#and the possibilities for that explanation are always endless and always exciting

[miscreantahead]

I can't stop thinking about how often I'll go "oh look a fandom I would like to make this my online identity" and then not care about that thing at all outside of the time that I am actively consuming it (doesn't mean I don't enjoy it ofc) and then other times I'm like "oh look a fun silly little thing to kill time" and THAT becomes my online identity like I literally do not think it's EVER been the other way around.

[ssa-dado]

12 - Goodbyes & Partners

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader Genre: uuum you tell me Summary: The BAU team discovers that Hotch had a former partner, a brilliant female profiler who left the unit abruptly. Gideon reveals you were one of the best, sparking curiosity among the team. As they dig deeper, they uncover your impressive credentials, speculation grows about your close relationship with Hotch, with theories ranging from unspoken feelings to complicated personal dynamics. Warnings: none - or at least that's what I think - who would have thought. Word Count: 7.1k Dado's Corner: OKKKKK let's gooo! First time meeting Aaron's children the team, who's excited?! Peter canonically the most hated character of this fic. This chapter, like many others in this fic, has a sister chapter coming up in exactly 7 hours. After leaving you with your mouth dry yesterday, I figured it’s only fair to keep the anticipation going! Let me know what you think of the team! Also if you have ideas for this particular fic, my inbox is opened, feel free to leave as many suggestions as you would like!

previous chapter ; masterlist

No one at the BAU was ever good with goodbyes.

It was a team built on unspoken bonds and shared burdens, a group of people who had seen the darkest parts of the world and each other. For all the skills they had in reading human behavior, they were never quite able to express what it felt like to lose one of their own. Words often felt inadequate, insufficient to capture the weight of what they’d been through together: the late nights, the close calls, the quiet moments that held more significance than any case file.

Goodbyes were messy, uncomfortable, and often avoided altogether.

Rossi had been the first to leave, and even though Hotch knew he had been restless for months, it still came as a shock. One day, Rossi was there, with his dry humor and his endless stories, and the next, his office was empty, the walls bare, as if he had never really been there at all, if it weren’t for Gideon’s call, he would have never reached out. Only later he left behind a brief note, neatly folded on Hotch’s desk, with a few lines about “needing a change” and “time to start the next chapter.” It was classic Rossi: vague, detached, like he didn’t want to make a fuss. Hotch had read the note a multitude of times, hoping to find some hidden message, but there was nothing. No explanation, no real goodbye. Just Rossi, slipping away on his own terms, halfway to his next adventure before anyone had a chance to ask him to stay.

Then the most recent was Gideon’s. After Boston, after the case that had broken him in ways none of them had fully understood, Gideon’s silence was deafening. Hotch remembered the last time he’d seen him, sitting alone in his office, staring blankly at the case files scattered across his desk. Gideon hadn’t said a word, hadn’t offered any explanation or farewell. He just looked up, his eyes hollow and distant, and Hotch knew that whatever had been holding him together had finally snapped. By the next morning, Gideon was gone, his desk cleared out, his badge left behind like a discarded shell of who he once was. There were no letters, no phone calls, just the ghost of a man who had once been a legend in the field but was now too broken to even say goodbye.

Both of those men had left him with new responsibilities: Rossi’s departure had made him a lead profiler, and Gideon’s exit had eventually thrust him into the role of Unit Chief. Though Hotch had always been an ambitious person, the way he’d earned his promotions often felt like a double-edged sword, each step up tinged with a sense of loss. It was as if there was an unspoken rule that he could never fully enjoy his achievements without bearing the weight of the absences that had made them possible, leaving him to wonder if success always had to come at such a cost.

Hotch had never mastered the art of letting people go. The departures always felt like tearing pages out of a story that had been written together, each blank space a reminder of what had been lost.

But you, you were different.

You were the only one who was extraordinary at goodbyes.

It had been a few months after his wedding when you made your announcement. The BAU had just wrapped up a grueling case, the kind that left everyone drained and hollowed out, and Hotch had retreated to his desk, hoping for a moment of peace. You had come in, hesitant at first, fiddling with the bracelet on your wrist - a nervous habit he’d come to recognize over the years. You took a breath before speaking, your voice laced with the kind of excitement that only comes when you’re standing on the edge of something new and terrifying.

“I got an offer,” you said, your words tumbling out in a rush. “To teach. It’s a position I never even dreamed of. The first-ever Behavioral Sciences courses, all across Europe. They want me to lead them.”

Hotch remembered the way his heart sank when you first told him, though he tried his best to keep his expression neutral, hiding the ache beneath a composed facade. He had always known you were destined for more; your talent, insight, and your relentless passion for sharing knowledge had set you apart from the very beginning. You were the team’s quiet genius, not just in profiling but in connecting dots others couldn’t see, blending psychology, philosophy, and the art of communication into something extraordinary.

You laid out all the details with an excitement that was hard to contain: Rome, London, Paris - places you had only glimpsed on rare vacations now calling on you to bring your expertise to their prestigious institutions. It was a perfect fit, a job seemingly tailored just for you. Your fluency in multiple languages, from Italian and French to German and Swedish, made you uniquely qualified to teach across Europe, bridging cultural gaps with the ease of someone who had spent their life immersed in the subtleties of language and human behavior.

It was everything you had worked for, and everything you deserved. Hotch knew that it was fate, really - that someone with your knowledge, your intellect, and your gift for teaching would eventually end up in front of a classroom, shaping the next generation of minds. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier to swallow. You were finally getting the recognition you deserved, but for Hotch, it felt like the beginning of the end of something he hadn’t been ready to let go of.

Hotch had listened intently, though the tightness in his chest made it hard to breathe. He could see the flicker of conflict in your eyes, the way you glanced at him, searching for something: approval, reassurance, maybe even permission to take this leap.

You had always been strong, but this decision was monumental, and Hotch could sense your need for his support. As you spoke, your words came out in a rush, filled with excitement yet underlined with an uncertainty that made his heart ache. When you finally paused, breathless and hopeful, he forced a smile, pushing back the knot of emotions building inside him.

“You always told me I should find my happiness,” he said softly, echoing the words that had once helped pull him through some of his darkest times. “Maybe it’s time you did the same.”

He watched as your expression softened, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. Hotch could feel you on the verge of saying something more, something that lingered just beneath the surface. But instead, you nodded, your smile bittersweet, tinged with an understanding that broke his heart just a little more.

“Thank you, Aaron,” you whispered, your voice so quiet, yet so full of sincerity it nearly undid him. “I needed to hear that.”

And he knew, in that instant, that his words had given you what you needed. But the cost of that comfort weighed heavily on him. This was it - this was the moment he had been dreading. The goodbye that followed was simple, yet it carried a depth of emotion that neither of you dared to fully express. There were no tears, no grand declarations, just the two of you standing in the bullpen, surrounded by the echoes of shared memories and silent understanding.

When you moved to hug him, Hotch felt the familiar warmth of your presence wrap around him. For a second, he held on tighter than he should have, his hands lingering at your back, memorizing the way you felt against him. He wasn’t sure how long he held you there, but it wasn’t long enough. It would never be long enough. The realization hit him hard, this might be the last time he’d feel the steady comfort of you by his side, the last time he could call you his partner in the same way.

“I’m going to miss you,” you said, your voice thick with the emotions you’d worked so hard to keep at bay. And though Hotch tried to respond, his throat tightened, and all he could do was nod, hoping that somehow you’d understand all the things he couldn’t find the words for.

“Don’t forget to write,” you had said, pulling back with a small, teasing smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. It was a half-joke, half-promise, but Hotch had clung to it.

When you finally pulled away, it felt like something inside him had shifted, like a piece of him had gone with you. He watched as you gave him one last, lingering look before walking out of the building, the door closing softly behind you. The silence that followed was suffocating. Hotch stood there for a long time, staring at the space where you had been, already feeling the weight of your absence settle deep in his bones.

You both knew phone calls wouldn’t work - the time zones were unforgiving, and your schedules were a mess of lectures, seminars, cases and travel. Trying to coordinate would only lead to missed calls and voicemails, the kind of slow drift that ends in silence. But letters, letters were something else. They were tangible, personal, a way of staying connected even when the rest of the world pulled you in different directions.

Your first letter arrived a few weeks after you left. Hotch had found it waiting on his desk one morning, nestled between case files and memos, and just seeing your name scrawled across the envelope made something in his chest tighten.

For Hotch, the idea of writing to you felt right. It reminded him of the hours you had spent together in the bullpen, sitting across from each other as you filed endless reports and bantered over cases. Your handwriting, always in blue ink - never black, because you said it felt too clinical - was something he had come to cherish. He still remembered the way you had teased him, claiming that black ink was for lawyers and pessimists, and he had laughed, knowing you were right.

He opened it carefully, unfolding the pages with the same kind of reverence he might have shown an old photograph. The letter was filled with details of your new life abroad: how strange it was to be teaching in a classroom instead of chasing down criminals, how the students were eager but occasionally overwhelmed by the intensity of your lessons. You wrote about your tiny apartment in Rome, the cobblestone streets that twisted like a labyrinth, and the late nights spent sipping espresso as you prepared your lectures.

But it wasn’t just the big moments you shared; it was the little things, too. The frustration of dealing with Italian bureaucracy, the odd comfort of hearing a student quote something you’d said in class, and the quiet evenings when you missed the familiar hum of the BAU. Every word was laced with your personality: your humor, your insight, the way you saw the world with a blend of sharp intellect and boundless curiosity. Hotch read that first letter at least a dozen times, absorbing every detail, and when he finally put it down, he felt closer to you than he had in weeks.

Writing back to you became a ritual for Hotch, a quiet refuge at the end of his long, exhausting days. Once the cases were filed, the team had gone home, and the dim glow of his office lamp was the only light left in the bullpen, he would settle at his desk, the silence his only company. The act of writing to you felt both familiar and soothing, a tether to a time when you sat just across from him, lost in your own thoughts yet always attuned to his.

Hotch’s letters were a blend of work updates, personal reflections, and glimpses into the ever-changing dynamics of the team. He would tell you about the latest cases they were working on, the challenges that kept him up at night, and the way the BAU had evolved in your absence. You were always keen to know how the team was adjusting, and Hotch made sure to keep you in the loop, filling you in on the new agents who had joined and the unique personalities that now made up the BAU.

He told you about Derek Morgan, the first agent to join after you left. A former Chicago police officer with years of experience in the bomb squad, Morgan brought a fierce determination and a protective instinct that quickly made him an invaluable asset. But there was also a softer side to Morgan, one that emerged when he talked about his past or reached out to support his teammates. In many ways, his drive and unwavering loyalty reminded Hotch of you, and he knew you would have liked him.

Next came Penelope Garcia, the flamboyant technical analyst whose quirky style and unmatched brilliance with computers brought a new energy to the team. She was a ray of light in the otherwise dark world of profiling, and Hotch often found himself amused by her unique way of looking at the world. Despite her unconventional approach, Garcia was a genius with technology, hacking into systems with ease and always finding the crucial piece of information that made the difference. Hotch thought of how you would have loved her spirit, her warmth, and her unfiltered way of connecting with others.

Then there was Jennifer “JJ” Jareau, the new media liaison who had quickly proven herself to be on of the most important resources in the team. JJ was calm under pressure, compassionate, and fiercely dedicated to the team’s mission. She was a bridge between the BAU and the outside world, handling the delicate task of managing public perception and dealing with victims’ families with grace and empathy. Hotch admired her poise and her quiet strength, qualities he often found himself describing to you, knowing you’d appreciate how she balanced the team’s intense work with her soft-spoken resilience.

And then there was Dr. Spencer Reid, a young genius with an IQ of 187. Gideon had brought him in, recognizing his potential - just as he did with you back then - even though Reid was still so green, fresh out of the academy with a mind that worked on an entirely different level. Hotch wrote about Reid’s unique brilliance, the way he could recite obscure facts at lightning speed, and notice patterns no one else could see. But he also told you about Reid’s vulnerabilities, when his intellect clashed with his emotional sensitivity. Reid’s innocence and earnestness were tempered by the heavy weight of the cases, and Hotch often found himself mentoring him.

Lastly, Hotch wrote about Emily Prentiss, the newest addition to the team, an experienced agent with a knack for languages and a drive that matched his own. Prentiss was smart, resourceful, and relentless in her pursuit of justice, and her multilingual skills often put her in the center of complex international cases. She was bold, unafraid to speak her mind, and determined to prove herself, even when the odds were against her. Hotch appreciated her dedication and saw echoes of your tenacity in her work ethic, her unyielding desire to understand every angle of a case.

As Hotch became Unit Chief, he had worked hard to build a cohesive team, one that felt more like a family than just a group of agents. He made it a priority to cultivate an environment where each member’s strengths could shine, creating an expanded, stable unit where everyone had their own area of expertise: Morgan with tactical support, Garcia with technical prowess, JJ with media relations, Reid with his unparalleled intellect, Prentiss with her international insight and Gideon – just being Gideon.

It was a dynamic mix, and though the team had grown and evolved, Hotch never stopped missing your presence among them. You were the missing piece, the partner who had helped lay the foundation for what the BAU had become.

But his letters were not just filled with work updates; they were laced with personal moments, too. Hotch shared glimpses of his life outside the office, the small joys that kept him grounded. He wrote about his son Jack, who was growing up faster than Hotch could keep up with. He also wrote about Haley, who had found solace in gardening, transforming their backyard into a small oasis of color and life.

The lines between work and personal life blurred in his letters, just as they always had with you. You were more than just a partner at work, you were the person who had been there through the highs and lows, his best friend who understood the burdens he carried without him having to say a word. And though you were an ocean away, your presence lingered in every word exchanged, each letter a lifeline that kept you connected despite the distance.

You never just sent letters, though. There were always little extras tucked inside: clippings from newspapers, photos of the places you were exploring, and, most often - to still honour your long lived tradition - books.

You had a way of choosing the perfect titles, each one reflecting the country you were living in or the experiences you were having. When you were teaching in Italy, you had sent him a cookbook called “Pizza, Pane e Focacce,” a whimsical collection of traditional recipes that made Hotch laugh out loud. He had imagined you in the tiniest Roman kitchen, trying your hand at kneading dough, and the thought was so charmingly incongruous that he couldn’t resist teasing you about it in his next letter.

“Italian pizza and philosophy, a natural combination,” he had written, the playful tone feeling both familiar and distant. “Let me know when you’re ready to challenge Rossi to a cook-off. I’ll bring the wine.”

But the most meaningful gift had come when Hotch had told you about Haley’s pregnancy. It was a vulnerable confession, written in the quiet hours of the night when he felt the weight of impending fatherhood pressing down on him.

He hadn’t expected anything in return, but a few weeks later, a package arrived, a book titled “Guide for New Dads.” It was in Swedish, a nod to one of the first books he’d ever given you about coin collecting, and this time to prove him you had long mastered that language, every page was carefully translated into English with sticky notes in your familiar blue ink.

You had filled the margins with little jokes and notes of encouragement, turning a practical guide into something deeply personal.

“This one’s actually useful, Hotch,” you had joked.

“I promise, the Scandinavians know their thing.” Or

“It’s not the easiest language,” you had written on one of the notes, “but then again, neither is parenthood. You’ve got this, partner.”

Those two words - “you’ve got this” - had stayed with him, becoming a quiet mantra in the moments when doubt threatened to creep in. You always seemed to know exactly what he needed, even from halfway across the world.

Today, Hotch was sending you something in return. After years of toying with the idea, he had finally co-written a book on crisis negotiation, a project that had taken countless late nights and long hours of reflection. It was something he was proud of, a culmination of his years in the field, and it felt only right that you should be one of the first to see it. He carefully packed the book, adding a handwritten note on the first page, a Hegel quote about partnership that he knew you would appreciate.

"Partnership, like friendship, is an expression of freedom that arises from the recognition of others as individuals, bound by a common ethical life." - (Philosophy of Right, unfortunately, not Hegel for Dummies)

“Hopefully, you’ll like this one in particular,” he had added in a playful scrawl, imagining the way you would roll your eyes at his attempt at humor. It was a small gesture, but it felt like a continuation of the conversation you had been having for years, the dialogue that never really ended.

Six years had passed, but some things never changed. You were still his partner, the person who understood him in ways no one else ever could. But now, your life had taken a different turn - you were engaged to Peter, your best friend since you were fifteen. Hotch knew Peter well, how he had been there when you needed a shoulder to cry on, when you were too stubborn to ask for help, and how, despite winning that date with you back at his welcome back party, you’d never really given him a fair chance.

Peter had always been that steady presence, always willing to wait, always there in the background, a constant in your life when everything else felt uncertain. And though you had resisted his quiet, unwavering affection for years, something in you had shifted: a desire for something safe, something dependable, something that felt like home.

In your letters, Hotch could feel the warmth and affection you had for Peter radiate from every line. You described him with such tenderness: the way he would surprise you with breakfast on mornings when you were buried in work as your usual, how he would wait up for you when your classes ran late, and how he would listen, truly listen, to every word you said, even when his own responsibilities at Interpol were just as demanding. There were little moments, too: the way his eyes would light up when he saw you walk into a room, and the quiet nights spent talking about everything and nothing.

Hotch could tell Peter cherished you in a way you deserved: patiently, deeply, without reservations. He could see that Peter was the one who was there to hold you through your doubts, the one who made you feel understood when the rest of the world seemed incomprehensible.

He remembered the letter you had sent announcing your engagement, how you described Peter’s proposal on a quiet evening in Vienna, the two of you standing on a bridge overlooking the Danube. You wrote about the gentle way he had asked, how it felt so natural, so right, that you hadn’t even needed to think twice before saying yes.

You were building something beautiful, and he was happy for you. Truly, he was. But there were moments, in the quiet solitude of his office or in the late hours of the night, when he couldn’t help but feel the weight of your absence like an old, familiar scar.

He sealed the package with the book and his note inside, pausing to add a small card with a few lines scribbled in his neat handwriting:

“To my partner, the only person who could ever make a philosopher out of an FBI agent. I hope this book finds you well. I’m proud of you, always. Don’t forget to write.”

He had kept your latest letter on his desk, re-reading it whenever the weight of the day became too much. You wrote about the small joys of your new life - the café near your apartment in Paris, where you and Peter would go on Sundays, the excitement of teaching your students about behavioral analysis, and the bittersweet feeling of missing the team. It was the kind of letter that made Hotch smile, filled with all the small details that made him feel like you were still just a phone call away.

But life at the BAU had moved on. Hotch was Unit Chief now, a position he had worked years to attain, and the team was evolving with new faces and new dynamics. Haley and Jack were thriving, and Hotch found solace in their little routines, the stability of home life that had once seemed impossible. But no matter how full his days were, there was always that quiet moment when he would think of you: wondering where you were, what you were doing, and if you ever missed him the way he missed you.

He hadn’t seen you in six years, hadn’t heard your voice except for in memories, and yet you were still so present, woven into the fabric of his everyday life in ways he hadn’t fully understood until you were gone.

.

Back in the bullpen, Emily Prentiss, still trying to find her rhythm with the BAU team, leaned against her desk, her eyes trailing toward Hotch’s office. She had been with the team for a few months now, and while she was learning the ropes and getting comfortable, Hotch remained somewhat of a mystery to her.

He was always calm, collected, and focused - a leader who kept a firm grip on everything around him. But when it came to his personal life, he was a locked vault. It intrigued her, in a way that felt almost frustrating. With a sly smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, she tossed out the question she’d been wondering for weeks. “Does Hotch even have friends? I mean, besides his endless pile of case files?”

The bullpen, which had been filled with the familiar hum of typing and low conversations, quieted as everyone processed the question. Morgan, sitting across from Prentiss, was the first to break the silence with a low snicker. He leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, flashing his trademark grin. “Hotch? Friends? Nah, that man’s married to the job. Friends would require, you know - fun - and I don’t think he’s ever met the word.”

JJ, who had been sorting through a stack of papers at her desk, laughed softly. “Yeah, he definitely seems more like the ‘spend Saturday night in the office instead of watching a game with buddies’ type. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even have time for friends.”

Prentiss grinned at that, shaking her head in agreement. "Or maybe he has a secret club of workaholics where they get together and solve cold cases for fun."

Garcia, standing behind Morgan’s chair and draping her arms around his shoulders, gasped dramatically, her eyes widening with an over-the-top look of mock horror. She placed a hand theatrically over her heart, shaking her head in disbelief. “Oh, can you imagine Hotch at a dinner party?” she exclaimed, her voice dropping into a stiff, deadpan impression of him. “‘So, how do you feel about the rising murder rates in the Midwest?’”

She shivered dramatically, clutching Morgan a little tighter for effect. “Honestly, the worst small talk ever,” she declared, rolling her eyes with a playful shudder that sent the team into laughter.

Laughter rippled through the group, the shared image of Hotch awkwardly navigating social situations becoming a source of amusement. But as the laughter died down, Reid - who had been quietly sifting through old case files - looked up, his expression thoughtful, as if he had been contemplating the question more seriously than the rest.

“I don’t think it’s that he doesn’t want friends,” Reid mused, his tone thoughtful as he leaned back in his chair. He absentmindedly flipped through a stack of old case files in front of him, though it was clear his mind was elsewhere. “It’s more that he doesn’t *prioritize* them. His work-life balance is… well, skewed. I think he probably sees relationships outside of work as distractions. They pull him away from his responsibilities, and that’s something he can’t afford.”

Prentiss nodded slowly, taking in Reid’s assessment with a soft hum of agreement. She crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her weight, her gaze flicking toward Hotch’s office, where the blinds were half-drawn and the lights were on. “Yeah,” she said, drawing out the word, “I can see that. But still… doesn’t everyone need someone to talk to? I mean, even Hotch?”

Morgan, leaning back in his chair with a casual grin, was about to drop a classic sarcastic retort when something stopped him in his tracks. He noticed the subtle shift in the room - a presence just behind them, commanding yet silent. The playful banter faded as everyone instinctively glanced up.

There, standing quietly at the edge of their conversation, was Jason Gideon.

His mere presence had a way of quieting a room. Unlike Hotch, whose authority was overt and rooted in his leadership, Gideon’s was understated, more psychological. He didn’t need to bark orders at them; he simply had to be there, and everyone would fall silent. He looked between them, his eyes calm but sharp, assessing the scene with a quiet understanding.

Gideon had clearly overheard enough of the conversation to know what they were discussing. His expression was thoughtful, as though he was deciding just how much he wanted to reveal. Finally, in his familiar, measured voice, he broke the silence. “Yes, he does have friends.”

