#and then someone i care about says something in a way/in a tone that i percieve as them being mad at me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tofics · 2 days ago

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🥲 With the way my period went last week, this fic was on my brain constantly. But my god, Bug, I needed time to digest this masterpiece. (I've also saved various of your other works in my drafts to comment on later. I apologize for the reblog spam that is about to happen.)

Kay, now. Let's dive in, shall we? 🥰

Joel wakes up early the next morning and greets you with a kiss pressed to the side of your head. “Fuck off,” you mumble, your voice is still thick with sleep but he knows you mean it so he lets you sleep in a bit while he cleans the bathroom for you. He works as quietly as he can, scrubbing it and mopping it from top to bottom. He empties the trash can and the laundry hamper, he makes sure there’s a fresh bar of soap and a new washrag for you. Joel’s just finishing up and wiping dust from the mirror when you find him in the bathroom. “Mornin’, sunshine,” he says as he kisses the top of your head. “How do you feel?”

What a sweet, sweet, kind man. If I woke up to a freshly cleaned bathroom while on my period, I'd probably cry.

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” you mumble. “The bleach you used makes my head hurt worse.”

🥲 Ma'am. I get it. But. The sweet man.

If looks could fuckin’ kill, Joel thinks. You’re glaring at him. He takes that as his cue to leave. You shrink away from him as he gently brushes your arm when he walks past, then shut the door loudly behind him. Ouch. Joel knows not to take it personally, though. You’re crampy, but you’re also probably hungry. He’ll make you breakfast, something with protein because he knows you need it.

Sorry, did you say saint??? Saint Joel???

“I didn’t hear ya, sweetheart. Speak up, please.” “I said yes,” you snap. Your clipped tone cuts like a knife. Joel bites his inner cheek as he takes your plate from you.

😫 The disrespect. The bitten cheek. (Loved that bit. His annoyance is growing, but he's still keeping his cool. Again, did someone say saint??)

“No. I don’t care,” you interrupt, which hurts Joel’s feelings a little. A lot, actually.

S' OKAY, SWEET BABY. C'MERE. MAMA'S GOT YOU.

“Your glasses broke.” “Yeah. I see that.” “I didn’t mean to,” you tell him defensively. “Right.” “But you really shouldn’t leave your glasses there, Joel.”

Breaking the silence, Joel finally clears his throat and continues his thought, “I’m gonna give you two options,” Joel says. “You can walk the fuck away from me, or you can get on your knees. Whichever you choose, you do so silently. Nod if you understand.”

“You’ve earned yourself brownie points choosin’ the latter of the two options, but this still ain’t gonna be fun for you,” he says.

S' okay 🥲 I was a bitch 🥲 I deserve it 🥲 Do with me as you please 🥲🥲🥲

He draws out of your mouth entirely only to force his way back in, making you gag and sputter. You attempt to pull away but Joel keeps his hand firm on your head and holds you right where he wants you. “Nuh-uh. I don’t know where you think you’re goin’, hon.”

“Quiet,” he growls. “Heard fuckin’ enough outta you today. You keep quiet.”

🫡 Sir yes, sir.

“Let it be a lesson to ya, then, if it hurts. That mouth ‘a yours has done nothin’ but bitch and moan at me today. S’a punishment, ain’t ‘sposed to feel good.”

I have really bad news for you, then. Ahem.

“Because if I don’t fuck you,” he says, “Then I’m gonna strangle you. So which would you like?”

“I will wash the fucking sheets. We can add it to the list of all the things I’ve done for ya today, hm?”

Ohhh, he's done done. I just *loved* this bit. The frustration, how fed up he is with the reader. Suddenly you're concerned about causing a little bit of work? Oh, hohoho, no no no. Too fucking late.

Joel had assumed sexual frustration had been playing a role in your attitude today. Cramps, headaches, all sorts of things going on with you and a needy, aching pussy to boot. He does feel sorry for you, but he feels sorry for himself too. It’s why he got his first, but now it’s time for you to get yours. An orgasm should set you straight, or two or three. Whatever he feels is necessary.

😩 Ma'am. Please. I can only take so much. The hotness in just this ONE paragraph. PLEASE. 😩 "An orgasm should set you straight, or two or three. Whatever he feels is necessary." 🥲 I am a puddle on the floor.

Joel takes his free hand and uses it to press down on your lower stomach, intensifying the feeling of it all. You come hard, gushing on his fingers as you whimper his name.

🫠🙃🫠🙃

“Quiet,” he commands. He begins teasing your slit with his cock once more before he speaks, “So this is what we’re gonna do: you’re gonna take what I give you, however much or little it is. You’re not gonna cry or complain ‘cause you’ve done enough of that today. Right?” Joel pauses, “Nod your head.”

“I know, I know, sweetheart,” he coos at you to quiet you down. “You’re all out of sorts today. M’gonna fix it. I always fix it, don’t I?”

*inhales* - *screams*

He fucks you without discipline, no tenderness at all to the action with those sloppy thrusts, but you’re more lost in him than he is in you - he’s focused on your face, watching you make an ‘O’ with your mouth, and he’s focused on your bouncing body, your twitching thighs spread wide. Your moans, your whimpers and your whines, babbling nothing but nonsense. Joel’s brow is furrowed as he breathes heavily through his teeth, his soft body jerking above you as he hits that sweet spot inside you over and over and over… “It’s all ya needed, isn’t it? The whole goddamn time,” he pants. “Didn’t need to go an’ bitch me out all day if you needed lovin’ like this. Woulda been nice f’ya just said so.”

😶 I have died and am now reading this from the depth of hell. Fuuuuck me!

“Always the tears with you, huh?” he taunts. “Always somethin’. Oh, I know. I know.”

The fucking "I know"s kill me. Like, I didn't know two simple words like that could do the things to me that they're doing. But here we are. Is that a kink? Is there an "I know" kink? I think I have it.

“You’re gonna tell me what you need,” he instructs, “And you’re gonna ask for it. Nicely. So that means usin’ your manners. Please, Joel. Thank you, Joel. Remember those words?”

You’re surprised when he returns to you, pelvis covered in your blood, and scoops you right up in his arms. He helps you to your feet and on shaky legs, guides you to the bathroom. It no longer smells like bleach but instead, lavender. He’s got a candle lit on the sink and the bathtub is filled with warm, bubbly water. “Picked out a bubble bath for you earlier when I went out. Wanna test it out with me?”

😭😭😭 SAY IT WITH ME: JOEL MILLER IS A FUCKING SAINT. A SAINT THAT FUCKS, BUT A SAINT NONETHELESS.

Christ on a cracker, this was delicious from start to finish. I think you have had a lasting impact on how I see (and am trying to write) smut. 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

Thank you indeed. 🙌 A masterpiece!!!!

Seeing Red

“Because if I don’t fuck you,” he says, “Then I’m gonna strangle you. So which would you like?”

Joel’s sorry that your period sucks, but he's reached the end of his rope with your attitude. (6k)

Tags - 18+ smut, brat taming, blow jobs, face fucking, rough period sex, fingering, mating press, overstimulation and multiple orgasms, creampie, aftercare in the form of a shared bubble bath, all things periods and period symptoms so headaches, breast pain, cramps, irritability that reader takes out on Joel. You will feel so bad for being such a cunt to this man but he gets to fill two of your holes with his cum so it all kind of evens out. takes place in jackson Fic help - @beefrobeefcal and @joelsdagger for all of their love and support and eyeballs, @noxturnalpascal and @endlessthxxghts thank you both for being my compass and giving me direction and helping to make this fic perfect. I love you <3 A/N - if you're on your period, i'm sending you a hug <3 if you're not i'm hugging you too

I was reminded of my friend @covetyou's fic "Sleepless" which is a lovely piece of classic literature, just like the rest of her works, and I'd like to credit her for inspo. Thank you Lo 🤎🩷💚

You should have guessed there’d be a bloodstain in your underwear, but despite the headaches, your sore breasts, and your cramping abdomen, you’re surprised when you’re met with rusty red in your panties. Fucking great, you whisper, dripping with sarcasm, this is not what you needed today. You had so many things you wanted to get done and now you were going to be spending the whole day miserable and in pain.

“Joel,” you loudly call out. You wait a beat, nothing. “JOEL,” you yell louder.

You hear the faint sound of his recliner, the popping of his knees and the creaking of the stairs as he walks up them. His two feet are visible through the space between the floor and the bathroom door and then he knocks, “Whatcha need, darlin’?”

“New underwear,” you answer. “And a pad. Also in the underwear drawer.”

Joel walks away and returns with what you’ve asked for and slides both items under the door. You change your panties and secure the pad made of old rags and t-shirts with the clothespin attached to it. “You got it?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you reply.

“Guessin’ you just started your cycle, then.”

“Mhm.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“Nope,” you answer. “I think I’m just gonna go to bed.”

“Alright. I’ll join you, then.”

You wash your hands and rinse the bloodstain out of your panties with annoyance in the sink, wringing them out before tossing them in the dirty laundry hamper in the bathroom. When you unlock the door and leave the bathroom, Joel’s already asleep in your shared bed. He sleeps curled on his side and yet he still fucking snores - between that and the pain you’re in, you know it won’t be a restful night of sleep. You look at Joel, sleeping peacefully like a baby, and yet you wanna beat the living fucking crap out of him. You curl your body around his, stealing his body heat to soothe your cramps.

“Shitty.” You grab at the mirror and Joel’s skin crawls as you touch the glass with your thumb, the smudges left behind from your fingertips clear as day on the freshly cleaned glass. He’ll just touch it up later. You pull out your toothbrush and frown, your nose scrunched in disgust. “It smells like bleach in here,” you complain.

“Well, yeah,” Joel chuckles. “I just cleaned it for ya. ‘Course it smells like bleach.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” you mumble. “The bleach you used makes my head hurt worse.”

“Oh,” Joel scratches the back of his head and frowns. “M’sorry, then. Well, we can let it air out for a while, we’ll leave the fan on. Shouldn’t smell for more than a day or so.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

He cleans the kitchen first. He washes the dirty dishes you must’ve forgotten about last night and wipes crumbs from the table. As you come downstairs dressed in sweats and a shirt you stole from Joel, he’s finishing up making your breakfast. “Sit down, I made your favorite.”

You sit down at the table with your head in your hands. Joel puts a plate with two slices of perfectly golden brown toast and two over-easy eggs in front of you, then a fork and a knife on either side. He fills a glass with water for you as well. He walks away to clean up the stove, then turns around to check on you. Your face is contorted in disgust and you’re not eating. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t want this,” you grouse.

“But s’your favorite. You love your eggs over easy,” Joel says. “And the toast, that’s fresh bread and butter. Eat up.”

“Yeah, but I wanted scrambled.”

Joel stares at you for a moment, dumbfounded. You usually hate scrambled eggs, and he knows this. But you’re not smirking or holding back laughter like you’re fucking with him. So maybe your tastes have changed, who knows. “Okay. Would you like me to make you scrambled eggs instead, then?”

“Yes,” you mumble in a small voice.

“I didn’t hear ya, sweetheart. Speak up, please.”

“I said yes,” you snap.

Your clipped tone cuts like a knife. Joel bites his inner cheek as he takes your plate from you. He quickly scarfs down the perfectly cooked eggs and toast as he makes you a new plate of breakfast, this time with scrambled eggs. He places it in front of you with a little less care than before and waits for you to take a bite. “Better?”

“Just okay.”

‘Just okay’. Of course you think it’s ‘just okay’, they’re scrambled fucking eggs - which you don’t like. You’re just being -

Joel needs to cool off. Hopefully once you’ve eaten you’re a little less irritable. “I’m gonna head out an’ do some errands. Be back shortly,” He’s met with no answer from you, which he expected.

He comes back an hour or so later with a few things from the market he’s been needing along with a couple of VHS tapes that he rented from the library. “So,” Joel says, “I picked out some movies for ya.” He lays four tapes down on the coffee table in front of the couch where you lay. “When Harry Met Sally, that’s a good one,” he begins, “Next is How To Lose a Guy In 10 Days, then Blade Runner, and I picked out My Cousin Vinny,” Joel says. He thinks you’re gonna pick out Blade Runner because it stars Harrison Ford, who he knows you have a thing for. “My Cousin Vinny is pretty good, I don’t think we’ve seen that one yet f’ya wanna give that a try.”

“Mmm, no.”

Shot down. “Okay. How ‘bout Blade Runner, then. S’got Indiana Jones in -”

“No. I don’t care,” you interrupt, which hurts Joel’s feelings a little. A lot, actually. “I wanna watch this one,” you point to How To Lose a Guy In 10 Days. “He’s cute.”

Of course you picked the Matthew McConaughey movie. God, Joel fucking hated him. He always seemed so skeezy, if there’s anyone who should’ve bit it on Outbreak Day, it should’ve been Matthew McConaughey. “Yeah, okay. Whatever. Do you think he’s dreamy too?”

“Fuck off, Joel.”

So teasing’s off the table too, he’ll add that to the list of things that have pissed you off today. Joel turns on the TV and puts the tape in the VHS player before he sits back down next to you. At first you rest on his shoulder, then you spread out and lay your head on his lap. It’s not long before you fall asleep on Joel, leaving him to watch this dumb fucking movie all by himself because god forbid he move you and disrupt your nap. He knows better than to do that.

“So fuckin’ stupid,” Joel whispers to himself as the movie plays, though he did find himself enjoying the part where the Kate Hudson sings “You’re So Vain” by Carly Simon. He always did like that song.

“Mmmm,” you groan, shifting onto your back. Joel’s hand is stroking your hair as you look up at him, but you push it away. “You’re too close to me,” you grumble.

“What’re you talkin’ about?”

“You’re crowding me. I feel smothered.”

Joel scoffs. “Oh, you feel smothered? You’re the one who laid on me.” Once again, your glare is all that you need to say. “Alright then, I’ll move.” Joel concedes. He lifts your head gently and scoots down to the opposite end of the couch. And then he hears you huff. “What?”

“Well, now I don’t have a pillow.”

Joel sighs as he gets up to grab a throw pillow from the opposite couch.

“The other one.”

You’re referring to the other throw pillow that’s absolutely indistinguishable from the one currently in Joel’s hand, but he gets it for you anyway. “Lift your head,” he says softly, putting the pillow under you. He sits back down in the spot you made him move to as you both watch the movie play, but your soft groans interrupt. You’re no doubt in pain from all the cramps right now. “I’ve got somethin’ like a heating pad,” Joel says, looking at you. “S’a big sock filled with rice, I heat it up and use it for neck and back pain. Would that help with them cramps?” You nod without making any effort to meet Joel’s eyes, which he finds a little rude. But still, you’re hurting. He’ll give you grace.

So, once again, Joel gets up for you. He goes upstairs to get his rice sock from his nightstand, then comes back downstairs and heats it in the microwave for a couple of minutes. He pokes the sock to make sure it’s plenty warm for you and then gives it to you to take. “Here,” he says, “Hold it on your tummy.”

“JESUS,” you yell at him.

“What?”

“It’s too fucking hot, Joel, why would you make it so hot?”

“Just give it a second, sweetheart, you’ll get used to it.”

“No. It was burning me.”

“Okay, then let me have it and we’ll let it cool off a minute. Christ almighty.” Joel takes the sock back from you, and he knows his hands are pretty calloused but…it doesn’t feel that hot. When a few minutes have passed, he gives it back to you. “This should be better.”

You lay the big, warm stuffed sock across your stomach and frown. “It’s not warm enough.”

“You have gotta be kiddin’ me.”

“Mm-mm,” you shake your head, giving Joel back his sock like you just assume he’ll heat it up again for you.

“Just a couple minutes ago you screamed bloody murder about it burnin’ you. And now it’s not hot enough?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” When Joel doesn’t jump immediately to reheat the sock for you, you look at him impatiently. “Joel.”

“You can ask, you know.”

But Joel gets the hint and gets up for you a third time to reheat the sock he’s letting you borrow. You don’t say please, and when he returns with the sock reheated, there’s no thank you either. What does he get from you? “It’s too hot.”

“Then tell me how I should rectify that for you, because last time I let it cool off and it wasn’t warm enough for ya after.”

“I don’t know,” you snap. “You’re just really upsetting me right now. Everything hurts and your voice is grating.”

