and we are already halfway done. 10:58pm. I stretch my arms up and lean back in the chair. “God this is so tiring” I yawn.

“I agree I’m exhausted” she huffs.

“We’re halfway done so that’s good enough till Sunday” I shrug my shoulders looking over at her.

She tucks her hair behind her ear and nods at my comment. “I agree plus we are gonna be so tired tomorrow if we continue for any longer” she points out. Nodding in agreement. I place all my things into my bag. The zippers close shut and I swing my bag across my shoulders, following her lead down to the front door. “Thanks for coming, Matt” she remarks. I lick the top of my teeth as her lips curl into a soft grin

Her smile—

“It’s really no problem.. I uh— thank you for um… being my partner” I smile back holding my bag straps in my hands.

She opens her front door. “Bye Matt” she waves gently.

I lift my palm openly, swaying my hand back and fourth in a hesitant manner., “See you tomorrow” I smile as watching her figure disappear as she closes the door.

♪ you’re on my mind every night everyday ♪

It's impossible to get comfortable. My body rolls and kicks frustratedly tired in my bed. Reaching over to my nightstand, I see the numbers glow on my phone screen. 2:35 am. My head drops with a sigh back onto my pillow. The ceiling stares back at me, haunting my empty thoughts that left me restless.. A heavy sigh leaves my mouth as I clutch my phone and bring it into my grasp. My fingers click before I can even think. I slowly let my eyes focus on the screen, watching her instagram profile load with different pictures.

Her hair is perfectly straightened, her eyes have the special sparkle in them as usual and her smile is casting a glow across her whole face. I stare at the instagram picture for a little bit more biting my lip whilst my finger hovers over the follow button. “Fuck it” I whisper tapping on it. I close my phone and try to sleep again.

Hours pass feeling like minutes. My eyes hazily peel open, adjusting to the morning light peeping through my window as I let out a tired yawn. My room is lit up with an orange glow as I check my phone, 12:34pm.

Y/n followed you back.

My eyes widen at the notification. I’m dreaming, I’m not awake, this isn’t real. Squinting my eyes shut, I take quick steps to rush downstairs

Every time my eyes glance at the clock, I'm shocked to see how much the numbers have changed and passed by

6:37pm. Y/n’s party is at 7:30. I rummage around through my closet to find an outfit. I place my hands on my hips and trail my eyes through the items hanging up. Eventually, I piece together an outfit. Once I’m happy enough I go to my bathroom and fix my hair. I look at myself for a minute before taking a big deep breath and brushing my teeth. 7:15pm. I spray my cologne and deodorant on before grabbing my keys and leaving.

I put the car in park, glancing at my phone. 7:46pm. I park just up the street and tap my fingers on the steering wheel. I’m a nervous wreck, what if she thinks I’m a loser? What if I don’t look good?

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

After a while of debating and battling the negative thoughts I emerge from the car. “It’s fine” I whisper to myself. “You look good” i try to assure myself, hoping to boost my confidence. As I approach her house music is heard from outside with people cheering. I take another breath and ring the doorbell. I place my hands in my pockets as I wait for the door to open.

“Oh my god, hi!” she greets, seeming delighted to see me. I walk into the house and see a ton of people, some drinking, some playing beer pong, some making out on the couches and others dancing. I look back down at y/n and she’s already looking up at me, “—you can come sit with me and my friends if that would make you more comfortable?” She mentions.

“Oh… yeah sure” I say, following her through the house until we find her friends.

“Guys, this is Matt” she announces, gesturing towards me. I take one hand out of my pocket and wave. “Matt this is, Cody, Grace, Mia, Hayden and Kate” she points to each of her friends and they all say hi. “Drinks are over in the kitchen, games are in the living room, make yourself comfortable” she smiles up at me.

“Thanks” I sigh out turning around and going to grab a drink. I’m not much of a drinker so I just grab a cup and fill it with water. I look around to see people looking at me as if I’m an outcast. I get anxious biting my nails and leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Matt!!” I hear my name and turn my head. Y/n comes up to me. “Come on!! everyone’s dancing” she yells over the music grabbing my hand. I chug the last of my water and place it on the table following her lead. We reach the place where everyone’s dancing and y/n turns to me and starts dancing. Her body moves to the music as she sings some of the words, most of them wrong and slurred since she’s drunk.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

After a bit the party dies down around 1:24AM. I see people lying on the couch, some throwing up in the bathroom and others, still making out with each other. Y/n and I are sitting on the couch as I take another sip of the 4th water I’ve had. My hand rests on the back of the couch as y/n sits next to me. I check my phone and see the time. “I better get going,” I say to her as I stand up, throwing my cup in the bin. She gets up and follows me to open the door. I smile at her as I make my way out of the house.

“Wait Matt-“ she says, closing the door behind her and running after me. I turn around and watch her come up to me. “I just…. I just wanna say thank you for coming tonight, I know it probably wasn’t the best but—- thank you” she says softly.

“Thank you for having me y/n, I’m never usually invited to these things so… it was better than any other parties I’ve heard of, no one got the cops called on them” I scratch the back of my neck and chuckle.

“…yeah —you’re right,” she says through giggles.

I look into her eyes for a bit glancing at her pink plump lips. She stares back up at me. I break the silence, “—so I better uh—- you know, go” I say motioning down the street.

“Yeah sorry” she says, shaking her head and kicking her feet. I turn away to walk to my car. “Matt?” She whispers out.

I turn around “hm?” I hum my hands in my pockets again. She walks up to me and places her lips on me. I return the kiss placing my hands on her waist, her hands landing on my shoulders.

It all feels so warm. Her lips move softly against mine, so soft it leaves my eyes watering with endearment.

The warm comfort of her lips pulls away leaving a cold feeling across my mouth. “I really like you Matt,” she confesses.

I’m stunned. Every bone in my body seems to vibrate at the sudden words. “I like you too y/n” butterflies flood my stomach, nearly making me dizzy as her eyes remain my anchor of comfort.

She smiles up at me, placing a peck to my lips again. “I’ll see you tomorrow for the assignment” she says, her thumb stroking my cheek as she smiles.

“-yeah, I’ll — I’ll see you” I smile back. I return to my car and get in, a smile plastered across my face. I close my eyes and lean my head on the car seat.

♪ I think they call this love ♪

© mattsbrowser

taglist!: @idontcare4urmom @summerchris @kaisturni @cherib3lla @muwapsturniolo @slutt4matt @pearlzier @sturniolosiphone @dirtylittleheart333 @chaossturns @banqnakilp @sturnsmadl @aniesvision @lianaloverr @chriss-slut @obsidianbaby @sturniologals @l34n @likeumeanit9497 @teddybearbad @iluvmattsbeard @sturnskiss @kirby0strombolli @kiibichio @meerkatzthings @mattscoquette @sweetreliever @pkfferoo @mqttittude @fratbrochrisgf @sofieeeeex-blog @watercolorskyy @ifwdominicfike @luvs4matt @esioleren @angelic-l0ver @blahbel668 @mattsturnswife @conspiracy-ash

[mumms-the-word]

Ascension, Return

Pairing: Gale x You (Reader POV) Summary: You watch as Gale restores the Crown of Karsus and temporarily becomes a god before disappearing to return the crown to Mystra. And you can only hope, now that he is a god, that he will return. ao3 link A/N: I was thinking the other day about how in the ending for an Origin run for Gale, regardless of how he plans to deal with the crown business, he always shows up as God!Gale in front of Mystra before agreeing to hand over the crown or deciding to stay a god. And it got me thinking...wouldn't a romanced Tav who is expecting him to give up the crown see him ascend? So anyway I wrote this to get those thoughts out there. As usual pic of my Tav Dani because I keep forgetting to ask to borrow people’s better pictures

It doesn’t take long for you and Gale to make plans to retrieve the crown from the depths of the Chionthar River. The sooner you get this over with, the better, you think, and yet something about this endeavor has you on edge. You secretly wish you can just leave the crown down below the waters…but then, anyone could get it down there, with the right spells or the right technology. You can’t risk that.

You don’t want it in Mystra’s hands either, but what choice do you have? She, at least, is a goddess interested in balance, neither evil like the Dead Three, nor entirely good and thus subject to extreme corruption. There’s no telling what she’ll do with the crown, but she has offered one thing in exchange—a cure for your lover’s affliction.

He’ll be free of the dark hungering orb at last.

It’s enough to convince you. You retrieve your worn bedrolls from the Elfsong and shoulder your pack, ready for your next little adventure—a small boat ride to the other side of the river, and a few days spent with Gale as he searches the murky waters.

You join him on the banks of the Chionthar, well away from the bustle of the city as it is trying to rebuild, watching over him as he sits, eyes glazed with concentration, guiding simulacrums to walk the riverbeds and floors of the river, combing through the mud for the crown. He could have let his simulacrums search without him guiding them, but he wants to be sure, to search closely. He doesn’t want to waste his time turning away simulacrums who bring back scraps of metal, shrapnel from the Iron Throne, or bits from the carnage of the fight against the Netherbrain. So he looks through their eyes, seeing nothing for hours but hazy water, mud, and river plants.

Though you long to lie back and watch the sails of fishing vessels drift by like clouds on the breeze, reveling in a hard-won moment of peace, you don’t want to miss a moment where he might need you. You do not want him to be caught unawares by some curious animal, or worse, a lingering enemy. So you sit and watch, your stomach twisting into knots as you face what you know will be inevitable—the moment when he finally finds the crown.

It takes all of two days of searching. After hours upon hours of looking, he stiffens, his physical body reacting to something beyond your sight, and you know at last that he has found it. You both stand as his simulacrum emerges, dripping water, with the cold bronze of the crown in its hands. 

The Crown of Karsus.

It’s so much smaller than you remember. When you faced it on the top of the Netherbrain it had easily been the size of a large carriage. Here, on the banks of the Chionthar, it’s no bigger than a normal crown. It looks innocent. Harmless.

But you know better.

The power it releases…you are no stranger to it. You readily recall the metallic taste on your tongue as you drew near it atop the Netherbrain and the way its very aura tried to drive you to your knees. Its power is weaker now, pulsating from the bronze metal like a faint heartbeat, but you know that it won’t stay that way.

You glance at Gale, wondering what you’ll see in his face. Dark hunger, perhaps, or something bittersweet. Reluctance, dread, or tired resignation. But his expression is surprisingly neutral. He doesn’t step forward to take the crown just yet. Instead, he studies it with his eyes before taking a deep breath through his nose and turning to look at you.

“Do you trust me?” he asks.

You blink, a little taken aback. “Of course,” you say. “Always.”

“That’s gratifying to hear. It will take me some time to restore the crown and the Netherstones to their original state, fit enough to give to Mystra. The process will be necessarily delicate, given the orb I carry. I should ask you to keep a safe distance. A city’s worth of space, perhaps, just in case, but—”

You cross your arms. “I’m not leaving your side, Gale. I’m here with you, for good or ill.”

He smiles then, as much relieved as he is amused and resigned. “I know. I expected as much. But I thought it best to offer or warn you regardless.” He takes a deep breath. “Very well, then. We stay together. I just hope you’ll be patient with me.”

You reach out and take his hand, threading your fingers between his. “I will be. I’m here for you. Take all the time you need, my love.”

He gives you a grateful look, squeezing your hand affectionately before leaning in to brush a sweet, gentle kiss against your lips. You let him pull away, slipping out of reach, and watch with bated breath as he steps forward to accept the crown, the mark on his chest glowing brighter and brighter as he nears and finally takes the crown in his hands.

You don’t know what you expect. A light show, perhaps. A wave of dark, Netherese magic, or a black hole effect. You steel yourself to the fear that he will simply evaporate or fall to his knees in pain.

But nothing spectacular happens, aside from his mark glowing brightly. To your eyes, the crown acts as little more than a normal crown. To him…

You see his chest expand with a deep breath, the orb flaring brighter, watch him blow the air slowly through his lips, his face tense. But without the tadpole in your heads, you can’t guess at what he’s thinking or feeling. He closes his eyes, simply breathing, concentrating. Fighting, perhaps. Wrestling with some unseen force. The glow on his chest dims slowly until it is only a faint purple tint on his skin. Only then does he finally tighten his hold on the crown and turn back to you.

You get the sense that he has just won a silent, unseen battle within himself. It occurs to you too late that putting the crown and the orb in close proximity might actually hurt him. But it seems that the danger has passed...for now. If he’s in pain, he isn’t showing it.

“Come,” he says. “Let us make sure we’re a safe distance from the city. Just in case.”

His words don't inspire confidence, but you say nothing. You merely follow him back to your camp further up hillside. You know he has work to do.

———

You give him time. That’s all he asked for. Time to concentrate on the magic. Time to manipulate threads of the Weave. The Mystran Weave and the Karsite Weave. Sometimes you think you understand what he’s doing, but more often than not, you don’t. The magic he is performing is beyond your comprehension, guided by notes in the Annals of Karsus which lays open in front of him. You suspect some of it comes innately to him, an understanding born from carrying Netherese magic for so long. The rest must come from Karsus himself, written down as instructions or incantations. You give up trying to understand and simply make yourself useful. Or you try to, anyway.

All you can really do is linger nearby, keeping an eye out for anything that might interrupt his work. You barely interrupt him yourself, save to place some food and water near him with a soft reminder that he needs to eat to keep his energy up. He’s not a god yet, you tease, but the words taste sour on your tongue.

Yet. But soon.

You don’t feel ready for it. You know it’ll only be temporary. You hope so, anyway. But you’re still not ready.

The day passes by without you noticing. Gale sits with the crown, working, weaving, an illuminated aura around him filled with heavy magic. You leave him to his work as the sun moves slowly overhead toward the horizon, painting the sky in tones of orange, red, and purple. You lay down to watch the swirls of violet and indigo magic that gather around him as night falls, until in your exhaustion, you close your eyes for a moment to rest.

You don’t know when you drifted off to sleep, but you’re awoken in the early hours of the morning by his hand on your shoulder. You stir, blinking groggily up at him.

“It’s time,” he says softly. He helps you sit up, hands lingering on your arms, your hands. The crown isn’t with him, but sits on top of his pack several feet away. “I’ve done all I can. The stones and the crown are together again. Functionally the crown is complete, but…there is one last step I need to take.”

He kneels in front of you, dark eyes searching your face in the dim firelight. No, you realize. Memorizing. You feel a sudden knot in your throat and though you are seated safely on the ground, it feels as though a yawning void is opening up around you, threatening to swallow you whole should you tip too far to one side.