The simplicity of his statement landed like a bombshell in the middle of the room. All eyes snapped to Gideon, the weight of his words sending shockwaves through the group. The notion that Aaron Hotchner - stoic, ever-serious Hotch - had a social life outside the walls of the BAU was almost laughable.

Morgan was the first to react, leaning back with an incredulous grin as he raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?” He let out a disbelieving chuckle. “You’re telling me Hotch has friends? Like, real, actual friends? Not just old case files and unsolved murders?”

JJ, sitting a few desks away, blinked in surprise and lowered her papers, clearly caught off guard by the idea. “Friends?” she echoed. “I mean, I know Hotch is close to his team, but I didn’t think he really had time for anyone outside of work.”

Prentiss, her curiosity instantly piqued, leaned forward, her arms now resting on the back of a chair. “Wait, hold on. Hotch has a friend? Who?”

Gideon’s gaze swept the room, and the corners of his mouth tugged upward in a subtle smile, enjoying the ripple of disbelief he’d caused. He took a step closer, his hands casually tucked into his pockets. “She used to work here,” he said, his voice calm and deliberate, almost as if the information he was dropping wasn’t about to throw the entire team into a frenzy. “One of the best profilers we’ve ever had, Hotch and her were partners.”

The weight of that revelation hung in the air like a thick cloud of mystery, and the group fell silent again, processing what had just been said. A female profiler? Someone close to Hotch? Who had left the team without a single mention in all these years? The idea felt like a puzzle, one they couldn’t help but start piecing together.

Garcia, always the quickest to act when it came to uncovering mysteries, perked up immediately. Her fingers hovered eagerly over her keyboard, itching to dive into the archives. “Wait, wait, wait,” she said, her voice bubbling with excitement. “She? A female profiler? Who worked here? And Hotch’s partner?” Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “We need details, Gideon.”

JJ, her brow furrowing in confusion, leaned against her desk and glanced at the others. “Why didn’t Hotch ever mention her? I mean, if she was one of the best profilers we’ve had, wouldn’t we know about her?”

Morgan scoffed lightly, shaking his head in disbelief. “This has got to be a joke, right? Hotch had a female partner, one of the best profilers, and he never said a word? Not even in passing?”

Prentiss, now fully engrossed in the mystery, added, “And why did she leave? People that good don’t just walk away. Something had to have happened.”

But Gideon, ever enigmatic, simply shrugged as if he were tossing breadcrumbs to a group of hungry detectives. “She moved on to bigger things,” he said, almost wistfully. “She’s in Europe now. Teaching. Brilliant mind.” And just like that, before anyone could ask more questions, he gave a small nod of finality and turned to walk back to his office. He left the group standing there in stunned silence, their collective curiosity now burning hotter than ever.

JJ blinked rapidly, still trying to process what had just been revealed. “That’s… cryptic, even for Gideon.”

Morgan, arms crossed over his chest, glanced back at Hotch’s office, his brow furrowing deeper. The blinds were half-drawn, but he could still make out the familiar figure hunched over case files, as usual. “Hotch had a partner like that and never mentioned her once? Not even a hint? That’s not just weird, it’s suspicious.”

Prentiss raised an eyebrow, a sly smile playing on her lips as she shook her head. “If she was that good, why isn’t she still here? There has to be more to the story than Hotch is letting on. You know how he is with secrets.”

Garcia’s eyes were immediately already glowing with excitement. “Well, my darlings,” she said, leaning forward with an exaggerated conspiratorial whisper, “it seems we have ourselves a delightful little mystery to solve. And you know there’s nothing I love more than a good digital dig into the archives.” She clapped her hands together. “To the Batcave!”

Morgan chuckled, standing up and stretching. “Alright, alright, lead the way, baby girl. Let’s see what you’ve got on this mystery woman.”

With an excited flourish, Garcia waved them all into her colorful sanctuary, the tech-laden, light-filled Batcave that was her pride and joy. Stepping inside, it was like entering another universe, a world of colorful bobbleheads, blinking lights, and eclectic posters that shouted Garcia's unique personality. Her desk was lit up with the glow of multiple monitors, all showing scrolling lines of code and flashing icons.

She wiggled her fingers theatrically over the keyboard before diving into the search. “Prepare to be dazzled, my friends. You’re about to witness hacking magic.”

Prentiss leaned against the edge of Garcia’s desk, smirking. “Do we get popcorn for this?”

Garcia flashed her a grin. “Popcorn comes later, my dear. Right now, we’re after intel.”

The rest of the team gathered around Garcia’s chair, their curiosity piqued. Morgan leaned over her shoulder, watching as she quickly navigated through various secure databases, her fingers flying over the keyboard in rapid succession. The sound of keystrokes filled the air, the tension rising with each tap. After a few moments, Garcia’s face lit up, her fingers pausing as she let out a theatrical gasp. “Oh. Oh my God.” She spun around dramatically in her chair, eyes wide. “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you… her.”

The monitors flickered, and suddenly, the screen filled with your personnel file. A younger version of you stared back at them from the photograph - a sharp, focused gaze beneath determined brows, your expression serious yet full of life. There was something magnetic in the way you carried yourself, even in a still image.

Morgan leaned in closer, his eyes narrowing as he studied the picture. “Well, damn,” he muttered under his breath, letting out a low whistle. “She’s exactly my type.”

Prentiss nudged him playfully, raising an eyebrow. “You say that about every woman who’s both breathing and talented, Morgan.”

Morgan grinned, flashing her a playful wink. “Yeah, but this one’s different. Hotch kept her under wraps. That’s like a glowing recommendation.”

Garcia, enjoying the banter, rolled her eyes affectionately. “Easy there, tiger,” she teased, spinning back to her computer. “I’ll share her with you, but only because I love you. Remember, I’ve called dibs.”

The team erupted in laughter, Garcia’s infectious energy cutting through the room. Even Reid, who had been quietly studying your file, let out a small smile, though his focus remained intensely on the details unfolding before them.

“She was hired here at 21,” Garcia read aloud, her voice laced with a mixture of awe and disbelief. “Straight out of university with degrees in philosophy, psychology, and linguistics. And - oh, my God - she spoke 16 languages fluently when she joined.” She paused dramatically. “Now they’re up to twenty-six, tewnty-six.”

Reid’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock. “Twenty-one? She was recruited younger than I was?” He blinked, his mind racing as he processed the information. “That’s… incredible.”

Morgan grinned and elbowed Reid playfully. “Looks like someone beat you to the genius profiler title, pretty Ricky.”

Reid shot Morgan a mock glare but couldn’t hide his amazement. “Twenty-six languages?” His voice was filled with admiration as he scrolled through your file. “I’ve read her work. She pioneered an entirely new method of geographical profiling, 3D models that incorporate topography. Elevation, terrain changes, natural barriers… it completely changed how we understand unsub movement patterns.” He leaned forward, growing more animated. “Traditional geographical profiling looks at a flat map, but she recognized that criminals don’t move across flat landscapes. She factored in hills, rivers, even forests,anything that could affect the unsub’s route or escape. She mapped out the terrain as the unsub would see it, considering how natural barriers influence decisions.”

Prentiss nodded, intrigued. “So, she wasn’t just tracking where they went, but how they moved through the landscape?”

“Exactly!” Reid’s excitement built. “She created a ‘criminal terrain map,’ layering traditional geographic data with topographical maps. She used it to predict choke points, places where terrain forces an unsub to make specific choices. She even factored in the psychological impact, organized offenders would avoid risky terrain, while disorganized ones might take dangerous paths without thinking. She didn’t just consider where they were going, she understood why they made those decisions, based on both the landscape and their psychology.”

Prentiss raised her eyebrows, clearly impressed. “So, basically, she was a legend?”

Garcia continued scrolling through your file, her fingers moving methodically as she scanned more of your achievements. “And she didn’t just stop there,” she said, excitement building in her voice. “After leaving the BAU, she went on to teach behavioral science and criminology all over Europe: Italy, France, Spain, Greece, Sweden – you name it – even Iceland. Lecturing in multiple languages, of course. She’s giving a guest lecture at Quantico today.”

Morgan let out a low whistle, leaning in closer as though he could learn more about you just by studying your photo. “Hotch’s friend is an international superstar. That’s why he didn’t tell us about her. He didn’t want us feeling inferior.”

JJ chuckled from the other side of the room, still processing the idea of Hotch keeping someone like you under wraps. “Of course, Hotch would keep someone like that close to the vest. It’s so like him to have a secret weapon tucked away.”

Prentiss, crossing her arms, seemed to grow more curious by the second. “If she’s this brilliant, why did she leave? And why didn’t he ever mention her?” She scanned the faces of her colleagues, clearly unsatisfied with the pieces of the puzzle they had so far. “There’s something else going on here. Hotch doesn’t just let people disappear.”

Morgan scratched his chin thoughtfully, glancing back toward Hotch’s office, which seemed to be shrouded in even more mystery now. “Yeah, something’s not adding up. She was that good, and then she just… vanished from the BAU? I bet there’s a whole story we’re missing. The question is, why did she leave?”

Garcia, never one to miss out on a juicy bit of gossip, spun around in her chair with a conspiratorial grin. “You know, now that I’m thinking about it… she left just a few months after Hotch’s wedding.” She wiggled her eyebrows dramatically, enjoying the shocked looks from the others. “Coincidence? Or was there something more going on?”

JJ’s eyes widened, and she laughed softly, shaking her head. “You think she and Hotch were… what? Secretly involved? No way. Hotch is way too straight-laced for that.”

Morgan leaned against Garcia’s desk, crossing his arms. “I don’t know… maybe. She leaves right after his wedding? That’s a pretty big red flag. Maybe she had feelings for him, and when he married Haley, it was too much. She couldn’t handle being around him anymore.”

Prentiss raised an eyebrow, half-amused but also intrigued by the theory. “Or… maybe Hotch had feelings for her, and she left to avoid a messy situation. I mean, Hotch isn’t exactly one to wear his heart on his sleeve. Maybe it was all too complicated.”

Reid, who had been silently absorbing the conversation, finally spoke up, ever the voice of reason. “Or,” he said, “it could just be a coincidence. People leave jobs all the time for personal reasons. She was clearly brilliant; maybe she just wanted to pursue teaching or research.”

Garcia grinned at him, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Come on, genius. Even you can’t deny that the timing is suspicious. She leaves only months after Hotch gets married? There’s gotta be more to that story.”

Morgan nodded, his expression serious but playful. “Yeah, kid, you don’t leave the BAU, the best profiling team in the country, unless something major goes down.”

Prentiss tilted her head, her curiosity still running wild. “What if they had some kind of falling out? Maybe they were super close, and after the wedding, things got awkward between them.”

JJ leaned against the wall, looking thoughtful. “It’s possible. People don’t usually leave a close partnership like that without a good reason. Especially someone like Hotch, he doesn’t form bonds easily, but when he does… it runs deep.”

Morgan grinned. “Whatever it is, I can’t wait to find out. If we’re lucky, we might get some answers when we meet her. Maybe she’ll drop some hints about what really went down.”

Garcia, her fingers flying across the keys again, pulled up more details about your guest lecture. “Well, lucky for us, she’s not going to be a mystery for much longer. Her lecture is in just a couple of hours at the Academy. How convenient for us to take a little field trip.”

Reid, his eyes lighting up, nodded eagerly. “I’d love to hear her lecture. I’ve read so much of her work - it would be fascinating to see how she applies her theories in person. Maybe we’ll even get some insight into her departure.”

Prentiss smirked, clearly enjoying the intrigue. “And I wouldn’t mind getting a sense of what she’s like. She sounds like a force to be reckoned with. Plus, if she was that close to Hotch, there’s gotta be some interesting history.”

Garcia swiveled around to face them, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Well, what are we waiting for? Field trip, anyone?”

JJ pushed away from the wall, smiling as she glanced around the room. “I’m in. Let’s go meet the legend.”

The team exchanged eager glances, the sense of excitement in the air palpable. There was more to this than just a lecture, they were about to meet someone who had not only shaped the field of profiling but had also left a deep, unspoken mark on their unit chief, Aaron Hotchner. They couldn’t help but feel like they were about to uncover a part of the team’s history that for some reason had been hidden for far too long.

[ro-is-struggling]

Slow Hands || Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Spencer gets tired of pretending he doesn't notice the way you look at his hands, so when you show up at his hotel room late at night he decides to ask you about it.

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, porn without plot, hand kink, size kink kinda?, praise kink, Dom/sub dynamics (gentle dom Spencer x sub reader), dirty talk, pet names (good girl, baby, dirty little girl, slut), fingering, overstimulation, penetrative sex, choking, slight dacryphilia, a little fluff at the end, female reader, kinda rushed ending

English is not my first language

Word count: 6800

Notes: Spencer is a gentle dom and you can’t change my mind.

Also pictures aren't mine, I just put them together. I took them from this post (the one that inspired this fic) and also from this one so full credits to them!

"Why do you always stare at my hands?" The question escaped Spencer's lips before he could stop it. You had come to his hotel room to discuss something about the case you were working on and the whole time you had been staring at his hands. 

It wasn't the first time you had done that, he had caught you staring at his hands in the past. It seemed that whatever he did with them you found interesting. He had never said anything to you because he honestly didn't know how to approach the subject without it sounding strange, but he was aware of what you were doing. The same way he knew you didn't admire anyone else's hands the same way you admired his, something that sparked a warmth inside him.

Spencer was pretty sure he knew why you looked at his hands so much, but he wanted to hear you say it.

"Oh," you mumbled in embarrassment, startled at being caught. "I don't know, I think they're pretty." You shrugged, looking everywhere but at Spencer. "I like hands."

"You like hands?" He repeated, looking at you with a raised eyebrow.

"I know it sounds weird but it's not! Some people notice someone's smile first or maybe their eyes or laugh, I tend to notice people's hands." It was a half-truth. Yes, you used to pay more attention to people's hands than most, but that wasn't the real reason for your inability to take your eyes off his hands. But since you couldn't admit that you dreamed every night of feeling the touch of his long, slender fingers on your skin, you thought that explanation would satisfy his curiosity and save you from the humiliation of the truth.

"Why do you like my hands so much?" Spencer insisted and you struggled to stop your mind before it got lost in the endless fantasies involving his hands that haunted you at night when you were alone in your bed.

"I don't know. They're pretty, I guess." You tried to downplay it, hoping that would be enough to ease his curiosity.

"Pretty how?" Spencer asked you and when you looked up to meet his eyes you saw a dark glint in them. He was up to something, you could see it in the innocent little smile plastered on his lips. He was pushing you to give him an answer for a special reason that you didn't know, but you assumed it couldn't be anything good for you.

Your brain was screaming at you not to take the bait, that it was dangerous and stupid. The smartest thing to do would be to find an excuse to go back to your room, where you would be safe from Spencer and his tricks. But you had never been that smart. Curiosity got the better of you, so you ignored your brain and took the bait.

"Well, for starters, your hands are big." You spoke in the most casual tone possible, trying to hide your embarrassment and excitement as you took one of his hands between yours to compare sizes.

You rarely had the opportunity to hold Spencer's hand, so feeling the warmth of his palm against yours awakened a wave of electricity that coursed down your spine. You swallowed hard, struggling to control yourself as you admired the difference in size between your hands. Even though you had long nails you weren't able to shorten the difference in length between his fingers and yours, Spencer's still stood tall against yours, which barely touched the middle phalanx of his fingers. You thought it was impossible, but his hand seemed even larger when compared to yours. 

"And that's a good thing?" His soft, low voice shook you awake from your trance, lifting your gaze to look at him for a moment before returning your focus to his hands.

"Yes, especially for a guy," you said, trying to act natural under his intense gaze. "But you also have beautiful fingers. They're long and slender... perfectly balanced with the size of your palm." Your fingers traced his as you spoke, delicately caressing the skin of his hand with your fingertips. You could feel his eyes on you, following your every move. If you kept quiet you could hear his deep breathing quicken a little more with each caress you gave him, just like your heartbeat. 

Spencer knew what kind of ideas the size of his fingers sparked in your imagination and he would be lying if he said he didn't have the same fantasies from time to time. It was actually embarrassing how many times he had masturbated imagining having his fingers buried deep in the warmth of your core —you moaning his name and begging him for more while he used his expert fingers to make you feel pleasure in a way no other man had ever done. 

"But I also like the veins in the back of your hand." Your voice brought him out of his thoughts just in time, a few more seconds lost in his fantasies and his pants were going to start feeling a little tight. "I like the way the veins mark on your skin." Your fingers traced the lines on the back of his hand, following the paths that led up his arm, where the rolled up sleeve of his shirt prevented you from continuing.

Your fingers lingered on his arm longer than necessary, taking the opportunity to memorize the texture of his skin, the warmth of his body and the way his closeness made you feel in case you never had the chance to touch him like that again. The room fell into complete silence as you shared an intimate moment, the only thing that could be heard was the sound of your slightly accelerated breathing. There was a tension in the air that you had never felt before being with Spencer, but you barely paid attention to it as you lost yourself in your fantasies, your mind finally surrendering to your wild imagination. 

But then the sound of a speeding car coming through the window distracted you from your thoughts. You pulled your hands away from Spencer quickly as you realized what you had done, ashamed of yourself for losing control like that. However, when you looked up to meet his eyes you didn't notice anything strange about them. He didn't seem to be bothered or uncomfortable by your behavior. No. You just saw that sparkle again, shining in his hazel eyes with increasing clarity. 

Spencer's gaze didn't leave you as he moved his hand closer to you. You remained frozen in place, holding your breath without even realizing it as you waited to see what he was scheming. His fingers took a lock of your hair that fell over your face, playing with it for a bit before he gently tucked it behind your ear. Your heart was beating faster and faster and your brain was working hard to decipher what Spencer was thinking. You enjoyed the attention you were getting from him, but your impatient nature needed to know where he was going with all this.

However, your brain was fried the moment Spencer's hand cupped your cheek. You even forgot how to breathe as you felt his long, slender fingers caress the skin of your face. You closed your eyes instinctively, leaning into his touch as you allowed yourself to get lost in the moment. The warmth of his hand awakened a tingling sensation that spread all over your face following the path of his fingers, from your cheek bone, down to your jaw, across your chin and up to your lips. It was ridiculous how he could have you melting under his touch with the simplest of caresses. He had so much power over you... and you liked it. 

You opened your eyes when you felt Spencer's thumb caress your lower lip. Your eyes met for a moment, feeling small under his intense gaze. He had never acted that way with you before, much less looked at you with the hunger reflected in his hazel orbs. And you liked it. You liked feeling small under his watchful eye. You liked feeling completely at his mercy. You liked knowing that he owned you even if he didn't realize it.

"I feel the same way about your lips," Spencer announced, staring at your mouth as his thumb continued his caresses, tracing the shape of your lips. "I love how soft they look, always tempting me to kiss them... especially when you stick your tongue out to wet them... or when you bite your lower lip when you're deep in thought. It takes all my willpower not to cross the room and kiss you right then and there." 

Spencer's voice was soft and seductive, the slightly deeper than normal tone going straight to your core, which tightened around nothing, desperate for attention. There was nothing dirty in his words —he was just declaring how much he wanted to kiss you— and yet you could feel the wetness beginning to stain your underwear. There was something about his voice, the way he was talking to you and the softness of his touch on your lips that felt highly erotic. Spencer seemed to know exactly what to say and what to do to have you at his mercy. He had you in a trance, frozen in place as you eagerly awaited his next move. There wasn't a single thought in your head, just him and your desire to feel his hands all over your body.

"And don't even get me started on those lipsticks you wear," he continued, applying a little more pressure on your lips as he dragged his thumb across them, smearing lipstick on the corners of your lips. "This one is my favorite."

You parted your lips to try to breathe. You were starting to feel lightheaded, unable to move or speak under Spencer's intense stare. You wanted to, god knew there were a lot of things you wanted to say to him at that moment, but you couldn't do it. Your brain was fried, your body vibrating with anticipation. Part of you still couldn't believe what was happening, so you thought it would be best to keep your mouth shut. You would let him guide you, show you what he wanted from you. You'd be lying if you said that wasn't exactly what you wanted.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you felt Spencer's thumb push into your mouth. You closed your lips around the digit without even thinking about it, your tongue caressing his skin in an act of pure instinct. Your mind didn't process what was happening until you heard him moan softly.

"Good girl," he praised you and you couldn't help but moan over his finger, pure pleasure vibrating throughout your body. "I always suspected that behind that strong, combative attitude of yours was hiding a good, obedient girl... I didn't even have to tell you to suck, you already knew what to do."

A wave of pleasure ran through your body at his words, feeling proud to hear him call you a good girl. That's all you ever wanted to be, his good girl, and now that you finally had the chance to prove it to him you weren't going to waste it. You sucked on his finger harder to show him how much you loved his compliments, hollowing out your cheeks as your tongue played with his digit wishing it was his cock instead.

"I’ve wanted this for so long, you have no idea," Spencer sighed. 

Oh but you did know. You knew exactly what he meant because you had wanted him for so long too. Every second you spent with him was torture, not only because you fantasized about feeling his hands on your body all the time, but also because you had to pretend you didn't in a room filled with skilled profilers. 

But there was no more of that. You didn't have to worry anymore because his hands were finally on your body and it felt even better than you had imagined.

"Will you be my good girl tonight?" Spencer asked you, his voice barely a whisper as he moved closer to you. 

You almost fainted when you felt his warm breath crash against your face, feeling even smaller under his gaze now that he was closer to you. When he removed his thumb from your mouth you had to bite your tongue to keep from letting out a whimper in protest. 

"Answer me!" he demanded in a firm but soft tone that managed to snap your brain out of its trance. 

"Yes," you rushed to say, maintaining eye contact with Spencer at all times. "I want to be your good girl, please."

You barely managed to get the words out before Spencer's lips crashed against yours in a kiss full of passion and desperation. You didn't even try to fight for dominance, surrendering to him without him having to ask. You let his lips guide yours, melting under the caresses of his tongue. His hands gripped each side of your face, using his hold to tilt your head so he could deepen the kiss. 

It was all happening so fast you barely had time to process it, your poor brain working hard to keep up with the torturous rhythm of Spencer's lips. The kiss was much rougher than you would have imagined from someone like him. He always looked so sweet and innocent it was hard to believe he had such a dark side. But you loved every second of it. You loved knowing that he had chosen to share that side with you. 