“I’m upsetting you?” Joel repeats your words back to you. “And my voice is grating.”

“Yes.”

He’s about at his wits end. “You know, you–” Joel decides not to finish that sentence. Instead, he sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose and breathes out on the count of five. “Two, three, four…You need to drink some water. S’your first issue, you’re probably dehydrated. Did you drink any water?”

“It’s not your business.”

Jesus fucking Christ. “Okay, well I’m makin’ it my business.” Joel gets up for the fourth goddamn time and slams the cup cabinet before filling a glass with water from the sink. He marches back to the couch, “Sit up,” he says. “Drink.”

“I don’t want to,” you whine.

“It’ll fix your headache. Drink.”

“It won’t actually, that’s a myth.”

“Right, what do I know when you’ve got an answer for fuckin’ everything. Drink.”

You sit up, scowling at Joel as you take a sip.

“All of it.”

You drink the rest of it, glaring at him the whole time. He’s so full of shit, as if any of what you’re going through could be fixed by drinking a glass of water. Water won’t fix your cramps, won’t fix your aching and sore back. When you’re done, you slam the glass on the end table next to you and in doing so, break Joel’s reading glasses. Oops. Didn’t see those. The lenses aren’t shattered, but one of the arms is all bent now. When you look at Joel, he’s biting his bottom lip and breathing deeply. “Your glasses broke.”

“Yeah. I see that.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you tell him defensively.

“Right.”

“But you really shouldn’t leave your glasses there, Joel.”

“Yeah, right. Shouldn’t leave my glasses on the end table,” Joel says. “I should leave them where, exactly? Maybe the floor?”

“Somewhere else.”

“Right. Somewhere else.”

He’s hoping that by repeating your words back to you, you start to hear how absolutely ridiculous you sound. But you don’t seem to. Joel turns and walks away before he fucking throttles you.

“Can you put on the next movie? I wanna watch My Cousin Vinny.”

Now, now you want to watch that movie. And Joel’s gonna miss out, because he can’t stand to be around you for one minute longer. “Are your legs broken?”

“Yes.”

Walked into that one. “You’re fuckin’ impossible. Fine. I’ll put it on, then I’m goin’ away for a bit.”

“Good.”

Oh, he could fucking kill you. This whole day he’s heard nothing but complaints from your mouth, no pleases or thank you’s at all. Everything he’s done today has been for you, and you couldn’t give a flying fuck.

Joel puts on the movie, grabs his bent glasses from the end table and heads out to the garage without saying a single word to you. You wonder what bug crawled up his ass.

My Cousin Vinny plays just fine until Vinny shows up in his ridiculous suit to the courthouse. The tape begins to skip a whole bunch, the movie barely making sense, and you have no idea how to fix it - not that it’s your job to know, anyway. So you call out the name of the man whose job it is.

“Joel.”

No answer.

“JOELLLL,” you yell.

Same deal. You sigh as you sit up and get off of the couch, walking to the garage door. There’s finally a break in your cramps and you’re feeling halfway-human for the first time since yesterday. Entering the garage, you find Joel sitting at his workbench, he’s working on bending the frame of his glasses back into shape. “Joel.”

He doesn’t turn around to look at you and in fact, he heard you calling for him. He had just ignored you. “Looks like your legs are workin’ now,” Joel replies, without looking at you. “S’a miracle. Means you can follow me around now, terrific.”

You choose to ignore his sarcasm. “Whatever. You need to do something for me. The VCR is messing up and you have to fix it.”

“Hm,” he hums.

“What’s hm?”

“I’ve fixed lotsa things for you today,” he says quietly. “I need some time to fix my glasses that you broke. S’a difficult task on account of the fact I need my glasses to see.”

“You can do me one favor, Joel. It won’t kill you.”

Joel stops and gently places his broken glasses on his work bench. He turns to his right and glares daggers at you. “One favor,” he scoffs. “Oh, you’re a fuckin’ peach. You wanna try that again?”

“Try what again?”

You’re fucking with him. You have to be fucking with him. Why are you fucking with him? You’re not antagonistic like this, not usually, so he concludes that you must be looking for a fight. At this point, Joel is too.

“I’ve done you countless favors today, sweetheart,” Joel gripes.

“Yeah, but-” you begin.

Joel’s large, warm hand suddenly covers the lower half of your face, silencing your argument. “If the next words outta this mouth aren’t thank you, then I don’t wanna hear ‘em. In fact…”

He bites his inner cheek, nodding his head as he thinks. The way he stares at you, his dark eyes piercing through you - you feel the chill deep in your bones. A wave of clarity hits you as you recall some of the details of the day, the way Joel was there at every turn and while you were busy being cranky and achey, he was trying to wait on you hand and foot. Shit. You’ve been a Grade-A bitch to him all day, a total fucking cunt.

It’s like you’re watching a scene from a movie. You hear Joel’s words, but you almost don’t believe they’re real and so they don’t quite register. He pulls his hand away from your face slowly. Your mouth falls open a bit but you don’t say or do anything.

“Nod. If. You. Understand.” You nod quickly. Joel awaits your decision as you look at the garage door and contemplate your clean way out from this situation, “So what’ll it be?” he asks. Despite it all, that uneasy feeling in your gut, you drop to your knees anyway, eyes still lingering on the door before you look up at Joel. You trust him to take care of you and you think you might owe him this obedience after your behavior today. “You’ve earned yourself brownie points choosin’ the latter of the two options, but this still ain’t gonna be fun for you,” he says. It should scare you - and it does - but you’re still thrilled by it, by the way he sighs and his knees crack as he gets off of his barstool, by the cold look in his eyes as he reaches under his thick belly to unbuckle his belt. Standing above you, he pulls out his half-hard cock and pumps it, feeling it grow to full length in his hand. He’s thick, veiny, and generously sized, a pearly white bead of precum sits atop his slit. His cock is just an inch or two away from your mouth as he holds it between his fingers, his thumb on top and middle and forefingers on the underside. With his other hand, he cards his fingers through your hair and pulls you close, the tip of his cock pressing against your lips. “Open.”

You part your lips open and with that, Joel pushes himself into your mouth inch by inch. You smell him first, that musky and heady sort of scent. Next, you taste the saltiness of his skin and his precome on your tongue and for a moment it’s pleasurable, with his cock halfway in your mouth. You wrap your hand around the end of his shaft like you know what he wants but you don’t know, not really - Joel holds your hand in his own and squeezes it so that your knuckles grind against each other a little bit. He pushes himself further and you can’t lick him or savor this like you wanted to, you just feel his cock intruding, sliding into your mouth. Joel’s testing you, making sure that you can handle all of him and if you can’t, you know he’ll make you.

There’s no gentleness to it, he fucks your mouth heatedly so that you’re drooling and choking on him, your eyes springing with tears as that pressure builds behind them. “Breathe through your nose,” he reminds you. “In and out. You ain’t done jus’ ‘cause you’re cryin’.” Your lips are sore with the repeated action, your jaw is aching. He rolls his hips, his cock is deep down your throat as he relishes in your warm, wet mouth and the way it makes him feel.

“Mmm,” you moan, you’re not sure if the noise is indicative of your pleasure or discomfort.

“Quiet,” he growls. “Heard fuckin’ enough outta you today. You keep quiet.”

Your nose is buried in that thatch of coarse curls as he rocks his hips over and over, his soft and pillowy tummy bouncing against your forehead. You squirm and whine as his tip teases the back of your throat and your mouth feels so full, uncomfortably so. Joel picks up on that. “Let it be a lesson to ya, then, if it hurts. That mouth ‘a yours has done nothin’ but bitch and moan at me today. S’a punishment, ain’t ‘sposed to feel good.”

He’s grunting and groaning, eyes screwed shut as he uses you, pumping in and out of your mouth. Your jaw aches with the brutality of the way he fucks your mouth, and just as you think you can’t take anymore, you feel Joel’s cock begin to twitch and pulse. He comes in your mouth without a warning, painting your tongue with his hot spend. It’s salty and bitter and warm on your tongue. Once you’ve swallowed, Joel reaches down and yanks you up by your bicep. He thought fucking your mouth and coming down your throat would make him feel better but honestly, it doesn’t. As he looks at your face, all puffy with tears and swollen lips, he can’t quite find it in himself to let go of his anger. Not yet, at least. “Let’s go,” he grunts as he drags you with him towards the garage door. He marches you though the house and up the stairs.

“Where are we going?”

“Bedroom,” Joel growls, answering your question like it’s obvious. You suppose it should be, but you figured he was done with you. But he’s not. The regret begins to set in when you realize the retribution you’re about to be met with for the way you’ve treated Joel today. You’d be lying if you said that while wallowing in your pain you didn’t notice how your curt tone got under his skin, hurt his feelings and frustrated him immensely. The dread you feel can’t save you, it’s all too late now.

“Because if I don’t fuck you,” he says, “Then I’m gonna strangle you. So which would you like?”

“Fuck me,” you whisper.

“Exactly.”

Joel pushes you into the bedroom and locks the door behind himself. “Lie down on your back,” he says.

You protest, “But the sheets, Joel. The blood–”

“I will wash the fucking sheets. We can add it to the list of all the things I’ve done for ya today, hm?”

When you don’t jump at his request, Joel takes initiative. He pulls off your - his - shirt from your body and then bends you over the end of the neatly made bed, the old and worn comforter feels rough on the skin of your cheek. Joel pulls down your sweatpants and panties in one motion and then flips you over onto your back, your legs hanging off the end of the bed. You feel embarrassed when you catch a glimpse of your bloodied pad and underwear, moreso when you feel yourself making a mess on his bedding and between your legs.

“You didn’t make yourself come today, did you?”

“Uhh–” you stutter. “I - I…”

“No point in gettin’ bashful now, darlin’. Just gimme an answer.”

“No,” you tell him. It’s been a while.

“Figures.”

Joel undresses himself before pushing your thighs apart and hitching your legs around his waist. Slowly, he slides his thumb through your folds and then circles your clit. He knows you’re vulnerable like this - bleeding pussy on display for him as you make a mess of his sheets. But he’s patient, and he massages your clit calmly until you finally let a moan, a little mmm slip. He smirks at that.

He pushes his middle two fingers inside you, pumping in and out slowly. He then curls his fingers, searching for that sweet spot on a woman he loves so much. “Fuck,” you cry out, legs instinctually closing shut around him, and he knows he’s found it.

“Don’t fight it,” he says, opening you back up. He curls his fingers and circles your clit in tandem, making all sorts of lewd noises with your cunt. He admires your body all laid out for him like this, your breasts and your pebbled nipples, soft tummy rising and falling with your breathy oh’s and ahh’s, thick curls framing your pretty pussy like a picture just for him. Joel takes his free hand and uses it to press down on your lower stomach, intensifying the feeling of it all. You come hard, gushing on his fingers as you whimper his name.

Joel pulls his fingers from your core and wipes them haphazardly on his own torso. “Joel,” you gasp when you feel the thick head of his cock at your entrance.

“I am sorry,” he begins, notching his tip inside you and popping it out. He slides the blunt head through your folds and over your clit, then taps the sensitive part of you with himself. “That you’re in pain. It isn’t fair and I know that. But you’ve done nothing but take your hurt out on me.” He presses himself inside you again, “I’ve got a half a mind to take my own hurt out on you, y’know.” His voice is dark and angered, but he speaks calmly in a way that contrasts the darkness but maintains his authority all the same. “And I think I’m gonna.”

“Joel, I– ”

You obey his rule and nod, yes.

He drags his cock up and down your cunt again, the soft skin of your labia rubbing so nicely against his thickness. He notches himself inside you over and over again, pushing in a little bit deeper each time and pulling back out. You whine, rolling your hips in search of more. “I know, I know, sweetheart,” he coos at you to quiet you down. “You’re all out of sorts today. M’gonna fix it. I always fix it, don’t I?”

Yes. You nod again. Quiet.

“S’right,” he says. “Good girl.”

With that, Joel pushes his leaking cock into you entirely, one gradual slide that has you sucking in a breath that comes out in a strained sort of whimper. His hard, warm shaft parting your insides, filling you whole. Joel hears it in the way that you sigh, that this, this is what you needed. He rocks his hips once, twice. Experiments with shallow thrusts, inching his way in and out of you before he draws out of your pussy entirely only to thrust himself right back in, deeper and harder than before.

With the fullness of Joel inside of you, everything seems to melt away - all that anger, misplaced or not. Joel’s rhythmic thrusting soothes you, sort of. The soreness of your body, the aching cramps in your abdomen are all gone as you focus on the in and out, the in and out. He builds a comfortable pace, but one that borders on too much too soon. His hands on your waist, pulling you towards him as he pushes into you in equal measure.

“It’s all ya needed, isn’t it? The whole goddamn time,” he pants. “Didn’t need to go an’ bitch me out all day if you needed lovin’ like this. Woulda been nice f’ya just said so.” Joel reaches for your breasts, harshly squeezing the tender, sore flesh. You wince in pain and he loosens his grip, focusing on your nipples instead. He twists and flicks the sensitive buds and your moans become louder, more high pitched. Joel fucking loves it when that happens, you never realized.

“Oh, Joel,” you moan, “Yeah, fuck.”

With one hand still teasing your nipples, he brings the other to your pussy. A few strokes of his thumb on your clit is all it takes to send you over the edge a second time, wanton moans and choked sobs spilling from your lips as he fucks you through it.

And fucks you, and fucks you.

And keeps fucking you.

It doesn’t end, he doesn’t slow himself and you never feel that come down, that descent from pleasure. It keeps going, like pressure with nowhere to go and you feel like you might break. “I can’t, I need you to stop, stop, Joel.”

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head, thrusting still. “You can take it, be a good girl. Gonna fuck you good and deep like you need. You brought this on yourself, anyway. Two more.”

This whole time, he doesn’t stop. It’s so much at once and when you thought it was going to end, it doesn’t. Tears of overstimulation spring in your eyes and flow freely down your cheeks. Joel lets you cry because he knows you need it, he knows the release is good for you. You poor thing, how much you must be feeling right now, both physically and mentally. “It’s too much, Joel, I can’t,” you plead.

“Always the tears with you, huh?” he taunts. “Always somethin’. Oh, I know. I know.”

It’s the way you look at Joel that causes him to cave, eyes all wide and tear-stained. You’re spent and he knows it, what with all that your body’s put you through. You’ve had a rough day and though he did too, he can’t help but feel sympathy for you at this moment. “Oh, my sweet girl. What am I gonna do with you, hm?”

“I don’t know,” you sniffle.

“Know you don’t, ‘n you don’t have to. S’my job,” he soothes. With his clean hand, he traces the side of your face and rubs his thumb over your cheekbone. “How about this, then - what are we gonna do next time you’re not feeling so good?”

“I’m - I’m–”

“You’re gonna tell me what you need,” he instructs, “And you’re gonna ask for it. Nicely. So that means usin’ your manners. Please, Joel. Thank you, Joel. Remember those words?”

“Yeah,” you nod, “Yeah, I remember.”

“But you forgot ‘em the whole day today,” Joel says softly. “I think you gotta learn to compromise, too,” he adds. The guilt had begun to set in before, but you really start to feel the burn now. You were unkind to Joel, and he’s been nothing but sweet, doting on every one of your needs. “I think an apology’s in order for the way you treated me today.”

He’s right, and you know it. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Joel.”

“Oh, I know you are. You just needed the reminder, s’okay,” You hadn’t even noticed how his thrusting had slowed to a still until it picks up again slowly, as he presses kisses to you. Your cheeks first, then your lips. “I’ll compromise too - I’m only gonna make you come one more time, not two. Sound good? Sound fair?”

“I don’t think I can, Joel…”

“Yeah, you can, s’the last one. Take it good for me,” he encourages. “Take it good.”