This feels like a goodbye.

“Once I put on the crown, the magic of the orb will finally combine with that of the crown. And I will…change,” he explains quietly, while you try to calm the surge of fear that grips your heart. “The magic of the crown and orb will become one and give me the power at last to meet with Mystra as an equal.”

An equal. He doesn’t say as a god. But you both know the truth.

You can scarcely breathe. You want to trust him. You want so desperately to believe in him. And he is looking at you so lovingly, but the very air seems tinged with sorrow. Nothing is certain. Nothing save his love for you, and even then, the tiniest doubt worms its way into your head and your heart.

Once he is a god…will he even remember to come back to you?

“And then?” you ask, your voice no more than a whisper.

“And then…I will hand the crown over to Mystra. And hope she keeps her word.”

You release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “I trust you, my love.” You use the words, saying them out loud, to dispel your doubts and fears. You do trust him. With your life, with your heart, with your all.

If only you could trust Mystra. Can she be trusted to cure him? Can she be trusted to let him return? And if he does return, can she be trusted to let him return unchanged? Chosen or not, will he still be Gale Dekarios, the man you love? You don’t know. But you hope so.

He smiles at you and brushes the backs of his fingers against your cheek, his fingertips trailing along the line of your jaw. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He leans in for a kiss and you, selfishly, wrap your arms around him and hold him tightly to you as your lips move against his, wanting to never let go. You rise to your knees, following him as he tries to pull away, kissing him deeply, tangling your fingers in his hair, until at last you are both breathless and you have to hide your face in his shoulder. You cling to him, reluctant to let him go just yet.

“Just come back to me,” you whisper. “Whatever happens.”

His arms tighten around you and you feel the bob of his throat as he swallows with difficulty. He strokes your hair and your back, pressing little kisses to your shoulder, your neck, your head. You can feel it in every touch and breath he takes. He doesn’t want to let go yet either. 

“I will, my love,” he whispers back. “I swear it.”

It’s enough for now. It has to be. You could delay this day for a thousand days and still never be ready to let him go. But you have to. If he wants to be whole again, free of the orb, perhaps even free of Mystra…he has to do this.

You reluctantly loosen your hold on him and sit back on your heels, meeting his dark-eyed gaze in the early hours of the morning. He takes your hands and lifts them to his lips, brushing kisses against your knuckles, turning your hands over to kiss the center of your palms. Each touch of his lips to your skin is a reverent confession of love and longing and it only makes your heart ache more.

Please don’t let this be goodbye.

“Wait for me,” he says.

You cradle his cheek in your hand, gazing earnestly at him, soaking in every detail of his handsome face, committing it all to memory. “I will, my love. I swear it.”

He smiles at you then, full of love and happiness. He steals one last kiss from your lips before finally pulling away and standing, taking several steps back.

You stand too, preparing yourself for what is about to happen, even though you scarcely have any idea. You expect some of what you expected before, with light shows and waves of magic at best, disintegration and death at the worst, but now it feels even more real. Even more likely. You don’t know what will happen, so you brace yourself for the worst, heart pounding in your throat, gut churning with dread, and hope, desperately hope, for the best, even though you don’t know what that will look like.

You hold your breath as he moves several paces away from you and bends to pick up the crown. This image, too, you commit to memory. The way he looks illuminated by the firelight, the lights of the city glimmering behind and below him, the stars glittering above him. The sight of him with the crown in his hands, contemplating it with an expression of deep gravity. The crown looks small and harmless, despite the sharp curls and the soft glow of the purple, orange, and pink Netherstones that are now set once more in the bronze. But he looks serious, regal even, with it cradled in his hands. Like a king mulling over the weight of his position and the choices that lay ahead. He is beautiful. Heart-achingly beautiful. You wish this moment could stretch on forever, if only because it means not losing him to the crown. To godhood.

He turns to give you one last lingering look, your eyes meeting over the distance between you, before he slowly raises the crown to his head and settles it over his brown and gray locks.

The effect is instantaneous. A blast of magic blows outward from him, kicking up wind and dust and flashing bright enough to rival the sun. You cover your eyes, shielding your face, the light blinding you. Suddenly the air feels electric, tasting of metal and ozone, as though you’re about to be struck by lightning at any second. Wind swirls around you, picking up speed, a cyclone of power and magic with you caught in the edges. You struggle to stay on your feet, your body resisting the pull into the vortex. What little you can see is naught but a haze of magic, purple, blue, and inky black, rushing around you and mixing with the wind. Threads of blue and silver lightning dance around you, passing close enough to make your hair stand on end, shocking you when you take an unsteady step backward. The vortex of wind, lightning, and magic threatens to suck the very air from your lungs until, with crack like thunder, everything around you stops.

The air grows still. It is as though you suspended in time. Held fast by magic. Your ears are ringing with the sudden silence.

You cautiously lower your hand. You have to blink a few times for your eyes to adjust, but once they do, the sight of Gale causes a flurry of emotions within you.

He stands before you as something…more. A god in all but name. He’s taller, you swear he must be, or else his very presence makes him seem bigger. His skin has turned a shade of hard silver, his hair ashen gray. The mark of the orb stands out in stark black on his chest and when he turns his head to examine his hands, his body, you see splintered blue lightning crackling at his temples and down the sides of his face. His brown eyes now glow blue-white with magic, any trace of his former warmth consumed by the light of the power within him. He’s striking, awe-inspiring…

And you can’t help but fear him, just a little. 

On instinct you have the compulsion to kneel, but you don’t. You force yourself to stay on your feet and look at him, really look at him, and try to find the man you love behind this new godly veneer. He has to be in there somewhere. He has to be.

“Amazing,” he murmurs, and his voice is layered two or three times over with a strange echo, one that gives you unpleasant shivers. Even his voice carries tiny waves of power. You already miss the warm tones of his mortal voice with its Waterdhavian accent.

He flexes his hands, raising them before his face, his expression one of wonder and awe. With but a gesture, he summons threads of the Weave together in glyphs and effects you can barely make sense of, though you feel the thrum of magic deep in your chest and know, instinctively, that he is capable of snapping your mind with a thought or destroying you with a word. He smiles, and the effect is strange. He looks like himself but he doesn’t. Something about it seems wrong to you. Uncanny. Familiar and unfamiliar.

The pit of dread in your stomach grows.

But then he catches sight of you, waiting, watching breathlessly, nervously, hoping that he’ll remember his promise to you. His smile fades and for the briefest moment you catch a glimpse of the man you love. Even his blue-white eyes, shining eerily from his familiar face, can’t hide the love he has for you.

He lowers his hands to his sides. “It is done. The crown is fully restored once more.”

You nod. You haven’t the faintest clue what to say next. You’re still trying to make sense of the man-god before you.

He smiles again, and something about it is both patronizing, as though he pities you for not understanding, and sincere, an echo of his mortal kindness and patience. He presses a hand to his chest. “Well, I’d best be off then.”

“Wait—” You reach out as if to stop him and he pauses. Your hand hovers uncertainly in the air before you lower it to your side. "One last kiss, before you go. Please."

His smile softens. "I can deny you nothing, my love," he murmurs. He crosses the distance between you with a strange grace he didn't have before. Before he was elegant, but at times a little awkward. None of the awkwardness remains in him now.

You look up as he stops in front of you, his fingers curling beneath your chin the way he does when he wants to lift your face or guide your lips to his. You stare into his glowing eyes a moment before letting your eyes flutter closed. His lips touch yours...and it's different.

There's a magnetism there now that wasn't there before. You seem drawn in as if by gravity. He tastes of metal and magic, his skin cold but not unyielding. Your lips tingle with each kiss and the moment you seek to deepen the kiss—you gasp as a blue electric shock drives your mouths apart, your teeth practically rattling, your lips suddenly hot, almost burned. You press a hand to your mouth, looking up at him in shock, but he's just as surprised as you are. He seems unharmed, despite the tiny sparks of white-blue lightning still skittering over his lips.

"Ah...what an interesting side effect," he says, touching his hand to his mouth. The lightning calms. "Are you all right?"

You nod, rubbing your lips lightly as the numbness from the shock begins to subside and the tingling begins to fade. It wasn't pleasant, but it wasn't unpleasant either. Still, you're wary of trying it again.

He watches you, looking torn, before a new resolve settles his features. "Then I suppose that is my signal to go. The sooner I depart, the sooner I can return." He takes your hand carefully, moving it away from your face, and presses a cautious kiss to the back of your hand. His lips impart another, smaller shock to your skin, but this time you're ready for it. Your fingertips go a little numb, but you manage not to wince.

"Wait for me, my love," he says, finally letting go of your hand. "I won’t be long."

You step back, giving him room to do whatever he needs to do, and watch as he begins to glow, brighter than your eyes can stand. You keep your gaze on his until the very last second, when the light grows too bright to stare at. You blink—and then he’s gone, disappearing in a shower of starlight that fades too quickly.

You are left alone in the cool night, with naught but a dying fire for company. 

———

You don’t sleep. You barely bring yourself to tend to the dying embers of your campfire and stoke it back into warm flames. After that, all you can do is sit.

And wait.

And wonder.

And pray.

“Come back to me, my love,” you whisper into the cool night air.  "Please."

You half-wonder if he can hear you. If, on some level, you’re praying to him, the newest of the gods. You don’t know if that thought comforts you or worsens your dread. How does he think of you now, now that his mind is that of a god, capable of seeing beyond the constraints of a mortal’s limited view? If he hears your prayers, does he think less of you, or love you more? Will he remember his promise, or will the power he now holds tempt him to break it? You want to have faith in him—you do have faith in him—but doubt creeps in despite your best efforts.

Come back to me.

You recall what it was like to wait for him at Mystra’s shrine at the Stormshore Tabernacle. How he had explained that time runs differently in the Outer Planes. How he would only be gone for a moment. Each second that had ticked by during that time felt like a year.

Now, sitting on the hillside, every second that passes feels like an eternity.

The fire crackles. The lights of the city begin to dim. One by one the stars fade out, hiding from view as the black of night begins to lighten into the blue hues of pre-dawn. And still, he isn’t back.

Wait for me, he said. And you will. You’ll wait as long as you have to.

But what if…?

No. You can’t bring yourself to put your fears into words anymore. Doing so will only make them seem more real. More feasible. There could be a thousand explanations for why he isn’t back quickly. You just have to have faith in him.

You get up and begin to pace. You start breaking little sticks and twigs into tiny pieces to feed to the fire, piece by tiny piece, just for something to do with your hands. You pluck blades of grass one by one or count the stars you can see. And you wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Your thoughts are your own worst enemy and you wish you had called an ally to come and sit with you. Even Scratch with his favorite ball would have been enough to quiet your heart and mind. But instead, you sit alone, the crackle of a fire the only sound to break the silence.

Your eyelids are heavy now and your body longs to drag you down into slumber, but you resist. You want to be there when he comes back. If he comes back. When he comes back.

You get up to pace again, rubbing warmth into your stiff fingers, amusing yourself with memories of him. His smile. His sly jests and silly puns. His hands on your body and his body against yours, yours against his. The smell of him, as much as you can remember. The way he looked during battles, magic crackling and swirling around him. The way he looked in your bed, fast asleep. Gale Dekarios in all his mortal glory, the man you fell in love with. The man you wish was at your side once more. 

Gods, but you miss him. You press your hands to your chest, feeling your heart beat beneath your palms. What is taking so long?

The first hints of pink and orange appear on the horizon as you turn to pace away from the fire again, your steps wearing a noticeable path through the grass. At this rate, you fear the sun will arrive before your love does. 

You contemplate how you’re supposed to face the whole of a new day alone when a flash of light illuminates the darkness behind you. You whirl, heart racing, to see a shower of starlight once more—and out of it steps Gale.

Mortal. Human. Alive.

“Gale!”

You fly into his arms, which he is already holding out wide for you, nearly toppling you both into the ground with the force of your embrace. You both stagger, but you don’t let go, and his arms around you are as fierce in their hold on you as yours are around him. He practically lifts you off your feet. You can’t put into words how much it means to you that he’s solid your arms—warm, breathing, alive in your arms.

“You’re back,” you gasp, the tears in your eyes and clogging your throat making it difficult to speak. You don’t want to sob and make it seem like you doubted him, but the emotions welling up inside you are hard to suppress. “You came back.”

“Of course, my love,” he says soothingly, not yet relinquishing his hold of you. “You are everything to me. I could do nothing else.”

You untangle yourself from him to wipe the tears from your face and look at him, looking for any changes wrought by his visit to the Outer Planes or from his brief time at godhood. He looks like himself again, his lightly tanned skin flush with warmth and love, his dark brown eyes as rich and deep as ever. You comb your fingers through his soft hair, once more brown and shot through with hints of gray, rather than all over ashen as it was a while ago. Your fingers linger on his cheek, noticing for the first time that the dark vein-like threads that trailed from his eye to his chest are no longer visible. 

The mark of the orb is gone.

In its place are a series of faint scars in the same threads and shapes as the old mark, appearing just below his jaw and flowing down to form a circle over his chest. The tattoo-like color has faded away entirely and there is no dark bruise at the center of the circular marking. Any trace of Netherese magic is gone, leaving behind little more than scars faint enough to be missed by any who are not actively searching for them.

You trace the circular scar lightly with the tips of your fingers. “Does this mean…?”

“It does,” he says, pressing his hand over yours so that both of your hands are pressed flat to his chest. You feel his heart beating, his pulse perhaps a little elevated, but every beat strong and vibrant. “Mystra has cured me of the orb. Completely.”

You want to hate her, and perhaps you still do, and always will on some level. But in that moment you’re grateful and relieved too. You wrap your arms around him and squeeze him tight, overwhelmed with happiness and relief and joy. Your love is cured at last. The threat of losing him to Netherese magic is at last put to rest. He is whole again. Restored. 

And he is yours. Not hers.

As dawn colors the sky overhead and spills pink-golden light over the both of you, you kiss him, reveling in the taste of him, in the warmth and weight of him, in his hands on you. Not a single spark of lightning threatens to drive you apart, so you deepen your kisses as much as you please. You simultaneously want to push him down into the grass and make love to him there and kiss him for an eternity you know you both don’t have and simply gaze at him in awe and wonder that even while he had godhood in grasp and a crown on his head, he gave it all up for you.

He gave up godhood for you.

You never realized you could love him more than you already did. But you do. Your every heartbeat sings love for him.