"Stand up," he ordered you as he pulled away from your lips. His kiss had left you a little stupid, so it took you a few seconds to process his words. But he didn't seem to mind. On the contrary, Spencer seemed proud of himself. He loved the effect he had on you as much as you did.

Spencer stood next to you, standing in front of you. You looked up into his eyes, patiently awaiting his next command. You lost yourself in the beautiful hazel color of his orbs for a moment, noticing a flash of his usual sweet, tender glow mixed in with all the desire and lust. That soothed the nerves that were beginning to form in your stomach from the anticipation, remembering that behind the darkness in his eyes was your Spencer, the one who always opened doors for you and brought you coffee without you asking him for it when you were stuck in the office late at night doing paperwork.

He took his time removing your clothes, his hands caressing and kissing every inch of skin he uncovered, showering you with compliments. He even knelt down in front of you to properly remove your shoes, pants and panties, taking the time to caress your calves and deposit a kiss on each of your thighs before rising back up. Spencer was tall, much taller than you. His figure towered over yours in an imposing way, but his soft and gentle touch helped you not to feel self-conscious in front of him, even when he was fully clothed and you were not. The gentleness with which he was treating you contrasted with the hardness of his kisses, but it was a change you gladly welcomed. Although it did make you wonder what he had planned for later.

"You're so beautiful," Spencer murmured against the skin of your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses as his hands roamed your body. His fingers caressed your skin ever so gently, trailing up your arm all the way to your shoulder. He paused at your neck for a moment and a shiver ran down your spine as you imagined him closing his fingers over your throat, applying pressure until it was hard to breathe. But before you could put voice to your desires, his hand wandered down your back, fiddling with your bra before unclasping it.

"Spence, please." You begged in a whisper when you couldn't stand the anticipation any longer. As much as you enjoyed the attention of his hands on your body, you needed more. Much more. Your pussy was crying for attention, staining your underwear with your arousal.

Your broken voice went straight to Spencer's cock, your desperation was music to his ears, but he managed to keep his composure. He wanted to take his time with you. "What is it, baby? What do you want?" he asked in an almost condescending tone. He knew very well what you wanted, but he wanted to hear you say it.

“I want you,” you replied, not caring about how pathetic your voice sounded. You were desperate for some relief and were willing to do anything to get it. "I need you to touch me... to make me feel good."

Spencer didn't need to be told twice. He settled down on the bed again —his long legs stretched out on the comforter and his back resting against the bed frame— and gestured for you to sit on his lap. When you moved closer he turned you over, helping you to settle onto his body until you ended up sitting with your back against his chest. He used his legs to spread yours apart, opening them as wide as he could. You hated not being able to see his face easily, but the new position was exciting anyway. You could feel his hard cock twitching against your ass and had a privileged view of his hand as he slowly moved closer to where you needed it most.

"You're so wet already and I barely touched you," Spencer whispered against your ear, his breath brushing your skin as his fingers began to toy with your clit. "Is this all for me?"

"Y-yes,"you managed to mumble between ragged breaths, struggling to control the sounds of pleasure escaping your lips. You were in a hotel room and the rest of your co-workers were sleeping in the rooms next to yours. The last thing you wanted was to be discovered.

"No, don't hold back. I want to hear you moan. I want to know how good I'm making you feel." Spencer was desperate to hear you moan his name, it was all he had ever wanted from the first moment he saw you. He dreamed of your whimpers of pleasure, but they never felt real enough. His mind could never recreate the beautiful melody of your voice to perfection. But he could remember it forever if he could hear you.

Spencer increased the speed of his fingers and you weren't able to contain the moan that escaped your lips, nor the many others that followed. But even if you could, you wouldn't have done it because he wanted to hear you and his wishes were your command. Your body belonged to him in its entirety, you were his to do with you as he wished. 

"Good girl," he praised you, using his free hand to push your hair to the side so he could kiss and nibble on your neck. Each thing he did brought you a little closer to the edge. It was as if he had studied your body in preparation for this moment, as if he knew exactly what buttons to push to have you making a mess under his touch.

"Is this what you wanted?" Spencer growled against your ear, feeling his cock throbbing under the movements of your ass. Pure pleasure coursed through his veins as he listened to the whimpers escaping your lips. "Is this what you imagined every time you looked at my hands?"

"Yes! F-fuck, yes." Your voice came out in a broken moan, your brain fighting the haze of pleasure to form coherent sentences. Spencer was bringing you near climax in record time, you could feel the knot in your stomach getting tighter and tighter. You didn't know how he was doing it, but you didn't want him to ever stop. "I thought about having your fingers deep inside me all this time and, f-fuck, and how good they would feel reaching places mime can't... yes! Just like that."

As if Spencer was using your fantasies as a guide, he slipped his middle and ring fingers inside you. Your velvety walls received them gladly, clasping around them to keep them there forever. Just as you had imagined, his long fingers felt wonderful, filling you in a way yours could not, and they reached that spongy place inside you in a matter of seconds making you see stars every time they caressed it.

"Oh god, Spence it feels so good... please" you murmured between moans and heaving breaths, gripping onto your lover's arm for support. Your body was on fire, your mind lost in pleasure. It all felt like too much and not enough at the same time. You were desperate to find that sweet relief, moving your hips against Spencer's hand to reach your climax.

"You're gonna cum for me like the good girl you are?" He spoke against your neck, biting into your skin and drawing a moan of pleasure from you. "You're gonna cum all over my fingers?"

"Yes! Yes, please, I wanna cum so bad," you begged him on the verge of tears and Spencer couldn't help but growl against your skin. Knowing that he was capable of making you cry out in pleasure with his fingers alone awakened something primal in him. The desperate sounds escaping your lips were the hottest thing he had ever heard and suddenly it became his mission to keep you crying with pleasure for as long as he possibly could.

Spencer increased the rhythm of his fingers and applied pressure to your clit with his palm so each time he moved his hand you would receive twice as much stimulation. "C'mon baby, cum for me," he encouraged you and his permission was all you needed to collapse into his arms.

Wave after wave of pleasure coursed through your body, which was squirming under Spencer's skilled hands that kept fucking you through your orgasm. Your lungs were screaming for air, but it was impossible for you to catch your breath. The world around you became a blur for a moment and the only thing your pleasure clouded brain was able to process was Spencer's voice praising you as his hands caressed your body.

"That's it... that's my good girl." You smiled, enjoying his compliments as you tried to catch your breath. 

But then you felt the hand that was still in your pussy begin to move once more. They were slow thrusts of his fingers inside you, but it was still a lot for your abused cunt, too sensitive from the orgasm it had just had. Your hand clutched at his wrist to try to stop it, but as you opened your eyes and looked down you couldn't help but let out a moan. You were convinced that there was no more erotic sight than that of his veiny hand buried in your pussy, moving in and out of you, giving you a glimpse of his skin glistening with your arousal in the dim light of the room.

"One more," Spencer told you, tugging on your hair to force your head back so you could look at him. It was a little rough, but you loved it, the pain going straight to your center. "I want one more and then I'll fuck you."

"I can't... too much" you tried to say, but your body betrayed you. Your pussy was dripping with excitement, your walls clinging to Spencer's fingers with desperation. Your hips were moving to his rhythm, following his lead and not yours. Your body no longer responded to you, it no longer belonged to you. It now belonged to Spencer and if he wanted you to cum one more time then you would.

"You can, I know you can," he encouraged you in a soft voice that contrasted with the roughness of his movements. He kissed you, his lips pressing against yours with a desperation that took what little breath you still had, and you surrendered completely to him. You stopped fighting your body's urges, trusting that Spencer knew what was best for you. He always did.

"That's it, baby. Let go for me, c'mon. I want to feel you cum on my fingers one more time." His words went straight to your pussy, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. It wasn't long before you started to feel like it was too much. Your legs shook uncontrollably with pleasure, but when you tried to close them Spencer didn't let you, using his to keep you wide open for him.

"'S too much… too much… can't" you mumbled incoherently as you felt the pleasure take over your whole body. Tears of utter pleasure streamed down your cheeks, each movement of your lover's hand bringing you closer to the edge you weren't sure you'd be able to cross. 

"Shh you're okay, you're okay" he reassured you, showering his kisses all over your neck and shoulder as he used his free hand to hold you in place. "You can do it. C'mon, I got you."

You clung to Spencer's arm as you braced yourself for the explosion of pleasure that was coming, your nails digging little half moons into his porcelain skin. He held you in place as your body shook violently as your second orgasm hit you, enjoying the incoherent cries of pleasure escaping your lips as you soaked his fingers with your arousal. It was music to his ears, the sweetest melody he had ever heard. 

"That's it, such a good girl for me." He praised you, but you were too lost to process his words. Your mind was completely lost in a fog of pure bliss, the world around you forgotten as your body twitched with the aftershocks of your orgasm. You could barely breathe and you couldn't remember your own name, but a smile formed on your face. Those had been the best orgasms of your life and you hadn't even had Spencer inside you yet.

"There you are!" you heard him say next to you. When you opened your eyes you discovered that at some point he had moved you, and now you were lying on the bed with him staring at you at your side. "Are you okay?" 

His voice was soft as his fingers gently caressed your cheek. It was quite a change from the man who minutes before was demanding you cum on his fingers, but you liked it. He was more like the usual Spencer and that was what you needed at that moment as you recovered from the two most intense orgasms of your life.

"I'm fine," you assured him with an ecstatic smile. You really were. Spencer had demanded a lot from you, but in the best possible way.

"Do you want to stop? Just say the word and I'll let you go to sleep."

"What? No, please, I want to feel you inside me." You begged with glazed eyes and Spencer let out a chuckle.

"Are you sure you can handle it?" he asked, looking at you with a raised eyebrow and you nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes! Please, I want to make you feel good. I want to be your good girl."

Spencer silenced your pleas with a kiss, his lips caressing yours ever so gently. Unlike the previous times, when desire, passion and desperation prevailed, this kiss was slow and sensual. He was taking his time to enjoy the moment, memorizing every little detail of your lips and your reactions to the caresses of his tongue. He wanted to experience everything with you, the urgency of passion and desire, as well as the tenderness of such an intimate moment. He wanted it all with you.

When he pulled away you let out a whimper in protest, missing his warmth the moment he got out of bed. However your protests were silenced when you rose up on your elbows and discovered that he was undressing. Before that moment you didn't think it was possible that the image of a man loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt could be so erotic, but Spencer proved you wrong. Your mind raced wildly with the thought of everything he could do to you with that tie or the belt, which fell to the floor with a metallic clank as he peeled off the layers of clothing. 

Anticipation bubbled up inside you once again as you stared at Spencer crawling towards you, looking at you like an animal at its prey. He gave you one last slow, tender kiss before settling between your legs, taking his cock in his hands and stroking it a couple of times before lining it up with your entrance.

"You ready, baby?" he asked you one more time to make sure you were okay, his voice no more than a raspy whisper that awakened a new wave of arousal inside you.

"Yes, please."

He was gentle as he entered you, giving you time to adjust to the size of his member as he enjoyed the warmth of your velvety walls. You both let out a moan as he bottomed out, your pussy tightening around his cock as you felt him deep inside you.

"So tight and warm for me," Spencer growled in your ear as he began to move, slowly dragging his cock almost all the way out before slamming back inside you with a quick, punishing thrust. "Taking me so well."

It was clear from the erratic, desperate rhythm of his hips that Spencer wasn't going to last long. He was so worked up after having you wriggling on his cock as you came twice that he was already close to the edge. But he still tried his best to drag the moment out as long as he could, thoroughly enjoying the way you had surrendered to him completely. He hadn't even had to ask you, you had simply accepted your role, desperate to be his good girl just as he had imagined. 

"You look so pretty like this, making a mess on my cock as I fuck you stupid," he praised you as he noticed your moans increasing in volume and incoherence. He felt you tighten around his member, letting out a pathetic moan of pleasure as you increased the rhythm of your hips, which moved against his in search of your orgasm.

"Feels s-so good, Spence… please." A couple of tears escaped your eyes as you begged him for relief, awakening that primal desire deep inside him again. There was something so erotic about the way you were moaning for him, crying for his cock, begging him to bring you to your climax one more time. You looked completely ruined, mascara running down your face and lipstick smeared across your lips after so many kisses, and he was the cause of it all. He was the one you were moaning for. He was the one you cried for. He was the one you begged for more even though you were completely ruined. He was the one who was making you feel so good. He and only he. You belonged to him. 

"You want to cum again, huh?" Spencer spoke in a condescending tone as he increased the pace and roughness of his thrusts. "Two orgasms are not enough for my girl? Is that it?"

You tried to ignore the way it made you feel to hear him call you 'his girl', attributing the warm feeling that spread through your body to desire and arousal. Though deep down you knew there was something more pure and innocent behind your reaction.

"Please, don't stop. I'm so close, f-fuck." The pleasure was overwhelming, coursing through your entire body, consuming every cell of your being. Your vision was blurring again, the tight knot in your stomach threatening to snap at any moment.

Then Spencer lowered one of his hands to where your bodies joined as one, his fingers losing themselves in your wetness as they played with your clit. Your body began to twitch beneath his, your moans increasing in volume and quantity as you felt yourself getting closer and closer to the sweet relief. You reached out to him, grabbing his arm in an attempt to ground yourself, frightened by the force of the powerful orgasm that threatened to destroy you completely. 

"I know, baby, I know." Spencer comforted your incoherent cries of pleasure, feeling your whole body tighten around his to hold him in place. The warm walls of your cunt clenched around his throbbing cock with every movement he made. Your legs hooked around his hips, pulling him even closer against you, his cock reaching deeper inside you with each thrust. You were both so close to cumming, but he wanted to feel you come undone around him first.

"Just let go for me, I got you."

You moaned his name, appreciating the tenderness in his voice as he encouraged you to cum. But you needed more, something to push you over the edge. And you knew exactly what that was.

Loosening your grip on his arm, you guided him up your body to where you needed him. Your hand rested on top of his as you gently settled it on your exposed neck, closing your fingers —and his— over your throat in an attempt to make him understand what you wanted.

Spencer looked at you with a surprised look, but you could see that flash of darkness shining in his eyes that let you know he liked the idea as much as you did. "Are you sure?" he asked you to make sure you were both on the same page about it.

"Please," you begged him with glazed eyes and Spencer felt his cock throbbing inside your pussy, feeling his orgasm approaching. You were definitely the perfect woman for him.

He began by applying a little pressure to the sides of your throat, feeling your veins pumping blood under his fingers. His hand was so big that he could almost wrap it around your entire neck, giving him a sense of power that awakened a wave of pleasure that coursed through his entire body. Knowing that you trusted him enough to let him choke you gave him a strange sense of relief. He wasn't the only one.

But what really sealed the deal for him was hearing your strangled moans as he applied enough force to limit your breathing a bit. 

"You're such a dirty little girl... you like getting fucked like a slut, huh?" Spencer asked the question on purpose, knowing you weren't going to be able to respond other than incoherent sounds from both the pleasure you were feeling and the pressure he was putting on your throat. But he knew you loved it, he could feel it in the way you were clenching down on his member. 

"Cum for me, c'mon. I want to feel you making a mess on my cock." His command was all you needed to let yourself be consumed by pleasure, the combination of his dirty words, his punishing thrusts and the pressure he exerted on your throat finally pushing you over the edge. 

Your whole body trembled beneath his as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through every inch of your body. You felt like you were on fire, floating in pure bliss as you heard Spencer praising you in the distance.

"That's my good girl, doing such a great job for me." Spencer's movements became more erratic and sloppy as he chased his own orgasm. His grip on your neck softened, but you didn't let him move his hand from there, grabbing his wrist to hold him in place.

"Please Spence, I want you to fill me up... I want to feel you cum inside me, pleaseee," you begged him with what little strength you had left, trying to push him over the edge. You looked at him with half-closed, slightly unfocused eyes, completely lost in the pleasure that flooded your insides. It was the hottest image Spencer had ever seen. You were ruined, so fucked out that you could barely think, and he was the one to blame for that.

You whimpered from the overstimulation, the sweet sound of your raspy moans driving him over the edge. He came with a grunt of pleasure, emptying his load inside you. He painted your velvety walls with rope after rope of cum, enough that the pearly white liquid trickled down your thighs and onto the bed. Spencer earned one last moan from you as he pulled out of you, collapsing beside you as you both struggled to catch your breath.

"Are you okay?" he asked you as he regained the ability to form coherent sentences. He shifted his body towards you, rising up on his arm and resting his head in his palm so he could look at you. "I wasn't too rough, was I?"

"No, no. You were perfect." You were quick to say, opening your eyes and turning to face him. He had his soft, innocent expression back, looking at you with adoration as he analyzed your face to make sure you were telling the truth. If it weren't for the smell of sex that flooded the room you would find it hard to believe that he was the same man who had fucked you until you forgot your own name.

"Everything was perfect." You added with a satisfied smile on your face that he mimicked. 

A silence formed as you tried to process what had happened. Now that your mind was clear of the fog of desire and passion that blocked your thinking you realized the position you had put yourselves in. You were friends and co-workers and at the time you had no way of knowing how this slip-up was going to affect both relationships. You figured you would have time to sort it out, but for now you needed to get out of there before you fell asleep and the rest of the team discovered you leaving the same room in the morning. So you carefully got up, holding onto the bed frame until your legs got used to supporting the weight of your body again, and looked for your clothes that had been left behind, scattered on the floor of the room.

"What are you doing?" Spencer asked, watching you struggle to put your underwear back on.

"Putting my clothes back on?" you replied as if it were obvious, grabbing your shirt off the floor. "I need it. Unless you want me to walk down the hallway naked I-"

"Stay," he interrupted you, grabbing your hand to force you to stop. "Please." He sounded so soft and vulnerable that there was no way you could say no, even though you knew it was a terrible idea.

“What about the team?”

“We can wake up a little earlier so you can sneak back to your room.”

You weren't fully convinced. There were a lot of things that could go wrong —what if you were called away in the middle of the night? how would you explain that you were not in your room but in Spencer's room sleeping with him if one of your co-workers knocked on your door before you got back?—, but Spencer kissed you and all concerns left your system. You let the soft movement of his lips quiet the voices in your head, surrendering to his charms once again.

"C'mon, let's get you cleaned up so we can go to sleep." He whispered against your lips, giving you one last short kiss before guiding you to the shower. You let him take care of you, allowing him to wash your hair and carefully massage the soap over your body, and in gratitude you did the same for him. The tenderness and intimacy of sharing a shower contrasted with the rough sex you had had, but you liked it. The same way you liked sleeping snuggled in his arms. He was your favorite pillow, the warmest and most comfortable blanket you had ever slept with. 

You were pretty sure you couldn't go back to normal after discovering how happy it made you feel to be surrounded in Spencer's arms, but you were okay with that. You had plenty of time to talk about your future in the morning. For now all you wanted to do was enjoy the moment, letting your lover's deep breaths lull you to sleep.

[maroonswan]

Imagine pampering pro hero!Izuku Midoriya after he rushes in the door late for date night, covered in a thick layer of the day's sweat and grime. A fresh bouquet of flowers clutched gingerly in his scarred hands as he apologizes for being such a mess.

He immediately lauches into a tangent of an explanation, rambling about how he had wanted to get back home as soon as possible but had still wanted to get you something special. That he had neglected washing up at the agency in order to run by the flower shop before it closed, and that despite the late hour he still fully indended to take you out tonight (after grabbing a quick shower).

"There're still a few bars open." He continues. "We could grab your favorite cocktails. We could dance. And, maybe after that we could get some fast food or I can cook you dinner! I'm sorry, [Y/N]. I know it's not exactly what you were hoping for, but I promise I'll make it up to-"

You cut off him before he could finish, pulling him in to a tight hug; your face burried deep in his soiled chest, muffling your laughter as he freezes in his tracks.

Midoriya can't help it. With you, his worries seem small. He takes a deep breath relishing your sweet clean scent as a smile comes to his lips.

"It's okay, it's okay. I'm just glad your home, Izu." You sigh. "Besides, I had other plans on how I want to spend the night."

"You do?" He asks, genuinely curious, feeling your self-satisfied hum rolling through his chest. Such a coy non-answer. He knows you're up to something but decides to play along. He's kind of tired of asking questions anyway.

"Whatever you want, lovley" your boyfreind agrees whole heartedly, kissing your forehead and making you giggle with excitement. You always appreciated Midoriya's trust and intend to show him so tonight.

Without another word, you gently take Izuku's hand in yours and lead him to your shared bedroom.

Thinking about giving Midoriya a handjob after a hot bath and a full body massage. The epsom salts having worked wonders on his sore muscles; the remaining knots having melted away under your touch. Yet, he knew he was done for the second you drop your rode to reveal you were wearing nothing underneath. His cock immediately swelling with blood as you crawled your way on top of him, straddling him, your ass pressing into the corded muscles of his thighs.

Izuku is still covered in oil, glistening in the golden glow of the candle light. His stares at you mesmerized as you watch him with an equal sence of wonder, near hypnotized by the nervous rise and fall of his shining abdomen and chest.

He's so wonderfully gorgeous, like an angel or a demi-god.

How could you not serve his every need?

Izuku breath catches you gently grasp your hand around him. It's warm and so soft, so smooth. He can't bring himself to protest as your start stroke him just way he likes it, your grip light but sqeezing tighter the closer you get to the tip; fingers running lusciously across the vein on the underside; the tugging of his lubed cock making such lude fapping noises.

Izuku squeezes his eyes shut as he moans openly, slutilly. He feels like he's melting in your hands even as all the muscles in his body tightened up again; your other hand massaging his balls as you continued to pump.

He knows he isn't going to last long. Not when it feels this good, when you've been so thoughtful, when everytime he reopens his eyes he's greeted again by your perfect body and jiggling tits.

You're spoiling him, and he's helpless to stop you.

"Fuck," he slurs. Better words having formed on the edge of his lips but never having fully come through.

He cums so quick in your hands, and it's alot. Warm and shooting out of him in seemingly endless ropes with each replenishing pump.

Izuku's not at all ashamed. If anything, he feels relaxed. His muscles are completely slack, and if it wasn't for his many scars he would have had a hard time beleiving he ever was hurt before.

He turns to you as you curl up beside him. His gaze soft and full of love.

"Thank you, baby."