That’s what he repeats as his thrusts build again, fucking you deeply. Take it good, take it good for me. He hikes you up further on the bed and joins you so that he’s no longer standing at the floor, he’s got you pressed in half instead, your knees on either side of your chest and your feet above his shoulders. This angle intensifies everything and he knows, oh he knows how much it is for you. You’re tired, sore, overstimulated. But you’ll be done soon, he’ll be done with you soon. He takes your hand and wedges it between your bodies, pressing your own fingers to your clit, “Let go for me, I wanna feel you let go for me,” he says. “Focus right here. You’re gonna come with me, keep your eyes on me…”

You don’t even have to massage your clit, the way Joel angles himself has his body doing all the work, his pubic bone adding pressure to your fingers adding pressure to your clit. It’s intense, all of it - deeply energetic, overwhelming. You can’t quite discern your orgasm as it builds, there’s no definitive start but it’s powerful, devastating almost. Washing over you in waves, you feel it in the base of your spine first. You feel it in your gut, the backs of your thighs all the way to your toes. You hardly register that he’s coming with you, filling you deep with his come. His jaw is clenched tight and he’s groaning, grunting as he milks himself in you.

He leaves you there, whimpering, twitching on the bed. You hear the faint sound of running water, you figure he’s washing himself off. You’re surprised when he returns to you, pelvis covered in your blood, and scoops you right up in his arms. He helps you to your feet and on shaky legs, guides you to the bathroom. It no longer smells like bleach but instead, lavender. He’s got a candle lit on the sink and the bathtub is filled with warm, bubbly water. “Picked out a bubble bath for you earlier when I went out. Wanna test it out with me?”

“Yeah,” you sniffle. “Yes. Please.”

Joel sits in the tub first, spreads his legs and welcomes you to sit between them. He washes the blood from your poor, sensitive core and your thighs, washes it from his own body as well. When he’s done, he pulls you back into his chest and his hands find your breasts. “They’re tender, huh,” he murmurs into the side of your head.

“Super, yeah. Sore.”

“I’ll bet,” he says. He gently massages the tissue for you, his strong hands working you out in a way you can’t quite do.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Joel chuckles. “Bout fuckin’ time you thanked me,” he says. “You’re welcome.”

If you enjoyed, please reblog with thoughts, leave me a comment, or send me an ask! Your words motivate me to keep writing for you all 🩷

Least helpful cats award goes to these two 👇 if you’ve ever wondered what takes me so long to put fics out, it’s this. I try to write and I’m cockblocked by these fuzzballs.

#read list #joel miller #fic rec

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aventurineswife · 21 hours ago

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Two Hands, One Home

Summary: After an abyss attack destroys your home, Kinich, who values independence and self-reliance, offers you a place to stay. Though he presents it as purely practical, his actions reveal a quiet, genuine care. Over time, you settle into a peaceful routine together, finding comfort in his reserved kindness and the small gestures of care he provides, learning that beneath his cold exterior, Kinich has his own way of showing affection.

Tags: @m1nella, Kinich x Reader, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Reserved Kinich, Found Family, Quiet Moments, Pragmatic Romance, Subtle Affection, Soft Kinich.

Warnings: Implied Loss Due To An Abyss Attack, Mild Angst.

The aftermath of the abyss attack was devastating. Your home, once a place of safety and comfort, had been reduced to rubble, its walls shattered and roof torn asunder. The shock of losing everything you had worked for in an instant left you feeling hollow, adrift in a world that had suddenly turned cold and uncertain.

But amid the chaos, there was an unexpected offer. Kinich, with his usual stoic expression, had come to you with a quiet proposal. “You can stay at my place while your house is being repaired.” he said, his tone as dry as ever, yet beneath it was something softer, something genuine.

You were hesitant at first—Kinich was a private person, and you knew his past hadn’t been easy. Still, the practicality of the offer, and the simple fact that you needed somewhere safe to stay, won out. You nodded, grateful but unsure of what to expect.

The day you moved into Kinich’s house, you couldn’t help but be surprised by how… normal it was. The inside was modest, a far cry from the grandeur of the mansions you’d seen in the past. But it had a warmth to it, an unspoken coziness. The walls were lined with handmade furniture, small knick-knacks that spoke of a life lived with care and attention, even if it wasn’t a life of luxury.

Kinich showed you around, his gestures efficient but not unkind. “This is the kitchen,” he said, pointing to a simple stove and a small table. “If you need anything, just ask. And, uh… don’t go near the shed out back. I keep some of my… tools there.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Tools?”

His lips twitched in what might have been a smile, though it was hard to say. “I’ve got a lot of things to fix. You’ll see.”

You followed him to the living room, where a modest fireplace crackled. The scent of wood and something faintly herbal hung in the air, and Kinich, ever the practical one, was already setting up a small cot by the wall for you.

“Don’t make a fuss about it,” he said as he smoothed out the blanket. “It’s not much, but it’ll do for now.”

You couldn’t help but feel touched. For someone who valued independence so much, Kinich was surprisingly attentive in his own way. You sat down on the cot, still a bit unsure of what to do next.

Kinich cleared his throat and turned toward the kitchen. “I’m making dinner. It’ll be ready in about an hour. You can relax until then.”

As he worked, you took a moment to look around the room. It wasn’t much, but it was his—his space, his home. The absence of his usual sharpness, the subtle kindness of his gestures, made you feel a little less alone. Even if he didn’t show it often, Kinich had a way of making you feel like you mattered.

Dinner was simple, a warm stew that smelled of fresh herbs and hearty vegetables. Kinich placed a bowl in front of you, his expression as unreadable as ever, but there was something softer in his eyes, a flicker of something more than just duty.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you said, quietly breaking the silence. “Let me help with something.”

Kinich paused for a moment, his hand still on the pot as he glanced over at you. “It’s fine,” he said with a shrug. “I’m not doing it for you. Just… don’t let the food go to waste.”

You chuckled softly, nodding. Kinich’s words were as blunt as always, but the care in his actions was something you couldn’t overlook. As you sat together at the table, eating in comfortable silence, you couldn’t help but think that, despite everything, you had found a place here—a place where, for the time being, you could heal

Over the next few days, life at Kinich’s house settled into a quiet routine. You’d help with the small tasks around the house—cleaning up, organizing things—and in return, Kinich would share bits and pieces of his life with you, small snippets of knowledge or skills that he’d learned over the years.

One evening, as the sun began to set, you found Kinich in the garden, tending to some plants in the fading light. You hadn’t realized how peaceful the house could feel when it was just the two of you, sharing this simple life together.

“Need help?” you asked, walking over to him.

Kinich glanced up, his face softening slightly. “If you want. I could always use another pair of hands around here.”

You knelt beside him, taking a small gardening trowel and gently digging into the soil. There was a strange comfort in working alongside him, the silence between you both not awkward but companionable, as if you were partners in something greater than just survival.

“Why do you do it?” you asked, looking up at him. “Tending to all this, I mean. I would’ve thought you’d want to leave it all behind.”

Kinich paused, the question catching him off guard. His eyes flickered briefly, almost hesitant, before he answered. “Because it’s mine. It’s the one thing in this world I can rely on. People… they come and go. But this? It’s real. It stays.”

You smiled at his answer, understanding him a little more than you had before. Kinich didn’t offer grand gestures or flowery words, but in the little things—like the way he cared for his home, or the way he offered you a place to stay when you needed it most—you saw his quiet strength.

And, despite his belief in self-sufficiency, you couldn’t help but wonder if, maybe, for just a moment, you could be the one thing he’d allow himself to rely on, too.

That night, as you both sat by the fire, Kinich spoke again, his voice quieter than usual.

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you need.” he said, not looking directly at you but still offering the words with sincerity.

You nodded, your heart swelling with gratitude. “Thanks, Kinich. I… I really appreciate it.”

He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “It’s not charity. It’s just… practical.”

But the warmth in his eyes told you everything you needed to know.

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aboutcustardcreams · 2 days ago

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Wake up call

pt. 1

a/n: I'm not going to follow the series episode by episode, as I already mentioned. This story will focus primarily on the three witches' story, so I'll probably jump forward and back in time at my own discretion from now on. If you're curious about something in particular, feel free to tell me in the comments. Would you prefer that I go back or forward from now on? (also, sorry for eventual typos or mistakes).

pt. 2

Agatha looked as surprised as you for a moment. The boy was on his knees, squirming uncomfortably at the rope around his wrists and ankles. He said something, his voice sounded muffled through the duct tape.

“Oh, uhm.. well, I may have accidentally kidnapped him.”

You blinked in disbelief, “How can you accidentally kidnap someone?”

The kid muttered something else you couldn’t quite comprehend. You thought it was his way to agree with you, so you grinned, whereas Agatha groaned in annoyance. As the boy persisted, you realized what he really wanted from you.

“Oh–”, you mouthed a quick apology, lips stretching in an awkward smile as you took the tape off his mouth with a quick puck. He winced, but then muttered a ‘thanks’ to you. Had he been locked in there the whole night? Instead of that, you asked a different question, “you alright?”, twirling your finger, you made him turn around to untie the rope around his wrists and ankles.

He sighed and gave you a grateful smile once free, “much better.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line, not really sure about what else was to say, despite having tons of questions. There couldn’t be a moment worse than this to have to deal with a kid.

“Agatha, love, care to explain?”

Your lover paid no attention, or rather she feigned to be distracted doing practically nothing more than walking up and down the house, as she mentally freaked out due to the last events.

“There’s nothing to explain–”, she waved dismissively, “For all I care he can keep the house.”

The boy frowned and quite frankly so did you. You walked up to her, confusion written all over your features, “Agatha, what in heaven are you talking about?”

The boy followed behind in silence.

When she suddenly spun around, Agatha was so close, you almost stumbled backwards. “Did you listen to Rio’s words or not?” There was a hint of frustration in her tone, quite relatable in fact, and yet...

Your head lolled to the side, “so your plan is to leave?”

“Glad you’re catching up," she grinned cheekily.

With no magic at her disposal, she had no intention of facing the Salem Seven, and even less letting you anywhere near them to save her life. So running was the best and only option she could think of at the moment; that hopefully would give her enough time to figure out a way to restore her magic and be a witch again.

You ran a hand through your hair, eyes glancing only briefly over the boy, who gave you a tight smile in return. A part of you wondered what he was doing still there. Didn't he have places to be, like school or whatever?

Before Agatha could walk from you again, you reached out to grab her wrist, “So, this is what we will do,” you started, silently enjoying the whiny sound slipping from her lips, “we sit down, talk it out like mature adults, and you–” pointing a finger at the boy, “you’re gonna tell me why you broke into our house in the first place.”

“Uhm.. yeah, I..”

“We don’t have time for this!” Agatha exclaimed, “Need I remind you there’s a price on our heads?”

A playful smirk tugged at your lips and unable to resist teasing her, you quipped, “technically it’s on yours. I only happen to be in your shit as per usual.”

The boy let out a quiet chuckle, that you were about to reciprocate hadn't it been for Agatha’s hand flapping at the nape of your neck, “Oof!" you whined.

Amusement glimmered in her eyes, “You had it coming,” she retorted. Then she glanced over the boy, with a grimace. “Not to be rude or anything, but we’ve got a lot on our plate so if you could just–” She pointed to where the front door used to be, her confidence dimming slightly, “this house is a complete disaster.”

She looked so annoyed right now, tired and scared even, but the latter she would never admit. Completely forgetting about the boy, you focused on Agatha and placed a hand over the small of her back, “it’s not so bad…” you trailed off, resting your chin on her shoulder. She knew you weren't only referring to the conditions of the house. Her eyes fell shut for a moment, her features relaxed when you started stroking her skin, lips barely brushing against a soft spot behind her ear, “we have an excuse to redecorate now.”

Despite everything, Agatha let out a small chuckle. She turned around and draped an arm around your waist. With everything that happened in such a short time, she hadn’t given herself a moment to truly cherish the fact that you were back—the real you. Sure, even without your memories, you stood by Agatha’s side all those years, but having you here now, like in the old days, felt different. It was different. Her eyes darted from your face to your collarbone, nose scrunching up at the sight of the nasty bluish bruise— a reminder of Rio’s hands on you. Her hand glided up to your face, tracing your jawline before slowly moving down to your collarbone, fingers barely grazing your skin, mindful that it was still tender and possibly sore.

“Are you–?”

Your eyes softened at the hesitation in her voice, “you shouldn’t worry about that.”

“I always worry about what matters," she argued back.

"Sappy," you teased.

With an eye roll, she smirked, "brat."

When her eyes darted towards the boy once again, she let out an incredulous scoff, “you better have a darn good reason to still be dangling here.”

Color drained from his face. Quite frankly, Agatha could be intimidating when she tried. Even when she didn't. “I-I do!” He cleared his throat. “I want to walk the Witches' Road. It’s the only reason why I broke in here really and–” he was talking so fast, for a moment you thought your mind had tricked you. There was no way he said the words ‘witches’ and ‘road’ in the same sentence.

Agatha's eyes snapped wide open, “what’s that you say?”

“The Witches’ Road,” he repeated, slower and firmly. It hit you hard. You couldn't help it. “I want you to take me there,” his eyes softened and so did his voice as he added, “please.”

Agatha tried to meet your eyes then, but you had your gaze dropped to the floor.

“The Witches’ Road doesn’t exist.”

“You’re lying,” he argued.

Agatha scoffed bitterly, “am I?”, voice rising in exasperation.

When you slowly lifted your chin towards the boy, you squint your eyes so much as if you were troubled by a sudden headache, “You’re asking for a death wish here.”

Agatha agreed, “quite literally.”

The boy looked crestfallen, but he didn’t back down, “You only say that because you think I’m inexperienced, which is fair. I am. But I can make it to the end-”

Your lips pursed in a grimace as you tried to make sense of everything that was happening. First Rio, then the Salem Seven on your heels, and now this boy who had no idea what he was asking for.

“Look, I love your confidence– but the Road is no place for a kid.”

Agatha sank into the couch in the lounge, curling a finger at you in invitation. Smiling, you obliged, perching yourself on the armrest beside her. You were close enough that her hand could slip to rest on your thigh, her fingers tracing soft, lazy patterns over the fabric of your pants. The gentle rhythm of her touch soothed you, and you allowed yourself to calm your nerves, focusing on her proximity and nothing else.

“I’m sixteen,” he objected, taking a seat onto the chair across from you.

“Oh, why didn’t you say that before? That changes… nothing.”

You had to stifle a laugh at her sarcastic remark.

He gave a dramatic eye roll. “Come on! You walked it before and survived!”

Your brows knit in a frown. Just how much did that boy actually understand about you and Agatha? Or rather, how much did he think he understood? No one truly knew what it had been like for the two of you back in the eighteenth century. People clung to their own assumptions, and you let them—after all, the real truth was far too painful to share. Not a single soul knew the true story behind the reputation Agatha had built, nor the reasons why so many had to die in the first place.

Agatha’s hand stilled on your thigh, “I had a very good reason to stay alive, plus I’m exceptional.”

It wasn’t a lie, not completely at least.

The boy’s eyes shifted from Agatha’s to yours. You felt as if he knew what Agatha was talking about you. You saw something, a glimpse of understanding in those eyes that somehow unsettled you. If Agatha was known as ‘witch killer’ for all the wrong reasons, your reputation also preceded you, but you struggled to say the words.

“I read an egregious amount about you two. I’ve been obsessed since I first came up with your Salem days… the way you two met, and oh my God- don’t get me started on your magic skills.”

So you and Agatha had a little fan.

Agatha’s interest rose considerably. She grinned, “cute. Isn't he a cute pet?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure whether to be flattered or freaked out by all this interest,” you mused.

The boy completely ignored the fact that Agatha just called him pet. “Sorry, I just– you’re a necromancer witch!” He was now struggling to keep a posed tone of voice, and you found yourself scratching the back of your head, not really used to being praised by your gift/curse. Quite the opposite in fact. “Guilty as charged,” you quipped.

Agatha’s hand moved towards your knee, thumb brushing in a soothing circle there. You smiled inwardly at the gesture.

“Books say witches your kind is so rare, powerful and–”

“harrowed, banished, burned at the stake?” You cut him off in a sing-song tone.

Agatha snorted, “you name it.”

She knew better than anyone what it felt like to be brushed aside. It was one of the reasons why she could bond with you so easily and so quickly. You understood her before she could even attempt to comprehend the complexity about herself and her power.

Teen blinked confusedly, “I was gonna say interesting.”

You clasped your hands together and took a deep breath. “Look, we appreciate your enthusiasm. You seem like a really smart boy, and I’m sure you’re destined for great things, but we can’t help you, not with that-”

“But I saved Agatha from the spell…” his smile turned into a frown and his features dimmed as a consequence, “I’d have come to you too if she hadn’t locked me up in the closet. But w-wait,” he suddenly came to a halt, eyebrows knitting in a frown as a new question popped up in his mind. “How did you wake up from the hex?”