You lose track of time kissing him. It could be moments or hours. You don’t know nor do you care. But at last, when you finally pull away from him, it takes you a second to remember where you are, standing out on the hillside across the river from the city. The sun is rising over the horizon now, painting the world in gold and shifting the hue of the sky to a beautiful, cloudless blue. A new day is beginning. 

A whole future awaits. And it is yours to shape with your love at your side.

“What’s next, my love?” you ask. “Now that we have everything we both want.”

“Next? For us?” He chuckles and takes your hand, bringing it up to press a tiny kiss on your empty ring finger. “If you still want me, I believe we have a wedding to plan.”

“I will always want you, Gale Dekarios. Now and forever.”

“Is that a yes to planning the wedding? Because I’ll have you know that Waterdhavian weddings are quite the large-scale affair.”

You laugh, his humor clearing the air like the sunlight warming away the fog of a morning and the dew on the grass. “Yes. Come on, let’s find some food to eat and get started. I can’t wait to begin a new life together with you.”

“My love, that new life starts now,” he says, bringing you in for another kiss. You smile against his lips and allow yourself to be corrected. He is right, of course.

Your new life with him begins now.

[miss-celestia13]

Mask On

Jake x MC - Smut One-Shot

The lovely @hacked-by-jake asked if I could write a smut scene inspired by this meme. I said yes, it’s been a while, and it was a lot of fun; I missed writing smut 🤭 all credit to HBJ; I wrote it, but it was her meme that inspired me enough to do so!

It's sex against a window! So they can watch themselves. And Jake can enjoy the visual of MC coming apart for him while wearing his mask.

It’s also available on Ao3.

With that out the way, I hope you enjoy it 🥰

The MC here is my Manon from Marked Me Like a Bloodstain and other stories. But you don’t have to read those to be able to read this. This is more of an “in another life, we might’ve done this instead” type of thing. It doesn’t fit their current timeline and can be read as its own story.

It is a dual POV. The names are in bold when they change.

———————-

The elevator ascended in slow motion. Or felt that way to Manon. She was a ball of frenetic energy as she stole glimpses of Jake from her periphery and edged ever closer. He was remarkably tight-lipped despite the filth that spilled from his lips a mere 24 hours before they arrived.

They were rising to the top floor of a swanky apartment complex he’d brought her to from the airport. She’d known he had a base home hidden in the city and was aware he had money stashed in secret accounts and cash buried in multiple places in Duskwoods forest. However, upon seeing this fancy building, she realized he was wealthy as she caught sight of the formally dressed doorman who required ID on entry and observed the expensive marble floors, polished to a dazzling shine, as they walked over them.

A thousand questions swirled in her overactive mind, but she kept it all inside as the elevator came to a sharp stop. Jake turned to her, a bashful smile curling the corners of his full mouth.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been here. It might be a bit of a mess.” He said, sounding uncertain.

She sidled closer, slipping her hand into his to squeeze, and smirked as she replied, “After all we’ve been through, do you really think a little dust will frighten me?”

He chuckled, lovely and deep, and she fought off a shiver as he led the way out the open doors and into a red-carpeted hallway. The beat of her heart went out of time as they approached a black door, and Jake took out his keys. She let go of his hand and stepped back, pretending she didn’t notice how his hand shook as he turned the key.

An eardrum piercing, loud, robotic screech sliced through the peaceful quiet between them, and Jake hurried inside, beckoning her with a hand as he punched in the code to shut off the alarms.

“Well, that would wake the dead, never mind frighten off an intruder.” She joked to lighten the tension, settling on Jake’s shoulders as he loosed a sigh once the alarm silenced.

As he said, “I couldn’t let myself get caught unawares,” he reached up and scratched the back of his neck, continuing, “It had to be loud enough that I’d hear it through my headphones.”

She nodded as they kicked off their shoes, surveying the expansive apartment as Jake locked the door. Her eyes skipped the other closed doors she assumed led to his bedroom and the room she’d seen in their first video call. The sparsely furnished space held little personality; the most dominant feature was a massive dark couch by the floor-to-ceiling windows.

She suspected the stretched around the whole building.

“I’m guessing they treat those windows in a way that allows only you to see out and prevents anyone from looking in?” She asked when Jake seemed anxious about her thoughts on how he once lived.

He gave her a sly smirk and slid a hand around her waist to guide her into the living area before he spoke. She watched him in the window reflection.

“You guess right. I can’t have a drone appearing outside and catching sight of me.”

She wanted to cry for him, but knew he wouldn’t want her pity. Manon did what she did best—distracted him.

“And where do exhausted hackers sleep when they finally run out of caffeine?”

With a suggestive brow waggle, she turned to face him and grinned so extensively that she wouldn’t have been surprised if he could see her wisdom teeth.

Jake laughed, stepping closer and staring at her as he said, “We sleep wherever we fall. But I assume you’re looking to rummage through my bedroom. Unfortunately, you’ll be disappointed. There’s just a bed and a gun safe in there.”

“You really know how to get my blood going. Guns and a bed? What more could a girl want? Come on, show me!” She teased, grabbed his hand, and tugged until he allowed her to drag him behind her.

He laughed as she flung open the door and came to a stuttering halt.

“I warned you. I rarely used this room,” he said.

She cast her gaze around the ample space and shook her head. He hadn’t been lying. There was only a double bed and a safe cunningly disguised as a nightstand decorating the room. Or so she thought. Her feet were moving toward the black and white object hanging on a hook beside the bed. It was in her hands before she could recall giving her body the command to move.

Jake had worn the scuffed and cracked Guy Fawkes mask during his video calls. Without thinking, she turned it over and pulled the elastic attached to the back and shoved the mask over her head. It severely limited her peripheral vision, the hard plastic cut into her jaw, and it smelled slightly sweet and sour. A blend of chemicals and sweat, she thought.

She was so engrossed in her own thoughts she didn’t notice Jake had gone wholly still as though petrified.

“Don’t tell me you actually wore this on a regular basis? It’s terribly uncomfortable. I thought it was just for me, so I wouldn’t be able to describe you if Bloomgate ever got off his ass and did some work!”

There was a long pause, and Jake seemed to take a steadying breath as she cut her eyes to him. He practically trembled as she frowned at him.

“What’s wrong? Is there some strange rule that only you can wear this mask?” She enquired when he only fisted his hands and groaned softly.

He shook his head. His pupils had blown wide, black swamping the blue, and his fingers spasmed at his sides as though he wanted to reach for her. It hit her like a slap, and she grinned behind the mask, adopting a nonchalant stance as her muscles went loose and she sauntered closer to him.

“Are you going to answer me? Or has an invisible cat caught your tongue?”

It was as if she electrocuted him. He shuddered, blinked heavily, and said in a sheepish tone, “What were the questions?”

She choked down a gleeful laugh and swished her hips as she approached him. Her dress swirled around her knees as she moved and she lay a hand on his chest to feel the rapid fluttering under his skin.

“I asked if you really wore this mask while working, Jake. Keep up, love.” She taunted, tilting her head and tapping her fingers over his pounding heart.

Jake reached up and rested his hand over hers as he shook his head, grinning freely, saying, “It’s an annoying accompaniment to my lifestyle. I have faith in my ability to prevent people from getting through my intensive security measures. Still, if someone manages to view me through the webcam, they won’t see anything they can identify.”

“Clever. Handsome, intelligent, and you have a filthy mouth on you? Are you real, or am I dead and in heaven?” She said in a sing-song voice, edging into his personal space until her senses were filled with him. She reached up and shoved the mask up so it rested atop her head.

He didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her and replied, “I don’t know about that, but I’m real. It’s you I’m wondering about.”

She smirked, winding her arms around his neck as she said, “And what are you wondering about me?”

Jake drew a deep breath, pulling her closer, eyes flicking to the mask on her head and back to her again.

“You’re wicked, infuriating, and so beautiful. I’m terrified I’ll mess you up.”

With a purr in her voice, she said, “If you don’t mess me up, I’ll be sorely disappointed.”

It wasn’t what he meant; she knew his fears of dragging her down with him, but she was prepared to fight for him. The air between them was electric. A thrumming current seeped under her skin and made her restless; her eyes dipped to his mouth. His gaze did the same to her, neither wanting to break the spell as the delicious tension threaded through them.

She felt like a moth at a candlelight vigil whenever she was around him—overwhelmed, unable to keep still, and desperate to share his light.

He pressed his forehead to hers. They were sharing breath, and her lips tingled as familiar impatience itched at her and demanded she push up on her toes and close the distance.

Time seemed to halt as she waited for him to make a move; her voice was little more than an airy breath as she said, “Do you want to kiss me now or later? Or both?”

His response was instantaneous. “Both.”

She chuckled, low and throaty, and said, “Good answer,” before taking the lead and digging her fingers into his hair to pull him down to her.

The first brush of his lips on hers was the sweetest. His deep groan as she plastered herself to his front and silently encouraged him to kiss her forcefully sent a wave of lovely heat rolling out from her center. He listened to her unspoken demand, much to her delight.

His hands splayed wide on her back. One slid up to cup the back of her neck, the other settled on the base of her spine and tugged her flush against his rapidly hardening cock. She almost whined as his bristled mouth bruised hers, coaxing her open, and his tongue slipped inside to slide along hers as she sighed in relief.

Glittering, scalding heat surged through her, turning her liquid between her thighs and making her hands shake as she lightly pulled his hair as though to drag him inside her. She forgot about seeing his hacker hideout as his sharp teeth nipped and his plush mouth ruled hers.

She wasn’t a religious woman, but when he kissed and touched her like this, she felt like she was holy. The silly, dramatic thought made her smile into his addictive lips as their breathing grew labored and their hands wandered.

She didn’t know where to touch first. All of him. Preferably draped all over her.

Her fingers roamed along his broad shoulders and back again, climbing up his neck to cup his bearded jaw as his tongue flicked in her mouth and his hands gripped her hips mean.

Chemistry sizzled between them like a pot of rich, thick molten chocolate begging to be indulged and she was nothing if not a greedy woman. His knee parted her thighs, and she whimpered as it pressed against where she burned for him.

The skimpy underwear she wore was already soaked as she wriggled against the hard length trapped between them and gave into the urge to grind down on his muscled thigh. Sparks shot through her like tiny lightning strikes. Their kissing turned wet, sloppy, and utterly filthy.

A thrill shimmered down her spine, setting her entire nervous system alight and making breathing difficult. What little air she could suck in. Jake stole it right from her mouth. Heat built to a blaze inside her and her empty cunt clenched in complaint as his hands moved to grasp her ass and began kneading her until she was in a frenzy of sensation and painful anticipation.

She nipped at his plump bottom lip, teeth sinking in and pulling, a whine leaving her as she felt him smirking into it. Her pulse flickered in her neck. The shake in her hands turned to a quake, and she needed him to touch her. She needed him to fuck her before she came out of her sweat and gooseflesh adorned skin.

He tasted wild and sweet and felt like home. A place she’d long given up finding until he appeared in her path. She was desperate to have him inside her.

Jake felt Manon’s distress as her body shivered and tautened under his hands. He hadn’t expected that her wearing the mask would have such a profound effect on him. His painfully hard cock twitched as he teased her tongue with his and bent at the knee, sliding his hands down the back of her parted thighs to grab hold of her and hoist her up.

Her legs wreathed around his waist and locked in place. Captivated by the little sounds she made and the way she fit perfectly into all his hollow spaces.

Her enveloping body was a warm embrace of sunshine, wrapping around him like a cocoon and melting the night’s chill from his bones. The heat emanating from her scalded him as he blindly walked over to the wall of windows and pinned her against it.

Freeing a hand, he flattened it on the window beside her head as his other hand tapped her thigh. She hesitated all of a second before catching on and unwound her legs from his waist as he reluctantly parted from her mouth to help her stand on weak knees. His heart trembled in his panting chest as she looked at him with eyes full of trust and smoky lust. Their emerald color had darkened to evergreen as she licked at her swollen lips and waited for his next move.

He eyed the mask perched precariously on her head and decided. She liked it when he bossed her around.

“Turn around, step back, and face the window.”

He moved away to give her space and smiled when she immediately did as he bid. The flimsy dress she wore had buttons from the neckline to the hem, all down her front, and his fingers itched to tug it open, but he held it back as she met his eye in the window reflection.

“Good. Now, put the mask on, Sweetheart,” he ordered in an undertone he barely recognized.

He watched her as she swallowed thickly and shifted on her bare feet. Time slowed to a crawl as he observed her hands lifting and grabbing the mask, slipping it down to cover her face as he nodded in approval.

A sparkling, fizzing sensation trickled down his spine and swirled in his lower back, sweeping through all of him and he was hard enough to hammer nails as he swept her long hair up in hand. He let the pale strands rest over her shoulder and dropped his head to the side of her throat he’d bared for his teeth.

He ran his nose down the elegant column of her neck and inhaled her warm, spicy scent and let it feed the desire racing through his bloodstream. She trembled as he brushed his lips over her rattling pulse and bit down. He banded an arm around her to keep her upright as she gave a muffled moan and her knees failed her.

The scent of her arousal, heavy with musk, was a humid warmth cloaking them both as he sucked and bit her skin, a swipe of his tongue over the small hurt so she murmured his name. His cock jumped at the sound of it. There were so many emotions packed into that four-letter name of his. He wasn’t entirely sure he deserved them yet, but he wouldn’t tell her that.

He glanced at the window as his hands moved to her full breasts and cupped them, enjoying the weight of them in his palms as he watched them in the night dark window.

Manon stopped seeing the incredible view of the city as Jake teased her sensitive flesh, nipples stiffening to hard peaks, and the wetness between her legs turned to a drenching flood.

If he didn’t have that devouring look in his eyes, she would feel foolish wearing the mask, but his feverish touch and harsh breathing conveyed his desire was at a level she had never seen from him. Excitement turned her legs to water as he grasped the neckline of her dress. She gasped in shock and giddy pleasure as he tore it wide open. The fragile buttons were no challenge for him. They popped free and clattered off the window as he hurriedly dragged it down her arms and exposed her nearly naked body to his starving eyes.

Sweat trailed down her face as she ignored the ache eating away at her fast failing patience. Her mouth went dry as she saw his reflection take off his t-shirt and jeans, hands fisting at her sides as she waited for his move. His boxers and socks soon joined the rest of clothes on the floor and his fiery body melted into hers from behind.

She ground her ass against his hard cock. Wetness dripped down her inner thighs as her mind skipped ahead and she needed him inside her before she exploded from the ardour burning through her. She luckily didn’t have to wait long before his large hands were on her again.