[limbuscompanysituations]

I want to ask the opposite of the distortion reader x sinners, the sinners react to the reader manifesting their EGO in a desperate moment, and the reader attributing the manifestation to the corresponding advice given by each sinner

Look, when I started writing this I thought "hey this is going to be fun!" and although it was incredibly fun, my wrist also hurts omg. So anyway I once again commit to my insanity and write a very long post. Enjoy!

Faust:

"It is possible to manifest EGO from one's own experiences, as well as when they are overcome with emotions. Whether they be positive or negative, the end result stays the same." It was the beginning of one of Faust's long, wordy explanations.

They were curious after witnessing her manifest her EGO in combat before. It was such an oddity to manifest power beyond imagination that they couldn't help but ask. Most of the explanation was lost to them once she finished it, but the initial part was simple enough to remember.

Faust leans on her weapon for support. The tips of her pale hair are stained red with her own blood. She pants, gasping for air while trying to keep her eyes open. They've been fighting together for hours now, trying to hold the line long enough for the other sinners to come to their aid. It seems to be fruitless, the enemy hasn't given them any space to breathe. They are almost as exhausted as Faust, but she's been taking the worst of the beating on purpose.

She may look cold and aloof but they know that deep down, she has done so for their own sake. They were angry at her, but mostly at themself for being this weak. If they could do more, they could protect her.

Her explanation on EGO echoed in their mind, and for a split second they had a flash of hope. If only they could draw that out of themself, then they could get out of this. They close their eyes and take a deep breath.

Memories and emotions, then. This is all of me, for all of you, Faust.

It's a promise they make to themself, and in that moment they change the flow of combat. One by one, those enemies that threatened to bring them down are swept away by a wave of power unlike any other.

Faust's eyes widen and she realizes what is happening in front of herself. This is her beloved's EGO, manifested when they need it the most. A faint blush spreads across her cheeks, realizing many things at once. Dying did not matter to her, as sinners always have Dante who can rewind, but perhaps it was the possibility of witnessing her death that made them do it. She's flattered, exhilarated and excited. There are endless instances of Faust all across the universe, yet this Faust ended up being the one who matters the most to them.

When the enemies are wiped out she falls to her knees with a light chuckle. Her vision is blurry and starting to fade out. She is grateful not only for them to have saved her life, but also because their existence makes hers feel more important.

No longer resigned to be one in a million, but one Faust who is loved and cherished.

_____

Yi Sang:

They fight back to back, gritting their teeth and keeping their opponents at bay just barely. Yi Sang can seem frail but he's a skilled combatant, and so are they. However, there's still a limit to how much two people can do against an endless number of foes. Yi Sang's resolve is beginning to fail, and so is his body.

They help him stay on his feet, supporting him with a hand around his waist while they brandish their weapon with their other hand. It seems to be impossible to turn this around. They are done for.

"The same shards of broken glass that bring you nothing but pain... Can be put back together, piece by piece, and build a window through which you can witness a better, colorful and more hopeful word."

His words come back to mind. They remember vaguely asking him how he could manifest his EGO during combat once. It was so impressive back then that the image was still burnt in their mind.

It's what I need now: the power to build a window to a better world.

They grit their teeth and hiss out a heavy breath. If there's nothing but hope left for them, then they will grab that opportunity. Willing their entire body and mind to cooperate, they push their own heart to its limit and climb that window.

Yi Sang is barely conscious but he can see it all happening. One minute his body and mind are so weary he knows he will faint soon, and then the next minute a figure so bright takes over his every thought. Their EGO wipes out their enemies one by one, and even though it is a terrifying power to witness, he feels elated. Their pain and their hopes are all bare before him, pieced together in a beautiful mosaic that bleeds hope through it. In the middle of this mosaic they stand, terrifyingly beautiful, their power uncontested.

It takes him a moment to realize they are no longer holding him and that he's fallen on his knees. It doesn't matter, however. His body has never felt any lighter. He calls out their name in a whisper and his consciousness gives in to the darkness.

____

Don Quixote:

Even the brave aspiring fixer will find a situation impossible to turn around. Her beloved squire did everything they could to support her, but she's heavily wounded and can barely take another step. In this moment of desperation they can still hear her energetic voice calling for her heroic steed. Except right now she can't muster up the strength to call upon it.

"Tis an unjust world, and I, Don Quixote, swear to battle evildoers to the end!" It wasn't really an explanation on how exactly she used her EGO, rather a proud exclamation of her own power.

Still it's better than nothing.

They focus on this sliver of hope and grab it with their hand. It is an unfair world, and Don Quixote should not fall here. She is the heroine of this tale, and she will fight until the end. In this moment her squire promises the same.

I will fight injustice by her side, so neither of us can fall here!

They hold this newfound power in their hands and charge forth, dashing past a wounded Don Quixote and crashing into their enemies with ruthless strength. They're crushed into bloody pulps before they can even blink.

By the back lines, Don Quixote stares at her lover, eyes wide and teary. She will lose consciousness soon, but witnessing the power of their resolve manifested in such a way makes her heart beat faster. She wants to kiss them; she wants to commend them; she wants to be the one who protects them to the end, while also being the one to fight all evils in this world by their side. Don Quixote is proud of her dearest squire beyond words, still she is capable of speech.

"Hark, squire!" She exclaims, "Thy power is most-!" and before she can utter the word "magnificent", she collapses.

____

Ryoshu:

When they asked Ryoshu what it meant to cast her EGO, the sinner stared off into the distance and muttered the words "It is my soul, bared to the world."

They nodded then, knowing that this was as precise of an explanation as possible, while remarking that that could mean pretty much anything.

Then they found themselves cut off from the rest and fighting for their lives against a foe so persistent it could take the smirk off of Ryoshu's face. The wounds that piled on her body grew to be almost unbearable. For Ryoshu, who was a competent assassin capable of ending most conflicts with a single move, it meant that they were both in trouble of the deadly kind.

Still they hoped to be able to do something, anything.

Ryoshu dashed forward once more, putting all of her strength into a single strike that could tear apart anything, but the monster not only deflected her hit, it also threw her back against a wall with force so immense that a sickening crunching sound echoed around them. Ryoshu fell limp to the ground, still breathing but with some of her limbs twisted in an unnatural manner.

They ran to her side, with tears in their eyes while they recognized the impossibility of the fight they found themselves in. Then they remembered her words and everything made sense suddenly.

"My soul, bared like my teeth." They whispered and held her body gently in their arms. Her dazed eyes rolled back and forth, then they found their face. Ryoshu smiled in pain, and if she could, she would have cupped their face in a hand.

"T.I." She whispered back.

They nodded and let go. Facing the monster with the fury of a legion, ready to bare their teeth. The power that came from their very core lashed out in a focused manner. The creature had no chance, the moment they left Ryoshu's side, it was already dead and sliced to a thousand pieces.

Ryoshu's eyes are wide and bloodshot, her bloody, crazed grin splitting her face ear to ear. If she wasn't choking on her own blood she would've laughed upon seeing that asshole being torn apart. Her eyes glimmer with barely contained admiration. She already knew they were capable of something like manifesting EGO, but seeing it first-hand is much more intense than anything she ever imagined.

She witnesses a soul that is vibrant, mesmerizing, deadly and indomitable all the same.

____

Meursault:

"To wield my EGO is to hold everything that weighs me down in my hands and then put that weight on that which hinders me." Meursault's explanations are usually more thorough and less abstract. The oddity of hearing him describe his EGO in such a way stuck with them.

When the tide of the fight turned against them and there seemed to be no hope to find, they remembered those words. He tanked all the hits he could, trusting that his large, trained body would be enough to shield them all the way through. But even if Meursault is a force to be reckoned with, the foes they face are much more than they can handle.

He's bloodied, battered and bruised, barely able of standing on his own feet. His knees tremble and he's breathing heavy, hands shaking while he tries to keep his eyes trained on the enemy. They circle them, and in spite of trying to keep them safe, the moment this wave strikes again, they both will be done.

"It's a bit foolish, isn't it?" They laugh nervously, "To carry all that weight all by yourself."

Meursault's eyes drift towards them briefly, and they can hear his response in their mind. Something along the lines of "it's what must be done."

You don't need to do it all by yourself, you idiot.

They clench their hands in fists and close their eyes, concentrating in how heavy their heart feels knowing that he is so hurt because they aren't stronger. Their jaw clenches and the tears that threaten to come out never do. Instead a power that they didn't know they had in themself surges and overflows. Suddenly they are the tide, and the battle doesn't matter anymore.

They become the force that they need to be for him; they become the one to bear the weight of the world. This weight is unbearable for those around, and they are knocked out uncoscious without even realizing it.

In the middle of the silent battlefield stand Meursault and his lover. While they look proud and surprised with themself, Meursault looks dumbfounded. He has always expected to be the one to carry them both forward, and he was always fine with it. He didn't want to burden them too much, what he wanted was to protect them all along. It is clear that being stuck on that has hindered himself from growing to trust them more.

"Ah..." He mutters, "You were correct all along."

They glare at him, as if to say "I told you so!" A slightly proud smile on their lips. They collapse a few seconds later and Meursault sighs.

____

Hong Lu:

He isn't built for prolonged fights. Although he was pushed to unimaginable limits by his family, there's only so far he can go in combat. They're both on their own, and the situation is dire.

His dominant hand is incapacitated and he's doing what he can with his other free hand, but it's not enough. Soon the spear is flung from his grasp and he has nothing but his own body to fight with. Still he keeps his flawless combat stance, taunting the enemy with a serene smile. He's not ready to surrender, not yet.

More than keeping appearances, Hong Lu can't let go because he's not alone. He hates the pain, but they are with him and he cannot let them be hurt in his presence. This is something they know, because they've asked him before.

Instead of recalling that answer, the words that come to their mind are different.

"There is a place where nightmares and dreamscapes meet, in my mind. If I close my eyes for a brief moment, I can almost touch it. If I reach my hand out, I can feel the taste of my own salty tears on my tongue... And then I open my eyes, and find that I cannot distinguish that from this."

When they asked him about his EGO, the answer they got was quite worrying. They tried to comfort him then, but he smiled and said he was fine.

Even now he's trying to keep that appearance. It's not fair.

Their hands close into fists, and they see the enemy lunge forward again. Hong Lu stands on their way, his still serene smile building a wall between that pain and themself.

He will let himself be hurt and maimed if it means they will stay safe, but if he dies, then who will protect them?

No, rather, the thought that occupies their mind is different. What they think in that split second before the enemy's weapon connects with Hong Lu's flesh is that for them, this is that place. The world that connects dreams and nightmares unfolds before them, and their own grief floods it.

They flutter across the battlefield gracefully and deflect the strike that would've killed Hong Lu, now being the one standing between him and danger. They unleash their madness on their enemy over and over again, taking out those who still have a will to fight and frightening those who don't into falling unconscious.

Hong Lu, who stood there serenely guarding them, seems to finally crumble down. He falls to his knees, smile vanishing from his features and replaced by a look of complete shock. His lips are parted, and tears fill his eyes. He wanted to protect them to the end, but he finally realized how weak he still is. In this power vaccuum, they grew to be the one to outshine him. Turbulent emotions swirl inside him: anger, helplessness, pride, hopefulness, grief, joy. He can't pick one.

Still, even if he feels embarrassed he couldn't do what he promised, he is taken by relief. The smile that comes to his face is not one he forces, but one he welcomes.

____

Heathcliff:

He's the stubborn kind, even when he shouldn't be. They know this, and they accept it, but when it comes to fighting together he's always trying to outdo himself. As if they will think he's cooler if he tries to look all manly and imposing. They could give less of a fuck about that.

Maybe it's not because he's proud and stubborn, maybe he's been shoving himself in front of every attack aimed at them this whole time because he's genuinely concerned. They know he's got a good heart, even if his words are harsh and crude. Heathcliff can paint himself as a thug, but he's a genuinely good man.

"Bloody hell..." He groans, barely capable of holding his bat in his two hands. Their enemies scowl at him, grinning with glee at his pain, and that pisses them off.

"Ah, the EGO thing? I dunno, I just think about something that makes me really pissed and go from there." That was Heathcliff's explanation when he was inquired about his EGO once. It was short, clear and it made sense. When he cast his EGO, he really did look angry.

It's the same anger they feel now. How dare these cunts think they can take him down in front of them?

They hold their weapon in both hands so tight their knuckles have gone white. Between their gritted teeth, they growl curses at their enemies. The anger that takes their heart pours out and every blow and strike they deliver becomes deadly. They maim and break and pound their enemies into a bloody pulp, still cursing at them the whole time.

This righteous anger makes Heathcliff pause and look at the scene with wide eyes. A second ago they were cornered and hopeless of making a comeback. He had already accepted the fact he was going to get a good rewind from Dante in no time. What bothered him the most was allowing them to get hurt in the process. Turns out he worried for nothing.

But then, he stopped to think for one second and realized something.

They have an EGO?!

Whether they had already used EGO before or they just manifested it, he didn't know. The only thought that crossed his mind was that he wouldn't want to be on their bad side after witnessing this storm.

____

Ishmael:

"I spent so much time sharpening this harpoon that I just... Wanted to feel like it was taking me somewhere." She paused, then she corrected herself, "No, I wanted to feel like it was bringing me something. Whether it be the guts of a whale or the one I hate the most."

She gritted her teeth when she finished explaining exactly what she thought about her EGO. They nodded and quietly listened to her.

They could never ask the exact details of Ishmael's time at the sea. Whenever she told them about it, it was all out of her own volition. It didn't seem fair to pry on her life like that, even if they were already dating.

It's strange how random memories always come up when you're at your worst.

Ishmael is still trying to push back a monster so hideous it is beyond imagination. One of her eyes is shut and bleeding, while her other is wide open. She grits her teeth, sinking her feet into the ground and trying to hold the position as best as she can. Her mace has fallen somewhere and is out of sight. She has no hopes of fighting back, so she puts all her focus into defending.

Even if she cannot see it, her shield is starting to crack.

They can see it, and they can understand it. It's because they got wounded first, and now she has to fight all alone. There isn't much else to do, though, the battle is already over. In a matter of seconds her shield will be shattered into pieces and right after it's her turn.

Kneeling on the floor and observing the scene unfold before them, they are taken by an intense, undescribable feeling.

Where am I going...? What am I doing...?

They can't even protect themself, much less her, but still they want to do something.

I want to do what it takes to get us out of here.

It's nothing but a simple thought. They have no harpoon to sharpen or shield to wield, they only have themself and this feeling to show. They rise to their feet in spite of their pain and blindly walk towards the monster.

Ishmael notices it from the corner of her vision and yells at them to stop and stand back but they are incapable of doing so. They walk until they are shoulder to shoulder with her, then they slide their arm into her shield's handle and bury their feet into the ground.

"I don't care what happens to me but..." They push the shield forward and the monster stumbles one step back, "I want its guts."

They grit their teeth and breathe out. The power that flows into Ishmael's shield is enough to throw the monster off balance. When it falls back, they let go of the shield and pounce on the creature. They rip it apart with their bare hands, eyes dull through the whole process.

Ishmael falls to her knees, exhausted and in pain, and watches the spectable before herself. This sensation is the same when the other sinners use their EGO, so could it be...? Yes, yes it probably is. She watches with morbid admiration as her lover tears apart the creature that almost killed them both, suddenly realizing what their words meant. She doesn't mean to, but yet she smiles at the scene.

____

Rodion:

She laughs and jokes, but their situation is dire. They find thelselves in a inhospitable area, but the worst part is that one of the factions of the place decided they didn't like the Limbus crew. While most of the sinners managed to take Dante to a safer spot, Rodion and themself ended up stranded from the rest of the bunch.

The situation wouldn't be so bad if their enemies could just stop coming up with backups. It's like fighting against an endless swarm of foes. Both of them are exhausted and paying for their carelessness. Rodion has one limp arm, and she tries to wield her axe with the other but a blow to her shoulder makes it impossible to swing the weapon without turning her whole body around. They know she's past her breaking point, but still she makes time to look at them and smile. Only to receive a blow right after and spit out blood.

"Isn't it ironic? Sometimes you think you see the situation ahead better than everyone else." Rodion once said, "You think you know what you have to do. You think you know how you can do it... But then it turns out that it's all wrong, and you accomplished nothing. And you're left out in the cold, alone, with only a bloody axe to show for it."

They only asked her about her EGO. When she gave this explanation of sorts, she had an unexpected regretful expression on her face. They remember having raised a hand, about to pat her shoulder and thinking of a way to comfort her, when she smiled and laughed her own words off, playfully winking at them and excusing herself.

Even now, her smile is but a facade, hiding how much she regrets being there.

Isn't it okay to make mistakes sometimes, though? To err is not a sin, but rather what makes us human.

Is what they wanted to say to her back then, but now that they missed their chance, there's only one thing they can do.

They leap forward and shatter the flow of combat. The temperature drops and the enemies are scrambling to understand what happened. When they walk past Rodion, their eyes lock briefly. They disappear within the mass of enemies and an unnatural silence takes over the battlefield.

Blood splatters on the floor and on the wall, Rodion cannot see what is happening but she instinctively feels a shiver run down her spine. The feeling is familiar, something like what she feels when either Ryoshu or Yi Sang cast their EGO. For some unknown reason, she doesn't worry about her partner. She tries to see past the confused foes in front of her, and only has a split second to step aside before a body flies her way. She dodges it in time and what once was a person becomes a blood splatter on the wall behind her.

Within the corridor that this body's path opened, she once again locks eyes with her partner. Panting and with a bloodied face, they stare at her with dull eyes. They don't seem to be wounded, which is a relief, but at the same time...

Suddenly the silence breaks and the formation of their enemies is in disarray. A couple more bodies are flung into the air and splatter against the floor and walls. Rodion didn't expect them to have an EGO so interesting. Actually she has no idea what kind of EGO it is. She can only classify it as terrifyingly hot. Yeah, she will kiss and pamper them a lot when the fight is over, but first they have to survive it.

She grins and swings her axe towards a distracted enemy, slicing his skull in half.

____

Sinclair:

"How do you manifest EGO?" Was a simple enough question. They were expecting a textbook answer, something that would take a while to understand, but still understandable.

"EGO..." Sinclair repeated, eyes growing distant as he silently pondered.

"It's okay if it's supposed to be a secret..."

He smiled at them and shook his head, "It's not, as far as I know, it's just..." He pressed his lips into a thin line, "I think about everything I could never do in my life, and then I... If only I can will myself into doing it..."

Sinclair didn't say anything much after that, and they didn't press him. Sometimes curiosity was about to take over and they felt like asking again, but they always held back. If it was something he couldn't say, then no need to be pushy.

Sinclair was gentle and easy to get along with, but when it came to battling he seemed to change completely. That bright boy who's prone to being anxious is no longer, instead there stands a bloodthirsty man, desperate to claim the lives of his enemies.

There's only a couple of them left, but there's also one wounded Sinclair, barely able to hold his weapon, left. They sit on the floor, back leaning against the wall and holding their bloody stomach. It's really embarrassing, especially after they told him they could handle a fight. Because they are incapable of keeping their promise, Sinclair has to push himself past his limit to keep them safe.

They sigh and look at the heavens above. The wound is not severe, they can probably survive it. The main problem here is that Sinclair will die, and other than that, the wounds on their pride are deeper than the one on their stomach.

Isn't it pathetic that I sit here and pity myself, instead of doing something?

They can't shake that feeling. They stare at Sinclair once again, with his trembling hands and knees, fighting off two enemies at once. He barely blocks a hit and fails to parry the other. The slice goes through his hand and he has three fingers severed at once.

Anger bubbles up their throat and they clench their jaw. Whether they are angry at their enemies or at the world for putting them in such a situation, they don't know, but when they rise to their feet that anger makes them feel lighter than ever. They dash back into the fight and swear to whatever is hearing that they won't live in regret like this anymore.

Sinclair is astounded when the weapon he clung to with all his might is snatched from his hand and then used to slice one of the two enemies in half. The person didn't have a second to realize it, their armor and flesh are sliced clean as if made of clay. The other enemy gives a step back and yells a threat. It's no use.

His partner follows up and slashes at the armored enemy, which barely blocks the blow in time. Sinclair watches as his spear's shape changes and his beloved growls unintelligible words at their common foe. Even the pitch of their voice seems off.

Then it finally hits him what's happening is that they manifested their EGO for the first time. He falls on his knees, heart racing while he watches the enemy lose ground and have all the damage they've inflicted being inflicted back at them. His partner moves with grace and malice, and even though they're clearly hurt they don't seem to show any sign of pain.

He blushes and licks his lips. He never thought his usually peaceful lover would be capable of such carnage, much less of reveling in it. It's an unexpected, but not unwelcome development.

____

Outis:

She's strict with herself more than she is with others, and few can recognize this; her lover being one of them. They wanted to find better ways of helping her so once they asked her how did she manifest her EGO.

"Sometimes you say 'the Odyssey had a purpose'," They explained, "I was wondering if you do it by saying that."

"Just the words aren't enough." Outis looked down at the floor, "It's much more than that." She sighed.

"I want to understand it." They pressed.

"If you really want to know, I think about the path that's ahead of me, and how much I still have to accomplish. I think of all the missed opportunities in the past, how many more I'll miss in the future and..." Her voice drifted away, "It doesn't matter what I have to do. I see an opportunity I cannot miss, and I seize it."

They were expecting more of a textbook explanation of it, but this one was clear enough and made sense. Outis seemed just as happy to let go of the subject, instead talking about something lighter.

Maybe she thought they'd forget about it, but she wasn't aware that they commit everything she says to mind. It's because Outis is devoted to them that they can give everything they have in return.

Even now, when the fight is pretty much lost, with one of her arms on the floor and barely able of wielding her weapon in the other hand, she's giving everything she has to keep them out of harm's way. They bitterly watch her throw her life away for somebody as incompetent as them.

The mindless creature that charges at Outis is uncaring of the outcome of this battle either way. They just happen to be on its way. They knew that this job was going to be dangerous, but they never thought they would end up being so unfitting for it. In exchange, Outis has to fight for two to compensate.

They bitterly stare at the beast who wobbles its way towards their lover and bites into the air. When its maw opens, its limbs flail strangely. They squint and watch an organ pulse underneath something that's either a wing or a tentacle. It looks soft, vulnerable.

It looks like an opportunity.

In that moment, everything clicks into place.

It doesn't matter that they can barely lift their own body or walk, this is something they cannot miss. They push themself off the ground, wincing and wobbling like the creature they fight. They push their feet forward, one after the other, counting the seconds it takes for the creature to show its weakness again. Five, four, three, two, one...