Agatha knew, but said nothing, leaving the explanations to you.

“It’s hard to explain–” Being a necromancer allowed you to have all sorts of… vibes. Plus your soul was connected to Agatha’s and her life being threatened by something– or rather someone you knew quite well worked as a wake up bell for you, “it’s like a sixth sense, but better. I can always feel when Agatha needs me. I got a pull into reality the moment Rio broke into the house with the purpose of harming her. I felt her aura. She and I– let’s just say our magic works like opposite poles of a magnet.”

Agatha’s features hardened a bit, as she nibbled on the inside of her cheek out of nervousness. Your magic being complementary to Rio’s had caused you more problems than anything else. She almost lost you to her, and that’s something she would probably never forget.

The boy hummed in thought. He was clearly intrigued by your magic and took a mental note to ask you more questions at the first next opportunity, considering he left his notebook in the car.

“And who’s Rio? I didn’t hear much but– there seemed to be a history–”

“Trouble.”

“A bitch.”

Both you and Agatha said in unison.

“We don’t really need to talk about her now…” you kept vague, hoping he would catch the silent message passing through your eyes. Talking about her was never easy, not when your feelings for her were so tangled and conflicting. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love her anymore, cause you still did. And Agatha... well, she probably did too, however, she would never admit it, not to you and even less to herself. The past clung like a shadow, and neither of you could ever truly forget. The ache of Rio's choices lingered, buried deep, a silent reminder of what your bond once was and could never be again.

He pressed his lips together and gave you a slow nod of his head in return.

“I’m curious,” she smacked her lips, your head turned towards her, as she continued, “If you’ve got the goods to break a spell cast by the Scarlet Witch, why do you need the Road?”

Your eyes widened in shock. Was she really considering this?

“The Road promises that what you’re looking for awaits at its end. I need to walk the road so I can figure out the extent of my power..” he explained and she hummed, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “Don’t you need power yourself?”

Agatha’s back stiffened, “I most certainly do, yes.”

“She doesn’t need to walk the Witches' Road for that,” you pointed out, glancing at the purple witch with the corner of your eyes.

The boy was confused. Without giving him too much information, you simply told him that you could share your magic. And, in a way, it was true. A more accurate version would have been explaining that Agatha could kill a witch by absorbing all her power, leaving nothing behind but dust. But that was far too dramatic, plus you were still one hundred percent sure she couldn’t and wouldn’t harm you in any way.

She let out a long, exhausted sigh at your insistence, “For the umpteenth time, I’m not taking your magic–”

“Ugh!" You groaned. "Aggs, Rio warned us–”

“She mentioned the Salem Seven, didn’t she?” The boy cut you off. “I’m sorry but y-you’ve got zero chances against them without magic, Agatha.”

She shot him an icy glare, “Thank you for stating the obvious.”

Your lips trembled a bit, as you struggled to hold back an amused grin.

“I’m just trying to understand which alternatives you have,” he muttered defensively.

Agatha opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Nothing that she could use to hush both you and the kid.

“He’s got a point, you know. You need my magic, like right now.”

Once again, she ignored you. “Or maybe, we need to walk the Witches' Road one last time.”

The boy’s mouth parted ajar, “Really?”

“Really?” You echoed in a squeak.

She simply nodded her head, giving you an innocent smile that only fueled your incredulity. You let out a quiet, bitter chuckle right after, at the same time shaking your head in disbelief.

“Agatha, sweetheart, a word?”

You held out your hand for her to take, and just like she did a moment ago, you forced a serene, tranquil smile—one that didn’t quite reach your eyes but would have fooled anyone who didn’t know you better. She took your hand, her fingers curling around yours as she let you lead her toward the kitchen. Once you were far enough from the boy to speak more privately, you locked eyes with Agatha. Your face was practically shouting, ‘What the hell?!’ —a silent message that she heard loud and clear, without a single word spoken.

“The Road doesn’t exist! What’s your plan?”

“We are the only ones aware of that,” she stated matter of factly as if that could be used as a great advantage. “Teen is right, without my magic, I can’t defend myself against the Salem Seven, I can’t protect myself or you.”

If this wasn’t handled carefully, it could spiral into something much worse. You knew, better than anyone, how deeply it hurt Agatha to feel powerless, especially when it came to protecting those she loved. She had faced this agony with Nicky, and now, here she was again, reliving the same fear, this time, for you. Her own life, in that moment, felt like nothing compared to yours. Because without you in it, there was no existence worth living for her.

“You could,” you insisted, in a low, almost pleading tone. “if only you took my power–” It was so easy.

“I’m not willing to take any risks with you,” she stepped into your bubble, her hands tightening around your shoulders, in a possessive and yet still attentive way. She wanted you to understand. She needed you to be on her side on this. “I need to make sure I've got control over my thirst first. It's been so long since the last time I did that so I'm sorry but you’ll not be the lab rat for it.”

“Are you really thinking of using the boy?”

Agatha’s mouth dropped open, “Oh no, my God- no! I’m not talking about Teen, you idiot!”

You crossed your arms over your chest and gave her a defiant look.

She gave in after a bunch of seconds, “Okay, maybe I did think of him for a minute. He did break the Scarlet Witch’s hex, though."

You pinched the bridge of your nose at that.

“But we still need to ‘walk’ the Witches Road, except that this time, we aren’t killing anyone,” you’re ready to argue back again, but she didn’t let you, so you bit your bottom lip instead, trying really trying to find the silver lining at the end of this plan. “Here’s what we will do: we gather a coven, make some female friends, sing the Ballad, it doesn’t work, wowie-!, I call them names, they get angry and blast me. I take their magic and stop right before they turn into dust.”

She paused and took into your eyes, letting you assimilate her words, hopeful you’d find her idea good enough, because there was really no time for anything else.

“So, to recap—,” you cleared your throat, “you’re willing to lie to that kid, to the poor witches we’ll meet along the way, witches who’ll eventually turn against us once they learn our intentions, but you’re not willing to take my magic that’s literally within arm’s length because you’re scared you’ll kill me.”

She hummed, feeling quite satisfied with your summary, “yep.”

A slow smirk spread across your lips, “You’re crazy.”

“Maybe," she conceded. "But this plan’s gonna work.” Agatha shifted closer, her hands sliding to your hips, her fingers pressing into your skin with a slight possessive touch.

Your gaze fell to where her hands rested and for a moment, there was silence.

Time ticked. She waited.

“Fine. Oh my God- fine–”

Before you could say anything else, she pulled you into a crashing hug. Your pout quickly turned into an amused smile, and finally into a fit of giggles when her lips began peppering kisses all over your face.

“Atta girl!” She said with a proud grin, to which you responded with a snort.

You’d be pissed, though, if by the end of the day, you’d be forced to resurrect a bunch of witches. But you kept quiet about that.

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #rio vidal #Teen #agatha harkness x reader #Teen x reader #wlw #Kathryn Hahn #Aubrey Plaza #Joe Locke #marvel #witches #agathario x reader #agatha harkness x rio vidal x reader #agathario

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chewnotchoke · 2 days ago

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only us who knows - leehan

synopsis: you havent seen your boyfriend, leehan, in a while so you decided to surprise him in his fansign and he tries his best not to be obvious infront of everyone else

got inspired from this leehan vid

warnings: secret relationship, fluff, idol!leehan x non-idol!reader

wc: 781

more under the cut!

video calls and late-night messages were never quite enough. nothing could ever be as great as having your boyfriend beside you; it’s been two months since you last saw each other. your heart has been torn between the joy of his success and the loneliness of his absence over the months apart, and the pain has been constant. despite all, your love remained the same.

but tonight, you are now standing in line for their fan sign in japan. you had to fly over for a few hours just to see him again, and leehan knows nothing about it. you’re standing there like everyone else, your hands sweaty, your heart racing, even though you've touched his hand a hundred times. seeing him welcome each fan with that bright smile you know so well makes it feel unreal, like a strange combination of tension and excitement. if feels weird to be here, publicly supporting him like everyone else, even though you've been keeping your relationship with him a secret.

with each step, the line moves closer, and your heart beats more loudly. in the hopes that he won't notice you until the last minute, you keep your head down. you can already imagine his reaction: his breathless laughter, his wide-eyed shock, and his usual way of reaching for your hand, as though he finds it hard to believe you're real.

taesan was seated first, followed by sungho, jaehyun, riwoo, leehan, and then woonhak. right before it was your turn to interact with jaehyun, leehan’s eyes found yours across the room, and his face broke into the most genuine, unguarded smile, the kind he usually saves just for you. you could tell that he could not contain his excitement anymore and he started finding it hard to focus on the fan in front of him. he tried to contain it, molding his features into a more controlled smile, but you could see the sparkle in his eyes, the barely-contained excitement. leehan can’t hide it from you, not even if he tried.

and then, it’s your turn.

leehan’s face breaks into a more radiant smile, and he practically bounces in his chair. you furrow your eyebrows worriedly and your eyes try to tell him not to be so obvious. he clears his throat and says in his usual fan sign tone, “thank you for coming to see me.” but, his voice has a warmth and tenderness meant for you, and his eyes tell a different story, hinting at all the words he can’t say here. the two of you softly chuckles. he squeezes your hand, his thumb grazing your fingers in a way that, after all this time away, feels both exhilarating and natural. “i couldn’t wait any longer.” you said.

he kept squeezing your hand gently, as if to say “i’ve missed you, too.”

but he breathes, almost like a whisper, “i missed you.” and you become wary of your surroundings, worried someone must have heard him because leehan was not bothered to be worrying about anyone hearing what he just said. because to be honest, he will scream how much he misses you in front of everyone else if he could. he then slides his other hand under the table, giving your knee a reassuring squeeze.

his eyes hold yours, and then his look fell into every feature you have on your face, glistening with that comforting warmth, and you know he’s struggling to hold back. “can’t i just stand there and hug you? i don’t think holding hands is enough.”

his eyes lingered on your lips.

one thing about leehan when he’s restrained from doing something he wants, he becomes insufferable. “careful, a lot of people are watching.” you whisper, trying to remind him of where you both are. he tries to regain his composure but can’t help but lean in a little closer than necessary. he laughs softly and shakes his head, his eyes dancing with mischief. "you make it hard for me to be professional."

right when the staff asks you it’s almost time to move, leehan’s touch which was once so subtle now felt like he didn’t want to let go. the warmth in his eyes is becoming unmistakable and the fans are starting to notice. before you’re ushered to move along, he scribbles something on one of the pages in the album. even as you walk away, you feel his gaze following you and then he mouths something only you could understand and feel.

“i love you.”

after you are done with the fan sign, you flip through the pages of the album and see his writing: let’s meet at our hotel later. it’s my turn to surprise you.

#boynextdoor #boynextdoor imagines #leehan #boynextdoor x reader #kim donghyun #leehan x reader #boynextdoor fluff #leehan fluff #bnd leehan #boynextdoor leehan #bnd fluff #kim leehan #leehan scenarios #leehan fic #boynextdoor fic

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dxmedstudent · 7 hours ago

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When k started online dating several years ago after a bad patch, I was looking to reconnect with my hobbies - a difficult thing at a time when I was struggling with postgraduate qualifications and 12 hour shifts.

I was keen to start reading some Pratchett - put off repeatedly due to it being a rather mammoth task.

I remember he asked why I had thought to start reading Pratchett as that was really "something for teenagers". Or something to that effect. Tge implication that there was something... unusual in a woman of my age wanting to read his work.

I remember not really knowing what to say. I was a bit baffled, because I'd seen people of all ages talking lovingly about Pratchett's work. I'd read enough excerpts to feel that it gelled with my sense of humor. Good Omens basically got me out of the aforementioned horrible time in my life. And I'd read enough Douglas Adams to not conflate humor or silliness with bad writing.

Now, I unashamedly read manga and I don't think YA is just for kids. I don't think we should feel shame for reading fanfiction. I think we should enjoy a wide range of media.

Maybe this guy was perfectly fine, I'm sure he didnt necessarily mean it pejorativey, but I just didn't feel like hanging out with someone who I'd have to defend seemingly "childish" indulgences to. I'm not saying that's the only reason that we didn't meet again, but the tone of that conversation left me feeling that this was not my person.

I later met another guy, as you do. Right from the start, we talked at length about our favourite media, and I shared some anime recommendations. He offered to lend me his copy of the first couple of Pratchett books and went to look for them. Alas, he couldn't find them, he had a lot of books on his shelves, to be fair. But he was excited to share a series he loved with someone who was new to it and talking about the things I enjoyed and wanted to share was so easy. There was no pretention about what media is "for kids" or "for adults" or what media men are meant to consume.

Reader, I married him.

Now, you might think that marrying him was an unnecessarily convoluted way to ensure I get to have all the Pratchett books, and I'd probably agree.

But I did get a best friend to discuss all the things I like with, so I think it was a good deal overall. Looking back, given how careful he is with his possessions, I feel pretty flattered and amused that he was infatuated enough to offer out his books.

I still haven't gotten very far through the books (residency took priority), but I love that they are sitting by like old friends, waiting for me to pick up where I left off.

One of the weird things about medical training that we don't really talk about is that, in the pursuit of being a competent clinician, you miss out on so much of everything else through simply having little time. There are so many films or series or books I just never got around to enjoying. I used to feel kind of self conscious about all the things I have wanted to do but never gotten around to.

But I love sharing my life with someone who is always delighted to show me a great new thing that I haven't yet enjoyed.

It's never too late to pick up something new. And I hope this will open up Pratchett to a new audience.

Okay so this is a big deal

To me, and to a significant subset of Sir Terry's fans (including most of you who've found this by the tags), his writing is serious commentary on the human condition - politics, prejudice, self-control, revenge vs. justice, religion, idealism, faith in people vs. cynicism, and more - dressed up with fantasy settings and a hefty leavening of humor to make it fun to read. And it is WILDLY fun to read, actual laugh-out-loud or at least a snicker averaging about every page.

But there's this common idea among the "important literature" people that fun and funny books are not also worthwhile or important in the same way.

This is a Discworld book being released WITH ACADEMIC COMMENTARY and AS A PENGUIN CLASSIC. That's a HUGE amount of recognition.

#terry pratchett #gnu terry pratchett #dxdates #dxwrites #dxlives #dx lives

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sere1nnes · 3 days ago

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︶︶︶﹕House of Cards. CHAPTER 1

Pairing: Aventurine x Galaxy Ranger!Reader second chance romance, canon universe, ex!aventurine, reader is a former member of the IPC

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶ ── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ SYNOPSIS: When a seemingly ordinary visit to Penacony ends up in meeting your ex from the IPC, it quickly leads to numerous attempts from Aventurine in winning you back. You swore to cut off ties with that corrupted organization, but the past always comes to bite you eventually. You begin to wonder if his feelings are genuine, or an elaborate plan for you to be dragged back as a pawn for the higher-ups.

Even with the familiar sensation of his lips on yours and his gloved hand behind your neck, you still can't help but be skeptical of his true intentions. But perhaps he really is willing to bet on you two again.

After all, Aventurine's more than willing to gamble on his pride in exchange of your heart.

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶ Chapter WC: 1.9k

a/n: the childe fan to aventurine fan pipeline is real, y'all... I can confirm

Penacony was known as the land of sweet, blissful dreams. So why did your visit start off as a nightmare, merely half an hour after stepping foot onto the Reverie?

To say that the infrastructure was simply massive would be an understatement. The Reverie was colossal. It was lined up with a seemingly endless amount of floors that faded into the skies. No wonder it took an average worker an entire Trailblaze year’s worth of labor to even visit as a regular guest— everything about the hotel screamed luxury.

Standing amidst several people walking with gigantic luggages, you admired the scene before you. The gigantic gears that spun around a glowing ball of energy was centered before the lobby, further adding extravagance to the view.

This was one of the first steps to a new life away from the Interastral Peace Corporation— one of integrity.

Or so you thought.

"Your room number is 431." The receptionist hummed as she finished verifying your stay. Her hand reached out to give out a Penacony Dreamscape card. "Please do not hesitate if you'd like us to assist you with directions and such." Raising your eyebrows slightly at the familiar number, a sense of deja vu filled you. Where can you recall it from?