He latched his fingers into the elastic back of her mask and firmly pulled her head back. His other hand slid around her hip and traveled to her weeping cunt, teasing her soaked folds through her underwear. His fingertips traced the shape of her like a rhapsody, each taunting stroke composing a symphony of desire that echoed through her entire being.

Her head lolled against his chest as he shoved the lace covering her aside and met no resistance as he plunged two fingers into her tight cunt. The strangled moan that left her seemed to bounce off the walls as she felt herself clenching to keep him from leaving her body. Slick and so hot, he groaned. She couldn’t think as he played with her like he’d always known her body.

Her pounding heart and rushing blood muted all sounds as those fingers moved within her taut heat and she ground herself into his hand at his whispered urging. Her cunt clasped and unclasped as he grazed her clit and sent a trail of wheeling stars scattering across her bare skin.

The hand holding her mask slipped to wrap around her throat and the gentle squeeze he gave her was a warning of what was to come. She couldn’t wait for it. The simple action sent her heart thrumming, and she panted into the plastic covering her face. Any discomfort it might’ve caused blasted away by Jake’s obvious delight in it.

His touch unraveled her like a tightly bound scroll, releasing a cascade of longing and urgency that surged through her veins like liquid flame.

Suddenly, he removed his hands from her and stepped away, leaving her swaying as her head spun and she blinked stupidly as he whirled her to face him and ripped the mask off her. He dropped to his knees in front of her and did the same with her underwear, lifting her ankles one by one to help her step out of them. He tossed them both aside without a care as he crowded her until her overheated skin met the cold window. She hissed in shock as her head thudded back to meet his ravenous gaze.

“I want to taste my name on your tongue as I fuck you,” he said in a voice like a growl.

She squeezed her legs together to counter the ache as her empty cunt clamped around nothing and her essence glazed her inner thighs.

She formed three words, but they were enough. “Fuck me then.”

His smirk was salacious. They pounced on each other, and he quickly caught her. She extinguished his midnight chuckle with a dirty kiss and he trapped her between him and the window. He reached under her to palm his cock.

Her hips tilted as he ran the fat head of him through her saturated folds and sank inside her so fast she had no time to prepare as he stretched and filled her so completely she didn’t have room for the air in her lungs. Her nails clawed at his shoulders, mouth agape and gasping as his hand smoothed loose strands of damp hair away from her sweaty face.

The maddening pressure built and built as he remained unmoving to let her acclimate to his sudden invasion. Her hips rolled, and she used his shoulders for purchase to lift and drop back down, taking him to the hilt, both groaning as she slowly softened for him.

He muttered her name as he let her breathe and studied her face as she shook in his arms. Part of her worried the treatment on the windows only went so far and someone in the building across from them might get the show of a lifetime. But most of her didn’t care if that was true. Let them watch.

Jake had gone still, muscles jumping and quivering as she made soft little noises of frustration as that intense pressure demanded a release. Her skin stuck to the glass and there was an audible sound as he peeled her off it and he at last moved. Shallow darts of his cock inside her to open her up and rile her further.

His strength thrilled her, no strain as he hefted her up and finally, finally slammed her down on his rigid cock. Her rapturous cry of pleasure sliced through their heavy breaths and the vulgar smack of flesh meeting flesh. Fingers dug into her ass as he fucked her, planting violets and giving him more leverage to ruin her.

Every deep caress of his cock inside her dripping cunt set her ablaze, a wildfire of untamed passion consuming her as she surrendered to the exhilarating storm of sensation. When he kissed her, she clung to his hair, fingers weaving through the black strands until she could use it to hold him captive against her whining mouth.

He tasted like sin, felt like heaven and looked like hers all at once, and she could only hold on. It was as though someone had flain the first layer of her skin to expose her nerves. Even the whisper of air pressing against her skin as his hand braced on the window sent a bolt of fire down her torso.

His lips branding hers, his thumping heart that matched the beat of her own, and the heady, clean scent of his skin. She wanted to never forget a single detail. They had earned this. Through blood and sweat and fire, they had earned this and she would be damned if she didn’t take all he offered her. Tension coiled in her core as his thrusts fell out of rhythm and each one shunted her up the window.

As his tongue teased hers, she yanked on his hair, feeling owned by him and getting swept away. Drowning in the blistering sea of their shared desire. The heat in her abdomen grew out of control, but it was nothing compared to the fire she had kindled in Jake. All the awkwardness in him had vanished, and he fucked her like he’d never get the chance to do so again.

He stole moan after moan from her. The sanity eroding tension coiled and coiled until it drove her to the brink of insanity and made it impossible for her to breathe. Her stuttering hips, his thick cock, and her clenching cunt were all she knew, her throaty cries smothered against his stubbled lips as they rubbed her mouth raw.

Hovering on the brink of shattering, Manon sobbed and rocked her hips, freeing a hand from his hair. She worked it between them. The tense skin of her stomach flickered as her fingers ghosted over it and she kept going until she swirled them around her swollen clit.

“Fuck, Manon,” Jake cursed as her inner walls clamped down hard on his cock, making her smile.

A little helpless sound spilled from her as she toyed with herself and the tension in her drew so taut she arched. Jake pounded into her mercilessly, giving her no room to calm down. The sensations and lust were so intense her mind fractured with jagged white light and she struggled to withstand the tremendous pleasure ricocheting through her.

Her body convulsed as she circled her clit and pushed herself to the precipice. Jake sobbed into her mouth as he felt her clench around his cock, burying his face in her neck as his forceful thrusts slowed a little. Bursts of darkness speckled the edges of her vision as her orgasm sparked its warning.

Relief glimmered at the back of her mind as her back arched again and Jake lifted his head to see her face. His voice was a sinful melody she’d been searching for from the beginning of time.

“Come for me, Sweetheart. Take me with you.”

Any thoughts she had left disintegrated at his words. Her fingers swiped that bundle of nerves deliberately again and again. The rough glide of his heavy cock inside her threw her over the edge and she splintered into a million glistering pieces. His kiss smothered her warbling moan of his name as her cunt spasmed around his cock and sucked him in deeper, dragging him down with her as he slammed home one last time and they soon sank to the floor as his legs failed him.

Her twitching, useless body slumped and practically merged into his as he lazily drank from her mouth and ran soothing hands down her slick back. She felt every jump of his cock as he spilled into her, and her inner walls fluttered as the scalding waves of her release rippled out from her core.

How long they sat there in a complete knot of disheveled limbs, kissing and touching. She didn’t keep count. Just reveled in it and in him, as he silently told her he loved her. She shivered from the chill settling in the room at some point and he instantly broke away from her lips, concern in his cobalt eyes that she rushed to comfort.

“I’m just a little cold. Take me to bed and warm me up again.” She winked and smiled softly as the worry in his gaze cleared and he gave her a proud smirk as he eyed the bite mark he’d left on her neck.

“Your wish is my command,” he chuckled, but made no move to get up. She caught sight of the Guy Fawkes mask, and an enticing idea popped into her mind.

“After we sleep a bit and you’re able to go again, it’s your turn to wear the mask.”

A startled laugh burst from him as she nodded seriously and fixed her features into a haughty expression as he said, “Is that an order or a punishment for making you wear it?”

She gave an indolent shrug, committing his smile to memory and hoping to make good on her promise to christen every room in his apartment before they left for Duskwood. There was only one thing left to say.

“It can be both if you’re into it. Pain and pleasure, Jake,” she said in an imperious tone that made him shake his head and she patted his shoulder, jerking her head toward the bedroom door as she finished, “Come on, let’s get food and some sleep. You’ll need your strength later.”

——————————-

Thank you for reading. I hope it was worth your time. If you comment or reblog, thank you so much for that as well❤️

If I have time, I might write another part where Jake wears the mask. But I am busy with many other stories, and it won’t happen anytime soon.

I hope Sunday treats you well!

[odessastone]

NEW LIFEWEAVER AND SYMMETRA LORE BITS FROM "REBUILDING RUINS"

So I got my copy of Heroes Ascendant today and THERE WERE SO MANY GOOD LITTLE MOMENTS IN THIS STORY I MUST gush I MUST

So here are some new bits of Symmetra and Lifeweaver lore that we got! I bolded my personal favorite ones. 😚

(spoilers!)

Satya and Niran "grew up together" as friends, so they were friends in childhood too, not just at a teen or university age.

Apparently when Satya would get overstimulated and need recovery time, Niran would keep people away from their room and tell them she was sick so she didn't have to face anyone ��

He also used to hang out and watch her practice her dancing for hours on end, without ever getting tired of it.

Satya considered (possibly still considers) Niran her closest friend.

Niran is late to everything (CALLED this one). He's even late for their meeting LOL

"He looked good. Satya almost wished he didn't." Bits like this are going to feed my Symweaver ass for YEARS

Satya is (still) extremely hurt by Niran leaving all those years ago, and perceives it as him having left her, not just Vishkar. She still misses him dearly, even though they've been apart for eleven years.

Speaking of which, being apart for eleven years means Niran was twenty when he left the Academy. For all you fellow fic authors out there 😊

Satya's autism is stated, full-out, no dancing around it or talking about being on "the spectrum". They flat out say "her autism" in a sentence. Cool!

One of Niran's first questions upon reconnecting with Satya is if Vishkar is mistreating her, if she needs help. Of course she denies this, but...

Niran can read Satya's emotions without her saying them, and even while thinking she's hiding them 😭 Several times throughout the story she's surprised because he cuts right through her stoic bullshit and gets right to how she feels about something.

The Architech Academy was really overwhelming for Satya, and it sounds like they made no effort to accommodate her needs. Unsurprising, considering they didn't accommodate Niran's, either.

Vishkar fiercely discouraged her from stimming, instilling in her a fear of looking "immature, or distracted, or rude, or strange".

She gave a speech at graduation, then had to spend a full week in bed afterward to recover from all the stress. And there was no Niran to guard her by then ☹

Even now, she finds many things about Vishkar overstimulating and uncomfortable, such as her uniform's fabric, and her living quarters.

Satya called Niran "Bua" way back when, possibly the first person to use the nickname for him. Partway through the story the narration (from Satya's POV) actually switches to calling him that, which is cute.

The Arcology seems to have uh, basically no real protection against attacks... Null Sector just shows up on a train and starts blasting lol. This is something I address in my fic The Light You Deserve, so it was kinda funny to see that I was right in predicting that.

She feels comfortable enough around Niran by the end to stim around him without realizing it (apparently she taps her fingers together and twirls her hands in circles, I guess kind of like flapping). She immediately stops and is embarrassed when he points it out, but Niran encourages her instead. She then uncertainly stims in front of him, growing more relaxed and confident as she lets herself do so (this had to be my favorite part of the story).

Toward the end they double down on Satya's belief that she can change Vishkar from the inside (girl....) but then at the VERY end, Niran suggests she look more into the founder of Vishkar and his ideals, and then says that "The Arcology will be delighted to have you". SHE MIGHT DEFECT TO THE ARCOLOGY IN CANON AND BE WITH NIRAN HHHHH AAAA sorry this was supposed to be an unbiased list I'm cool I'm cool

AAAAAA I'M NOT COOL I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

THIS WAS EVERYTHING I COULD HAVE WANTED IN A STORY BETWEEN THEM okay minus the random Null Sector attack tbh that was weird

Anyway the very last line says that Satya now has "whenever she needed it, a friend to return to". So they're definitely gonna interact more going forward!!

[cremefrappe13]

Paranoia (Dragonberry & OC!)

Beast Ancients AU is made by @cuppajj I mostly wrote this to experiment with writing styles and how to write out the POV of living in oppression and suffering until the bitter end.

Trigger warnings: Blood, violence, death via execution, torture, manipulation, insanity

Read at your own choice

Lost child, lost child I’m in the middle of nowhere Pa-pa-para, paranoia

All Honeyflower could do was hide. She hid the draconic features of her horns and wings from the tyrannical monarch Dragonberry, fully understanding the power-thirsty beast’s desire to ascend to Dragonhood. Honeyflower, being a dragon who walked amongst cookiekind, was desperate to avoid the same fate her dear friend had been subjected to, using a hood to hide her horns and hiding her tail with a cloak. 

Crumbling, crumbling My heart is now breaking Pa-pa-para, paranoia

“Shit,” the girl cursed, as she heard someone pointing the way to her place. Honeyflower knew she was doomed if she did not start moving. Recently, people had noticed her horns on a windy day and her wings when she bumped into someone. Knowing full well those rumours would quickly reach Dragonberry, the dragon-cookie hybrid started packing.

So dark, so dark Where is the exit? Pa-pa-para, paranoia

It was a matter of time before the tyrant would show up at her doorstep, and Honeyflower was done packing her survival satchel. She rushed out of the window, spreading her wings to fly out and make her escape, but a voice made her freeze in fear as the familiar sting of a robe attempting to capture her lashed against her skin.

“There she is! Capture her!”

Sadness, sadness All I feel is despair Pa-pa-para, paranoia

She flew. That was all Honeyflower knew she could do when that loud, boisterous voice that she was all too familiar with, once shouting out words of joy and encouragement, but now spews out words of poison that would doom anyone.

“Leave the hunt to me!” Dragonberry called out, throwing her shield at the teen girl trying to fly away, but getting knocked out of the sky and falling, screaming as she hit the ground, with a dull crack and a ringing sound echoing in her skull.

WELL! It’s a terrifying emotional drop down! I’m going insane and spinning around and around!

Every day in captivity felt like torture to the young girl, being forced to transform, getting her scales plucked off, hell, even getting her blood drawn out for experiments! Honeyflower began to lose hope, seeing her possible “exit” darkening and dimming each time Dragonberry played one of her sick mind games on Honeyflower, leaving an open escape and then removing it just as Honeyflower made her move. The girl even started to hallucinate, going insane with the stress and pain that was put on her.

NO! All the paranoia, it must be in my head!I refuse to accept it!It all must be a lie

Every single day, Honeyflower hoped that all of her pain would have been just a shallow dream, that she would wake up and be fine without any scientist tormenting her, without the royal family constantly observing her, and most of all, without Dragonberry playing with her mind. However, it only got worse. Every day became a nightmare for Honeyflower, who would always wake up praying that everything would have been a bad dream.

Spinning around, oh! And insanity has begun to claw at me. I think I’m going crazy, crazy

 The delusions and pain got worse for Honeyflower, feeling her very sense of self being ripped apart with every day, no- every second spent in captivity made her feel like she was being torn apart and turned into shreds. Dragonberry’s cruelty was too much, and one day, Honeyflower was taken out to spar with Dragonberry herself.