There.

They dash across the battlefield weightlessly and claim the monster's life, like a bullet that has found its target. Outis, who was bracing herself for the curtain call, freezes in place. The creature let out a shriek, its form starting to explode- no, it's like it's imploding. It folds in on itself, body twisting in an unnatural manner until it is nothing but a bundle of twisted flesh and bones.

Standing over the creature's remains is Outis' lover. A sinister smile graces their features and Outis can't help but to smile back. It seems they remembered what she had once told them. Of course, she knew her lessons would one day get through and help them but... She wasn't expecting to see them manifest such a destructive EGO of their own.

She feels overwhelmed with pride and wants to embrace them. She wants to tell them how incredible they look and how amazing of an accomplishment this is but she's already falling to the ground. She doesn't have more than a minute left to live, but it's enough.

"Well... done..." She whispers with her last breath.

____

Gregor:

They'd seen many of the sinners manifest their EGOs before in battle, and Gregor's always seemed to be the most unique out of them. Half of that fascination came from his prosthetic, and the other half from being in love with him. One day when they couldn't hold the curiosity anymore, they asked him about it.

He looked upset at first, and they almost took back their question but then he shrugged.

"It can hurt." He explained, "But if I will it to, it can also protect. If I want it to protect, I need to be stronger. I need to get over how much I hate it and make it useful."

He waved his insect arm a little, as if to illustrate his point.

"I don't know how it works, bud." He smiled awkwardly at them, "I just... I just want it to."

Such a simple explanation fit him. They knew how much grief having the arm gave him, yet he was trying to make something good out of a bad situation.

They hope they can say the same of themself, but...

Gregor is on the floor, a massive armored person has a foot on his neck while pulling his insect arm back at a painful angle. Gregor's struggle to free himself is meaningless. They fought hard, they fought well, but they've ultimately lost. The person who threatens to crush his throat with their ironclad foot instead seems more interested in pulling that arm off his shoulder. He's screamed so much his voice is hoarse. He's writhing on the floor, kicking and screaming to the top of his lungs but he can do nothing.

They're alone, and theyre weak. He tried to protect them, and in turn this is the outcome. They lay on the floor, unhindered by any armored soldier, but incapable of doing a thing. Their broken leg hurts like hell, but not as much as their heart does upon seeing him like that.

In this absolute hopeless moment, they go back to his words and his bittersweet smile.

I want to protect, so I will myself to.

They push their upper body off the ground, only to fall on their face again. They grit their teeth and clench their jaw. Gregor let out another bloodcurdling scream and they shut their eyes tight, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill.

I want to protect. This is not fair.

They can hear the sound of fabric ripping. Something inside them breaks and a switch is flipped. It doesn't matter how much it hurts, they stand on their feet and grab their weapon in their hands. The armored giant turns around, glances briefly at them and goes back to what they were doing. Oh, what a bad decision.

They lift their weapon, eyes locked on the pained image of Gregor on the ground, tortured even after defeat, and then lower it in a swift motion. A shockwave closes the gap between them and their enemy, the armored giant sways and lifts their foot off of Gregor's throat. They take another step closer and wince in pain, but swing their weapon again. The force of the shockwave this time is strong enough to make the giant let go of Gregor. The veteran is kicked to the side while the knight is forced to focus on them.

Gregor watches his lover approach the giant knight menacingly while he curls in on himself. He knows they are more hurt than himself, but somehow he feels more terrified for the canned giant. When his partner raises their weapon again, he knows it's over. He's not very educated on the science of it, but he's fought in enough battles to pick up on its flow. When this combat started, he knew the knight was way out of their league. He knew they would get severely wounded, and knew that winning was an impossible scenario here.

He couldn't tell them, because he barely had any time to, but his plan was to take most of the beating until the others could arrive and save them. Now it's clear that somehow his plan worked, but in an unexpected way. When he was hurt the most, when it felt like his tendons and muscles would get ripped apart by the knight's sadistic pulling on his arm, they reached a breaking point and manifested their own EGO.

Their weapon lowers and the tip connects with the metal on the giant's armor, and in that split second where the world stays still, Gregor blinks. The knight's armor is smashed in and blood and flesh gush out of its gaps. It's a gruesome scene, and the sound it makes is nauseating. His lover pants and gasps for air, then falls to the ground unconscious.

In spite of his pain he is not only proud, but also glad. He crawls all the way to their side, smearing some stray blood and guts over his clothes on the way. Everything hurts, but he manages to reach them. He embraces them with his still good arm, shedding tears of relief.

He's so sorry he's put them through all of this, but he's so unashamedly proud and in love with them.

"You did good, bud." He whispers into their hair, "You did so good...

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Infectious

TBB & Fem!Reader

Chapter 3: Rumors on Scorro

Summary: You're completing your final practicum on Kamino as part of the experimental non-clone Combat Medic program. After graduating top of your class, and being inducted into the prestigious 407th Medic Unit, you get assigned to Clone Force 99. Neither of you are excited to be working together and tensions run high. However, those tensions dissipate when the Bad Batch unexpectedly falls ill while on a covert mission. Running against an unknown clock, it’s up to you to figure out what’s causing the illness before it ultimately kills you all.

Pairing: TBB & Fem!Reader

Characters: Hunter, Echo, Crosshair, Wrecker, Tech

Tags & Warnings: BAMF fem!reader, enemies to friends, humor, action, angst, hurt/comfort, canon typical violence, mild suggestive themes, explicit medical descriptions, whump

Word Count: 5.7k

Author's Note: WE'RE BACK BABY!!! Yeah, that's right. Finally. After all of this time, the next chapter has arrived 🥳 I told y'all I would be updating my other series fics in the new year, and I meant it. This chapter has some Echo angst in it, because why not. FYI, since it's been 9 months, I went back and edited the first two chapters to match my current writing style. No plot elements changed, just style, grammar, word choice, etc. As always, please enjoy 💚

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

As the ship leaves the stormy atmosphere of Kamino, you turn your head to look out the transparisteel viewport and are greeted by the sight of endless stars twinkling brightly across the ebony horizon. You smile wide knowing this view will never get old. The galaxy is vast and beautiful, and getting to see it up close and personal, while also doing something you love, is priceless. This really is a turning point in your life. A new chapter to be written and explored.

When the ship levels out, you unstrap from the jump seat and start exploring the Marauder. You have a feeling you’ll be spending a lot of time aboard this ship, so you want to familiarize yourself with it as much as possible. You walk back towards the stern, where Wrecker is, and look around, but there's not much to see. Then make your way back up toward the bow and step aboard the bridge. You weave between Hunter and Crosshair, and stand behind Tech.

“So, where are we going?” you ask while looking over Tech’s shoulder at the controls.

Without turning around, Tech answers. “Agamar. It’s a rather barren planet found in the outer rim. The terrain is inhospitable to most, but we will manage.”

“What’s the mission?” you ask further, excited by the prospect and intrigue.

“There’s a separatist base they want us to route,” Hunter says. “A simple in-and-out mission.”

You nod your head at the explanation, but he makes it sound like routing a heavily guarded separatist base is a walk in the park. You have to remind yourself that they are an elite force of clones and are genetically modified for the toughest conditions. It amazes you that such clones can even exist and your fascination with them grows. You wonder how they look in action and if they live up to all the rumors the regular clones whisper about on Kamino. Only time will tell.

Hunter rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck. “Get some sleep, all of you. We’ll be there in a couple hours.”

You want to say something funny, like 'aye aye captain', but decide not. Instead, you simply nod and make your way back to the bunks. Laying down on the flat rack, you stare up at the ceiling. There are too many pre-mission jitters vibrating through your body to fall asleep. Even after shutting your eyes and calming yourself, it's just not enough. So, you toss and turn, getting more aggravated that your body won’t drift off, since being tired for your first mission is not an option.

You sigh and sit up, then peer around at the others who are soundly asleep in their bunks and chairs. You’re not sure how they can fall asleep so fast. It’s either a genetic thing or a military training tactic, but whatever it is, you don’t have it. You decide to get up and pace around to try and wear yourself out, and when you do, you hear something. The ship is quiet and your ears perk up immediately at the sound. Wanting to investigate it, you quietly slip around your squad.

One by one, you pass by them, waiting and listening to hear who made the weird sound. Not Wrecker. You move on. Not Crosshair either. You check the next one. He’s making noise for sure, but not the sound you heard. It’s not Tech either. You move towards Hunter, a little nervous that he might wake up and catch you staring at him, but you pause and listen. Nope, not him. You purse your lips. That only leaves Echo. Carefully, you tip toe over to him, wait, and listen.

He's not making a sound, and with a shrug, you turn to leave, thinking you’re a level of crazy for hearing things on a quiet ship. Then it happens again. You turn back around and look at Echo. He’s sleeping rather soundly, with soft rhythmic breaths and gentle rises and falls of his chest. No breath obstructions, you note to yourself. You wait and watch for a moment, then he says it again. It’s faint, breathy, and almost unrecognizable as a word, but you hear it regardless.

Fives.

You knit your eyebrows at the odd utterance, and wait a little longer, listening to see if what he mumbles changes or if he’s repeating the same word. After a couple standard seconds, Echo says the same breathy word again. Fives. You wonder what it means. Maybe it’s a special numerical sequence from his time back on Skako Minor? You shrug at the mystery, but are happy that it’s not a breathing issue. You turn to leave him be, but he mumbles something else.

Fives come back.

Oh. Your heart drops. It’s a person. He’s dreaming about someone he knows, or maybe someone he once knew. You sigh and let your eyes turn soft, knowing exactly what it’s like to dream about loved ones. It’s been several years, but you still dream about your parents. Sometimes you can’t fill in all the gaps of your dreams as you slowly forget things, but it still pulls at your heartstrings every time they show up to give you a hug in the realm of sleep.

As your thoughts wander a yawn escapes past your lips. Finally, feeling tired and ready for sleep, you return to your bunk and crawl onto the hard surface. Laying on your back, you close your eyes and take a few deep breaths to settle yourself. You still wonder who Fives is and what they mean to Echo. Your psychology books tell you that dreams can be a subconscious escape or a subconscious desire. Knowing next to nothing about Echo’s past, it could be either one.

You take another deep breath and exhale slowly. Closing your eyes, you let yourself drift off to sleep, but in a split moment, a rough hand shakes you back awake. You shoot up and hit your head on the bunk above you. Ouch. Nursing your newly formed bump, you use your other hand to rub the sleep out of your eyes. When you come out of your groggy haze, you can hear snickering coming from the rest of the squad. Ha ha, yes, very funny. You think to yourself.

“Rise and shine,” Hunter mocks as he walks away from your bunk. “We’re here.”

Gathering your composure, you swing out of the bunk and head over to the cockpit for the landing. You look out the viewport as you enter the atmosphere of Agamar and your face lights up with excitement. This is it. Your first mission. You want to squeal, but something tells you that no one else is going to appreciate it, so you keep it internal. The ship lands on the rocky surface of the planet with only a slight wobble. Tech wasn’t kidding when he said it was inhospitable.

Your excitement grows as the squad gears up with their packs, and you follow suit the same way. You double check your pack to make sure you have all the medical necessities and do a mental headcount of your supplies. Once satisfied with your inventory, you sling it across your back and toss your bucket snug on your head. You’re all set to go on your first mission. The ship door opens, light beaming in, and your heart begins to race. This is it. This is your moment.

You take your first steps forward to leave the ship when Hunter stretches an arm out to stop you. “Not you,” Hunter says. “You’re staying here.”

“What?” you question. “But what about the mission?”

“Your mission is here,” Hunter says. “You’re staying on the ship with Echo.”

“But, sir!” you argue. Your feelings of excitement crumble. “I belong in the field!”

“You belong where I tell you you belong, medic,” Hunter snaps back. “Or are you ignoring an order from your commanding officer on your first mission?”

You huff and clench your fist. “No, sir."

“I didn’t think so,” Hunter says, then turns to face Echo. “We may need a quick extraction, so keep your ears on.”

“Understood,” Echo acknowledges with a nod.

Hunter nods back and heads out of the Marauder with the rest of the squad, well, the rest of the squad except you. You remove your bucket, plop down on your bunk with an angry grunt, and lean your head back against the wall. This entire assignment has been one big pissing match, and every time you think you’re making progress, you get sidelined. How are you supposed to make Kix proud if you don’t see any action? You release another angry grunt and cross your arms.

“Careful,” Echo says. “You’ll lose your voice if you keep grunting like that.”

You roll your eyes. “Aren’t you upset being stuck here?”

“No,” Echo answers. “It’s not unusual for someone to be left back with the ship. Keeps people from stealing it.”

With such a small squad of men to work with, you guess that makes sense, and since Echo is your unofficial chaperone, it makes sense that you were left on the ship with him. However, even though you try to explain it to yourself in those practical terms, you still think it's to spite you. You sigh. At this rate, you’ll never get to prove your worth as a Combat Medic to any of them. To these special clones, you’re just useless dead weight and not worth their time.

As the planetary rotation moves forward, you find odd things around the ship to busy yourself with, but you’re still bored. Echo is not much of a conversationalist and he hasn’t moved from his spot in the cockpit. You end up sprawling yourself across the seat in the gunner’s nest and looking out the window at whatever draws your attention. There’s some trees, a little snow on the ground, and a few stray wildlife that come into view. Nothing too spectacular, that’s for sure.

Finally, after hours of sitting by yourself, you decide to go back to the cockpit and sit with Echo. You're still curious about this Fives person he mentioned in his sleep, and you think maybe now might be a good time to ask him about it. You walk into the cockpit and sit down in the chair across from him, bending one leg up onto the chair and resting your chin atop your knee. Echo silently acknowledges your presence and returns to looking at the setting sun over the horizon.

You fidget with your fingers as you mull over whether to ask him about what you overheard last night. It might be private, and he may not want to tell you, but your curiosity is getting the better of you. “Echo,” you ask. “Who's Fives?”

Echo shifts uncomfortably in his seat and stays silent for a couple of minutes. “How do you know that name?” he asks. His words hang heavy in the air.

“You…” you begin, then pause, unsure of how to tell him. You don't want to sound creepy, but honesty is the best policy. “You said it in your sleep.”

Echo sighs, but doesn't turn his gaze from the orange sunset. “Shouldn’t you have been sleeping too?”

“I’m not used to sleeping on ships,” you answer. You can tell by the tone of his voice that this is a sore subject and you're starting to regret bringing it up.

Echo swivels his chair to face you and worries his lip. His eyes are full of sadness and his countenance is engrossed in pain as he searches for the words he's looking for. A small smile flashes across his lips. You wonder if he's thinking about a memory.

“He was my brother,” Echo says, his voice quiet at the strain of saying his thoughts out loud.

You can tell by his choice of words and his tone of voice that this brother isn’t around anymore and you feel a twinge of sadness settle in your gut. You understand a thing or two about the loss of a loved one. “What happened to him?” you ask.

“He was murdered,” Echo says, his fist tightening as he looks back out the viewport. “By one of our own.”

Your expression turns from sadness to shock and then confusion. A clone killing a clone? Does that even happen? Why would a clone do that? Your mind rushes a mile a minute trying to wrap your head around the idea, but you cannot seem to reconcile it. It’s too bizarre of a concept to comprehend. Every clone you've ever met was a brother to the one next to him. So, for a clone to kill another clone, it’s like a family member killing another family member. It’s unheard of.

“I’m sorry, Echo,” you offer as a consolation. “You must miss him.”

“Yeah,” Echo says, his voice distant. “I do.”

“I miss my parents all the time,” you say, trying to bridge the gap and build a connection.

“I remember you mentioning they’re dead,” Echo says as he turns to face you.

“About ten years ago,” you add. Now it's your turn to look out at the sunset.

“I’m sorry,” Echo says.

“It’s fine,” you shrug. “It hurts, but it doesn’t hurt like it used to. I know they’re out there watching over me, somewhere.”

Echo snorts. “You believe in that Jedi force stuff do ya?”

“Not really,” you answer with a small laugh. “But everyone needs to believe in something.”

“That’s fair,” Echo says.

“When I look up at the stars,” you begin with a smile while staring fondly out at the horizon, “it’s almost like I can feel them with me, you know? Watching over me as I make my way in the galaxy.”

“Sounds nice,” Echo says.

“I bet Fives is watching you too,” you say, then look at Echo with soft eyes. “He hasn’t left you alone, just like my parents haven’t left me.”

“Maybe,” Echo shrugs, then chuckles. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he came back to haunt me.” His brief small smile fades as his countenance reverts back to a frown.

“We’ll see them again some day," you say, trying to stay hopeful. “I just know it.”

“That would be something, wouldn’t it?” Echo half-jokes, but you can hear the part of his heart that wants what you're saying to be true.

He wants to see his brother again, desperately. So much so that he calls out to him while he sleeps. He must agonize over Fives’ death. You understand because you’ve been there. You’ve stared death in the face, the kind of death that leaves you thoroughly alone. You don't need to understand psychology to know what his subconscious thinks about on a daily basis, and your heart hurts for him, but you know there's nothing in your medpack to mend a shattered heart.

You and Echo stare out of the cockpit in silence and watch the sun fall beyond the horizon, sharing in this solemn moment and appreciating the company. The veil of night arrives and the stars begin to shine in the dark sky. The billions of bright burning lights feel comforting. The stars aren't very visible on Kamino, but here, on this planet, they are bright and beautiful. You relax your shoulders and lean back, thinking that maybe this assignment isn’t so bad after all.

However, your sweet moment is interrupted by Hunter’s voice over the comms. He’s calling in that quick extraction now and by the amount of yelling and blaster fire in the background, this is going to be a hot one. Echo relays the affirmation, sets the coordinates, and lets Hunter know that both of you are on the way to pick them up. You're slightly surprised that Echo included you in the transmission, but now is not the time to be celebrating your first taste of inclusivity.

“Civvy, strap in,” Echo orders as he starts pressing buttons and flipping switches to get the ship going. “This is going to be a bumpy ride and I don’t need you falling out of the ship.”

Ah, there it is. You sigh and head back towards the jump seats and strap yourself in for the wild ride ahead. Echo expertly maneuvers the ship to the squad's location and brings it in low so they can climb on board. You can hear the blaster fire outside and as the door opens to the ship, you watch them file in while firing off blaster bolts to cover each other. It’s the first time you’ve seen any of them in action and you're a little awestruck. They don’t move like other clones.

Tech next to Echo and Hunter yells for them to get them out of here. The ship moves again, this time more aggressively, as the enemy continues to fire at the Marauder. Wrecker moves to the gunner’s nest and shoots down the vulture droids that are following behind. You tightly grip the bars on the jump seat as the ship rocks from the blasts. Thankfully, the shields are up. The ship flips upside down, sideways, and every other way you can think of to out maneuver the droids.

At long last, the ship breaches the atmosphere and moves into space. Tech initiates the hyperdrive and pulls the handle down to enter into hyperspace. Once safe in a hyperspace lane, you let out the breath you were holding in, then flick the safety release on the jump seat and push them over your head. You get up from the seat and wobble forward, not realizing your legs turned to jelly from all of the excitement, and let your feet stabilize before trying to walk.

“Woah, that was fun!” Wrecker hollers as he brushes by you and moves towards the cockpit. “Echo, you should have seen this place. It was crazy.”

“Not as crazy as being sling-shot across a ravine,” Crosshair grumbles and pushes past you. He sits down in one of the swivel chairs and starts cleaning his rifle in silence.

“I said I was sorry,” Wrecker apologizes. “But we won!”

“Correction,” Tech says as he lifts a pointed finger in the air. “I won.”

Crosshair rolls his eyes and pulls a few credits from his pocket and hands them to Tech.

“Much obliged,” Tech says as he stuffs the credits in one of his many satchels.

The exchange has you lost in bewilderment. Clearly, something happened during the mission and you’re curious to know the details. You look at Echo, hoping he'll ask for more information about it, but he doesn’t, leaving you more curious. You do find it odd, however, that they had some form of amusement out on the battlefield. From your time on Kamino, most clones don't find blaster fire fun. Clone Force 99 really is different compared to the rest of the clone forces.

“I assume your mission was a success?” Hunter asks while walking by you, breaking you from your thoughts.

“Yes… sir,” you answer with a twinge of hesitancy, a little unsure of what your mission was other than staying on the ship with Echo.

“Good,” Hunter says. He reclines in one of the empty swivel seats and clasps his hands behind his head. “Glad to hear it.”

You can’t tell if he’s being serious or if he's trying to make fun of you. Either way, you brush it off and focus on more pressing matters, like what's next on the mission agenda. Will you go back to Kamino? Or will you wait for more orders? That’s what good soldiers do, isn’t it? Follow orders? You’re still unfamiliar with all of this, so you’re not sure what to ask or what to do with yourself. Rather than make new issues by asking more questions, you retreat back to your bunk to relax.

But the boredom of waiting creeps in and you start to doze off. Your eyelids are heavy even though you barely spent any energy this rotation. It doesn't take you long to remember that you didn’t get much sleep the night before and now that the adrenaline is wearing off, your body is telling you it needs rest. You don't fight it and let your body go to sleep, hoping you won’t be woken up. As a medic, you must get rest whenever you can so you can be at your best at all times.

This time you wake up on your own terms, when your body feels rested. You’re not sure how long you were out, but no one bothered you so you assume everyone is still waiting for new orders to come across. You sit up in your bunk, without hitting your head this time, and stretch out your arms. You roll your shoulders and crack your neck. The bunks aren’t exactly soft, but they do their job. Swinging your legs over the side of the bunk, you get up to use the refresher.

As you head towards the refresher, the rest of the squad is huddled around and speaking amongst each other. Hunter looks serious and has his arms crossed, which can’t mean anything good, and Echo is arguing with him, again. You forget the refresher for a moment and walk over to add your presence to the mix. Hunter notices and glances at you before turning back to Echo. Not realizing where you are standing, Crosshair gives you a small jab on your behind with his rifle.

The sudden touch startles you. “What was that for?”

“You’re blocking my view,” Crosshair hisses. “Move.”

You roll your eyes. “You could've just asked me to move, you know. That's borderline harassment.”

“If you looked more like a window than a door, I wouldn’t have to borderline harass you,” Crosshair snarks and flicks his toothpick in your face.

Your nose scrunches and eyes close when the little wooden projectile hits your face. As your frustration builds, you take a deep breath to calm yourself. You want nothing more than to tell that sniper where he can shove his rifle, but you won't. It's not worth it because it will only fuel his bullying further. Instead, you choose to let it go. This time. There are points where you will cross the line, and he keeps dancing around that line. If he ever crosses it, you'll let him know.