Ultimately, you shook the feeling off as something trivial. "Alright, thank you miss." Accepting the card, your fingers brushed against its shiny texture. You then pocketed it and turned to leave for the hotel room.

With a typical service smile, the staff member seemed a little nervous, even guilty, in her tone of voice. "E... Enjoy your stay."

This caught your attention instantaneously. It didn't take too long for you to realize that there was something amiss by the way that woman had hesitated in saying such simple words. Even if the benefit of doubt was given, surely it wouldn’t be that difficult to wish someone a pleasant visit. It was imperceptible to most, but for a former member of the IPC turned Galaxy Ranger, your intuition was correct at least 95% of the time. That’s what you believed.

However instead of requesting for a room change, your own curiosity motivated you to disregard that idea and investigate the suspicious matter. You simply gave a polite nod in response to the lady, taking a look at her once more.

Walking in long cautious strides, you made your way to zone 10 of the Red Heart with mixed feelings.

You certainly had a keen eye, but the speck of blonde hair in your peripheral vision had slipped past quite quickly— if not, easily.

…

Before you was the door to your hotel room. After a bit of assistance from a kind bellboy named Misha, the journey in searching for Room 431 managed to be a breeze.

Shoes tapped against the ground as you hovered closer, examining if the knob has been tampered with. But after some careful observation, you concluded that nothing was out of the ordinary. With the door, at least.

It gently opened as you stepped in, your eyes locked onto the spacious bathtub shaped like a seashell in the middle. A vaporwave-styled background displayed behind it, adding a retro vibe to the surroundings. You further scanned around and took note of the shiny red couch cushions, evident that they have just been cleaned. Even the lilacs on the coffee tables were fresh and fragrant.

Though everything seemed to be normal, you couldn’t let go of your previous suspicions surrounding the safety of the room.

A golden phonograph sat neatly on a drawer, as if it was waiting to be played. Curiously, you gravitated towards the device. Putting a finger to the press button, the CD began to spin.

“Birds are born with no shackles, then what fetters my fate?” Robin’s melodic voice tuned, the vinyl slowly twirling. Your lips slightly curled as you reached to raise the volume.

“Blown away, the white petals,”

Deeming it was a bit too loud, you lowered it just slightly by sliding down a button.

“Leave me trapped in the cage,”

The phonograph continued to hum, waiting for the next lyric.

“That’s your favorite song, isn’t it?”

Your eyes widened, spinning around at the sound of the voice that clearly did not belong to Robin’s. When you realized who it was, your heart nearly stopped.

Not a single word was uttered out as you stared at Aventurine. He in turn looked back at you with those soulless eyes of his— ones you used to think were the most beautiful ones in the entire universe.

A nonchalant smile was etched onto his lips as if this was just a simple reunion of old acquaintances. “Though I would say I prefer ‘Hope Is the Thing With Feathers’, even if it isn’t my usual genre of mu—“

Aventurine blinked as your sharp blade met his face only inches away from actual contact. He was caught off-guard, but ultimately his signature smirk returned to his expression. “Now, now, is this a way to greet a former colleague?”

”I already told all of you, I’m not coming back.” You replied bluntly.

With a low laugh, he pushed your sword aside without a care. “You’re not coming back to who, specifically?” Aventurine stepped closer. “To the IPC, or me?” His voice lowered to a whisper.

“You—“ Your face heated up with infuriation, or perhaps even something else. “I’m not trying to play into the executives’ tricks. My resignation is final, and I don’t care how many of their underdogs they send just to hunt me down.”

Moving to him, you made sure to assert your own stand on the matter regarding your former employers. “I am simply a third party that they hired, and I no longer wish to pursue the line of work they assign to me.”

The Interastral Peace Corporation was far from a protector of unity, even if it was what they claimed to be. Those who have been unfortunate enough to experience their unethical ways and exploitation know that well.

Both you and Aventurine were familiar to this dark truth.

He seemed to remember this as he no longer had an aura of confidence. It instead had a tinge of understanding.

However, his demeanor once again switched up. Removing his hat with another smile, he replied, “Oh, but I never said I was here on behalf of the IPC.”

“The IPC is on the Charmony Festival’s VIP list. ” You deadpanned, not believing the statement entirely.

A half-hearted chuckle escaped from Aventurine. But he managed to recover quickly. “Well, perhaps you’re right. But that would mean you actually cared enough to keep that in mind, no?”

“That’s not the point.”

“You’re right, I’ll cut straight to the chase,” He leaned in, his face now serious.

“Why don’t you begin by explaining why you simply vanished without telling me?”

You visibly tensed, your eyes avoiding his firm gaze.

It was difficult to speak. You were genuinely scrambling to form a proper explanation in your head, expecting Aventurine to start demanding answers to more of his questions. But he only stared at you with a quiet intensity as he waited. “You were on a mission. I didn’t want to disturb you and possibly cause it to fail.” You finally said.

Mustering the strength to look up to his eyes again, you could see that they were distant, yet intensely present. A paradox that made it impossible to tell what Aventurine was feeling.

“…Is that really it?” He muttered, before clearing his throat and returning his closed-mouth smile. It was intimidating how quickly the Stoneheart could change his demeanor. “It can’t be helped, I suppose.”

“But come on, did you really have to block my number too?”

The guilt in your heart only worsened. “I just don’t want to involve you in the conflict I’m in.” You retorted, almost giving in to the emotions stirring within you. Your tone grew strict once more in order to counter this. “Listen, we shouldn’t even be talking. The walls have eyes and ears.”

“So you still care about me then?” quipped Aventurine, disregarding the rest of what you’ve said. You blinked, momentarily speechless. But you managed to ignore his comment. “You should just go. Please.”

The small curl on his lips stayed, replying, “But this is my room.” His room…?

”What do you mean?” You asked warily, not sure on what he had up his sleeve. But the dots connected once he pulled out a Dreamscape card out of his clothes. It was identical to yours.

“Room 431. Is this not proof enough?” The gambler’s eyebrows raised innocently. Knowing his tendencies, the expression on your face turned into a scowl. “You’re insane. It all makes sense now— you bribed that receptionist?”

“What can I say, I’m one helpless man.” Aventurine slid the card back to his pockets. “But I’m sure you already know how desperate I can get for what I want.”

Before you could even come up with a snarky reply, he added, “Nothing can make me convince you? Not even the fact that our room number is our anniversary date? If that’s not enough, then you could consider rearranging the numbers and realize that it also spells out 143.”

You were seriously close to tweaking out. “Aventurine, you can’t possible be serio—“

“No? Okay, then how about you go open your bank account for me and see that I—“

“For Aeons’ sake! I told you to leave, didn’t I?!” You gasped out, silence forming between you two. Though with an exception for Robin’s album playing in the background, almost ashamed as the vinyl stopped moving on cue.

Aventurine’s expression looked blank, not expecting this sort of reaction from you. He withdrew a couple inches back, shoulders tense.

Regaining composure, you muttered. “…Just go.” With that, you turned your back away from him, swallowing the lump in your throat.

The tension in the air seemed to hang for an eternity, before he replied, “Okay. See you.” He seemed reluctant to leave, his footsteps heavy and slow as he turned.

Part of you wanted to yell at yourself for acting that way towards your ex, especially one you haven’t completely moved on from. But you firmly thought to yourself that this was the right decision.

It was only an attempt to deceive you. That’s what you kept in mind the entire time. You managed to keep your feelings buried this entire time, meaning this was no time to falter. So why are you only realizing now that the look of emotion in those dull eyes of his could possibly be real?

The efforts you’ve made have gone to waste with just one word. “Wait.”

Almost as if Aventurine was waiting for this moment, he stopped and turned swiftly. “Changed your mind?”

You wanted to scoff at how fast he jumped onto conclusions, but it wasn’t like he was wrong either. “I didn’t block you. I just changed my number.” The thought of turning around and facing him fully would hurt your dignity even more, so you simply threw a card to his direction. Of course, Aventurine caught it with ease. His fingers were always efficient.

“So you just casually have cards like these?” He smiled playfully, although you refused to look at him properly. “Have you given this out to any other man so far?”

“Those are business cards.” “Oh, so this is only for business purposes. I see.” He mused. “Then, I’ll certainly find the time to contact you if I’m in some trouble, yeah?”

You waved him off, not saying another word. Luckily, he decided not to push on your buttons any longer.

As Aventurine exited the room and shut the door behind him, you couldn’t bear to keep yourself from groaning at what you just impulsively did.

That exchange was only for professional purposes, surely.

a/n: helloooo! thank you for reading up to this point, chapter 2 is available on my ao3 and will be posted on my tumblr once i drop chapter 3 :3 divider creds @/cafekitsune

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #aventurine x y/n #hsr aventurine #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr fanfic #aventurine fanfic #fem reader #female reader #cross posted on ao3

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novaursa · 2 days ago

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To Win a Princess (lion's pride)

- Summary: Once you come of age, the realm seeks to curry the King's favor once more by seeking a hand of his younger daughter. You.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: her choice

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The Red Keep bustles with the arrival of House Lannister, their crimson and gold banners vivid against the stone walls as they make their way through the courtyard. The air is filled with the sounds of their retinue—servants unloading carriages, horses stamping and whinnying, guards and courtiers murmuring among themselves. At the front of the procession stands Lord Jason Lannister, resplendent in his House’s colors, his face set with a mixture of curiosity and surprise as he scans the familiar halls of the Keep.

When he finally spots Tyland waiting near the entrance, Jason’s eyes narrow with something between amusement and disbelief. Striding forward, he clasps his twin’s arm, a wry smile pulling at his lips.

“Well, well, brother,” Jason says, his voice a mixture of humor and astonishment. “You can imagine my surprise when a raven arrived with the King’s sigil, announcing that my twin is soon to marry a Targaryen princess.” He pauses, studying Tyland’s face with a knowing look. “Quite the leap from your usual… discretion.”

Tyland allows himself a faint smile, inclining his head in greeting. “It appears I’ve given you a story worth telling, then,” he replies smoothly, though there’s a glint in his eyes that hints at his own amusement. “I suppose I owe you an explanation.”

“More than an explanation, Tyland,” Jason says, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “The entire family has been buzzing about it. You, silent as ever, suddenly engaged to the youngest Targaryen—without a single word of warning! Did you think we wouldn’t notice, or were you planning to keep it hidden until the wedding feast itself?”

Tyland chuckles softly, gesturing for Jason to follow as they step into a quieter alcove away from the throng of courtiers. “It was… an unexpected turn, even for me,” he admits, his tone more serious now. “But the choice was hers as much as mine. The King approved, and in time, the family will see the advantages of this union.”

Jason raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he regards Tyland with a mixture of intrigue and skepticism. “Advantages, indeed. Our House allied by marriage to the Crown, Tyland? A match like this would have been beyond any Lannister’s expectations, and yet you moved in silence.”

Tyland’s gaze remains steady, his voice calm. “Silence was necessary. The choice was not to be made in haste or under pressure from outside forces. The princess and I… we wished for the freedom to choose without the weight of expectation or interference.”

Jason watches him closely, his expression shifting from curiosity to something more thoughtful. “You care for her,” he says, the surprise in his tone now tempered with understanding. “This isn’t just a matter of alliance or ambition.”

Tyland inclines his head, his expression softening just slightly. “She is someone I respect deeply, Jason. Someone who values loyalty and trust as much as we do. I may not have spoken of it before, but the bond we share is… something that could not be ignored.”

Jason lets out a low chuckle, clapping Tyland on the shoulder. “Well, I’ll be damned. Tyland Lannister, swept off his feet by a Targaryen princess. I thought I’d seen it all.”

Tyland smirks, a hint of mischief in his gaze. “It seems I managed to surprise you, then. Perhaps that alone was worth keeping it a secret.”

Jason laughs, shaking his head. “I’ll admit, you’ve left me speechless. But Tyland, you must know—our family will expect a certain… presence, now that this match is public. Your bride is a Targaryen, after all. They’ll look to you to represent us in this union.”

Tyland nods, understanding the weight of his brother’s words. “I intend to honor that, Jason. But I also intend to honor her. Our union is not simply an opportunity for the family to push its interests. It’s a bond of respect, one I won’t allow to be diminished by those who only see the value in politics.”

Jason’s expression softens, a rare flicker of pride appearing in his gaze. “You’re doing well, Tyland. Better than any of us could have expected.” He pauses, his voice growing more serious. “But be wary. Not everyone at court will accept this match as eagerly as we do. Some see you as a rival, and this union may provoke resentment.”

Tyland’s eyes harden, his voice calm but resolute. “I am prepared for that, Jason. Those who oppose this match will find little support in House Lannister.” He pauses, meeting his brother’s gaze. “And I trust I have your support, brother.”

Jason smirks, a glint of pride mingling with his humor. “You have more than my support, Tyland. You have my admiration—for once, you’ve taken a bold step, and the family will see the strength in it soon enough.”

Tyland nods, a small, satisfied smile pulling at his lips. “Then let’s show them what it means to have a Lannister banner in the Red Keep. We’ve made our mark here, Jason, and this is only the beginning.”

With that, the two brothers share a look of understanding.

The grand dining hall of the Red Keep is resplendent with flickering candlelight, casting a amber glow over the feast laid out in honor of your upcoming marriage to Tyland. Silver goblets shimmer beside gilded plates, the tables adorned with the finest food and wine in a clear display of royal hospitality. Banners of House Targaryen and House Lannister hang proudly from the walls, intertwining the red dragon of your family with the golden lion of Tyland’s, a visual reminder of the powerful union soon to be sealed.

At the head of the table, King Viserys sits with a contented smile, watching his daughter—his youngest—sit proudly at Tyland’s side. He raises his goblet in a silent toast to the room, his gaze warm and proud as he looks at you, pleased to celebrate this new bond that will strengthen both House Targaryen and House Lannister.

Yet, even amid the merriment, not all expressions are so joyful. Queen Alicent, seated beside Viserys, wears a carefully composed smile, though her gaze flickers between you and Tyland with thinly veiled calculation. Her fingers twist absently around the stem of her goblet, her attention wavering as she observes the glances, touches, and quiet words exchanged between you and your betrothed.

At the other end of the table, Rhaenyra sits beside Laenor Velaryon, her expression one of amusement as she meets Alicent’s gaze, a subtle challenge gleaming in her eyes. She leans slightly toward Laenor, murmuring something that draws a faint chuckle from him, though her eyes never quite leave Alicent.

As Viserys raises his goblet for a formal toast, he clears his throat, his voice carrying easily over the din. “To House Targaryen and House Lannister,” he declares, his tone filled with pride and satisfaction. “This union strengthens our realm, binding fire and gold together in loyalty and alliance.”

The room raises their goblets in response, voices echoing the King’s words, though some toasts are more fervent than others. The lords of the Westerlands, seated prominently among the guests, lift their glasses with enthusiasm, their eyes shining with satisfaction. Jason’s bannermen clearly see this union as a triumph, their presence at the feast a testament to their pride in the alliance.

One of the Lannister bannermen, Lord Lefford, leans across the table, raising his goblet to Tyland with a hearty laugh. “To Lord Tyland! Soon to be son-in-law by marriage to the Dragon King himself! The Westerlands couldn’t be prouder!”

Another Westerlands lord chimes in, his voice carrying over the hall. “This alliance will bring great strength to both Houses! Soon enough, House Lannister’s influence will be felt throughout the realm.”

A flicker of discomfort crosses Viserys’s face as he listens to their boisterous praise. It’s a subtle reminder that, in their eyes, this union is as much a victory for House Lannister as it is for House Targaryen. Viserys glances at Alicent, whose gaze remains fixed on you and Tyland, her expression unreadable but her thoughts undoubtedly sharp and calculating.

Across the table, Otto Hightower’s gaze narrows as he listens to the Westerlands lords, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. Despite his daughter being Queen, he can sense the subtle shift in power, the way these bannermen now see themselves as elevated by their lord’s marriage into the royal family—a union they consider a mark of status that rivals even Alicent’s own position.

Alicent’s gaze sharpens as her eyes dart back to Tyland. Her voice is light but carries a note of tension as she speaks. “I imagine Lord Tyland must feel proud indeed, knowing he is about to become part of such a storied family. I trust the traditions of Casterly Rock will blend seamlessly with those of House Targaryen?”