And I think I can feel the paranoia creeping up on me Is this endless insanity? Honeyflower was defending herself with every move she made, avoiding strikes from the former Shield of Passion as Dragonberry’s relentless strikes carried on… but she didn’t want to fight anymore. The insanity kept clawing at her, taunting her to give in and let her go mad just like the former heroes…

A piercing scream ripped through the air as the young dragoness snapped.

AH! Screaming, dying, it’s a terrifying fall down! I’m wandering in the dark, spinning around and around! The paranoia, it all must be in my head!

She lost it. Her tail barraged with sharp attacks, her claws sharpening themselves as Honeyflower completely lost it, her pupils dilating as her draconic side took over and Dragonberry found herself overwhelmed by the sheer force and number of attacks. The dragoness landed hits every now and then, spilling blood as Honeyflower roared with pain and rage.

I’m lost, drunk on my emotions, losing my whole mind!It must be in my head!They have to be lying…

THEY HAVE TO BE LYING!

The fight raged on as Honeyflower went berserk, doing whatever to win and escape for her freedom as she managed to dent Dragonberry’s shield, which startled the corrupted ancient as metallic clangs and sparks of fire danced around the pair as they kept fighting. At this point, Honeyflower was literally breathing fire onto Dragonberry through their sheer fear and anger. Then…

WELL! I have fallen into a desperate case and I Have fallen into despair, spinning in the darkness

Honeyflower woke up, this time imprisoned even more properly in her cookie form as she saw the blade hovering over her head, knowing she was going to die in this miserable place now. “I don’t want to die… but I guess this is the end,” she thought, as the blade came down on her.

Dragonberry’s maniacal chuckle echoed through that lonely dark as the air in Honeyflower’s lungs left and never returned.

I thought it was all lies, But it really was the truth.

The End

[chronosh0t]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ……𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: male x Lee, first person pov, alternative universe?, canon-divergence?, soft, fluff, slightly explicit but, really, barely suggestive. if you squint hard enough, you might see some. ㅤㅤㅤ 〔NO BETA〕

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: okay, but what if Hyperreal got horns like Palefire? or what if Palefire's horns are... actually sensitive? (forget about the canon here, what's that?, so I guess is an au because we know Inver-devices ain't like that, but look away)

────────────── ❁ ──────────────

...

Was it that hard before? If you try enough, you can't for the love of your life, remember when you got so fixated on those two blue horns. So, again, was it that hard for you not to look at them whenever Lee was close enough? Certainly, it is now.

But maybe it's because it has been so long since Lee switched to Palefire so seeing him again, after Entropy and then Hyperreal, one of the —if not the only— strongest frame Babylonia has ever made, immune to the virus itself, making it perfect for fighting Ascendants hand to hand and dealing with dead zones.

So yes, it has been a while since you got to see Palefire again. It is now, too, that you realise how different Hyperreal is from the other two frames. You thought Lee changed after the Tower incident, but you never thought it could also show on his frames as well. The maturity in Lee's latest frame is not seen on Palefire.

Now that you're working with him, the two of you alone, for some reason you feel you're with a younger and more blunt version of Lee. Of course, he just switched just because his new frame needed adjustments, so it's not like his personality will go back to when you both first met. But you can't stop thinking about that detail.

However, your issue is another one, right now. You should focus on the papers in front of you, checking and reading past reports to gather information about some new Ascendants or whatever, but you can't stop your own eyes from going to the words in the page in front of you to land straight to those two blue horns.

You know Inver-devices have started to change, so there's a lot of new Constructs that have them quite hidden, giving them even a more human-looking vibe. Leaving aside some visible metallic parts, like arms, hands or legs, the devices that keep them stable and possible to connect with their human Commandant, are not as obvious as before.

Either way, now you're getting too fixated on them, it's hard to look away, you lowkey want to touch them. You never had the chance, or more like, you never had the urge like you have right now.

ㅤㅤㅤ“You've got some strange taste, Commandant.” The blond construct broke the silence.

oh shit, don't tell me I said that out loud?

You laughed awkwardly, suddenly getting too self-conscious of your own feelings. The embarrassment was trying to take over and you could feel your cheeks starting to blush. You cough, as if that was enough to dissipate those unusual thoughts.

ㅤㅤㅤ“My bad, but I never realise they're quite cute. It add to your charm, Lee.” you replied casually.

You look up and your heart skipped a lot. Not a bit, it was a lot. You thanked the human body for having rib cages protecting the organ because you were sure that, at this exact moment, your heart is too wild and might just leave your body.

Lee is… blushing. Of course, not the first time, he would usually slightly blush after he said something awkward or got praised, but why right now? You thought that maybe he would get annoyed, or just nag at you for saying something so silly and meaningless, so that red crippling over his face was unexpected. He looks even more cute now.

Weirdly enough, there was a second when you thought those blue horns changed colours from a dull one to a bright one. As if reacting to Lee's feelings, just like Punchy. But that's not how Inver-devices work… right?

By the time you could think what your body was doing, your fingertips are now resting on one of his horns. It feels a bit rusty, but for some reason, if it wasn't because you already know what they're made of, anyone could mistake them for real ones. They're indeed cute. Skin itching, your fingers are now slowly tracing them.

Lee's body flinches and you retract your fingers. Oh, what if he's angry now? Why are my body and mind not in sync today?. But, lowering your eyes to check his face, now it's fully red. Even his ears are also of a soft shade of pink. You are hoping it is not from anger, you decide to check.

ㅤㅤㅤ“You are mad, right? I'm sorry, I really don't know why I suddenly did that.” you are now retracting your hand.

Lee sighs, then he said, “it's not… that. I'm not mad, it's just…”

Just what? If it's not anger then wha……oh wait.

ㅤㅤㅤ“Are they… sensitive?”

He doesn't answer, but he doesn't have to, really. You move your body closer, maybe too close for the sanity of both of you, but you have the urge to tease him, just a little bit, because you love seeing him flustered, you adore when he loses his cool and he is a complete mess. So your fingers go back to his horns, slowly touching them, in a quite suggestive way.

And Lee knows. All of that. Is he hating it? Partially but just because he also knows how much he likes it. He never thought he would be so turned on by such a stupid thing, yet, there he is. Puffs of air, his breath is erratic and he knows his body is too hot. Your soft skin touching him in that way is killing him, he is suppressing his voice, biting his lips. Lee is sure that if he stop doing that, he won't be able to control some moans.

ㅤㅤㅤ“Does it feel good?” you ask, you know he does feel good, it's pretty obvious if you look down enough.

You don't waste time. Your other hand is now resting on one of his legs, fingers tracing in circles, slowly moving to his inner thighs and getting close to his dick, already hard. But not enough… And you're surprised when Lee's hips move, trying to get close, he wants to get touched.

Oh boy, you're gonna be the death of me.

You retracted your hands. Lee looks up at you, confused, watery eyes, and face as red as a tomato. It's written all over his face “Why did you stop?” so, before standing up from your seat, you close the distance, your lips barely touching his ears.

ㅤㅤㅤ“Wait a little longer. It will get better at night.”

────────────── ❁ ──────────────

〔 🎐 〕 𝙸'𝚖 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕��� 𝚋𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚠𝚔𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚗. 𝙰𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚊𝚢, 𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑.

[theunholybastard]

Kinktober: October 29th - Breath Play (Papa Emeritus III x Female!Reader)

Tags: Established Relationship, Choking, Rough Sex, Groping, Naked Female Clothed Male, 1st Person POV

Oh, my beloved Terzo Emeritus. Where do I even begin with him?

When he first ascended into Papacy, my attraction and obsession for him grew even more. He just looked so good in those new robes, that new suit, the mitre and gloves. He looked powerful, respectable, the epitome of sin. I followed him around like a lost puppy, non-stop staring adoringly. He didn't mind it at all, in fact, he quite liked the attention.

I practically begged on my hands and knees for him to fuck me while wearing his robes. He already was on board with the idea, he just wanted to hear me plead for him, the cocky bastard. But my wish was his command, therefore he began fucking me, fully clothed and no doubt so fucking hot and sweating underneath those robes, but fuck, who cares when he looks this good?

His robes swayed as he rocked into me, my hands running over and clutching at the soft, rich fabric. I let out a loud, high pitched moan, shattering the eardrums of everyone within a ten mile radius. I can't help my vocalizations when I'm with the sex God that is Terzo.

"Mmm, Papa, fuck!" I scream out, wiggling against the sheets, overwhelmed and highly stimulated by his cock and his fingers stroking my clit. He smirks, the sweet sound of his moans mixing so beautifully with mine, staring down at my exposed and vulnerable body, and how intensely I react to his ministrations. He loves seeing me like this, a mess breaking down and falling apart beneath him, or above him, either view is heavenly.

"You like this, bella ragazza?" He purrs, knowing damn well I do in fact fucking like this. Why else would I be screeching like a banshee and making a creamy mess all over his Papal robes? My gaze falls to his hands, distracting me momentarily. He ditched his gloves, so I can see his bare hands, flexing and veins bulging as he gropes me every which way. His slender fingers look delectable. What I would give to suck on them as he rails me. What I would give to feel them wrapped tightly around my throat, rendering me unable to breathe, unable to think...

My moans dissipated, too busy thinking of him choking the life out of me, safely of course. He noticed, stilling his moments briefly to regain my attention. "Where did your mind go just then, eh? All up in the clouds, and not down here with your Papa?" He scolds playfully, though he is confused and curious as to what distracted me. "What's on your mind, hm? Is Papa not pleasing you well enough?"

"N-no! Papa, you are, it's just..." I trail off, almost too embarrassed to suggest such a thing. We've never done that before, I don't even know if he would be into that. He's not usually a sadist, more of a service top.

"What is it? Spit it out, princepessa. Whatever you need, you know I can provide you." He coos, kissing my cheek tenderly, making me blush. His movements started up again, slowly and involuntarily, I'm not even sure he realized he went back to thrusting. It only made it harder to admit.

"C-could we..." I quiver. "Could we maybe try something new?" I ask softly, whimpering as his cock kicked inside me and grazed my g-spot. His eyebrow raised, a sex crazed look of pure excitement in his eyes.

"What do you have in mind, tesoro?" He beams, hips rocking faster subconsciously. Another moan is pulled from my lips. I can't stop looking at his fucking hands.

"I w-want you to..." I whine, unable to get the words out. "To choke me. C-could you do that?" His eyes went wide, hips stuttering for a second, like even they were doing a double take.

"Choke you?" He questioned. He didn't look turned off or disgusted by the suggestion like I feared. His expression was mostly unreadable, I could only sense surprise. I nod. "Please, Papa." I whimper. Oh, does that get him going.

His surprise quickly turns into one of intense, primal arousal. He's fucking insane, snapping his hips into me harshly, forcing his cock to stuff me to the brim violently over and over, humping me like a mad man. I don't have time to adjust to the pace, crying out helplessly as he uses me roughly, the sound of wet plaps echoing through the room.

"That's what you want? You're filthy, girl. I like that." He grins sadistically, a side I've never seen him exhibit before. I gotta admit, I'm fucking loving this. He wraps his hand around my neck, not putting any pressure at first, just resting there, taunting me.

"Such a nice, soft neck..." He sighs, growling and snapping his hips brutally like an animal in heat. I hardly recognize him in this state. Who is this crazed lunatic wearing Terzos face? He squeezes slightly, not nearly enough as I want. He's teasing me, I know it. Unfortunately, I am not a patient person.

"Please, Papa! S-show no mercy, just choke me, make me fight for air, make me-" He cuts me off by squeezing hard around the sides of my neck, careful not to put pressure on my windpipe. He cuts off my blood flow, getting me dizzy and dazed, the feeling of that mixed with my cock drunk state feels like I'm high. I see stars, my pussy suddenly ten times more sensitive. His other hand that is prodding at my clit is rubbing it so perfectly, and all of these sensations combined are going to tip me over the edge, and soon.

He takes his hand off my neck briefly to give me a break, and I use that opportunity to mindlessly babble. "Papa, fuck me! I'm so close, please don't stop! Fucking choke me out while I cum, please Terzo!" I wail, my head thrown back against the pillows, tantalizing neck in full view for him. I hear him groan, loud and obscene, clearly close himself, those wild buckings clearly not doing him any favors for lasting long.

"Yeah, cara mia? You're going to cum on my cock? Let go for me, beautiful. Give me your sweet nectar." He lets out a throaty moan, eyes rolling back like he was being possessed. With the way he was fucking me, I wouldn't be surprised if he was, body taken over by some sort of Incubus.

It happens - I cum, hard, a rush of pleasure crashing down on me, trembling uncontrollably, tears even escaping my eyes from the intensity. It left me breathless, knuckles turning white as I clutched onto his clothing for dear life. All while this was happening, his hand returned to my neck, squeezing as hard as he could without hurting me, ripping away my oxygen and my life line, only amplifying the feel of the orgasm.

He follows about a minute after, spilling himself into the condom he was wearing, ropes shooting so far and fast he almost feared the condom had broke. But as he pulled out, and saw it was still intact, he let out a sigh of relief and tossed it in the trash.

"You're beautiful like this, you know?" He murmured, pressing gentle kisses all over my face, my eyes just barely open, completely fucked out and brain dead. His eyes that were once dark with desire, were now full of love and adoration. "In the glow of your orgasm... this might be my favorite state to see you in." He admits.

"Oh yeah?" I slur, half asleep and barely retaining anything he said. He chuckles against my moist skin, pulling away and suddenly scooping me up in a bridal hold. I yelp. That woke me up real quick.

"Don't fall asleep on me now, amore." He gets out of bed, walking with me to the bathroom. "We gotta get you all cleaned up, don't we? Let's run you a nice warm bath while I get this robe down to the cleaners." As the water runs, he laughs softly at something on his mind.

"What?" I inquire sleepily. He shakes his head.

"Nothing. Just that Sister Imperator is going to be so pissed when she finds out I soiled these robes right after getting them." He snorts.

"Worth it, though?"

"Oh, fuck yeah. Worth it."

-

[simplegenius042]

Music Monday, Last Line/s & What's the Colour Palette of Your Name?