“Can we get back to more important things?” Hunter asks, shifting his gaze between you and Crosshair.

Echo huffs and shakes his head. "I don't like it."

"We don't have to like it," Hunter says. "Orders are orders."

"What orders?" you ask.

Hunter swivels to face you. "There's rumors of an imperial base operating out of Scorro." Tech pulls up a holo of the planet and Hunter continues his explanation. "According to our intel, the GAR sent a squad of clones to scout the base, but their comms suddenly went silent. Another squad of clones were sent after them with the same result. Now they want us to investigate."

"Do they know what happened to the clones?" you ask, curious as to what's causing Echo's skepticism.

"No," Hunter crosses his arms. "They were never recovered."

"No one went back to get them?" you ask.

"It would be a waste of resources," Tech adds. "Besides, based on the trend, sending another clone squadron would yield the same results."

"But aren't we another clone squadron?" you ask, this time your nerves bleed through.

"Stop worrying!" Wrecker exclaims. "We can take on whatever they throw at us!"

His words don't make you feel better about the situation. While Echo is the only one openly objecting to the new mission, Hunter's facial expressions tell a different story than what he's leading everyone to believe. Your first inkling was the fact that he hasn't shoved you aside for this conversation. In fact, he's answered your questions without issue. He's serious about this in a way he hasn't been since you've met him. The fact that Hunter is worrying, has you worrying.

"I still don't like it," Echo frowns. "How'd they lose two clone squadrons without so much as one distress signal?"

"Maybe a new type of droid?" you offer. "Or their signals were jammed?"

"Groundbreaking ideas," Crosshair says.

"Everything is a valid option," Echo adds.

Crosshair rolls his eyes.

"Enough," Hunter says. "We're going to Scorro to investigate the rumors and to find the missing clones. Double-check our supplies and prepare for anything."

With the sergeant's final words, everyone scatters to prepare for the mission, except for Tech who punches in the new coordinates and sets the course for Scorro. You linger in the cockpit, silently observing Hunter as he pulls out his knife and twirls it around his fingers. The mission makes you nervous even though it shouldn't. You'll probably end up staying on the ship again, but maybe that's not a bad thing. You shake your head at the thought. That's not why you're here.

"Sergeant–"

"You too," Hunter says before you get a chance to ask. "You're coming with us."

You smile and nod. "Thank you, sir."

"Don't get the wrong idea," Hunter adds. "I need Echo for this mission, and I'm not leaving you alone on the ship."

"Yes, sir," you frown then turn back towards the bunks to get yourself situated.

Of course it would be too good to be true. For a second, you thought he actually wanted you on this mission, but he just wants to keep an eye on you. As a medic, you can help the missing troopers if they need medical attention, which you're confident they will. Your presence on the mission should be vital, not just an afterthought. Although, you shouldn't be upset that you're going on a mission, but you wish it was because of merit and not for the sake of babysitting.

Regardless, you will do your best on this mission and prove to Clone Force 99 that you are a good medic. That they need you. You're not sure how, but you will. When you get back to your bunk, you triple-check the supplies in your pack and stock as many bacta patches and stim shots as you can fit, plus some essential fluid and mineral packets, ration bars, and a few medical odds and ends that make sense to bring along. You want to be prepared for anything.

With your preparations made, it's another waiting game until you reach Scorro. You don't remember reading about that planet in your studies, but apparently it's rather primitive in nature, which is why no one has settled on it. It's an abandoned planet, making it a great outpost for mercenaries, pirates, and separatists. Pulling out your data-pad, you do a little more research to see what you can find out, but come up with the same dismal results that your holo-texts had.

It's not much longer before the Marauder drops out of hyperspace and the olive-green planet comes into view. When the holo-text said that Scorro was primitive, it wasn't kidding. It looks new and unabused by modern progress, and its vegetal hue is highly alluring. Your curiosity has now surpassed your trepidation about the rumors and missing clones. You're excited. This is a great opportunity, even if it's dangerous. The closer you get to the planet, the faster your heart beats.

“According to the scanners, there are no active fauna on this planet,” Tech states. "But the air is breathable."

“Just because the air is breathable doesn’t mean it’s good for you,” you point out. “Carbon monoxide is breathable but you’ll die before you figure out it’s bad for you.”

“Correction,” Tech adds. "The air is non-toxic towards human life-forms."

"Glad we could sort that one out," Crosshair says. "Any more words of wisdom?"

You narrow your eyes at him. "No."

"Take us in," Hunter says. "Land just outside the coordinates of the last clone squadron."

"Affirmative," Tech says, then flips a few switches before piloting the ship into the planet's atmosphere.

Once the ship has landed, Hunter addresses the group. "Our mission is to locate the two missing clone squadrons and investigate the rumors about an separatist base of operations. We'll use teams of two and spread out in an 800 meter radius from the last known coordinates. Keep the comm lines open and have your blasters at the ready."

Everyone nods and gears up, including you. Before you put your bucket on, you glance at the medic mark on your shoulder pauldron. No matter what happens, you have a job to do. You're a medic first. These men, your squad, are in your care and it's your responsibility to make sure they all survive. Steeling yourself for what's to come, you bite back every lick of fear that tries to take hold in your mind. You've trained hard for this, and you're not going to get cold feet now.

The side loading ramp opens and the bright sunlight of the planet blasts into the dimly lit ship. No turning back now. You follow the rest of the squad out of the ship and step onto the fresh earth of Scorro. For someone who grew up on Coruscant and spent the last cycle on Kamino, this much vegetation is mesmerizing. The sun is so warm, and the earth beneath your feet is so soft. This virgin planet is breathtaking. You take a few more steps forward, then Hunter stops.

"Tech, Crosshair, go east," Hunter says while pointing in that direction. "Wrecker and I will go north. Echo and Civvy, you'll go west.

The group nods and heads out in their respective directions.

"Stay frosty men," Hunter says over the comms. "There's no telling what we'll be up against out here."

You and Echo silently walk towards the western end of the perimeter, keeping your eyes peeled for any signs of the clone troopers or separatists. After a couple minutes, the silence grates on your nerves, but Echo seems focused right now. A little too focused. You know this mission bothered him from the beginning, but there seems to be something else about the way he carries himself that indicates it's not just about the mission being odd. There's something deeper.

As you continue forward, your foot kicks something hard. Looking down, you catch a glimpse of the familiar white plastoid clone trooper helmet, which is attached to a body shrouded by tall weeds. Your stomach flips. You weren't expecting to find one of them so quickly.

"Sarge," you say in the comms. "I found a trooper." Crouching down, you check for a pulse, but as you expected, there is none. "He's dead."

"We're making our way to your position now," Hunter says. "How'd he die?"

While your medic training didn't have an autopsy course, you inspect the body for the usual suspects. The armor is still intact and there's no signs of a struggle, which you find odd. There's no blaster marks, claw marks, bites, or scratches on the armor either. The black bodysuit isn't even ripped. He must have died from something. You pull back some of the black bodysuit and notice the tissue is necrotizing, but you don't see anything suspicious. Then you scan the body.

"Civvy, status," Hunter interjects over comms.

"I'm not sure how he died," you admit while reviewing the results of the scan. Echo looks over the body too, but doesn't come up with anything substantial. Not that you needed a second opinion.

"What do you mean you're not sure?" Hunter asks. "You're a medic, you should know how people die."

"There's no wounds," you explain. "He looks normal. Fine, even. Besides being dead." You don't mention it, but the fact that there are no organisms feasting on the clone's flesh also baffles you. You'd figure there would be more decay markers, but there's not even a single worm.

Hunter and Wrecker make it to your position and Hunter looks over the body, confirming what you said. "Then how the kriff did he die?"

You look up at Hunter from your crouched position next to the body and shrug. "We'd need a full autopsy to determine that, but the scans indicate no internal injuries either."

"So, he died from nothing?" Echo asks.

You shrug again. "Maybe he had a heart attack. That doesn't show up on portable scanners."

"Eighteen clone troopers died of a heart attack?" Hunter asks, his voice sounding distant.

"No," you rebut. "But maybe this one did."

Hunter points past you and you stand up to see what he wants you to look at. You tilt your head from side to side, scanning the area he's pointing at, when a glint of white pops up on your HUD. Then another. And another. Your eyes widen and your mouth gapes. The ground is littered with seventeen more troopers half-covered in tall weeds. The first squad and the second squad, dead mere meters from each other. You've never seen so many dead bodies before.

You feel your stomach grow queasy, and you rip off your helmet to vomit. As a medical student, you've seen cadavers, held organs in your hands, been bathed in blood, but nothing prepared you for the sight of a mass death. There's something menacing and sickly about it. You know most clones are never retrieved from battlegrounds and you know most clones will never see a proper burial, but knowing and witnessing are two different things. It's heartbreaking.

"You all right?" Echo asks.

You pant from the spasmic exertion, but find your voice. "I'm fine."

Tech and Crosshair arrive at your position soon after, and take note of the bodies. Everyone feels it now, the pressure looming thickly in the air. Something happened on this planet. Something killed these eighteen troopers and it killed them silently. There's an anxiety that creeps in as you wonder what it possibly could be. What is the silent hunter? How does it find its victims? And how can you and your squad escape from it? Perhaps, it may even be too late.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Echo says to Hunter.

Hunter sighs. "Me too."

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

Masterlist

A03

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[buckyssoldat]

Reckless (Pietro Maximoff x Reader)

Summary: She fell for Pietro Maximoff's whirlwind energy, but his reckless love soon left her in constant disappointment. Heartbroken, she eventually moved on, finding peace and stability in a new relationship, while Pietro realized he couldn't be what she needed.

Word count: 2.2k

Requested: No

Warnings: heartbreak, unhealthy relationship, angst, mental health struggles

A/N: I was listening to ‘Reckless’ by Madison Beer, so this is loosely based on the song. I hope everyone likes it! Also, please check my series, ‘Forsaken – The Fallen Soldier’. Feedback is always appreciated, don’t be shy to share your thoughts on this :)

Pietro Maximoff was a force of nature. From the moment she met him, his energy, his speed, and endless enthusiasm swept her off her feet. His presence was like a hurricane – unpredictable, and impossible to ignore. At first, it felt like a dream come true, a romance that promised endless adventures and thrills.

She remembered the day it all began. The sun was setting, casting a golden hue over the city as she strolled through the park, lost in her own thoughts. Suddenly, she was shaken from her trance by a gust of wind and a blur of motion.

Pietro appeared before her, his presence so sudden and unexpected that it took her a moment to process. His blue eyes sparkled with a mixture of mischief and excitement. He grinned at her, clearly amused by her startled reaction. “You look like you could use a little excitement,” he said with a playful smirk.

Before she could respond, he took her hand in his, and with a swift, graceful motion, he spun her around. His laughter was infectious, and despite her surprise, she found herself caught up in his energy. “Come on,” he said, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “Let’s make every moment count. Life’s too short to play it safe.”

The spontaneity of his actions was exhilarating. She was captivated by his charisma, the way he made every moment feel alive and full of possibilities. It was as if he had pulled her into a whirlwind of adventure that she hadn’t even realized she was missing. His promises seemed as fast and unbreakable as his super-speed.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he would whisper in the quiet moments between his escapades. “You’re my everything.”

The first few moments were filled with excitement and joy. She went on impromptu trips, explored new places, and lived in the moment. Pietro’s presence was a constant source of energy and happiness. His affection for her was intense, and she couldn’t help but be drawn to him. The way he looked at her, with that unyielding certainty, made her believe that that was something real and lasting.

But as time went on, the thrill of his chaotic lifestyle began to wear thin. The excitement she once felt turned into a blur of constant movement and change. She was often left standing in his wake, struggling to hold onto the pieces of a relationship that seemed to be slipping through her fingers. His presence was intoxicating, but his absence was a cold void that grew larger with each passing day.

One night, as the city lights twinkled outside her window, she found herself sitting in a dimly lit room, shadows dancing on the walls. The silence was oppressive as she finally gathered the courage to confront the growing distance between them. “Pietro, we need to talk,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’m scared of where this is going. I need to know what’s happening between us.”

He looked at her, his usual light-hearted demeanour fading away. His eyes, which once sparkled with joy, now held a hint of something distant. “I know it’s hard,” he began, taking her hand in his. “But when I come back, we’ll figure everything out. I promise.”

She clung to his words like a lifeline, desperate to believe that things would get better. She wanted to believe his promises were more than just words, that they meant something real. But the next morning, as the sun rose, he was gone. No goodbyes, no explanation – just an empty space where he had been, a void that seemed to grow deeper with each passing day.

The weeks that followed were cruel evidence to the fleeting nature of his promises. Each day felt like and endless cycle of waiting and hoping, only to be met with disappointment. She found herself endlessly replaying moments in her mind, searching for clues that might explain why he had left so suddenly. The pain was a constant companion, a heavy weight that pressed down on her chest.

The city, once a vibrant backdrop to her adventures with Pietro, now seemed to echo with the emptiness of his absence. She walked through the streets, surrounded by familiar sights, but they felt foreign and distant. The parks they once visited together now seemed barren, the restaurants where they shared laughter now felt hollow.

One evening, she was sitting alone in her apartment once again, the room dimly lit by a single lamp. The silence was deafening, punctuated only by the occasional creak of the building settling. She stared at a photograph of them, her heart aching with every glance. The image captured a moment of happiness that now seemed like a distant dream. “Why did you have to leave?” she whispered to the empty room. “Why couldn’t you stay?”

The agony of seeing him with someone else was a constant reminder of how easily he had moved on. It was as if their entire relationship had been a mere footnote in his life. Each time she saw them together, it felt like a fresh wound being carved into her heart. The contrast between their happiness and her own despair was unbearable. She found herself replaying every moment, every word, trying to piece together where it all went wrong.

Her friends and family noticed the change in her. They saw the way her eyes had lost their sparkle, how she seemed more withdrawn. They tried to offer comfort, but their words often felt hollow. She threw herself into her work, hoping that the distraction would help. She attended social event and tried to appear cheerful, but it was a façade that barely masked the pain she felt inside.

In the midst of this turmoil, she began to grapple with her emotions. She questioned everything – her choices, her decisions, and her worth. She wondered if she had done something wrong, if she had somehow pushed him away. But deep down, she knew it wasn’t about fault or blame. It was about accepting that some people are meant to be fleeting, their role in her life a lesson rather than a forever.

Eventually, she ran into Pietro again. The encounter was both unexpected and charged with an emotional weight that neither of them could ignore. She had been walking through the park, trying to find some resemblance of peace, when she saw him in the distance. He was talking to someone, laughing, and for a moment, she hesitated, unsure if she should approach.

As she walked closer, he looked up and saw her. His expression shifted from surprise to a mixture of regret and apprehension. “Hey,” he said quietly, almost as if he feared her reaction. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

She struggled to keep her voice steady, the pain still fresh in her heart. “Of course you didn’t,” she replied, trying to mask the hurt. “You’ve been too busy with your new life. I just needed to know why. Why did you make promises you never intended to keep?”

He looked away, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I thought I could make it work,” he said, his voice tinged with regret. “But I didn’t realize how hard it would be. I never wanted to hurt you.”

The weight of his words was crushing. The truth was dark and painful: Pietro’s recklessness was a part of him, something she could never change or fix. His promises were as ephemeral as his speed, and she was left to grapple with the wreckage of her emotions. The realization that he had moved on so easily, that the promises he made were just words, was almost too much to bear.

The conversation continued, each word adding to the complexity of her feelings. “I thought we had something real,” she said, struggling to hold back tears. “But now it feels like everything was just a game to you.”

Pietro’s face softened, and he reached out as if to touch her hand but stopped himself. “It wasn’t a game,” he said honestly. “I did care about you. I just… I didn’t know how to handle it. I thought I could balance everything, but I failed.”

His confession was a small comfort, but it did little to ease the pain. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her voice. “I hope you find what you’re looking for, Pietro. I really do. But as for me, I need to move on and find a way to heal from this.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes reflecting a mixture of regret and acceptance. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I truly am.”

With a heavy heart, she turned away, feeling the weight of heartbreak settle deeply into her bones. She watched him disappear into the distance, the pain of his departure a constant reminder of what might have been.

The days that followed were a blur of emotions. She continued to throw herself into work, but the distraction was only temporary. Her friends tried to support her, but their words often felt inadequate. The void left by Pietro was a constant presence, a reminder of the whirlwind romance that had once been.

In the midst of her heartache, she began to find moments of clarity. The pain, while still sharp, started to teach her something. She began to understand that she deserved someone who would stay, someone who would be present and committed. Pietro’s reckless love had left a mark, but it also highlighted the qualities she truly needed in a relationship.

She spent time reflecting on what you wanted and needed. She found solace in her hobbies, reconnected with old friends, and took up new activities that brought her joy. The process of healing was slow, but with each passing day, she found herself growing stronger. She began to embrace the idea that love shouldn’t be a fleeting adventure but a steady presence.

As the months passed, she started to see the light at the end of the tunnel. The pain of Pietro’s departure, while still present, was no longer the defining feature of her life. She found herself slowly moving forward, discovering a newfound sense of peace and strength.

Eventually, she found herself in a new relationship, one that was grounded in mutual respect and understanding. It wasn’t the whirlwind romance of her past, but it was steady and fulfilling. She had learned to appreciate the value of consistency and commitment, and she was grateful for the lessons learned through her experiences with Pietro. She was no longer defined by the wreckage of a past relationship but by the strength and growth she had achieved.

In the end, she found that love, while sometimes reckless and unpredictable, could also be a source of profound joy and stability. The journey was not easy, but it had led her to a place of greater understanding and fulfilment.

Months turned into a year, and life slowly began to take on new colours. She found herself standing in the park again one autumn afternoon, holding the hand of her boyfriend, Brian. His warmth and presence filled her with a comfort she had never known before. They laughed, shared inside jokes, and walked side by side, lost in the simple joy of being together.

Across the park, Pietro stood in the shadows of a grove of trees. His heart clenched as he watched them from afar, eyes fixed on her smile. She looked happier than he remembered, a glow radiating from her as she laughed and leaned into the man beside her. The way she looked at her new partner, with a sense of ease and trust, was a dark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions that had defined their own relationship.

For a moment, Pietro felt a pang of regret, a bittersweet ache deep in his chest. He had once been the one to make her smile like that, to fill her life with excitement and adventure. But now, he could see that what she had found was different – something calm, stable, and lasting. It was the kind of love he couldn’t give her, no matter how hard he tried.

He swallowed hard, feeling a mixture of emotions: sadness, regret, and strangely, a sense of relief. She had moved on. She had found the happiness he had been too reckless to give her. And though it hurt, it also made him feel… grateful. Grateful that she had found someone who could be the constant presence she deserved.

“She’s happy,” he whispered to himself, letting the words hang in the air.

As he turned to leave, he cast one last glance in her direction. The pain was still there, but it was mingled with acceptance. He had been a chapter in her life, one filled with lessons and growth. And now, she was in a new chapter, one that promised the stability and love she had always wanted.

With a sigh, he sped away, leaving nothing behind but a gust of wind. She didn’t notice him, and that was okay. Because for the first time, Pietro felt a sense of peace knowing that she was where she was meant to be – with someone who made her truly happy.

And that was enough.

masterlist

[undiscovered-horizon]

Hello, could I request a Morpheus x reader, where reader is an immortal like Hob and has been friends with Dream( and has helped him through some trouble from time to time) but through the years reader developed feelings for dream (but he doesn't know that) but can't confess (thinking they are not good enough for him) and just watch helplessly as Dream falls in love for every other being, until one day this recent lover of his was only using him to gain power, reader found out about it and confronted them (and was about to have a smackdown), until dream intervined and fought with reader. Reader tried to warn him but he didn't listen and banished reader from the dreaming, before reader leaves the dreaming for good she finally confessed to dream and was out of sight.

Soon after, Dream realized that reader was right and tried to find them and found them living with Hob (as best friends), confronted reader, they talked (realization of feelings ensues)and they got together.

Angst and fluff please, I recently read your Morpheus fic I love the subtlety and gentle showing of affection, I'm sorry also that this message is so long. Have a great day/night ✨

A/N: misread it and wrote an ending where the Corinthian tries to shoot his shot but I fixed it and all is well in the end!! The thought is still there tho

"Snooping" - Morpheus x Immortal!Reader

WORDCOUNT: ~ 3.1k Sandman-inspired playlist

London, autumn of 1763

Attending a ball at your love's fiancee's home sounds like a black comedy theatre play until it becomes reality - a reality you had, unfortunately, found yourself in. To make the matter slightly worse, Morpheus was indirectly the reason for throwing the party in the first place: one of his nightmares escaped and the current plan was to lure them into a closed space and then catch or whatever it was Morpheus had in store for them. Truthfully, you felt better not knowing exactly what he was going to do with the escapee. Sometimes ignorance truly is bliss.

In a funny way, Morpheus treated you like a god - came to you only when he needed something but you never minded that. He was great company, always making your endless life a little more exciting as days turned into bland centuries. As a word of explanation, it should be said that through "exciting" you should understand "with consequences possibly detrimental to all of humanity". And that one fateful ball wasn't anything else:

It was fairly recently that Morpheus had learned about one of his nightmares going rogue and leaving Dreaming on their own accord. His biggest concern seemed to be the fact that no one could tell him even approximately how long the nightmare had been gone. That, in turn, suggested the existence of a whole different can of worms - it was possible to leave Dreaming without his knowledge. No one's knowledge, for that matter. There was no way Morpheus could even guess the extent of the damage his own creation had caused in the Waking World, which was partially why he was all the more unnerved that night. His patience wasn't limited, it was completely gone. As much as you disliked his tense attitude, you had to admit that his sense of responsibility was to be applauded. He had to be a good king...

"Are you sure about this?" you asked him as you inconspicuously looked around the hall. The problem with nightmares, dreams and Morpheus himself was that all of them generally looked like humans. It was impossible to just vaguely look around and point at the right person. Additionally, the more time the wanted nightmare had spent in the Waking World, the more seamlessly assimilated he'd become, making it virtually impossible to tell them apart from the regular crowd unless they had a characteristic trait in their appearance that could hardly be hidden.

"Do you not trust me?"

"You're a few centuries and near-death experiences too late to be asking this. I'm just not very fond of a rogue nightmare going berserk at a banquet for so many important people or us getting into a brawl with the wrong person. This can end in an international disaster."