Tyland inclines his head, his response calm and poised. “It is an honor beyond measure, Your Grace, to join House Targaryen. And yes, I believe that respect, loyalty, and tradition are values both Houses hold dear. I intend to uphold those values in this union.”

Alicent’s eyes flicker with something close to skepticism as she watches him. “How fortunate, then, that you found common ground so easily.” She casts a glance toward you, a faint smile on her lips, though there’s something calculating in her gaze. “I do hope this transition into a new role here at court will be… comfortable for you, stepdaughter.”

Rhaenyra, sensing the undertone in Alicent’s words, lifts her goblet with a faint smirk. “My sister will find her place wherever she wishes to be, I’m sure,” she says, her voice smooth but pointed. “And Tyland’s loyalty will be as steadfast as his House’s wealth, I’ve no doubt.”

A flicker of irritation crosses Alicent’s face, though she quickly masks it, her gaze settling back on Viserys. “Of course,” she murmurs, a note of acquiescence in her tone.

The Westerlands lords, still boisterous and exuberant, continue their toasts, each one louder than the last. Lord Farman, his face flushed with wine, leans over to address Tyland directly. “A Targaryen bride and a Lannister husband! Soon enough, Casterly Rock and the Iron Throne will be bound by blood. It’s a wonder we didn’t think of it sooner.”

Viserys, catching the implication, forces a thin smile, though there’s a subtle stiffness in his voice. “Yes, it seems fate has blessed us with this union. Though let us remember that House Targaryen stands as strong as it ever has.”

Tyland, sensing the unease growing around the table, speaks up, his tone respectful but clear. “Indeed, Your Grace. My loyalty is first and foremost to you and House Targaryen. Our Houses are bound in alliance, but my duty lies here at court.”

Jason Lannister, seated nearby, raises his goblet to his brother with a grin, clearly enjoying the attention being lavished on House Lannister. “Well spoken, Tyland. And rest assured, our bannermen are loyal, as they always have been. We stand by you and by the Crown.”

Otto’s eyes narrow slightly, his lips pressed into a thin line as he watches the exchange. It’s clear he feels the growing presence of the Lannisters keenly, and his gaze flicks to Alicent, whose expression has grown even more strained as the Westerlands lords continue to revel.

Rhaenyra leans over, whispering to you with a hint of a smirk, “It seems House Lannister has certainly seized this opportunity to remind everyone of their… importance.”

You stifle a laugh, casting her an amused glance. “Perhaps they needed little reminder. My betrothal has given them just the excuse they desired.”

Rhaenyra chuckles, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Just wait until they start insisting on golden lion tapestries for the wedding hall. I’m sure Father will be thrilled.”

The atmosphere in the Great Hall continues to be lively, filled with laughter and conversation, when the double doors swing open to admit Daemon Targaryen. He strides in casually, an air of cool confidence surrounding him, but his eyes are sharp, his gaze unwavering as it fixes on a single spot—the place where you sit with Tyland.

His presence draws murmurs from the surrounding tables, a mixture of curiosity and dread following him like a shadow. Daemon is dressed in his usual dark attire, his silver hair falling loosely over his shoulders, and his expression is unreadable, but there’s a glint in his eyes that sends a ripple of unease through the hall.

As he approaches your table, Tyland meets his gaze steadily, his expression courteous yet guarded, aware of the unspoken weight Daemon carries with him. Daemon comes to a stop directly in front of you and Tyland, his mouth twisting into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Lord Tyland,” Daemon begins smoothly, his voice carrying a strange mixture of amusement and something darker. “I understand congratulations are in order.” He pauses, his gaze flicking briefly to you, then back to Tyland. “You’ve managed to claim something rather… precious.”

Tyland inclines his head, maintaining his composure despite the underlying edge in Daemon’s tone. “Thank you, Prince Daemon. It’s an honor to be welcomed into the family.”

Daemon’s smile widens, though there’s a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Yes, an honor indeed.” He leans forward just slightly, his voice lowering to something barely above a murmur. “But be mindful, Tyland. The weight of the dragon’s favor is not so easily borne. It can burn those who fail to respect its fire.”

You feel Tyland’s hand subtly tighten beneath the table, though his expression remains calm as he responds, his tone respectful yet unyielding. “I am well aware of the weight of my responsibilities, Prince Daemon. And I am prepared to uphold them with all due respect.”

Daemon chuckles softly, though there’s an unmistakable warning in his gaze. “Respect is a fine word, Lord Tyland. Let us hope your actions live up to it.” His gaze flickers to you, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes. “The blood of the dragon does not take kindly to betrayal.”

Before Tyland can respond, a stern voice cuts through the tension, drawing the attention of the entire table. “That’s enough, Daemon.”

King Viserys rises from his seat, his expression a mixture of weariness and quiet authority as he steps forward, fixing his brother with a steady gaze. “This is a celebration,” Viserys says, his voice calm but firm. “Not an opportunity for veiled threats.”

Daemon raises an eyebrow, his expression one of feigned innocence. “Threats, brother? Surely you mistake my intentions. I merely wished to ensure that Lord Tyland fully understands the… gravity of his new position.”

Viserys’s gaze hardens, his tone unyielding. “He understands well enough. And I expect you to respect his position as my daughter’s future husband, Daemon. This union is a matter of family, not rivalry.”

Daemon’s smile fades slightly, a hint of frustration flickering in his eyes as he regards his brother. “As you wish, Your Grace,” he says, inclining his head with a mockery of respect. “Far be it from me to disrupt the harmony of this joyous occasion.”

Viserys holds his gaze a moment longer before nodding, his voice softening as he gestures for Daemon to take a seat elsewhere. “Good. Now, join the celebration… or don’t. But remember that tonight is a time for unity.”

Daemon lingers for a moment, his gaze briefly returning to you and Tyland, his expression unreadable. Then, with a faint, humorless smile, he inclines his head and steps away, finding a seat at a distant corner of the hall. The tension slowly dissipates, though the murmurs of the court remain, curious glances flitting between you, Tyland, and Daemon as the feast resumes.

Tyland turns to you, his gaze softening slightly as he offers a reassuring smile. “It seems our family is as complex as ever.”

You nod, your hand brushing against his beneath the table. “Complex, but no less ours. I am glad to face it with you.”

Rhaenyra, watching the exchange with a knowing smile, leans over and raises her goblet in a quiet toast to you both. “Welcome to the family, Tyland. And to the fire that comes with it.”

Otto Hightower stands near a window of his private chamber, his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze thoughtful and cold as he stares out over the courtyard. Seated nearby, Alicent watches her father carefully, a faint crease of worry on her brow. Across from them sits Gwayne, his arms crossed, his expression sullen and brooding. The sting of watching Tyland take the seat beside you at the high table—your hand officially promised to a Lannister rather than to him—had left him simmering with disappointment and frustration.

Otto finally turns, his face set in a firm, calculating expression as he addresses them both. “This alliance,” he begins, his voice steady but laced with tension, “is no small inconvenience. With this union, the Lannisters will only grow bolder, their influence reaching further into the affairs of the Crown.”

Alicent nods, her expression grim as she considers her father’s words. “I noticed it tonight—how the lords from the Westerlands practically overran the hall, like they already considered themselves at the center of court.” She hesitates, glancing down. “It’s unnerving. House Hightower may have given the realm its Queen, but the Lannisters now believe themselves on equal footing.”

Gwayne scowls, his gaze fixed on a distant point on the wall. “It should have been me,” he mutters, bitterness seeping into his tone. “I could have strengthened the ties between our families. The match with a Lannister does nothing but stir the Westerlands into thinking they’re close to the throne.”

Otto nods, his gaze sharpening as he watches Gwayne. “Indeed, that was precisely what I intended to avoid,” he says, his tone firm. “Your union with the princess would have not only brought her closer to us but also kept Lannister ambitions firmly in the West, away from the Crown.” He pauses, glancing at Alicent. “Instead, we are faced with a growing threat that, if left unchecked, could one day challenge Aegon’s right.”

Alicent’s face tightens at her father’s words, and she clasps her hands tightly in her lap, her knuckles white. “What do we do?” she asks softly, her gaze flickering between her father and her brother. “How do we… contain this influence?”

Otto’s gaze hardens, and he steps forward, his tone cold and deliberate. “We do what we have always done, Alicent. We maintain our position with patience, precision, and careful alliances.” He turns to Gwayne, meeting his gaze firmly. “And Gwayne, you must stay close to the court. The Lannisters may have gained favor for now, but there will be… opportunities yet. You may not sit beside the princess, but your presence and loyalty are still assets.”

Gwayne lets out a low, frustrated sigh, but he nods, his voice laced with resignation. “I understand, Father. I will do my part, even if it is not the one I hoped for.”

Otto regards him with a stern look, his tone carrying a note of warning. “You must, Gwayne. The Lannisters are eager to consolidate their influence, but they underestimate us. They think they have won, but they’ve merely taken the first move. We will not be idle in our response.”

Alicent glances at her father, worry flashing in her eyes. “And what of the King? Viserys seems so… pleased with this match. I doubt he’ll listen if we voice any concerns about the Lannisters gaining too much influence.”

Otto’s mouth tightens, and he shakes his head. “We cannot rely on Viserys to see the long-term implications. His judgment is clouded by his love for his daughter. But in time, he will realize the threat. And by then, we must be ready to present an alternative.” He pauses, his gaze intent on Alicent. “Aegon must remain at the center of his father’s ambitions. He must be seen as the natural successor, the embodiment of the Targaryen legacy.”

Alicent nods slowly, her expression resolute. “I will ensure Aegon remains close to his father, that he stands out, even among the Lannisters and their new position.” She glances at Gwayne, offering a faint, encouraging smile. “And we will both work to counterbalance Tyland’s growing influence.”

Otto places a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Precisely. And remember, this game is won not by rash moves but by careful steps. Let Tyland and his kin bask in their newfound favor, for now. We will be watching, and we will act when the time is right.”

Gwayne, though still visibly frustrated, straightens, nodding in agreement. “Understood, Father. I will wait… but I won’t be idle.”

Otto’s gaze sharpens, a glint of satisfaction flickering in his eyes. “Good. Let the Lannisters think they have risen to power uncontested. In the end, the throne is far more than mere proximity. It is a game of loyalty, of influence—one we’ve been playing long before the lions ventured beyond their hills.”

The soft murmur of courtiers fills the grand halls of the Red Keep as you and Tyland walk hand in hand, the warmth of his touch grounding you as you move together through the crowd. No longer hidden, no longer veiled in secrecy—your union is now a celebrated bond, open for all to see. You feel a sense of freedom, the weight of past whispers and uncertainties lifted, replaced by a joy you never imagined would come from this alliance.

Tyland’s hand tightens slightly around yours, and he glances at you, his gaze softened by affection. “I still find it strange,” he murmurs, his voice low, meant just for you. “Walking through court like this, as if we belong here together, with the eyes of the realm upon us.”

You smile, leaning slightly closer to him as you savor the moment. “If anyone had told me a few years ago that this would be my future, that I’d be betrothed to a Lannister… I’d have laughed.” Your voice holds a note of amusement, but beneath it is a sense of wonder. “This life feels like a different path than the one I had imagined.”

Tyland chuckles, nodding in agreement. “I admit, even I would have thought it unlikely. But life has a way of surprising us.” He pauses, his gaze turning more serious as he watches you, his eyes warm with sincerity. “I never thought I’d find someone who understands me, someone I could truly trust, even in a place as tangled as the court. But here we are.”

You squeeze his hand, feeling a swell of gratitude and affection. “And I’m glad for it,” you reply softly. “Whatever paths brought us here, I wouldn’t change a single one.”

Just then, a familiar figure approaches—one of Tyland’s cousins, Lord Martyn Lannister, with a warm smile and a gleam of amusement in his eyes. He stops before you, giving a respectful bow, though there’s a playful glint in his gaze as he addresses you both.

“Lord Tyland, Princess Y/N,” Martyn greets, his voice carrying a note of good-natured humor. “I believe congratulations are in order… again. The Westerlands couldn’t be prouder to see one of our own tied to the Targaryens.” He chuckles, his gaze darting between you and Tyland. “And I daresay, it seems you two are already making quite the impression on court.”

Tyland inclines his head, a hint of amusement in his smile. “Thank you, Martyn. I’m glad to know we have the family’s support here in King’s Landing.”

Martyn’s smile widens, his tone light. “More than just support. Some of us plan to stay here at court, in fact, to ensure you have everything you need. After all, it wouldn’t do to leave you surrounded by dragons without a few lions nearby for balance.”

You laugh softly, a warmth spreading through you at the thought of Tyland’s family rallying around you both. “That’s very kind of you, Lord Martyn. I’m sure Tyland and I will be glad to have familiar faces close by.”

Martyn chuckles, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Well, it’s not just kindness. There’s quite a bit of curiosity, too. You must understand, Princess—many of us are already wondering what future Targaryen-Lannister offspring might look like.”

A faint blush rises in your cheeks, and you exchange a look with Tyland, who lets out a soft laugh, his gaze affectionate. “A fair question, though one I can’t yet answer,” he says, a hint of mischief in his voice. “Though I imagine they might have their mother’s fire—and perhaps a hint of Lannister gold, just to keep things interesting.”

Martyn grins, nodding approvingly. “A good combination, if you ask me. But I daresay the court would be equally curious to see such an addition to the realm.” He winks, then adds, “But I won’t press. You’ll have your own time to build your family, as you see fit.”

You smile, grateful for the gentle way he broaches the topic, and you give him a small nod. “Thank you, Martyn. For now, we’re just enjoying each moment as it comes. The future will unfold in its own time.”

Martyn nods, his tone turning sincere as he addresses you both. “Well, know that the family stands behind you, in whatever may come. This alliance means more to the Lannisters than simply a marriage—it’s a bond that strengthens us all. And you, cousin,” he adds, giving Tyland a proud smile, “have done the family proud.”

Tyland smiles back, his hand tightening on yours. “Thank you, Martyn. Your support—and that of our family—means a great deal to us both.”

Martyn offers a final bow before stepping back into the crowd, leaving you and Tyland to continue your walk. You glance up at him, the warmth of his hand in yours and the promise of the future filling you with a quiet joy.

He leans down, his voice soft as he speaks just for you. “It seems we have a whole host of well-wishers at our backs, my lady. I think we’ve managed to surprise even our own family.”

You smile, leaning your head slightly against his shoulder. “Then let us keep surprising them, Tyland. I have no doubt the future will hold more than a few twists for us both.”

Hand in hand, you continue through the halls, savoring the freedom, the acceptance, and the bond you now share openly—a union blessed by your Houses, strengthened by your love, and watched over by the eyes of those who support you.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #fire and blood #hotd tyland #tyland lannister #tyland x you #tyland x y/n #house lannister #house targaryen #to win a princess

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neysaadept · 3 days ago

Text

Prometheus Chapter 6

Emily Prentiss x Female CIA Reader

Chapter 6 - Restart

Tags: Limited use of y/n but established last name. Swearing, mentions of the pandemic and human and sex trafficking. Canon typical violence. Sexual innuendos. Drinking. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 3.9k

AO3

Chapter 5

You walk into Quantico with a new sense of purpose after having drinks with Prentiss last night. The barrier that the section chief had built up with assumptions and unknowns had been removed and replaced with cautious optimism. That you can work with – a mutual understanding that you’re both on the same side, you meant no harm and were not a threat to the BAU. As it was a workday, you only shared another drink together but the two of you nursed them slowly.

As you still couldn’t say much about your past, you did elaborate on the high-speed pursuit that Tara hinted at.

“Yeah, so it all worked out. Dumb ass fell right into the spike strips. Took care of that quick once I got ‘em there,” you explain before taking another swallow of beer.

“They never learn.” Prentiss smiles and takes a sip as well. “But keeping pace with them was something else. No wonder they panicked.”

You smile. “Yep! Intel was good that they weren’t carrying much. They fired off a few rounds here and there to scare us off. Try and get me to fall back. They just never got the memo that the CIA Surveillance and Pursuit class was renamed cuz of me.” You raise your beer and wink at Prentiss. “Now affectionately known as the Maniac Chase Class.”

“Oh my god! That was you?” She laughs, shaking her head in amazement.