Tagged by @aceghosts @titiagls @imogenkol @raresvtm and @strafethesesinners

Tagging @inafieldofdaisies @icecutioner @derelictheretic @shallow-gravy @softtidesworld @socially-awkward-skeleton @josephseedismyfather @voidika @direwombat @strangefable @rhettsabbott @josephslittledeputy @cloudofbutterflies92 @skoll-sun-eater @cassietrn @carlosoliveiraa @adelaidedrubman @g0dspeeed @wrathfulrook @afarcryfrommymain @turbo-virgins @shellibisshe @deputy-morgan-malone @starsandskies @ladyoriza @la-grosse-patate @florbelles @sleepyconfusedpotato @minilev @yokobai @thewanderer-000 @omen-speaker @justasmolbard @alypink @thesingularityseries and @nightwingshero + anyone else who wants to join. Taglist here.

Late Music Monday for The UnTitledverse, specifically for the last three chapters of my A Blast In The Past WIP, and a Last Line for WIPs for The Silver Chronicles and Life, Despair & Monsters and a colour palette results for my username. Colour Palette can be found here. Anyway, you can find these below the cut:

Chapter 3 of my A Blast In The Past WIP, called "Absolutely Anything" continues with Calvin being denied his POV, and the Narrator continuing to slander his name, in spite of Calvin's actions. Also more introduction to allies and enemies, as well as Calvin being desperate to just... leave. Hence the chapter's title. Sure his actions are warped by the Narrator to seem more incompetent/selfish than he actually is, but yeah. Not only is Calvin's character twisted by the Narrator's words, it's also literally everyone else, but Calvin gets the Narrator's hate boner the most.

"I used to be so beautiful, now look at me My actions are undutiful, it's clear to see Come on and step out of that cage There's a new chapter, turn the page I'll take my place up on the stage All eyes on me!"

"I can hear you calling Calling up to me I'm falling down, I'm falling Won't you set me free?

I'll do anything, anything Anything that you need me to do Absolutely anything for you I will be aware of the ink, swim or sink Watching out for anything out of the blue But this nightmare's coming true What have I got myself into?"

"Have you ever wondered what heaven is like? I like to dream that it is quite beautiful A soft valley of green grass blanketed by a warm sun I don't think I'll ever get to see it Are you ready to ascend, my little errand boy? The heavens are waiting."

"You'll do anything, anything Anything that I ask you to do But you don't have a clue 'Cause I can guarantee, guarantee That demon's always after me and you But this nightmare is coming true Look what you've got yourself into."

Chapter 4's the darkest chapter, hence given the name "Art Of Darkness". Calvin's got his hands full with subtracting the number of foes he's got to deal with, meanwhile being psychologically tormented by the Narrator and the environment around that's sole purpose is to beat the shit out of him. Calvin gets closer to finding his exit... or at least, what the Narrator states is a lead.

"So sing along to the bouncing ball Wave your flag and renounce these halls You may have been sacked from this pantomime But a pal of mine wants you recalled

So march along to the count of four Astound at the scoundrel crowd you've drawn Left stranded and damned to this mangled form To abandon us here was an act of war."

"It's laughable to think you'll bring back the norm." "We've ink, but no malpractice forms." ""But Henry! You never gave a crap before?" 'Til we trapped you down 'neath the factory floor."

"Clap along to the rapturous score Three rounds down and back for more To find the keys in chapter four." "Remind me, where've you heard that before?"

"If you thought that demons were your problem right now Well, the angel's on the stage so pipe down If there are secrets that you want to find out Hop on the ink machine and ride those pipes down

So you're on the path of the starving artist But at the heart, well the art is heartless Ever seen a masterpiece get discarded? Start and depart for the art of darkness."

Chapter Five "Clearer" marks the finale of A Blast In The Past, the culmination of Calvin's journey and the mystery of his circumstances being revealed with the help of two intruders who the Narrator doesn't want anywhere near his playground. For Calvin, everything becomes... "clearer" in a way.

"Wake up in the wrong place at the wrong time Got to run away, no way out Thought I had new friends, new allies, but they won't let me escape

I pray that we make it out alive

I see the writing on the wall again Breaking out of here Everything's clearer We haven't even reached the end, but we make our own way And we are not gonna stay

Almost took all our blood, sweat, and tears to take down all our fears We're brave, but I pray that we make it out alive

I see the writing on the wall again Breaking out of here Everything's clearer We haven't even reached the end, but we make our own way

I have conquered demons of every kind But I wish that we could rewind all the years Power and justice, it was everything he wanted But despite it all, he could never find what he was looking for Now here we are at the end

I see the writing on the wall again Breaking out of here Everything's clearer We haven't even reached the end, but we make our own way And we are not gonna stay-ay-ay-ay

We'll never stay We will escape."

You can find the Last Line/s for The Silver Chronicles and Life, Despair & Monsters below.

Still got my Coroner!Silva AU WIP No Snake, Only A Boa In The Garden from The Silver Chronicles. Anyway, have some Faith Seed POV as she falls for Coroner!Silva and falls hard (not that she already wasn't in an earlier scene where Silva charmed her with her strange hyper-fixations on the science behind corpses):

Faith wasn't sure if her words were making any sense to Silva. Botany was vastly different from forensic science. It'd help to prepare the coroner for when she eventually joined their family, especially as "the Mother" like Joseph had proclaimed. As she continued to speak, she took a chance to glance at her bench mate.

The first thing Faith noticed was Silva's eyes. Usually they were a dulled grey, without a light of life in them. There seemed to be a glow in the rings of her irises; a burning intensity, like molten silver. She held a dedicated gaze, absorbing and absorbed by every word that spilled from Faith's mouth, even as she began to slow and falter in her observation. The acute stare was different from Joseph's; his held a power that felt like he was judging a person's soul. Silva's though held no judgemental scrutiny; only a warm admiration that passed over her soul like an embrace. It almost felt like Silva was actually hearing every word Faith blurted out of her lips.

Faith swears she's seen this look before, or something close to it. Yes, right, Nadi. This expression was a similar kind she noticed on Nadi whenever John was around or even mentioned, which was often. Faith had often shaken her head at the Sinclair women's transitioned from a "dutiful bodyguard" to a "lovesick puppy" the moment John entered the frame; something Faith would combat with a teasing smile and an eye roll at the silly display, always finding herself satisfied that such antics would never happen with her, that level of attention unnecessary compared to the Father's approval.

And yet, Faith found herself breathless and unfairly unprepared in the face of the level of attention Silva's given her. Though she recognized just how contrasting the coroner's was from Nadi's own. The sharpshooter's was rooted in a kind of inexperienced love; a childish crush really, an envisioned idolized image Nadi built around the few virtues John displays, ignoring the glaring flaws John has. But Silva's gaze was more grounded, a reserved devotion almost saved for Faith; a maturity and experience Faith often laments not being given a chance to have herself. Just as she listened to Faith, it felt as if Silva was seeing Faith as well. Not as the Siren. Not as a herald. Not even as Rachel. Just... her. Just as she is now.

By now, Faith had ceased talking, just entrapped in the eyes of the woman next to her. Heart pounding, a red flushing on her face as she managed to ask Silva with a wavering smile, "Why are you staring at me like that?"

The Sheriff's coroner leaned against the support of her arm, gloved knuckles against under her cheek. Faith noticed her lips were slightly ajar, glistened with a natural shine as Silva seemed to think of an answer. She observed as Silva's expression shifted, displaying a coy smirk that was almost sly of amorous. The ridiculous thought caused her heart to flutter as anticipation coiled in her innards. Silva shuffled and leaned a shy bit closer to Faith, the recipient trying to swallow her nerves at the change of atmosphere, awaiting Silva's answer.

And here's a Last Line Tag for my Sonya's Push WIP from my Life, Despair & Monsters series. Enjoy the little snippet of one of the most toxic w|w couples I've made thus far:

A steam of hot air blew pass the clenched jaw of the mechanical Beastie, its optic shining a red hue onto her flesh. Jennifer sucked in a breath and shuddered as the heat stung her exposed shoulders. The Apex, Sonya, whatever name Malvolio's Beastie crowned itself with, hadn't immediately given her an answer. She tried to struggle against the tail's curled hold around her legs, waist, and arms.

Just like last time, she only succeeded in causing the tail to coil tighter, effectively pinning her hands to her tattered and dirty golden dress. The fear of her body's circulation being cut off suddenly occurred, so she ceased the struggle, hoping to gain the Apex's favour as it inspected her from the ground, circling as the panic and fear rumbled in her stomach. Jennifer was unsure what fate awaited her. She hoped her words made an effort in appealing to whatever human desire remained in the Beastie, but if she were to die, she'd wish it to be quicker than what Dicko received.

Anyway here's the results for the colour palette name game:

Nice to see I got some blues and purples and even a bit of greys. I can live with the reds and the darker/paler colours I guess but what's that lone random greenish-blue doing there, poor sod.

[d-rxse]

So I know @m0ngrxl told you I'm attempting a mafia romance...this isn't persè the Queer aspect but it is a one shot of one of the couples in the series. Don't hesitate to give creative criticism!

______________________

Klaus' POV

I wonder if she's already asleep, I thought to myself as I ascended the stairs to my...our bedroom. It was our bedroom now. She would share my name and bed from now on. The thought scared me, the thought of how quickly I had to adjust to our situation. How we could not fall for each other under regular circumstances. I couldn't woo her with fancy dates or a view of my favorite spots in London. No instead we-I fell for her under our current circumstances. The one in which she is the mother of my child. A daunting circumstance but one we would have to learn how to work with.

When I arrived at the door to our room it was slightly open, but enough for me to notice the lamp on the bedside table was still on. Typical forgetful Dwyn. She was probably reading and fell asleep. I could just imagine the scene I most probably am about to walk into. A sleeping beauty with her hair sprawled around her like a halo, and the book laying on her chest where it would've fallen. I smiled to myself, opening the door trying not to make too much of a noise, but to my surprise there she sat on the bed, her back facing the door and obstructing me from seeing her beautiful face.

"Dwyn?" I called out, confused as to why she wasn't asleep, I mean it was already past twelve. "Farfallina, I'm home!" I called again and this time she turned towards me. And to my surprise and shock she was crying. Tears ran down her face like a never-ending stream and all I could do was stand in my spot frozen. I couldn't move. How was I meant to comfort her? Did she get hurt? Is she lacking something? "Farfallina," I whispered again.

This time she looked up at me from her spot on the bed, yet the way her eyes glistened didn't make me feel any calmer. I wish I could decipher her emotions right now. Find the source of her pain and remedy it, but I couldn't. I didn't know how. Instead, I stood there, and eventually after I had composed my thoughts and myself, I asked her, "What is wrong my love?" She stared at me a while after the question. I could feel my heart hammering in my chest even though my posture said otherwise. Every passing second, she stared at me I grew more nervous.

After what seemed like an eternity, she took a shaky breath easing some of the tense silence in the room. I looked at her in anticipation waiting for her to speak. More time began to pass, I noticed her hand clenching onto the bedding, and this time it wasn't due to pleasure but rather pain.

"Am I trapping you?" She asked her voice was straining, almost as if it was painful for her to utter those words. "What?" Shock now consuming me worse than when I saw sorrow plague her, she could never trap me, never, not in my wildest dreams would she be my captor. No. I should rather ask her that question. "Klaus," she began taking another breath in to most probably stop her tears and even out her voice. "We both know you have some of the most beautiful women at your beck and call. You certainly would never settle for someone as simple as me." She paused her grip on the bedding now tightening even more and her other hand moving to the baby bump, caressing it, how could she think that? That she is too simple for me, I should be lucky to even have her in my life.

"If you feel you are obligated to take care of me just because I am carrying your child, I want you to know that you aren't. I'll talk to Toby, he has to have calmed down enough by now, and once I do, we can decide whether you pay child support and see your baby on occasion or vice versa. I don't want to stop you from falling in love with the perfect woman." She spoke, now staring at the bump, where she was carrying my-our child. The result of our passion, the result of the love I have for her. Every word she uttered felt like a stab wound to my heart, I would not allow her to walk away from me.

I walked towards her, forgetting how I wasn't good with words, because she didn't need my words, she needed my comfort, my affirmation that she was not in fact trapping me. I sat next to her, taking her small, soft hands in one of my big ones. My other hand caressing her cheek, wiping away stray tears that she let fall. God was she the most beautiful woman I have seen in my life. "Farfallina," I whispered, "don't you ever think you or our baby are a trap, you both are far from it. God, darling if you only knew how much you mean to me, it is something not even my words can describe." It was true. My love and care for her was far more than just a few inferior words it was more than an action could describe but it was what I knew best. I tipped her chin up towards me and brought her soft lips to mine, making sure to pour all my love into it.

It was a soft, slow kiss, different to our previous kisses, a far more intimate gesture I had never given to any other woman, but Dwyn, this amazing woman, the mother of my child, this smart woman, she brought out this side to me, and I hope that this simple kiss can express that. After what felt like the shortest eternity I lived she pulled away, her shaky breaths now turned breathless. "Farfallina, never think any other woman is deserving of my care, it is you and only you, okay?" I spoke, and she nodded and this time she smiled, I could tell that relief flooded her, as her shoulders relaxed, and she leant her forehead on my shoulder, my hand stroking her back. This woman would be the death of me.

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Hi! Hope you're well. I had an idea for you: what about a Charles Dickens "Christmas Carol" AU? With maybe Astarion as Scrooge and Evie as Cratchitt? Or a caroling orphan?

Okay, this is tricky because there are so many different ways you can go with this. I'm just gonna break down the two that came to mind. One being more in keeping with Dickens and one playing more fast and loose, simply holding onto the whole past, present and future thing.