"Which is why we have to be thorough and quick."

Morpheus had gotten you into many more dangerous larks throughout the years but weirdly enough, it wasn't something one could simply get used to - each adventure was filled with so much supernatural it could hardly be considered anything else than a fever dream. No matter how much you've talked to him, his domain remained a great mystery to you and so did all things connected with it. Perhaps, that was part of his charm.

"Lady Ruth and I will look on this floor. You have to go upstairs."

"You want me to do some snooping?" you said with a small grin on your face. His expression remained unmoved - your continuous effort at making him use slang wasn't amusing. "Sleuthing?"

"Infiltrate."

"One day I'll get you to say 'snooping'."

"I will not."

"We have a lot of time." Morpheus sighed at your words and was about to leave your side to join Ruth who was chatting with some of her guests but you grabbed the sleeve of his jacket to stop him for a moment. His face looked strict when he looked at you but he was far from reprimanding you. "Just be safe, alright?"

"You need not worry about me."

You let go of his jacket and Morpheus marched away to play the greatly inconspicuous role of a loving fiance. His arm shamelessly wrapped around her waist and had she not been the lady of the house, guests surely would have pointed out the social faux pas. Ruth, however, remained no less affectionate and leaned her head against him. It's vital to notice that Morpheus was not an affectionate man in any way and so such a show of intimacy felt even more serious. He stood there, among the Kingdom's elite and looked like he was in the right place: similar clothes, proud poise and seriousness characteristic of people who had a little too much to lose. The fact that he fit right in was a low blow to you, mainly because you knew you didn't. Morpheus and you belonged to completely different worlds and there was no point in disputing that. As simple and crude as it may sound, he was just the wrong person at the right time for you. Perhaps, that's all it takes for a disaster.

"Put on your adult shoes and get over with it," you whispered to yourself. The sooner you find the rogue nightmare, the sooner you can leave this place and dwell on your heartache in comfortable and befittingly pathetic loneliness.

Pushing pasts lords, counts and viscounts you made your way up the stairs. Thankfully, the string orchestra was loud enough to deafen the creaking of the wooden contraption. It was one of those rare occasions where not fitting in was a blessing in disguise - no one was paying attention to you. Should anyone ask about you, most of the guests would simply shake their heads in confusion. Being invisible was something you had grown quite used to.

Most of the rooms on the first floor were locked but it could hardly be surprising - Ruth didn't want guests wandering around her house. Despite the mild disappointment at your detective work being cut short, you were thankful that you didn't have to waste your time and possibly let the nightmare escape. Trying each pair of doors, you had finally found one that opened but what you saw inside was nowhere near your expectations.

"What in God's name is this madness?" you said to yourself as you looked around the room.

Quite obviously, there was no nightmare in sight but another horror had welcomed you. There was a giant map of the world with certain locations marked in red paint. Next to those circles were pinned articles and charcoal drawings of people you didn't recognize. In front of the map was a table littered with random items and an open leatherbound notebook.

Skimming through the book, you found yourself strapped for words. It was something like a diary but with notes on Morpheus, his habits, people he knows and every instance the author watched him use his powers. Granted, their analysis was quite thorough and proved the maniac an intelligent person.

"Wait a goddamn minute," you whispered to yourself. Reading again through the witness 'miracles' Morpheus had committed made you feel like they had something in common. Some of them you had seen yourself and if your memory wasn't failing you, there was a third person present during those events. "Ruth..."

Hurriedly, you went through the rest of the notebook, still in disbelief at your discovery. It felt almost too out of character for the Ruth you knew to do something like this. Maybe that's why her scheme had gone undetected for so long... To your own horror and utter disgust, she had even prepared notes on you:

"Sceptical. Convince Morpheus first?" "Difficult to intimidate. Try coddling up to them." "Follows him around when they're together. Friends or unrequited love?"

"Oh my, you shouldn't be here, dear." Ruth's voice made you turn around in panic. It was like a scene from a thrilling book where the hero finally stands face-to-face with the villain. Unfortunately for you, good authors rarely make such confrontations beneficial for the protagonist. "I must have forgotten to lock this room beforehand. Come on, the mare is surely not hiding in here."

"Have you ever wondered what's going to happen when he finds out?" you asked. You could feel your whole body becoming instantly warm as blood boiled in your veins. For the first time since you've met her, Ruth's stereotypical lady-like attitude irritated you beyond comprehension: you knew it was just a sleazy facade. "Because he's not stupid, although plays that role very well, I admit. If you want this masquerade to fly, I'd suggest you already start working on a sobby explanation."

"Whatever do you mean, my dear?" she continued playing her role.

"Oh, drop this facade, Ruth. You and I both know your relationship with Morpheus is only transactional even if he doesn't know about that."

"You know nothing about it either." It was strange to hear her speak naturally and not in a pretend damsel in distress voice. "It's not like you have proof, do you? Those notes?" She vaguely pointed at the desk behind you. "Well, perhaps his fiancee has missed him dearly and wanted to know if she can contact him more often."

"Do you honestly think he's going to believe that?"

"Think about this yourself. Would the great Morpheus, king of Dreaming believe his soon-to-be-wife or a less-than-presentable circumstantial acquaintance who has been pining for him for centuries? What, did you think you're hiding your affections well? A blind fool could tell you love him and luckily for me, he's worse than that. Perhaps it's better for you that you've never told him. You've spared yourself utter humiliation."

You didn't quite know what Devil had possessed you but you suddenly found yourself smashing Ruth against the wall. Your fingers were digging into the expensive material of her dress, making the material stretch out and crumple. Instead of a grimace or a wince, a grin appeared on her face. You were playing right into her game.

"Did I strike a nerve? Good. Tell me, what do you bring to the table? Centuries of moping?"

"I don't give a damn why or for what you're trying to use him, you tasteless wench" you were gritting through your teeth with a mere inch separating your faces, "but be sure I will make him see you for what you really are. You worthless, lit-"

"Hold your tongue. I have seen enough."

You whipped your head around only to see Morpheus's brooding physique. His normally expressionless face was now reeking of contempt with the way his cheeks were raised.

"Oh, love! Thank the Lord you've come!" Ruth exclaimed as she got out from your clutches and run towards Morpheus. In an irritatingly protective manner, he quickly pushed her behind himself. "They threw themself on me, accusing me of all sorts of wickedness. Jealousy has made them into a monster! Yes, jealousy, my love. They've told me of their affections themself!"

"You... I have considered you a friend but you're just a treacherous beast."

"You can't be serious about this, Morpheus! Just look around!" You made a vague circular move with your arms. "It's a whole dossier on you and your power. Not something a loving wife-to-be does in her downtime, is it?" You stepped closer to him but Morpheus only further pushed Ruth behind him. "Come on, you know me like no one else. I've never lied to you, never had a reason to."

"I will hear no more of your poisonous words. You have meddled enough in my affairs. If you wish ill will on my future wife, there is no place for you by my side. I shall not see you in Dreaming either."

As much as it hurt, it was the last chance to save an ounce of your dignity and walk away without further driving a wedge between you two. In some way, you had expected that moment to come one day, when Dream has to choose between his royal duties and you. It simply would have been nicer if you had any sort of indication that this fateful day is approaching.

"My heart breaks for you Morpheus, for how blind love has made you. How you'd rather set the world aflame before a blemish fell on the one you love. I understand it. Even your harsh words that I do not deserve can not make me hate you, I can't even bear the thought of holding a grudge against you, Morpheus. Because I understand. Because I'd rather set the world aflame."

"Leave," he gritted through his teeth.

It was the last thing Morpheus has ever said to you - or so you thought.

London, winter of 2023

Hob was kind enough to let you live with him, the two of you bonding over the rollercoaster your lives had become after meeting the King of Dreams. With time, you had grown quite attached to him and ever since leaving Morpheus behind, Hob and you had spent decades pretending to be closely-knit siblings. Somehow, people never quite questioned your lack of similarities.

The inn wasn't in a busy area, so you had become used to rather moderate traffic on a daily basis. Outside of lunchtime, not many people visited the bar but it was just enough to keep the business afloat without raising any suspicions. It was the end of the day, which meant making a list of products you needed to order. Hob had a habit of sitting at a table in the corner, beside the bar counter, while preparing the said list - close enough to you to hear you counting all the ingredients he should order.

You were cleaning the counter as well as checking the shelves and cupboards for any alcohol you were close to running out of. "We're low on spiced Captain Morgan, Hob, so mark that... "your voice hung as you automatically looked towards the entrance upon hearing the bell ring," down," you finished quietly. "What are you doing here, Morpheus?"

He looked different than the day you had met him. Although he was an ageless entity, cursed to live until the end of the universe, Morpheus appeared older but more so mentally than physically. His skin was more grey than simply pale and his eyes appeared more stern and lifeless than ever before. He was wearing a long, heavy black coat - something strikingly different from the embarrassing rococo fashion of the 18th century.

"I have come to make amends," he stated.

You didn't answer right away. For a moment, you simply stared at him, perhaps partially in disbelief that this reunion was actually happening and out of his will. Despite his change in appearance, a certain tactless pragmatism still stuck to him. "You're not even going to ask?"

"Excuse me?"

"Two hundred and sixty years we haven't talked and you show up expecting me to listen and forgive you but you refuse to even ask how I've been?"

"How have you been?" Surprisingly, he didn't show defiance. The past two hundred years really must have changed him.

A scoff of disbelief left your mouth. "Awful, miserable, not good at all but Hob is a lovely person to be around. If you think that saying 'I'm sorry' is going to fix anything, you're so wrong I lack the words to express it."

"Are you angry with me?" He sounded... surprised. Maybe he really did believe that with humans 'time heals wounds'. What an awful saying that was! Time, at best, makes one forget the pain or even the existence of the wound. The scar, however, never forgets the wound it once was and it refuses to disappear simply because its owner hadn't scratched it open in a while.

"I was once. Over two hundred years ago. Now I'm just hurt and disappointed. I thought we trusted each other. Have you ever counted how many times I nearly died while helping you out?"

Morpheus stared at you in silence and you could already tell he did know. He kept count.

"I do not expect you to forgive me, although I do wish for that."

"Believe me, Morpheus, I want that too. But I have suffered enough, don't you think?"

"I was wrong."

"About?"

"About Ruth. You were right and I refused to listen. I was too blind to see through her lies and schemes. I never should have doubted your loyalty and honesty."

"And what does that enlightenment have to do with me?" For someone who explicitly came to apologize, he was very good at avoiding commitment to that resolution.

"I'm... sorry," he spat out. As a king, he wasn't quite used to making apologies but if he so desired to commune with humanity it was high time he learns to.

"I told you that this isn't going to fix anything."

Morpheus sighed heavily as if he knew what he had to do but refused to commit to it all the same. "Snooping," he murmured under his nose.

Your lips curved into a grin. "You really are desperate to be saying that." Truthfully, it was difficult for you to hold back laughter. After so much heartache and lack of closure, that was the one thing Morpheus thought would get you to forgive him. But, maybe, if he was willing to do that one thing he refused to do for many centuries he was honest and truly desired your forgiveness.

For the first time in so long, he looked you in the eye. His normally intense stare was now slightly vacant as if he was still pondering something, weighing out the chances of success of whatever it was he had on mind.

"It was either that or setting the world aflame," he finally said. "Have me back, please."

Did you... hear that right? A complete emptiness took over your mind. You remembered your confession very well as if you had spoken it no earlier than yesterday. Truthfully, you never really thought he would pay it any attention. After all, if he was happily married like you had assumed until today, why would he? Turns out, he must have thought about so many times that not a word of it slipped his mind.

As if taking advantage of your sudden moment of confusion, Morpheus reached out to grab your hand. Once he cradled your palm with his, he placed a chaste kiss on it. His confession was about as honest as an eldritch king can get.

Hob only craned his neck further to get a better look at the two of you. A smile of relief appeared on his face - he had been waiting for that moment ever since he saw Morpheus and you together.

[jishyucks]

Gloves & Dittany (Teaser) ‣ cyj

‣ pairing: slytherin!yeonjun x gryffindor!reader

‣ genre: fluff, hogwarts!au, idiots-to-lovers (on reader’s part), sorta slice-of-life

‣ teaser wc: 1.1k

‣ final wc: expected 11k+, currently 9k

‣ summary: ❝Sure, your heart might have skipped a beat or two because of Yeonjun, but it was just a momentary flutter, a reaction that didn't hold any significant meaning… Right?❞

↳ Alternatively, where Yeonjun’s flirtatious nature leaves you no choice but to doubt his evident feelings for you and, in turn, dismiss any emotions you may be developing for him

‣ warnings?: reader is just,,, confused all the time, prob poor attempts of 'flirting' bc idk how to flirt, side characters may potentially be more entertaining than the mains, otherwise nothing really!

‣an: first long yeonjun ficccc,, I'm excited! this has been sitting in my docs for so long too,,, the teaser might be a bit boring just cause i don't want to give it all away just yetttt—it's just an intro to the pair!

‣ tags: @flowerjun (let me know if you want to be tagged!)

Over the years you've spent at Hogwarts, your love for Herbology has blossomed into a deep passion. Contrary to what your peers say about the class being boring and useless, you believe they couldn't be more wrong. Herbology is an underrated and misunderstood subject that offers unique elements not found in other classes.

At first glance, certain plants looked welcoming, but from what you’ve learned, the most attractive herbs can be the most deadliest. This could even work the other way around. Growth patterns of the plants can directly affect its magical properties, which explains why the professors created emphasis on the care for plants. 

Although Herbology looked like any other ordinary subject at Hogwarts, there were a lot more layers to its content. You suppose this was the reason why you grew to love the subject.

“What’s the difference between you and those flowers over there?”

Enter Choi Yeonjun. The main reason why advanced Herbology isn't the perfect class for you, and you mean that in the kindest way possible. Yeonjun is something else. While you hope to simply enjoy the class, he sees it as an opportunity to engage in endless conversation. You once joked with him that his voice could win a competition against a mandrake for being the most ear-piercing, but, surprisingly, he took no offense to this. 

To make matters worse, a significant portion of his chatter is dedicated to shamelessly flirting with you. Despite months of this routine, he always finds new ways to keep things interesting, and you have to admit, it's quite impressive.

It was strange how all this had even started. You and Yeonjun were only familiar with each other because he was childhood friends with your fellow house member, Changbin. But after an encounter with the pair at Hogsmeade, Yeonjun started becoming quite adamant about making his presence known to you. And regardless of his motives and advances, you’ve, since then, been choosing not to indulge in his actions.

If you were given a knut every time someone asked you why you never gave him a chance, you’d be rich. Hell, you’d be bathing in galleons if you did, because this was Choi Yeonjun we were talking about. The one and only Choi Yeonjun who could practically steal hearts without the use of some silly charm pulled straight out of a textbook. He was reasonably one of the most attractive guys in the entirety of Hogwarts and his personality was one to adore, so you weren’t surprised with the persistent interrogation of those interested in him.

Though every question was worded differently, each one becoming more and more creative than the last, you hit them with the same, lazy explanation that you knew never left them satisfied.

“I just don’t see him in that way.” 

Yeonjun stands by your side, hands comfortably nestled in gloves, which completely disregards Professor Longbottom's instructions that the gloves were not necessary for today's class. He looked ridiculous being the only one wearing the heavy-duty gloves. You hold back a laugh as your gaze follows his pointing finger, which leads you to a cluster of asphodels.

You look up at him, “One is an accessory to a deadly sleeping potion.” You’re cleaning up your area, making sure dirt is only where it was supposed to be. 

“Y/N, c’mon~” Yeonjun whines, “Just play along.”

“Okay,” you huff, “What is it?” 

Yeonjun stands quietly for a short moment, lips pressed together, “Now you made me forget what I was going to say, but it was something about you being pretty.” Yeonjun turns to put some pots away, leaving you unamused.

Although Yeonjun continues to make such advances, you admit that his playful personality was endearing. Just a few months ago, you regarded Yeonjun as nothing more than an annoyance, constantly looming around even when unwelcome, sort of like a wedgie. However, as time passed, you couldn't deny the odd bond that had formed between the two of you. 

Just recently, you had reluctantly admitted to yourself that he’s grown on you to the point where you realize that the day would feel incomplete without his babbling. On a good day, you might even consider him your friend.

When Yeonjun returns, he flashes you a smile, “Do you have any plans for the weekend? Maybe I can take you to Hogsmeade.” He bends down slightly and reaches out, “You have a bit of dirt on your nose.” You feel his finger graze your nose for a quick second before it’s back at his side. 

“I’m afraid I already do,” you hummed. Since the period has ended, you grab your belongings and take your leave. With no surprise, Yeonjun is trailing closely behind you. 

Yeonjun’s lips were moulded into some sort of pout, brows furrowed, “Maybe the week after?” 

“I have plans that week, too,” you say promptly, though you weren’t even entirely sure if you did, “Sorry, Yeonjun.” 

Yeonjun narrows his eyes at you but you don’t catch him doing so. Instead, you’re dead set on finding your best friend Yena by the courtyard. Before Yeonjun could let out a sigh, he takes a big step forward and spins so that he’s facing you. Yeonjun executes this with ease. He’s quick on his feet and the next thing you know you’re walking into his chest. 

“Don’t apologize.” Yeonjun grabs your wrist and swiftly pulls you to the edge of the hallway so you both aren't blocking the stream of students, “There’s always another week…” He pushes his lips towards one side of his face, eyes looking to the side. He was deep in thought, “Maybe you can come to the final game of the season? I know your house isn’t playing but it would be nice to have the support… I’ll even let you wear one of my extra uniforms… maybe some facepaint?” Yeonjun’s eyes light up at the thought. 

“Yeonjun,” you say sternly. 

“As a friend?” Yeonjun’s head is tilted to the side, brows knitting as he brings his lips into a pout, “Please?” His eyes pour into yours, making it hard for you to avoid his gaze. He’s waiting intently on a reply. 

“I’ll… think about it,” You stall. 

Yeonjun smiles, satisfied with your answer. Before he speaks up once again, he hears his name being called from across the hall. It was Wooyoung. 

“I’ll see you later, beautiful~” 

You groan and call out before you’re out of ear’s reach, “What did I tell you about pet names, Choi Yeonjun!” 

Yeonjun turns to acknowledge you, but instead of saying anything to excuse himself, he sends you a wink before reaching his friend. 

As expected.

°•. ✿ .•°

pls remember that this is a teaser and I'll be posting the full fic soon! thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

[joelscruff]

no bc reader doesn’t know who the woman is atm, right? so in my mind maybe he’s like trying to like.. ugh fuck, i can’t articulate it the way i want. but like what if he’s trying to sabotage another church girl or someone important (in the sense that they should be a “good christian girl” and they actually aren’t)? and i know i’m way off base (and super excited to see the actual reasoning, but my brain is being flooded by the possibilities. like say, in some parallel universe, it was bethany at the bar, and he’s doing this to get the tea and fuck with her bc she fucked with reader.

not me trying to justify him fucking with her bc she fucked with reader lmao

also the fact that she had just told him over the phone “I could never look at you differently, Joel” and “you’re not gonna scare me away; I’m not going anywhere.” and then that??? the despair she must be feeling. and how she’s gonna react to him when he/she attempts to talk to the other??? is she gonna punch him and cry, is she gonna pretend like she’s fine, the possibilities are endless. like is he gonna be hurt? this sounds so awful to say that i’d love to see him hurt because he hurt her. and i say that bc i think you’ll understand what i mean. i just think that could be a large part of when he realizes he actually cares more for her than just sex. and i think he’s already seeing that to some degree, but maybe that’ll help push him in the right direction 😭

ignore my ramblings. i adore this series, as well as all of your work.

much love and hugs as always,

cass 🤍

omg i haven't heard a theory like this before 😳 yalls minds are actually amazing and so many of these concepts would be so dramatic and wild and unexpected. again i can't say what the real explanation is but god i loooove reading these theories 😶

yeah you're definitely not the only one hoping that joel is hurt by his actions in some way (a few ppl want to hit him w a golf club so i meannnn) and she's definitely going through it rn :( who knows what will happen 🤔🤔👀

i adore YOU cass 💖💕

[bohemian-rhapsody-in-blue]

hihi!! I hope you're having a good day and feel better soon : ) I know you're in college right now and I'm starting soon (this fall!!!) and I was wondering if you had any advice for finding roommates? Im pretty sure im also some flavor of neuro divergent and I'm kind of worried about finding a roommate for my freshman year and becoming friends with them.... what did you do when you were trying to find someone? did the transition feel okay? I really hope I find someone who likes me and im really worried that ill be too awkward when first meeting people

Hi, anon! (And thanks for asking about my feeling better—I am indeed recovering from my cold, slowly but surely!)

How exciting that you’re entering college this fall—congratulations to you, the Class of ‘28! You’re right that I’m currently in college—I’m a senior (and currently in Grad School Application Hell)—and it’s really nice revisiting all the excited feelings I had as I was entering college for the first time, too, and I’m so excited FOR you! It’s not an easy transition, and I understand if you’re nervous, but in the best of circumstances, it can be SO much fun—the new environment, the newfound freedom, the new friends, the endless possibilities of this new chapter in your life! (Do I sound like a cliché and/or some overly-enthusiastic person from an admissions office taking you on a college tour right now? Maybe. Sorry about that.)

I’ll start with the caveat that I’m by no means an expert on this, just speaking from my personal experience (in which I’ve been lucky to have two absolutely lovely roommates!), largely drawn from how my college functions and what worked well for me. I’ve done my best to make this explanation more general and inclusive of how other schools might work, though. (And if you or anyone reading this has any more specific questions, feel free to shoot me another ask or a DM!)

So, given my lack of qualification…I’ve put on my Advice Columnist Hat and basically written a LOOOOOONG-winded treatise on how to find roommates for your first year of college, especially if you’re some flavor of neurodivergent! That will be under the cut, so let’s go!

How To Find Roommates For Your First Year Of College, Especially If You’re Some Flavor Of Neurodivergent

An Unnecessarily Long-Winded Treatise By bohemian-rhapsody-in-blue

Part 1: Picking Prospective Roommates Based on Questionnaires & Compatibility

The way my school does roommate selection for incoming first-years is that you can choose either to “go random” (be assigned a totally random roommate, who I think will always be someone else who’s also chosen to go random), or you can fill out a questionnaire and be matched with people who’ve answered it similarly. If, for some reason, your school just assigns random roommates to everyone and you don’t have any choice in whom your roommate will be, then you can skip this whole part and scroll down to Part 2. (Sorry!)