“Yeah. I gotta wee bit carried away on my third try.” You shrug coyly. “Really wanted to beat that record.”

“You demolished it.” She smirks. “And the car.”

“Which slid across the line for a new record,” you explain with pride and then pause for dramatic effect, holding your arms out, beer still in hand, “And … I walked away without a single injury.”

“See, that part I thought was all hype,” Emily admits and looks inquisitive.

“No, sadly. It helped I was young and dumb when I did it.” You say with introspective embarrassment. “I was so fucking stupid.”

She snorts with agreement while doing mental math. “Wait, how old were you when he recruited you?”

“Young,” you vaguely admit.

“But you joined before me,” she says, knowing you were aware of her records and nod that she was correct. “I joined late ’97 and everyone just naturally talked about the course like that.” You heard the implication. She meant that the nickname wasn’t a new idea and was trying to figure out how much longer you have been in the CIA before she joined.

You clear your throat in caution. “Leave it alone, Prentiss. I … I honestly can’t say anything more.” You grimace, knowing you already said too much.

Emily didn’t press for further information, but you knew she gleaned enough to make educated assumptions. You felt like a fool, letting your guard down like that, but the conversation flowed easily between the two of you. It felt … nice, being able to connect with someone new. That hadn’t happened since Rebecca.

You’ll need to keep your guard up since Prentiss reaffirmed that you would be a proper member of the BAU starting today. They would want to get to know you, and you them. You just have to remember to tone it down and not get carried away with enthusiasm. Keep Brian’s wisdom close to your heart that this is new to you and ground yourself. Don’t get swept away with emotions, like last night.

It was a late start at Quantico for you since you had to start at Langley. The stipend funds had been approved and your signature was needed on a lot of paperwork. Finance assured you that the money would be deposited into the BAU budget by the end of day. Prentiss would be able give Bailey the proverbial finger on Monday when she distributed the funds, pushing the unit into the green, leaving the penny pincher helpless with his mission to disband the BAU that way.

Prentiss had texted you that the team would be ready for you in the conference room discussing their current caseloads and leads and would wait for you, providing you that proper do over with them. You appreciated that and said as such in reply.

As you head off the elevator to the sixth floor, you felt a renewed sense of purpose and belonging. You even put a little more effort into your outfit, choosing a charcoal grey pants suit with a black sleeveless semi-spread polo collar, and comfy black work shoes with decent tread. You had your backpack on, holding the straps over your chest as you survey the area.

True to her word, the team was already in the conference room. Garcia happens to see you first and smiles big, giving you a quick, animated wave that caught Prentiss’ attention. She was standing and angles her body to the left to see who was there and visibly relaxes noticing it was you. The team follows her gaze as Prentiss gestures for you to join them.

JJ looks from Prentiss to Rossi, who was suspiciously smirking up at Emily. “And why are you smiley this morning?”

“Hm?” he looks over at her as Prentiss’ attention turns towards the exchange. “Oh, just delighted Whitlock can join us. Orientation’s a pain in the ass.”

He was equally relieved and surprised that Emily spoke to you as quickly as she did. Because of that, he wouldn’t press the orientation fib being told to the team.

“Man, I wish I had the short version like she did when I joined,” Luke grumbles playfully.

“Yeah, but you needed a lot of work honey, and honestly … still do, unlike our CIA cutie,” Garcia chides as you walk in.

“That my new rank?” you say with twinkling eyes and a brow raising to the group. “CIA cutie?”

The members collectively chuckle and laugh at the joke and as you look at Prentiss, she was fighting to keep her lips from curling upwards.

“No. Still a consultant.” Prentiss admits. She gestures to an empty seat between Tara and Garcia. “Please have a seat and we’ll get started.”

You nod and slip past Prentiss, sliding the backpack off your shoulders. You place it on the ground behind your chair and sit down. As you look at the BAU members starting back at you, you feel daunted. But you got this and look eagerly at Prentiss to kick this off.

“I know things have been hectic this week with all the changes and assignments and getting Whitlock up to speed on FBI protocols. She still has a few more items to go over, but I’m pulling her in since we can use all the help we can get,” Prentiss explains. “Garcia, mind getting Whitlock up to speed where we’re at?

Garcia immediately speaks up, almost bouncing on the seat at the chance. “You got it, Ma’am.”

Emily winces and presses her hand down towards Garcia. “What have I said about that?”

She smiles. “Not to call you Ma’am.”

“Please remember that.”

“You got it, Boss Ma’am.” Garcia says cheekily.

Emily sits down in a huff, and you have to cover your mouth to hide the smile on your face. The team did not hide their amusement at the banter.

“Anyway,” Garcia says and laces her fingers together before turning her hands inside out to crack them, “time for catch up!”

Her fingers dance across the keyboard and immediately your eyes go to screen depicting a U.S. map with sixteen dots. Each dot had a line that led to a description of the kill kit number, contents and the city and state of its location. Two of the dots are red, the others blue.

“We have recovered fourteen of the sixteen kill kits, no thanks to our firebug in holding right now. The two missing are from Indio, CA and Rockville, MD and your technological goddess is monitoring anything in the surrounding areas that sounds Sicariusy like.”

“How wide’s the radius?” you ask.

“Fifty,” she answers while you nod. “So far nothing’s pinged that shouts out, ‘I’m a Sicarius henchmen’. However, Mr. Dishonorably Discharged had a test kit that was really oooooold based on soil samples.”

“Five years isn’t that old,” JJ says.

“But the kits being activated by Sicarius, it is,” explains Rossi. “All the lockers we’ve found have new tech, supplies, chemicals …”

“Lab did confirm the soil samples from our kits are newer. So why give Green something older?” Prentiss asks the team.

“Maybe this one fit Green’s M.O. better?” Luke offers.

“Maybe, but I don’t think so,” says Rossi.

“What are you thinking, Dave?” urges Prentiss.

“That Green was set up?” you offer, looking between Prentiss and Rossi.

He half smiles, impressed, and points to you casually. “Kid’s good. That’s exactly what I’m thinking. Maybe he was testing Green to see what he’d do. Confirm if he was truly loyal or not.”

“And either way, Sicarius would get what he wanted. A big explosion or expose Green for who he really is,” JJ says emphatically. “

“All right.” Prentiss takes a moment to digest this and addresses everyone. “Give me some options.”

Luke leans back and gestures to Garcia. “Green was the last to see his sister. So, we’re thinking a cognitive interview might help him remember any details of that night. Anything that could help him ID the guy that took her.”

“Good luck trying to get him to agree to it,” states Tara. “He has big problems with authority figures. He won’t cooperate unless he has good reason.”

“How’s not finding his sister’s killer a good reason?” you ask.

“Oh, he’s really pissed off.” Prentiss says as you raise a brow. “We took away his chance at catching Sicarius and enacting his revenge.”

“And he really doesn’t like that I’m a Fed again.” Garcia pouts with that admission. “He sent me all that info thinking I was still distanced from all of this.” She gestures wildly at the room.

Prentiss looks sympathetic. “But we have to try. Luke, I need you to talk to Green and get him to agree to the cognitive interview. JJ, keep watch on the exchange.” They both nod and she addresses Garcia. “Keep working on any leads that might help us find those missing kill kits. Whitlock, you’ll assist.”

You visibly perk up at the sound of your name and look thankful for a hands-on opportunity. Inwardly, you were doing backflips. Prentiss could feel you buzzing with internal excitement and chuckles. “Not like you can catch up on any paperwork you don’t have yet.”

Rossi and Tara groan while Luke and JJ share a smirk.

“Oh, don’t even,” admonishes Prentiss. “You both get to play catch up in between interviewing Green until a case comes in.”

Luke is silent, lowering his head in defeat as JJ frowns while pouting. “Aww.”

Now that the team had their assignments, Garcia was utterly giddy and squeals towards you. “Come Robin! To the Batcave!”

Garcia catches you up on everything over the next few hours. From the hidden message apps on the unsubs phones, to the discussion forums, and how Sicarius used this to gain followers so he could teach them the ways of being sadistic killers. She had identified the usernames of the unsubs and was able to find that they all chatted with Sicarius - User45125. They also learned about the different murder methods that matched up with the bodies found in the shipping container. Out of the lockers that are missing, the BAU believes that kits would contain methods to kill by acid and strangulation to match the last of the victims.

“I can’t trace any direct messaging, so that’s why all of this is based on the forum info me and JJ combed through,” Garcia says, ending her lengthy summation.

“What a sick fuck.” You shake your head in disgust. “Play with the first round of victims and pass all that fun on to his new friends who do it all over again.”

You were sitting to the left of Garcia, lightly turning the chair back and forth with a foot on the floor. To your delight, it didn’t bother her. It was a habit you developed over time to help you think. You look over the conversations that Sicarius had with the unsubs and Green. He definitely narrowed down the chosen ones based on their psychopathic thrills.

“How many are on this message board again?” you ask, gesturing at the screens.

“Over half a million. Which just…bleh!” Garcia pauses, shivering for dramatic effect, “Makes me feel all squicky that there are that many of them chatting in one spot. But I narrowed down the really, really, bad naughties to seventeen k.”

“Damn. Fucker’s been busy.” You go silent as you calculate options with the information the BAU had.

Garcia glances at you, seeing your eyes darting back and forth in concentration. “What’cha thinking there?”

“I’m not sure. It’s just … “ you pause, words softening, “a half formed thought. A possibility.” You turn towards Garcia. “Can you narrow the users further by who hasn’t been active in a few months? At least since Green last contacted Sicarius? Bonus if longer.”

She blinks rapidly at you and looks put out. “Can I?!” She then closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “Since you’re new, I will let that slight pass, but there is nothing I can’t do, missy.”

Except get your file, but you don’t need to know that!

“Apologies, M’Lady!” You smile, making sure to file that away to not offend the bubbly woman in the future. “If you would be so kind and continue working your magic?”

“And the lady shall be kind!” Garcia says with vigor and starts narrowing down the possibilities further.

The two of you work diligently over the next few hours. You guide Garcia with different traits to knock down the users into something manageable with the information that can be extracted from text. Emoji use, shorten expressions, length of posts, seeking knowledge and showboating instead of trying to engage in an emotional connection, aggressive language use, and interests.

“Here you go.” Garcia calls up a list of usernames that fit your specifications. “One-hundred and thirty-four.”

“Have any of those spoke to our guy at length? Something substantial?”

“Hm, yes!” She pulls those up.

That got you down to thirty-eight. “And how many of those appear to have contacted him through direct messaging?” You couldn’t know for sure but based on the flow of conversation and quality, there were hints.

She types quickly. “Ah, fourteen.” She shows you the names.

“List them by last known contact with him – earliest to latest.”

“Done.”

“Now pull up last few messages from each.”

“Also done.”

You read through them, ignoring the majority as you skim but there were a few that stood out.

Dark_Muse: Fucking cunt is finally gonna pay!!! Girls night is gonna end on a high!!!

_piouspisces: Woke up from a dream today. Hope it comes true. Just have to set up the right ingredients. Need advice on lacing paper. I have some ideas but need confirmation.

FlamePit23: The world only makes sense at sunrise and sunset. It’s when it looks like the world is set on fire. Beautiful.

You point to that last username. “Show me this one’s profile.”

Garcia clicks on it and reads. “’Nothing burns as bright as the rage inside you. Cultivate and embrace it. Keep it under your control’. Oh, they go on to say to never make any friends. That’s cheerful and lonely.”

“But they admitted to ‘nurturing others so I can take them off guard. Like my mother did to me when I was younger’ makes me think this one’s female,” you say while tapping the screen. “What’s the date and timestamp on the last message?”

“That would be … August 12, 2022 0550.”

You would bet that it was close to sunrise on that day when the user posted.

You pull your hand back to cup your chin in thought as Garcia looks oddly at you. “You know, I’ve been doing this a really, really long time, and I can usually predict where people are going with their data mining. But you? I have zilch of an idea because this makes no sense to me.”

You heard she was talking, but you weren’t listening. You were too focused on formulating a plan.

She puckers her lips in annoyance at being ignored and snaps her fingers twice in front of your face. “Hello?”

“Oh!” you say, jerking back into awareness. “I’m trying to come up with a crazy plan.”

“Please tell me this won’t result in you going AWOL again …” Prentiss had entered and neither of them had heard the door open.

You and Garcia share a look wondering if she even knocked as Prentiss walks in further expectantly. “Well?”

You sit back and reassure her. “Ah, no. Course not.”

“Wait. So, you really went AWOL?” Garcia asks curiously. “Did you serve before the CIA?”

“I didn’t serve.” You bit your lower lip and nod, coming to terms with what you can say. “I did some training with military personnel. All informal.”

You and the other four recruits had gone through training with the Green Berets, Navy Seals, and Delta Force. Something you couldn’t disclose as it technically never happened, hence, the informal part of your cover. You also are glad Garcia was distracted by that and didn’t ask you to elaborate on the AWOL matter.

Garcia whistles. “Wowzer.”

That made you smile. “A very simple, yet precise, way to put it.”

“A talent of hers for sure. But let’s get back to this crazy plan of yours,” insists Prentiss as she leans against the desk on the other side of Garcia.

“Again, it’s just the start of one but it could be a way to infiltrate Sicarius’ chosen ones without the need for vengeance to fuck things up.”

“You really say that word a lot,” notices Garcia.

“What?”

Garcia struggles by opening and closing her mouth like a fish to try and get the word out, but Prentiss beats her to it. “Fuck.”

“Huh?” You look at the section chief with confusion. “No thank you?”

“That’s… that’s not what I meant!” She answers, speaking quickly as you fluster her with the insinuation, and you couldn’t hold in your laughter any longer.

“What’s so funny?” she snaps.

“You!” you answer between cackles. “I knew what you meant.”

Garcia at least has the decency to look away while trying to fight off her own snickers as Prentiss takes a hand to her head to rub at her temples. “I swear to god, Whitlock …”

“Anyway …” you grin. “The idea is to chat him up with a username that is not entirely inactive but hasn’t been used in a bit. Think we found a prospect.”

Prentiss’ irritation with you changes to interest. “That so?”

Garcia nods. “Now that I know what the plan is, yes. I can do a deeper dive into this user and see what I can dig up.”

“Less is more, in this case,” you explain thoughtfully. “If we infiltrate this way, we gotta have enough info to be this user without him really knowing who this is. So, if you can find who they are, then we’re back to finding another. Because that means he would know their identity, too.”

Prentiss nods. “Do it. Green isn’t cooperating at all like Tara figured. He wouldn’t agree to the cognitive interview. Might as well see how this pans out while JJ tries to change Green’s mind.”

“On it, Boss Ma’am!” Garcia jests as she gets to work.

Prentiss looks up at the ceiling as if searching for patience, but as brown eyes come down, they focus on you. “Come with me and bring your stuff.”

“Sure thing.” You rise, grabbing your backpack but before you follow Prentiss, you squeeze Garcia’s shoulder. “This was nice. Working with you, that is.”

She tears her eyes away from the screen to look up at your soulful eyes. You really appreciated how Garcia jumped into working with you with fervor and not giving you the cold shoulder from earlier this week. “Aww, sweetie! Yes, we’ll keep working at it to make this idea blossom into a full blown plan!”

You smile so hard your cheeks hurt and stay that way until Garcia gets back to work. You then meet up with Prentiss to walk out together.

“Good first day.” It was an observation by the section chief.

“Yeah, it really was.” You were smiling again. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Her tone carries a mystique to it, and you become captivated while walking to the bullpen together. “But I owe you a proper thank you. Langley sent me the confirmation of funds.”

“I’ll behave.” Prentiss’ eyes widen when you say that. “I won’t start making it rain money at you in celebration.”

She chuckles. “So, you can control it?”

“Occasionally.”

“Good. Then I’ve no regrets in getting you something.”

That made you perk up. “You got me something?”

“Bit overdue, but …” Prentiss stops without warning at the first desk to the right when you enter the bullpen. “… it’s yours.”

You are befuddled as you shift your gaze from Prentiss to the desk and audibly gasp. Resting on top of it was your name on display as a consultant. “Wow.”

Pleased with your reaction, she nudges you with her elbow. “This is when you’re supposed to thank me.”

“Ah, right!” you laugh, awkwardly rubbing the back of your neck before looking to her with a radiant smile. “Thank you, Prentiss.”