Astarion x Evie (Ace!Tav) Masterlist

Ghost of Past, Present and Future with Ascending Astarion

Cazador is defeated and Astarion is able to convince Evie/Tav to help him Ascend; he is holding the staff in his hand, but before he can begin the ritual he is surrounded by three spirits of the past, present and future

All of the vision happen within a fraction of a second before he starts to ritual

The spirit of the past shows the pain of his past, the faces of all those he doomed and who he will now destroy for his own gain, possibly even show him Cazador's past on how he became a vampire and the torture his master inflicted on him

It doesn't excuse Cazador's actions, emphasizing the cycle of abuse and Astarion's part in it if he goes forward with this

The spirit of the present shows him Evie/Tav, how afraid she truly is and how helping him wasn't out of love, but fear, fear he too is acting upon

Emphasizes Evie/Tav's POV on the whole situation and how afraid they are of losing him and how much they love him for who his is now

The spirit of the future then shows him his Ascended form a full century in the future

He has everything, wealth, power, a command over armies and a city that fears him

He can walk in the sun and transform into mist, he can see himself in a mirror and feast to his heart's content

But then he realizes, he can't find Evie/Tav any where

The spirit leads him through the palace, he can smell blood and sees how the servants cower even when alone

He's led up a tower he doesn't recognize, higher than any in the palace and enforced with impenetrable stone

A single door greets him, one the spirit gestures him to pass through

It opens to a room, ornate in decoration and illuminated in candle light; all the windows are shuttered closed and locked so not a hint of sunlight can get through

In the center of the room he finds Evie/Tav sitting on the edge of a large four poster bed

They're dressed in the finest silks and jewelry, their skin a pale, but flawless, and they sit as still as a statue

His stomach twists at the sight, there is no life behind their eyes just a blank stare forever forward

He reaches out to touch her, but his hands passes through her like air

It's then the door unlocks and Astarion gets to see himself fully for the first time

Ascended Astarion greets Evie/Tav and Evie/Tav slips on a smile that Astarion can see doesn't meet her eyes

Astarion watches himself speak with Evie/Tav and feels the need to tear his reflect's hand away from her

It's not so much what he says, as how he says it; there is an ownership to his tone and touch Astarion recognizes, he knows his future self doesn't really love Evie/Tav, how could he love somebody he sees as an object

And then there's Evie/Tav; they're afraid, they're so clearly afraid, but they're too broken to leave

They barely speak, their voice hoarse from disuse, a far cry from the smooth tones that brought him so much joy and comfort

He never considered himself the hero type, he wasn't the one to rescue the princess in the tower, but seeing this, he thinks he might

He wants to deny it, he would never treat his love this way, he just wanted to keep them safe, both of them, but isn't that what his reflection is doing?

Locks on the windows to keep the sunlight from accidentally burning them, a high tower as opposed to a basement so when the night comes they can see the sky, no threat from enemies coming to take them away or kill them in revenge, no lecherous eyes to pluck out while still providing them luxury and comfort

His stomach turns as he realizes just how easily he could let this happen

He's brought back into his body and at the last second throws the staff away

Cazador mocks him for being too weak to take the power when it was right in the palm of his hand

Astarion counters that he is more than what Cazador made him and kills the man, ending the ritual before it could really begin

Evie/Tav is by his side the next moment and he weeps

He later tells them of his vision, of what he saw their future being

Evie/Tav confesses that they acted out of fear as well and they don't want their future to be dictated by it either

They're both looking ahead assured and braver than before

A Christmas Carol AU

This one is more in keeping with Dickens so no Cazador, Astarion is just a standard lazy magistrate who got the position through nepotism and is just relaxing in a relatively cushy government potion

Evie/Tav is still a bard and one day brought in to whatever the Baldur's Gate equivalent is to small claims court over some petty thievery

Astarion finds her guilty without really looking at the case, causing her to have to pay a fine she does not have the money for

Later Astarion sees her again and, feeling a rare moment of remorse, offers for Evie/Tav to play for him and some of the other elites of Baldur's Gate at a holiday party the next day

Evie/Tav cannot believe the audacity of this man "offering" her a job to pay off the debt he inflicted on her

She then throws it all back in his face telling him she's not going to be his little side project to temporarily sooth his guilty conscious only to undoubtedly throw her away the second he gets bored, so fuck off

They part ways and Astarion is effected by her words more than he cares to admit

Then, that night, he's visited by the spirits of past, present and future

His past would obviously contain a lot less torture in this version, but I maintain my head-canon that his parents aren't alive at this point, or at least so distant from him he doesn't have much of a relationship with them

His childhood would consist of a lot of lonely days that taught him that money and influence was the only way to maintain love and affection

I'd also include Sebastian as the Belle in this backstory; he and Astarion were in love, but Astarion's pettiness and ambition in maintaining his position eventually drove them apart

The present would show the next day where the holiday celebrations are under way

Astarion gets good look at his own party and sees it for the hollow thing that it is; a bunch of lazy bureaucrats and their minor petty rivalries

We still gotta give him a Bob Cratchitt, so we get a loot an his secretary and how their life is affected by Astarion's banal cruelties

Maybe Rolan? I don't think any of the party members would fit this very well

Either way, keeping those same lessons

He then gets unexpectedly taken to the lower city where Evie/Tav is playing at a local tavern

She's good, very good if he's being honest surrounded by a comradery he can't say he's ever felt before

Evie/Tav talks about the verdict to a friend and is unsure how she's going to get the money

Her friends assure her she doesn't have to worry about that now, something will come up, it always does, besides it's the holidays, extra performance and extra cash, they'll be loaded in no time

The future is a little trickier since being and elf he can't die, so ending up dead and utterly alone I don't think would work

I think he would have to find himself stuck in the same place, still alone, still with nothing truly his own and surrounded by people who would be just as happy to see him leave as to see him stay

I think then he'd have to be taken a tour of all the lives he did effect, the people not in his circle yet he still dictated the lives of and see what petty misery he spread for no good reason before finally landing on Evie/Tav

They're in debt, having had to go to the thieves guild for the money in the end

Instead of being the great musician Astarion saw they clearly could be, they're just as stuck as he is just older and working themselves to the bone just to keep their head above water

As tempting as it is to put the blame on Evie/Tav for not taking him up on his offer, he knows it's a poor excuse, he would have done exactly as they said and toss them aside and he had done so many other times

He then wakes up the next day with a new perspective and goes about making things right and trying to be a kinder, more empathetic person

[majycka]

Hello op! I am one of those people who actually like Utahime as characters, my initial reason was her character design and name (I still think she has the best design among the female cast in jjk, maki and yuki aside). Her CT made me love her more, cause that differentiates her from other jujutsu sorcerers, where selfishness and greed is required to become ones absolute best self, Utahime’s CT does the opposite though, she as a human and also by the virtue of her CT can never really be selfish in a way. She literally powers up others (and herself), and her major strength lies in connections (again completely different from what is expected of sorcerers). If we break down her CT, she is the strongest version of herself (since her CT also powers herself) when she is with others helping them to be even stronger, almost exactly opposite of what gojo, the pinnacle of what jujutsu society represents.

I am also someone whose perception of her don't align with that of her majority fandom, I think you are one of those people, too. I would love to know your thoughts on how you personally perceive her and why your point of view is different. Cause there are times I wanna discuss something about her with my irl mutual, but then again, it never goes well. They are too deep in fanon stuff. I am someone who generally likes to keep my headcanon toned down and mostly stick to canon. I really wanted a pov of someone who actually likes her but also respects canon quite equally.

I honestly would have loved to see her more. This is not even something i am saying a fan, but even as a minor character, what she represents is just so different from everything we have been told (even her students defy that).

I hope I didn't bother you a lot with my ramblings 🙏

Nah you're all good anon! I love it when I get to ramble with other ppl about my faves and I wholeheartedly agree with your sentiments of Utahime! I'll proceed to just dump all my thoughts about her as well and discuss what fandom thinks of her from what I've seen.

One thing that I've picked up from fanon of view of Utahime (in some of the fics I've read) is she's SOLELY this strict teacher all about respecting tradition/authority when it's not and it reduces her to that "respect your seniors!" dialogue. In fact, I can even argue that Gojo represents more of JJK traditional view in valuing individual strength even how much he says he's being progressive. His view of dividing people between strength vs weak screams kinda the same as those traditional clans valuing cursed techniques above anything else. Meanwhile, Utahime's value of teamwork challenges this traditional view of individual strength when like Gojo said, the pinnacle of jujutsu, all sorcerers die alone even how much allies you have 'cause the jjk world is an individual sport.

But let's break down this a bit and see what Gojo mean by jjk being an individual sport. We have seen so far that people who usually ascend the ranks are pretty selfish. Mei Mei who cites herself having a pretty weak technique, optimized her CT by using her brother. Kusakabe who doesn't have a proper CT was able to be a grade one rank because he, at the beginning of the Shibuya arc, wants to save his own skin and would rather stay behind in fighting (but dude later on helped in pulling out the kyoto kids from the Kenjaku attack, still dude can be selfish). The big clan families will kill each other over cursed techniques. Gojo himself advised Megumi to be more selfish and greedy in power when they were training together. Of course, there are outliers such as a strong sorcerers like Nanami, who cares for children, but boom ended up getting killed right at the very end while Mei Mei was able to go to her Malaysia trip. It paints this image that selfishness is a needed trait to survive the jujutsu world and rise to power.

However by Utahime promoting teamwork shown through her kids, teamwork can give up the idea of selfishness because we learn when to trust others and work together for a common goal. It can save people especially in a world where being "weak" is a disadvantage. An excellent example of teamwork from Kyoto Tech is shown through that one scene in jjk 0 how each kid has a role in their group attacks which optimizes their cursed technique no matter how VARIED their ranks/skills are. Momo usually surveys the area, communicates to others, and is like the oversees everything in a big picture. Kamo acts as the leader, looks out for everyone and keeps them in task. Mai is the long range shooter and can back people up. Mechamaru constantly backs others up like Miwa. Meanwhile, of course, there's our fun outlier, Todo.

But the funny thing is despite Todo usually going off his own, breaking the "yay teamwork!" streak of Kyoto tech, his character brings up another essential point about teamwork: connecting with others. If it weren't for Todo showing up in helping Yuuji against Mahito, then Yuuji wouldn't be able to defeat him right after seeing Nobara blown up. Todo works best/fights best with his besto friendo. Todo is the same dude who said being sorcerers means always honoring their allies/friends because they keep us going. It's still very much in line in the spirit of Kyoto kids' teamwork and also their connection with others. Muta and Miwa. Mai and Maki. Momo and her bond with Mai and Miwa. Kamo and his mom. There's also their teacher Utahime who is close friends with Shoko, and she probably influenced these kids to get along with each other and foster that teamwork skills (you know like the MANY MAANNNYYY times Uta keeps on saying that the kyoto-tokyo kids should get along during the goodwill event). I'm not saying Tokyo kids can't get along, but it's not as the same degree as Kyoto's. I think what Kyoto's dynamic different is how they can be vulnerable with others and open about their problems/feelings which helps in these kids growing closer. For example, Momo is well aware of Mai's situation and will defend her. Miwa, who's well aware that growing closer will only end up hurting them because of the inevitable death in jjk, still chose to connect with her peers, and that lead to Muta even falling in love with her. For Tokyo, let's take an example of how the first years reacted to Yuuji's "death." Both Megumi and Nobara definitely tried hard to keep that stoic front. Nobara said how she can't cry on some guy she just knew for a few months when in fact Nobara is clearly affected. In the earlier arcs, Megumi and Yuuji were keeping secrets from each other about the whole "eating the Sukuna finger actually made things worse by awakening other fingers and kills more people everyday." The second years became close because of Yuta's nature who constantly reach out to everyone and not under Gojo's influence.

Moreover, I don't think I've seen this much group cohesion like Kyoto’s compared to Tokyo because it stuck to me how in Shibuya arc, the Tokyo kids are just constantly going off their own to prove their strength like Maki and Nobara which yes is a bit understandable cuz these kids are strong, but would it be so much stronger if they work together? But Gojo, their teacher, has established that he does not really advocate teamwork (even if he did for other’s help like Nanami and Utahime, he still ended up doing things alone). If Gojo's students are all strong individually because he's very particular in choosing his kids(aka choosing them for their potential/strength), then Utahime's student's are weak individually HOWEVER more stronger as a group. No wonder she is adored by everyone. No wonder that when Miwa was at her lowest during Muta's death, Kyoto tech was there for her.

However, there are times too when Utahime is carried away by the system and her students fell victims to it too(like the time she didn't know her student were targeting Yuuji, how Mai and Muta died in cruel way) because as the opposite of Gojo, she isn't traditionally strong who has the power to defy authority. She's more subtle about it because she works around the system (shown in investigating that haunted mansion from gojo's past arc and working to find the mole within the ranks and students) and doesn't easily power through them like how Gojo destroyed the mansion and can do whatever he wants cuz of his "strongest" title. That's why Gojo asked her help because she could investigate within the system and he couldn't do something like that when he's all about being loud and throwing around his weight. There are pros/con to her subtle nature, but since the JJK world favors the strong, then she gets stuff unchecked. So, NO, I don't think she's all that "strictly respect traditions/authority" type of person. She just knows how to play politics especially in a world where they will hammer down who is weak against the system, and yet, despite that, she's able to influence her kids to do something that sorcerers struggle with.

This is why her CT is beautiful too because literally and thematically anyone who gets into her "zone" will be strengthened by her. I've seen complaints about Utahime's CT in being merely a support/buffer type. Some people had been expecting that it could be something powerful and not just buffing people up. I’m guessing that its the girlboss belief that fans can latch onto. I mean most of the jjk girls are tough as nails that the fans like which yes is understandable! But I’ve seen this happen way too many time in shonen spaces where at times the considered “weak” or "support-type" fem characters are easily non favorable for fans. I think such thing doesn’t help people actually analyze the text and for me, if such character is written well then I’m 100% in (like c’mon, Miwa’s a “weak” character and yet she’s compelling not just her fun personality, but how she struggles with grief and a world where she gets her ass kicked for being weak). As for Utahime’s case, I love it! Because the whole point of the cursed techniques is it reflects a lot like of its user’s psyche and the series establishes that Utahime values teamwork and her connections with others which is anomaly in the jjk world, and it makes her CT badass in that way. That’s why it’s no wonder she’s a natural in supporting others! It 👏makes 👏sense👏!

My next fanon and canon comparison is more within the gjhm fandom which will be a bit controversial. Like I'm a gjhm shipper myself but there are times I have some issues in how they deal with Utahime. I think at times Utahime's spunk gets taken away just so she could coddle Gojo and easily ship them together fast. Like yall Utahime actually has some genuine reasons why she hates him not just 'cause of his annoying ass but cuz of his "weak" mockery to her. And I find it very much so amazing that Utahime's doesn't take his shit and will retaliate. I think it's Utahime wanting Gojo to be accountable on shit he does (like dang man this dude been getting away from shit) 'cause Gojo does perceive people in the traditional fashion of strong vs weak lenses. I keep on saying strong vs weak lenses because how Gojo nitpicks people he wants to "save" and that's usually people with "potential." Is it altogether bad wanting kids/students that have the drive to be stronger? Well, not exactly, no but when he started spouting how he wants to raise a generation way better than the higher ups, then why doesn't he include ALL of generation whether the kids start of strong or weak. Why didn't he pull out both Maki AND Mai from their Zenin situation? Don't give me the bullshit of "I can't save everyone who doesn't want to be saved" because especially if this is kids put in a dangerous environment, then it would be the job of adults to be responsible for them.