The aforementioned roommate form/questionnaire has questions about how you prefer to live/what you’d like your housing situation to be like. Whether they’re part of an official form from your school or not, they’re all important things to consider when you’re deciding who would make the best match for you as a roommate, especially when you’re neurodivergent and have specific routines, sensory needs, socialization-related needs, etc. (but also just for everyone, because it makes accommodating the other person and their schedules/patterns so much easier if they’re already the same as your own schedules/patterns!) These will be things like:

Have you ever consistently lived in the same room with someone before (a sibling, a roommate at boarding/prep school or sleepaway camp, etc.)?

What time do you like to go to sleep/wake up?

Do you keep your room neat and tidy, cluttered but clean, or messy?

How often do you plan to be in the room? (As opposed to: in class, in extracurriculars, in OTHER people’s rooms, going out/partying, working at a job, etc. Some people hardly ever leave their rooms, and some treat their room more like a waystation.)

How often do you plan to have people over in the room?

Do you use substances (do drugs, drink alcohol, smoke, etc.), and how would you feel about a roommate who used substances?

How do you feel about roommates using your stuff? (what’s mine is yours / ask first / please don’t touch)

Do you need darkness to sleep, or are you okay with some lights being on?

Do you need quiet to sleep, or are you okay with some noise?

Do you want you and your roommate to be acquaintances, friends, or close friends?

The questionnaire for my college, as I recall, also asks some general questions about your personality, hobbies, planned majors, extracurriculars, etc.

If your college’s housing form has a questionnaire like this, hell yeah! Go ahead and fill it out, if you haven’t already! After you’ve done so, the program will match you with people who have answered similarly, in an attempt to create nice, concordant living situations. My college’s program provided a list of a bunch of possible prospects, with their compatibility percentage (91% compatible, 86% compatible, etc.), and showed their provided description and their answers to the questionnaires, so you could see where you agreed and disagreed. Kinda like this character personality quiz, but with, y’know, real people. If your college DOESN’T have a questionnaire like this (I think most do, but I’ll freely admit I’m not very up on how colleges that aren’t mine work…), you can use a roommate-finder website like Roomsurf or Diggz, or an app like Roomie. (Yeah, the names are kinda stupid…) Finally, some social-media profiles for schools’ incoming classes (like a Class of ‘28 Discord server or Instagram page) let you write up a little profile on your own, with your answers to these questions. When they post it, people can look at it determine their compatibility with you on their own, then comment/DM you expressing their interest in being your roommate.

Whatever method you choose, I’d suggest that if you’re neurodivergent, you do some sort of questionnaire like this—or at the very least find some way of expressing your preferences—instead of going random, if that’s at all possible. It reduces a lot of stress if you have at least SOME idea, going in, of what it will be like to live with your roommate, and it goes the other way around, too—you’re letting your roommate know what it will be like to live with you. And although a perfect, 100% match is next to impossible, it’s really nice to get a roommate who has similar habits to yours and is able to tolerate yours—if you go to bed and wake up at around the same time, if you both need quiet at a certain time, if neither of you wants people over in your room often, etc. I’d argue that this is almost more important than friendship based on things like shared interests (majors, fandoms, etc.). In fact, I’ve known people who are the best of friends, but who’d make terrible roommates! On the other hand, I’ve known people who were perfectly cordial, respectful roommates who got along well and liked each other fine, but barely hung out in other contexts. To sun up, living compatibility is important, and I’d argue that neurodivergence makes it even more important—when things like this are less “wants” than “needs”.

Speaking of which: in your answers to these questionnaires or in your profile, you might or might not want to disclose that you’re neurodivergent, or that you suspect you are. That’s totally your choice, and you don’t have to disclose anything you’re not comfortable with. If you specifically want a neurodivergent roommate, then it might be a good thing to disclose that you are or might be neurodivergent too. (Although, as the saying goes, if you’ve met one autistic person, you’ve met one autistic person. And that’s just one specific category of neurodivergence! Someone else might have totally different sensory needs and routines than you do—or they might be a different flavor of neurodivergent or have co-occurring physical/mental conditions. This is always a good thing to talk to them about more specifically and in more detail, if both of you are comfortable with it.) It might also be a good idea to say you’re neurodivergent as an explanation for why you need your living conditions to be the way they are and why you may be less willing or likely to budge on them—they’re not just preferences, they’re accommodations, things you NEED. However, if you’re uncomfortable disclosing this information—if you think that mentioning it might alienate potential roommates who are ableist or have misconceptions about neurodivergence, or if you’re just uncomfortable with saying you’re for sure neurodivergent when you’re not entirely sure (believe me, I get it; I’ve been there, and still kinda am!)—then you don’t have to say it. Another option is to see if any potential roommate matches mention that they are neurodivergent—then you can privately message them and say you suspect that you might be, too. This way you don’t have to disclose it to the world in your profile, but you might still find people who are wired the same or a similar way that you are.

Aside from that—my advice is to be as honest as possible when filling out these questionnaires. Obviously you can’t predict everything about how you’ll ACTUALLY turn out to live and behave in college—maybe you anticipate spending lots of time outside of your room for an extracurricular that you don’t even end up doing, or you liked to keep your room neat in high school, but with all the responsibilities and stress of college life, cleaning your room ends up falling by the wayside. You can’t predict that with absolute certainty, and the prospective roommates looking at your answers know that—it’s all preliminary guesswork. After all, they’re guessing how they’ll live, too! But given that, do your best to be as honest as you can. Don’t feel bad or ashamed, or like you need to hide/downplay any of your living habits! It’s not “bad” or “wrong” to have a messy room, go to bed late, or use/not use substances. It’s better to be upfront about things like this, so your roommate doesn’t feel deceived when your living patterns turn out to be different than how you made them out to be in the questionnaire—or so you don’t have to feel like you have to overhaul your own living habits. Self-improvement is a great thing to aspire to, but with all the changes that come with moving to college, it can just cause more stress—especially for neurodivergent people who need routines and familiarity. (Even if going to bed at 3 AM is your routine—*cough* me *cough*) And feeling like you have to tiptoe around another person or suppress your own needs can cause resentment to build up over time, and that’s not fair to you or your roommate. You don’t have to disclose anything you’re not comfortable with, but be as honest as you can.

To close out this section, here’s a quick, funny comic about how these questionnaires often go for people filling them out!

Part 2: Narrowing It Down Through Conversation

So! What next? If your college has picked out a roommate for you, or if you’ve got a list of contenders for your future roommate—people who have high compatibility scores with you on the roommate questionnaire or who have commented and expressed interest in being your roommate over social media—then the next thing to do is reach out to them! There might be a messaging feature embedded within the housing portal, or people might put their Instagram/Twitter/Discord/etc. info in the part of the roommate questionnaire that asks for a brief description of them. If you found someone through social media in the first place, you can just DM them on that account! Worse comes to worst, you can just Google “[person’s name] + [college name] + [‘28]”, and you’ll often get a social media profile for them that way.

What I did was take the top few people from the list of possible compatible roommates that the program spit out, then sent them each the same message I’d written beforehand. From what I can remember, I introduced myself, explained that the roommate portal matched us up/suggested that we’d be compatible, and said I was excited to get to know them more and see if we’d like to be roommates—and, if that wasn’t possible, if we could be friends as we both entered our college. I’d usually find a little detail from their profile and expand on that to start a conversation—things like: “I noticed on your profile that you like anime! I love it too—my favorite is Cowboy Bebop, but I like all kinds! What are your favorites? Do you have any recommendations?” or “I saw on your profile that you’re a fencer! That’s so cool, I’ve always wanted to learn that! Are you planning to join the fencing team or take classes at [School]?” (To be clear, I just made these up—I hadn’t watched Cowboy Bebop yet when I started college! I also hadn’t tried fencing yet, which is actually true to the message I made up—now I have taken a fencing class and can confidently say that I absolutely SUCK at it. But I digress.) 

The next few messages, back and forth, are where you begin to get to know this person and (hopefully!) establish a friendship with them. Beyond just the logistics of living, you get to see if you click. You don’t want to live with someone with whom you’d always have an awkward silence or feel on edge, or whom you just plain don’t like or find annoying—even if you have the exact same schedules and living preferences! A good roommate is someone with whom you feel comfortable—because, after all, they’re the person with whom you’ll spend the majority of your time for a year. Things like shared interests are a bonus, even if they’re not strictly necessary—it’s nice to have built-in ways to spend downtime with your roommate and bond with them. For instance, if you’re both into anime, you can watch it together; if you both like biking, you can go on bike rides together. Again, you don’t have to be best friends with your roommate—and if you don’t expect to be best friends with them, it lowers the pressure on both of you as you get to know each other!—but it’s nice to click with them, at least a little. (If you’re having trouble carrying on the conversation, I’ve written this guide to getting-to-know-you conversations and socializing, specifically for autistic people! Again, I’m by NO means an expert, but hopefully it can prove a little helpful!)

If you’ve messaged back and forth and are seriously considering the possibility of being roommates, I’d suggest at least one video chat before making it official, for a few reasons:

You can get a sense of how well you mesh in spoken back-and-forth conversations…which you’ll be having a LOT of if you’re roommates! Texts/DMs don’t always translate to spoken conversations (whether IRL or over video calls) the same way.

The two of you can see what the other looks like beyond their curated social media profile.

You can give each other a virtual tour of your rooms at home, to show them what your living situation is currently like.

If you’re comfortable with it, you can meet each other’s families—whom you might be seeing a LOT of during move-in!

And remember: if you message lots of people (who themselves are also messaging lots of people), it’s inevitable that some roommate relationships won’t work out! Sometimes the other person might ghost you, or find another roommate, or YOU might find a roommate and have to let the other people you messaged down easy, or you might decide that you’re better as friends than as roommates, or they might just annoy the hell out of you. That’s okay! Barring the first and last situations, just because you’re not roommates doesn’t mean you can’t be friends. And, in fact, by messaging a lot of people for roommate selection, oops—you’ve accidentally made lots of good, friendly connections for when the school year starts, and now you know more people you’ll see in your dorm, in class, in the dining halls, etc.! Even if someone’s not your future roommate, they could be your future study group member, or partner for meals, or person with whom to laugh at terrible sitcoms, or whatever.

Part 3: Maybe Not Even Having A Roommate At All?!?!?

One more thing to consider: if you’re worried about having a roommate, then, depending on your school, you might be able to get a single room to yourself and not have to have a roommate at all! The rules are different from one school to the next—my mom spent all four years of her undergraduate education happily in singles, never having a roommate, whereas my school requires you to have a roommate your first year. That is…unless you have medical accommodations that require you living in a single. If you’re really worried about roommates—if you think that the stress of having one might be sensory overload or detrimental to your mental health (and it can be a lot, being around someone All The Time!) and you need time to unmask & be truly on your own, then it might be worth looking into accommodations. These can look like: a “medical single,” an early room-selection slot to make sure you can pick a single before they’re all taken, etc. See if your school offers something similar; it’ll usually be under an office with a name like “Accessibility,” “Accommodations,” “ADA,” etc.

However, two caveats:

Accommodations like this often require some form of paperwork confirming an official diagnosis. Some accessibility offices aren’t very lenient about self-diagnosis or even diagnoses that are in progress. I assume, from your saying that you’re “pretty sure you’re some flavor of neurodivergent,” that you haven’t gotten an official diagnosis, and I can totally understand all the reasons you or others may not have one—lack of access, lack of permission, doubtful doctors, worries about how a diagnosis may affect other aspects of your life, just not wanting to or not being sure yet! I myself am just at the “maybe-possibly autistic” stage and only recently considered the possibility of a diagnosis as a Real Thing In My Future. But keep in mind that accommodations offices, ironically, might not be that understanding or accommodating.

Sometimes, unfortunately, accessibility administration can just be bad at their jobs and a hassle to deal with—so getting accommodations like this might be a long fight, and might not happen until you’re already in a room. Then you’d have to deal with the stress of having a roommate for a few months, compounded with the stress of having to pack up and move into a new single, sometimes in another building entirely!

This is where it’s good to look into resources for incoming students to your school, preferably ones where current students can answer questions freely and with candor—like those social-media pages for incoming students (if they’re run by students themselves), or groups on Facebook, Discord, Sidechat/YikYak, etc.—and see how good your school’s accessibility office’s track record is when it comes to granting accommodations quickly, helpfully, and fairly. People who have dealt with them before can answer and give you some insight. (I’ll admit, some of my rancor might be coming from experiences I’ve witnessed at my school, whose accessibility office can, to put it in the nicest way possible, be hit-or-miss…)

Part 4: My Personal Experience/Conclusion

Now for a bit of a tangent about my personal experience. Luckily, I’ve had really good luck with roommates the two years I had them. My first-year roommate, whom I met through the questionnaire, was really nice and made a good, respectful roommate. Although we haven’t crossed paths much after first year, we’re still friendly when we do see each other. Then, in my second year, I couldn’t room with that person again because she became an RA and was assigned a single, so I roomed with one of my best friends, whom I’d met at the beginning of first year! Unfortunately, they and I ended up sharing the world’s tiniest “dingle” (a single into which the college shoved two beds and pretended it was a double), where there was hardly room to move around without bumping into each other. But both of us proved very accommodating (at least, I hope I was!) and actually ended that year with an even closer friendship, instead of coming to blows and wanting to kill each other. I’m not sure I would have been able to share that single with anyone else but them! (Actually, I’m Tumblr mutuals with both of these people—to be clear, we followed each other here after knowing each other in real life; we didn’t meet on Tumblr and then happen to go to the same college—which I guess speaks to how we’re similar flavors of weird??? And if either of them see this post, I hope you know how wonderful you are and I apologize if I’ve misrepresented you!!) My third year, I was assigned a single due to an on-campus job I had, and I’ll have a single this coming year because I’m a senior.

I won’t lie and say the transition was easy—it’s never easy going to college for the first time, especially when you’re living in a dorm away from home. But when I followed the steps I outlined above, it made it a lot easier for me and gave me two lovely roommates; I’m so glad to have shared the experience with them. I really hope my super long-winded guide was helpful, and I hope you have similar luck and a great experience, both with finding a roommate and with college life in general! I’ve had so much fun in college so far—for me, it’s been worlds better than high school!—and I wish the same for you. 💖

[darkest-depravity]

How would you feel about a sub that pushes back? One that pushes you away from her and curses at you when you try to pin her down? Or one that refuses to repeat the things you tell her to repeat?

Also opinion on shock collars?

Sounds exciting. I love brats just as much as I love doormats ;) A big hobby of mine is powerlifting, and I relish any opportunity to physically overpower a willful submissive. If she wants me to earn my dominance, all the better. She'll just have to pay the price for her behavior once I win.

I do want to say, though, that any particular power dynamic can have both (as well as many other) elements during separate scenes. In a single kink relationship, a sub can be a brat in one scene and a doormat in the next. You can switch up it up every time if you want. Or, maybe a sub is ordinarily a doormat in the day-to-day life of their relationship but would like to try out being a brat for a particular scene, or vice versa. One way to go about this is through role play, something that I'm a big fan of incorporating into kink. The possibilities are endless, honestly, and I'd urge you not to get too locked into any one particular way of expressing your role, as it could preclude you from trying new things that you might really like :) As always, though, if you're trying something brand new make sure to discuss it beforehand with your partner(s), establish any new relevant limits, and talk afterward about what did/didn't work. As far as shock collars go, although the idea is incredibly hot, I must urge you to PLEASE DO NOT DO IT. I'll probably do a longer post on electric play sometime, but the short answer is that there's no way to effectively manage risk with regard to an electrical signal applied anywhere around the neck. There are just far too many vulnerable areas that can easily be permanently damaged by an electrical current.

Here's an article containing a very thorough explanation from a neuromusculoskeletal specialist of why shock collars are a terrible, terrible risk.

A fun alternative could be to place electrodes on nipples instead. Although, there are risks involved with this as well (don't use unipolar electrodes close to the heart) and several factors (including but not limited to: nipple piercings, epilepsy, and heart conditions) which make this unviable as well.

Basically, electrical play is a high-risk activity no matter how you slice it, and you must be very careful and very well-informed before attempting it. IT IS NOT A BEGINNER FORM OF PLAY AND YOU SHOULD ABSOLUTELY BE SURE YOU DO YOUR READING BEFORE ATTEMPTING IT.

[maximotts]

they gonna hate me for this one but ummm

❤️‍🩹 an angst hc for our angel baby wanda?

you want Kit to kill us both, huh? That's your endgame? 🤨

❤️‍🩹- Angsty headcanon

Soooo I've talked about the Specific Scenario in the server before and everyone YELLED AT ME, but I'll just say it again: Wanda doesn't like being called dumb. She knows she doesn't catch on to things as quickly as others do sometimes, but she's not stupid. And it wasn't for lack of trying, Wanda just... didn't grow up with the nerve to bend her angelic rules and her friends that had thrived on keeping her in the dark for their own amusement.

The one day she overhears you say it is the worst possible time, laughing amongst your friends in the living room— the very people Wanda was so excited to meet for the first time. Now she couldn't bear to face them, wondering what else you might've said about her when you thought she was out of earshot. It hurt more than she expected coming from you, the one person she trusted with every facet of herself, and Wanda's heart felt too heavy to hold. She didn't like how intensely sadness changed her, mood soured and the world growing dim. You always said angels weren't built to be sad, especially such gentle ones like her, but it was hard to fix someone's upset when you were the one who caused it.

You didn't mean it, really, only said it as a joke attached to the surprise you'd so obviously hidden in your shared closet a few days ago. The reason didn't matter as long as the words "she can be a little dumb sometimes, yeah" repeated like a sinister looping reminder over and over in her head.

When you came to check on her, Wanda refused to leave the bedroom. No amount of apologies or explanations made Wanda budge and when you realized she was immovable, you offered to tell your waiting friends to come visit another time, but that only made Wanda feel worse. She didn't want to be the dumb reason your little party broke up.

In the end, she was the one who decided to leave, returning to her own abandoned apartment after weeks of neglect. You didn't want her to go, asked endless times if she would take a minute to think it over and stay, but if Wanda stayed any longer she'd break down completely.

It wouldn't have bothered you so much if you could've gone to see her, to show up at Wanda's door with a huge basket of her favorite sweets and apologize again the next day... but that heavenly barrier kept you locked out. She responded to your texts the first night to reassure you she was safe at home, but then... radio silence. Until Wanda was ready to come back to you, the only choice you had was giving her space.

[hearsayhorizons]

Cali stopped outside the exam room where she’d left her patients. She swept her tentacles from her face, and then she flipped through her clipboard. Again. These tests, and these results... this was impossible. It must be some malfunction with the scanners. No one in this hospital—no one in the Underground, as far as they’d been able to reach—knew anything about any processes of this magnitude. Their only expert on SOULs, the royal scientist herself, had no explanation for this. It would have involved a massive amount of power and equipment. There would be no way to keep this secret.

And yet... it was as though they’d come out of thin air, and they’d always been here. Cali didn’t have teeth with which to chew the lip she also didn’t have, but she fidgeted all the same. She forced herself to knock. No answer, but she didn’t really expect one. She slipped inside.

The small room was cold for her, and Cali was used to water temperatures around Snowdin. How was this chill possible so close to the Core? She wished there was some way she could reassure her patients beyond what she’d already done in giving them more comfortable chairs and blankets; they’d seemed ill at ease with the exam table. They’d taken over the same chair, sitting piled together like they could only find comfort in each other.

She began to pace, but the lack of space and her patients’ apparent excitement or fright—she just could not, for the life of her, read them—put a stop to that; that shaking seemed to be endless. Instead, Cali knelt beside them to lean on the spare chair. She focused on her clipboard again.

“W-well,” she said. “Well, based on these reports, given our samples… it seems that, at one point, there was only a single member of your species left.” She paused, but they kept staring at her. “The genetic similarity just doesn’t happen, otherwise. It’s—cloning, basically. Your SOULs are fragments of the same whole. I don’t know how it happened. I don’t know what your… progenitor had to do to make it work, to stabilize it. It, it’s amazing!” She glanced up at her patients. Her flesh went pink in a wave as she blushed.

"…ly unethical,” the doctor continued. “We just don’t know what this means for your SOULs. What happens if you continue the fragmentation down the line. And the physical consequences…”

Her patients stared at her from the seat where they clung to each other. She watched the smaller one's face vibrate off of its head.

“hOI!!!”

[travelingthroughtimejjs]

everyday

love is an emotion that is hard to put into words. It causes wars, ignites a fire in our bellies and ultimately destroys us. With all of these negative connotations, why do humans desire it? Well if you look back at the work of Aristophanes in Plato’s Symposium he philosophized that at one point every human was born with two sets of arms, two sets of legs, etc. It was only the all powerful Zeus that could decide humans had too much strength and had to be split up in order to make them more weak and vulnerable. Ever since that day humans have went on the search for their other half that they were torn from. Now I don’t really know if that’s what love is, but it is the only explanation of how hearts can be away from each other for so long, but the yearning just never goes away. The hope and drive that keeps them beating is that potential reunion with their lost partner. When you find the other half that you lost long ago, the heart knows, and it knows before the brain. No matter how much we live in denial the heart still knows where it belongs. The brain can detach itself from the yearning long enough to fight for self preservation, but the heart will eventually run out of passionate beats if it doesn’t get reunited with its other half. These feelings are what drives two people to be madly head over heels obsessed with one another, to the point that no matter what life throws their way, their hearts ALWAYS know the direction their supposed to go. Once the heart knows the second half is near, that’s all it truly desires. Although it might grow fond of another heart, it knows deep inside that something is missing, and thus this is where the heart has left a piece of itself within its other half. Love is hard. Love is complicated. But love is beautiful. Love is the feeling of waking up full of energy, excited to what the new day can bring. Love is a compassionate ear when you need someone to talk to. Love is the openness to be yourself and the acceptance that follows when two people laugh like their the only ones that really matter. Love is endless, and if it’s possible for the heart to stop feeling those deep desires, if never was. Now I don’t know everything about love, some might say I know nothing at all, but what I do know is that every heart should have the opportunity to be reunited with its other half. No brain or mouth will ever be able to stop love, and truly they’ll never be able to express it. The best we can do is say our vows on our wedding day and hope that the heart takes over. To this I say don’t let the brain create a fear that prevents the heart from getting the love is desires.

[voltsim]

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