This is where the comparison of Utahime can show up again. Even how much different her kids are, personality and sorcery skill wise (llike Mai, Momo's fiery personalities way different from Miwa's, Kyoto being quite annoyed by Kamo's leader attitude), they obviously still make their group attacks work whether one is disadvantage in some skill or not. Utahime again and again is shown to care for her students whether not they're strong or weak. She prioritize their safety when that attack from goodwill arc showed up, and she went to the frontlines during the Kyoto-Kenjaku attack back in Shibuya.

I think, just personally, the fanon of Utahime coddling Gojo is ain't it for me when in many ways, Utahime can point out the flaws of Gojo's teaching that he needs. I'm not saying Utahime doesn't have her flaws either because she's weak to a whole system against her and there are times she couldn't be there for her students.

But yeah, that's about it for my Utahime thoughts and fanon discussion. Anon, if you have any fanon interpretation that you've encounter or more Utahime thoughts and wanna share then please feel free to drop an ask! ;)

[gemini-magic17]

Entanglement Chapter Nineteen

It may have been only a week before Ser Easton arrived, but those were some of my life's loneliest days. Even though I had Calyx and the others I still longed for any kind of human interaction. The sound of the waves crashing amongst the rocks by the shore was soothing. It was so soothing that it put Calyx into a relaxed state as he laid his head on my lap.

From the stories I have heard and read about dragons on would think that they are just ferocious as well as destructive. Though from what I've seen they are just misunderstood and don't want to hurt anyone. Dragons may breathe fire and with that people see the harm and damage they could do. Yet, those rulers bound themselves to dragons by blood using magic. A dragon is not a tool or some kind of weapon that should be used for mass destruction against their will. Breaking me out of the rabbit hole my mind was going down I heard Ser Easton's footsteps approaching.

"If someone told me a couple of weeks ago that I would come face to face with a real-life dragon I wouldn't believe them", he said and I turned my head around to face him with a smile.

"I would have said the same thing", at that statement Calyx moved his head off my lap and started to ascend toward the skies. I got up from my current position and walked to him.

"How are you doing today", he asked.

"As good as one can be doing. Am I going to continue to feel like absolute shit about what I did", I asked.

"Don't worry about that. The feeling that you have right now is going to go away with time", he reassured me. I nodded my head and we made our way to the castle.

As we walked that way we stumbled across the golden-colored dragon I had met the day I arrived. The rest of the dragons that take up residence in Dristarya were all used in the Great War. Yet, when it comes to her she wasn't in any of the books. I mean there was no mention of her or a dragon with the same characteristics.

"Still haven't figured out where she came from have you", he questioned.

"No, and I'm starting to wonder if she was even used in the war. There is no mention of her in the books that I have read so far and nothing believes me to think that she was ever involved", I stated.

"Well if that's the case, where did she come from", he asked.

"I have no idea but if I had to guess I would say right here. She must have been hiding in those caves under the castle during that time. Thats the only logical thing I can think of", I said as I turned to look at her.

"That so then she doesn't have a name."

"Your right", I said and looked closely at her sleeping form.

"What are you going to name her then", he asked and it took me a minute before I could come up with the perfect name for her.

"Kylora. Her name will be Kylora."

"Kylora, it is a beautiful name. A beautiful name for a gorgeous dragon", he said with a smile. I returned his smile and we continued our path. We almost reached the castle doors when I stopped in my tracks and along with Ser Easton.

"Princess, what's wrong", he asked looking at me.

"I wanted to know if you would train me again", as I said those words his face of worry turned into one happiness.

"I thought you never ask. I have been waiting for this day to come but I have to ask are you sure you want to get back into this", he asked.

"I'm sure. What happened between my brother and I was a long time ago. My mother is not here to stop me from stopping me from doing something that I love. I know she just wanted to make sure this would never happen again but stopping this together was something she shouldn't have done", I said, and with that Ser Easton made his way inside to grab the swords while I waited outside.

**Ser Easton's POV

Grabbing the swords and making my way back to Y/n mulling over what she had asked of me brought joy. To know that she was ready to train again and that the fear she harbored about this had dissipated. As soon as I reached her I handed her a sword and we then made our descent to the clearing close to the beach.

"I want to ask you one more time before we continue. Are you sure you want to do this", I questioned and at that, she answered with a sly smile. Instead of answering the question she swung her sword at me almost making a slash on my chest as I stepped back.

"You were supposed to wait before I announced the beginning of training."

"You said so yourself when I was growing up that attacks come out of anywhere and your opponent won't wait until you are ready to do so", she said and ducked as my sword came close to the top of her head.

Y/n all of my attacks up until now as I tripped her and she landed on her side dropping her weapon. From what I can recall she still fights the same as she did growing up. However, something small has changed and it was the fire she held in her eyes as she delivered blow by blow.

"Not bad for someone who hasn't trained in over four years would you say", she laughed out of breathe as she laid on the ground.

"You are still somewhat rusty but you fight with such drive it is remarkable from what I have seen then as what I see now", I said extending my hand to her. She took my hand and as I helped her up the smile that came on her face was genuine.

"I guess you could say that recent developments have brought out that drive in me."

"No, it has always been there. It was just now that it decided to be relinquished."

**Kit's POV

The past few days have been hell! A storm had come the fourth day we were on the ship which almost caused it to sink. Boorman has been seasick this whole time which pisses me off. The constant sounds of him heaving and throwing up make me want to throw him overboard. Then of course there is Amara and the bitchness that she throws my way this entire time has been nonstop since we left Tir Asleen. Speak of the devil here she comes with the loud thuds of her boots across the deck.

"What do you want Amara", I said not looking at her.

"I just wanted to let you know what the captain has informed that in less than two days we will be in Dristarya", she said.

"Alright. If that's all go away your giving me a migraine", I said annoyed.

"You know what Kit I hope we do find Y/n not only to bring her home safe and sound. Bringing her home means that we will find out the reason she ran and I'm betting you are that reason. If so then I can't wait to see what her family is going to do to you, especially King Aiden", she said smirking then proceeded to walk towards the ships compartments.

What she had said rang in my head over and over again. I knew deep down that she was right about the fact I was the reason that Y/n left. I just don't understand why she did it after the wedding and not before. It would have made things easier for her she could have gone without any attachment to me. Instead, she waited and part of me couldn't help but think that she saw Jade and I in the armor. I'm just overthinking things she couldn't have seen the kiss that happened between Jade and I, right?

[thecameronchronicles]

Mrs Clause

TW: Smut. Language. Semi-public sex. 

SUMMARY: A specific outfit makes JJ act out during the holidays. Fic written from his POV.

WORD COUNT: 1400

REQUESTED

Anonymous asked:

Xmas request 🎄 reader dressing up as (slutty)mrs claus for JJ as a joke but he gets really turned on

Mrs Clause

JJs POV

I hated Christmas for all the reasons she loved it. Family. Gifts. Both luxuries I never knew as the means for enjoyment. And even in her attempts to make our first Christmas together festive and joyous, all I wanted was for it to be over. Decorating the tree only reminded me of how I couldn't afford the gifts she deserved to have beneath it. It was a consistent contrast in my decision to fall for a Kook. And yet, if I was entirely honest with myself, I didn't have much of a choice. Much like the circumstances we were both born into in vast contradiction, I was destined to be indebted to get sensuality as she seemed to pity me long enough to entertain the idea of a life with me. But there had been one detail I was well aware nobody prior to me had shown her and this was that I would never take her for granted. 

"Are you ready?" She called from the bathroom door of her bedroom as she had been in wait for what felt like an eternity. Playing with the fringe of a pillow as gaudy as it was comfortable, my eyes lifted to find her in an unfair ensemble. 

"Does THIS change your mind about Christmas?" She asked as I was far too stunned to speak. Of course, she was always stunning. From the moment she awoke to the second she'd gone to sleep, moments were stolen in silent admiration. But this was something different entierly. 

"If Mrs. Clause would have looked like this when I was younger, I might have behaved more …" She pursed her lips and made the journey to stand between my thighs. My fingers were already quick to rise up her stocking clad skin as I clenched my jaw while ascending higher. The feeling of the faux fur on the edge of her costume did nothing to deter me as a thin skirt traced my knuckles. 

"I prefer it when you don't …" She spoke seductively, leaning close enough to smell that pear based perfume I loved in compassion to the coconut shampoo I often ran through her hair in the baths we shared. But in this moment now, I wanted to bend, pull, and ravage her as quickly as possible. 

"If you think that I'm above tearing this thing to shreds with my teeth-" 

"I was actually hoping you'd just fuck me in it, JJ…it's already ruined with how wet I am just thinking of what you'd do to get it off of me." But in the attempt to test if she had been bluffing, a knock came to her bedroom door and a palm wrapped around my mouth. 

"Y-yes?" She stuttered as my fingers made their way beneath the fabric. 

"You weren't joking sweetheart, you're fucking soaked for me…" I spoke as the pleasure I left behind by my touch was enough to warrant her to drop her hand. 

"What?" She asked to her mother's muffled voice. 

"No, I'm not hungry!" She shot back. "Just go without me tonight!"

"But Topper is looking forward to seeing you…" My eyes narrowed to her. 

"Oh really?"

"Shhh-" I took my hand to the back of her neck and forced a second finger to station at rest inside of her. 

"Bet he would never be able to have you make that face…" 

"Please….just wait…"

"Nuh uh, princess. You wanted to wear something like this for this very reaction." I lifted her into a spin until setting her at rest at her back. But I was quick to correct her positioning. 

"Nice girls get to lay on their backs…naughty girls go on their knees…" I groaned into her shoulder as I pulled those thin straps down in disregard before kissing that soft skin. All to incite those little moans. Ones I didn't care who heard as they were well aware I was present. Even if they wished me away, her desire to need me here was enough to ignore their damning glares and incessant need to make their daughter the future Thornton Stepford wife. 

"You're my naughty girl, aren't you, sweetheart?" I questioned with a wide grin as she turned back and nodded. 

"And usually my naughty girl shows me that on her knees, doesn't she?" She shifted to place herself this way, but my swat to her ass kept her in place as she berated me for making our exchange vocal. 

"Should have thought of that before wearing this…" I hovered behind her, my lips over her ear. 

"And you only wear this for me, understand?"

"You mean I can't wear it for Top? He'd love it, I just know it-" I took hold of her jaw and turned her to face me. I didn't care to remove the outfit from her any longer as I had planned to take my time. Instead, it appeared I had to remind her of what her teasing cost her. 

For this, I would pull the fabric of her ensemble to the side before teasing her desperate pussy with my cock. God, I lived to feel her. Nobody else ever felt like her. Nobody else took me as deep or that well. And it was enough to risk the wrath of either of her parents and even the unified Figure Eight as they tried to keep us apart. 

"Fuck-" She gasped as I smirked behind her. 

"My little Santa baby getting fucked in her cute little outfit…the same one I'm gonna make you come in so if you even think of wearing this around anyone else, they'll know I fuck you right." 

"JJ-"

"And in case that isn't enough…" I pulled her to my chest, kissing her lips until they were swollen and she was breathless, lowering to her neck and leaving marks on her skin. 

"Nobody will question it."

"They never do." She breathed with pride, never shameful to announce she was mine. At least not in public. In private, she didn't want to be heard. I guess I couldn't blame her in this instance as it would have been awkward to make eye contact to her calling me daddy as her biological one had learned how his little girl liked getting fucked just a few meters from his own room. And a part of me was thrilled by it. That same part rushing into her as she took me as well as always. 

"You're so close for me, sweetheart…" I narrated as she nodded, sweat and desperation between us.

"Please-"

"One more time, princess. Loud enough so I can hear you over how well you're taking me like this…"

She hesitated, "I know you can baby…you didn't take my cock…I know you can scream. .so fucking scream for me…"

"JJ-"

"Louder-"

"JJ!!"

Her name was sung by my own groans at war behind clenched teeth as she tensed around me. 

"I'm gonna come, princess…"

"Yes, JJ!"

"This fucking outfit is gonna wear both of us, isn't it?" 

"Yes…" She breathed one final time as I found paradise between her thighs once again. 

"You know I AM expecting you to dress up as sexy santa…" She teased as I fixed her ensemble while playing with the faux spheres left to imitate the sight of buttons. 

"I'll even sit on your lap-" She teased as I took hold of the back of her neck and rested my lips to her ear from behind. 

"You sit on my lap in this and you'll only get to come by riding my thigh-" She turned, a hand to my chest forcing me back to the edge of the bed. 

"Do you want me to tell you what I want for Christmas?" She asked with a playful batting of her lashes. 

"Oh, I already know. And you'll get well into New Years- " I asked while she began to rock into me, my thigh tightening and she rode a second high. 

Maybe I would find a way to like Christmas after all…even if this was shaping out to be anything but a silent night…

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[bananasfosterparent]

I'll be honest chief, not a fan of how a lot of astarion's fans who preach on the spawn ending give them the right to feel ownership of the character and story. "I give you permission to ascend Astarion, but only if you admit it's toxic!"

God I loved the spawn ending genuinely because it was wholesome and healthy version of how his romance can turn out, but the fact that people are being smug about it, write essays on it, at how everything relates to their personal trauma and that it must be the only way to solve it is nuts.

It's a video game guys, chile.

THANK YOU Anon! <3

The people offended are those who think that he has a "canon" ending and that it's the spawn ending. And like, from their POV, I understand why they're offended. But while that's the morally good and irl aligning "healthy" option, it is no more canon for his narrative than the asc ending. On top of that, it's like they look at us and hear "power courses through you--authority!" in their heads lmao

I understand people being uneasy about his amoral evil ending. It IS dark after all. On top of that, the spawn ending is often tied to someone's personal experiences/memories or something else for them. That's fair. But have they ever considered that the asc ending is the same way for us? Doesn't ever seem like it.

If someone can't see it the way we do.... that's okay! They don't have to see things like Asc fans do. That'd be boring for all of us anyway.

But they can at least respect the fact that we see it differently and it's not bad for us to do so. We have nothing to be ashamed of or sorry for. We have nothing to admit. With the nuances of his story, we see the same information and interpret it differently. That's what you're SUPPOSED to do with this type of game.

You know that phrase, "Don't yuck someone else's yum"? Honestly I don't even care. In fact, PLAESE yuck my yums. Variety is the spice of life and we need different people who like different things. So go ahead! Yuck our yum.

The ISSUE starts when you want me to yuck my own yum.

Cause like you said... behind all this discourse and abuse cycle talk.. it's just an RPG video game. It's a tool. It's not real life.