Your response without jest disarms her like it did last night over drinks. Your gazes lock for several beats and you just stand there with sincere gratitude that she welcomed you as a member of the team.

She recovers quickly with a stiff nod and motions to your desk. “You’re welcome. When you’re done getting settled, get back to working on that angle with Garcia.”

“You got it.” You immediately round the desk, already slipping off your backpack to place on top of it as Prentiss heads to her office.

That felt really nice to say in your head. Your desk. When was the last time you had a desk with a name plate? Everything you did was covert up until now so flashing your name and credentials was the equivalent to placing a target on your back with a bright flashing sign that says, ‘Shoot me!’. The right people knew your name when on mission, but most of your identity was done under aliases and callsigns.

You take a quick inventory of what’s on the desk – laptop connected to dual monitors, keyboard and mouse, stacked plastic organizers, phone, stapler, black plastic pen holder that was empty.

Guess I’ll have to find supplies…

You pick up the stapler and click it, watching a used staple hit the desk. At least that was ready to go for all the paperwork you’ll be doing now. The team will be excited to hear that! You then pull out the chair to get acquainted with the drawers only to be shocked for the second time today.

Waiting for you on the chair was a six pack of Diet Coke bottles with a blue sticky note attached. You peel it off to read and immediately smile.

Welcome to the BAU, Whitlock.

@unkonw00 @ara-a-bird @rayisaknight @sevyscoven

#criminal minds #emily prentiss #criminal minds evolution #criminal minds x reader #Criminal minds x you #criminal minds fanfiction #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x female reader #emily x reader #emily x you #prometheus

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mumblingsage · 1 day ago

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I also think it's worth being pedantic about important things...and in that spirit I've spent like an hour writing and deleting various responses to this one (I found myself over-policing my tone and stopped that, so I'll just say right off I have no ill-will toward you and appreciate the contributions, even as I disagree on interpretation in several ways):

First, your tags - "for example a book can really kick off a delusion and set something off that can be traumatic." As I've said in another reblog thread, but it deserves repeating, triggering delusions, compulsions, or PTSD or adjustment disorder symptoms is not the same as causing trauma. We should try to accommodate people with triggers, and much of this accommodation will need to be individualized because the range of potential triggers is vast and often does not include things conventionally recognized as upsetting. I had a loved one make an irreversible error because of a delusion he had that was fueled by the due date on his library card being coincidentally the same as the date of his dentist appointment. That's not a reason for us to have a cultural conversation about the format of due date stickers. Though it could call for a discussion of how we can best support people who are experiencing delusional thinking or psychosis (we are currently doing very badly).

Re: vicarious trauma. Reading the Wikipedia article, I see that the examples given are of real life events reported on in the media, primarily social media and news coverage in the wake of terrorist attacks. I'm not going to get too deep into personal experience here, but let's just say this is not my first time hearing of vicarious trauma, and the important thing is that it is a real response to real harm and disaster. I wouldn't refuse evidence, but have not seen any, that it's caused by 13 Reasons Why or The Bridge to Terebithia or Outlander. (Bellingcat has useful advice for safety and 'metal hygiene' when engaging with firsthand sources of violence. I might use similar techniques when watching clips from a horror movie, but the stakes are not the same. Also, heads up that anyone who clicks through that link will read some text about distressing real-life events.)

"Books can have a significant impact on someone’s mind and outlook and that’s why they want them to be banned." < I agree and I think when people talk about how they don't want kids (or others) to read books about death, violence, sex, etc, they are participating in this. Authoritarians want us to have very particular ideas about these topics and resist any alternative information or thinking about them. When people go around saying "Learning or thinking about something upsetting is the same as being traumatized" they are doing the work of Christofascist Censorship Attempts, and I don't care if it's accidental. We don't need to compromise with them. (I don't have room to open this can of worms fully, but I also think too many people go around saying--for example--"13 Reasons Why traumatized me, I can't believe any library would let a kid read it" and thus send a message to the people around them with real-life experience with suicide, suicidal ideation, etc. that their experiences are unspeakable, untouchable. This social stigma is incredibly harmful.)

"I think it’s more productive to challenge the idea that a book that can potentially cause harm should be banned instead of the idea that books can potentially cause harm." < This is an interesting idea. I love its uncompromising stance. It's one I would adopt if I was convinced books can cause something that deserves to be called "harm" (the two of us may just have different definitions). I definitely believe we all have the God-given right to give ourselves nightmares and anyone trying to 'protect' us from that should be kicked in the fork of the legs.

I'm wondering if, as a society who cares about vulnerable people, we could stop saying "traumatize" when we truly mean "upset"?

I am sick of hearing sad books or movies "traumatize" their readers. I simply do not believe that happens. A traumatic experience might be adjacent to books (I have vivid memories of books I was reading around certain experiences and even how the contents of those books affected my processing of the experiences). But it's not caused by the book. And, y'know. The weather is Christofascist Censorship Attempts outside.

Meanwhile from the other side I continue to be surprised at just how badly people fail to understand trauma and traumatic experiences in general. Watering down the term isn't helping. Find other hyperbole to express that The Bridge to Terebithia gutted you, chewed on your heartstrings, and made you cry your first pair of contact lenses right out of your preteen eyes.

#long post #censorship #trauma

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v3nusstardust · 2 days ago

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How close can best friends get?🫶

|| Beomgyu x Reader ||

Genre : fluff 🤍

Warnings : none ho

You had a long rough day , but your bestie beomgyu came to the rescue! Long story short.. after work you called him crying about all the stress and pain you’d been keeping in for a while.

He’s always there to listen ,he always has been there. That’s what made him so special to you. He wasn’t just your best friend but.. he was also your crush.. somewhat. You loved him like a best friend but also like a lover ..

It had been a tough day…. work was overwhelming, and everything seemed to be falling apart. You felt exhausted and lost, like the weight of it all was too much to carry alone. So, you did what you always did when you needed someone, you called your best friend Beomgyu.

When you called him, he picked up right away. You could barely speak through the tears, but Beomgyu didn’t rush you. He just listened, his calmness making you feel safe enough to let everything out.

“I’m sorry, Gyu,” you cried, your voice shaking. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Everything just feels like too much.”

“It’s okay.. Don’t apologize for the way you feel y/n .. I’m here to listen, Im not going anywhere, Kay?” Beomgyu’s voice was steady and warm.

You told him about the stress from work, the pressure you’d been feeling from life in general, and the weight of everything you’d been keeping to yourself for so long. It felt good to say it all out loud, even though it was hard. Beomgyu listened through it all. He was always so patient with you. That’s what made him so special.

Beomgyu has always meant so much to you. It’s hard to ignore the truth but.. you’ve always had feelings for him. Just a little.

You’d always been so careful not to blur the lines between friendship and something more. Beomgyu was your best friend, the one who could make you laugh when you felt like crying, the one who would listen to your rants late into the night. But over time, those feelings had deepened into something else. You’d tried to suppress it, to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat when he laughed, or how you always found yourself thinking of him when you were alone.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you," you whispered. "You’re always there when I need you... m-more than anyone else. I just don’t know how to say it.” Your voice was shaky with emotion.

He was quiet for a moment, the silence almost deafening. You worried for a second that you had said too much, but then you heard his soft and gentle laugh.

“You don’t have to say anything, really. I get it,” he replied, his tone warm and reassuring. “I’m always here for you, no matter what.”

“I’m so glad you’re in my life,” you said. And for a moment, you wondered if he felt the same way too.

"Hey, why don’t we hang out tonight?" he suggested. "I don’t think it’s good if you’re alone with your thoughts tonight y/n… I know how you can get sometimes.. I can come over, we can eat snacks, and watch some movies. What do you say?”

“I’d love that,” you said, the exhaustion in your voice mixing with a bit of relief. “That sounds perfect, Gyu! But.. it’s like 1 am right now”

"I know," he said . "I'll be there in 20 minutes, okay? Get comfy, we're doing a full movie marathon.”

—————

You sighed and leaned back in your bed, staring up at the ceiling, your thoughts still spiraled. The rattling sound of the wind outside was oddly comforting.

You were grateful for Beomgyu, though. He always knew how to show up, even when you didn’t ask for it. He never pushed when you needed space, but he also never hesitated when you needed someone to remind you that you weren’t alone.

|| 1:47 am ||

You continued to just zone out for a while , until you heard a knock on your door.

You put on your cute slippers and fixed yourself a little as you made your way to the door. You took a deep breath in before opening the door.

“Hi gyu “ you gave him a warm smile. Beomgyu stood there, a bag of snacks in one hand, his other hand tucked into the pocket of his hoodie. He grinned as soon as he saw you, the familiar twinkle in his eyes making you feel a little lighter. “Hey, Y/n,” he said. “Got you some chips, candy, and..” He paused, holding up a cup of (your fav drink).

You smiled a little wider, stepping aside to let him in. “Ugh gyu you’re literally the best. What would I do without you” you sighed as you both made your way to your room.

“Sorry about the mess.. ha..” you chuckled nervously. You forgot to pick up a bit before he came , but whatever he’s your best friend. He didn't comment on it though, just tossed the bag of snacks onto your bed and flopped down next to it.

“Movie marathon?” he asked, reaching for the remote. "I'll pick the first one, and no falling asleep during the movie! " he teased.

“I never do!” You giggled as you took a seat beside him on the bed.

He raised an eyebrow at you, clearly not buying it. “Mhm.. sure y/n” he replied. You laughed.

“What movie do you wanna watch? “ he asked while scrolling with the remote.

You thought for a moment before answering, grinning a little. "How about (your fav movie) ?" you suggested, the one movie you could watch over and over again without ever getting bored.

“Ahh good choice,” he said before clicking play on the remote. You leaned back into the pillows, pulling the blanket up around your shoulders as the opening scene began.

As the movie played on, you found yourself not really paying attention to the plot, but rather.. Beomgyu's presence. The lighting was dim in your room .. and it just made him glow. His side profile was gorgeous and his beautiful blonde mullet was the cherry on top.

You found yourself staring a little longer than you should, trying to pinpoint what was making your heart race in a way that felt unfamiliar. The warmth of his presence was always comforting, but this felt different.

His blonde mullet, slightly messy , framed his face so delicately . The dim lighting of the room made him look almost ethereal… like something out of a dream. You blinked again, trying to snap yourself out of it.

What’s going on with me? You shifted uncomfortably on the bed, maybe it’s because how close you were to him

You told yourself it was just the exhaustion of the late hour, the cozy atmosphere, or maybe just how close the two of you were that made everything feel a little too... intimate.

But… he was your best friend. You’d always felt safe with him, always had fun with him. You could talk about anything, and he always knew exactly how to make you laugh. There’s no way this could be anything more, you thought, trying to rationalize it. Right?

You glanced at the clock—3:56 am. A yawn escaped your lips, and you tried to stifle it, but it was no use. The tiredness was finally catching up with you.

Beomgyu caught onto it. "Tired, huh?" He smiled at you . "Told you , you wouldn’t last."

You rubbed your eyes and let out a small laugh. "I guess so..." Your head felt heavy, your body sinking deeper into the bed. Maybe I was a little more tired than I thought.

You rested your eyes. and then.. you fell asleep.

————————

|| 8:41 am.. ||

Your mind was still foggy from sleep, and for a moment, everything felt like a blur. The soft rays of morning light filtered through your window, but it wasn’t until you felt the warmth next to you that you realized something was off. you felt something or other.. someone beside you. Your mind was still hazy from sleep. You froze for a moment.

Wait, what? You thought, suddenly very aware of the weight on your shoulder and the arm draped gently across your waist. Beomgyu. You could tell by the soft breathing that he was still asleep.

You carefully shifted, but Beomgyu’s arm tightened around you, pulling you closer in his sleep. He picked up his leg and draped it over yours. Oh my god, you thought, panic rising. This is so not how I imagined waking up. You tried to remember how you’d ended up like this. The last thing you remembered was falling asleep, your eyes getting heavy and then… but how did he end up so close beside you?

You were tangled up with him, literally and emotionally, and you had no idea what to do with the sudden rush of warmth flooding your chest. You carefully tried to shift your body away from his.

This made it so much worse.

Beomgyu scooted closer to you. Resting his head on your chest and cuddling you like a little teddy bear. His warm breath tickled your neck as he scooted even closer. You felt your face flush at the closeness. You bit your lip, trying to calm your racing heart. For a moment, you simply laid there, his warmth against you, listening to the soft sound of his breathing. Maybe you could just stay in this moment forever, pretending everything was fine, pretending you weren’t questioning everything about your feelings for him.

The way he fit so perfectly against you, his body pressed up against yours like he belonged there. You had never felt this kind of closeness with him before, and it was making everything inside you feel... confusing.

This isn’t right. He's just my best friend. He’s always been my best friend, you tried to remind yourself, but it was hard to focus on anything other than the way his body felt against yours. The beat of his heart, the warmth of his skin, the way he seemed so at ease with you...

You shifted slightly, trying to adjust without waking him. But Beomgyu stirred, his head moving against your chest, and then he murmured your name in his sleep. “Y/n…”

You froze again, your heart skipping a beat.

You glanced down at him, his messy blonde hair falling across his face, his features soft in sleep. For a second, you just stared at him, wondering if he could feel the same pull you felt. Could he?

You shifted slightly again, carefully, and Beomgyu's eyes fluttered open, barely. He blinked lazily, then mumbled, “Hmm? Are you okay?”

You tried to swallow the nervous lump in your throat, your mind still spinning. “Yeah,” you whispered, voice barely above a murmur. “Just... tired.”

He hummed in response, snuggling deeper into you, as if THIS was perfectly normal. “Good,” he whispered, then relaxed back into his position, his head resting on your chest again. You could feel his breath, slow and steady, against your skin.

“Are you sure you’re okay y/n? Your heartbeat is very fast..” he said with a concerned tone.

“Maybe... maybe I’m just... overthinking,” you said quickly, your voice was shaky.

He shifted, propping himself up on his elbow so he could look directly at you.

“Y/n… If you’re not okay, you know you can tell me, right?” His voice was gentle, filled with understanding.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just… just tired, like I said.” You continued to lay straight on your back, staring at the ceiling.

Beomgyu didn’t seem entirely convinced, but he didn’t push any further. Instead, he just gave you a soft smile and laid back down. This time he laid closely next to you. His body turned to face yours. His fingers traced every strand of your hair.

"You're not usually this quiet," he said after a while, his voice softer now. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

“I… I don’t know,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I just don’t want to mess things up. I don’t want things to change between us."

“Y/n, nothing’s going to change,” he said quietly, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was light, gentle, but the way it made your skin tingle only made your heart beat harder. "You’re my best friend, and that’s never going to change. No matter what.”

“Are you sure?” you whispered, your voice barely audible, as if the slightest doubt would shatter the fragile moment between you. You turned your head to face him, your breath catching when his eyes met yours again.

Beomgyu smiled, his gaze gentle but filled with sincerity. "I’m sure," he said. "I’ll always be here, Y/n. Nothing’s going to change that."

But as you stared into his eyes, you couldn’t help but wonder… what if it already had?….

(a/n : my bad for not writing the last several months. I had a bf but he treated me like shit …🗿 butttt now I’m back fr 🌜 also sorry for mistakes I never reread ts after im done writing fr)

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chevyslate158 · 17 hours ago

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Coriolanus Snow x Reader 18+ - I'll Be Watching You

A/N: Hey everyone! This little piece is a filler while I work on Chapter 2 of Threads of Freedom (15th Hunger Games AU, Archer Brown x Fem!Reader) – which will be uploaded by the end of the week, I promise! Sorry for the wait and thank you for your patience. This is my first proper dark fic, so as far as I’m aware, this should be 18+ due to mature themes. I hope you all enjoy this little detour, and I’m excited to share more with you soon! Keep an eye out for Chapter 2 – it’s coming soon!

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Abuse (emotional, psychological, and possessive), Dark themes, Toxic relationships (I do not condone this), Non-consensual elements, Violence/Threat of violence, Manipulation, Mentions of sex, Coercion, Stalking and Jealousy let me know if I missed any!

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

The night was loud, bustling with voices echoing through the makeshift walls of the Hob, the heart of black-market life in District 12. You'd been busy, making your rounds with the goods your family had sent you to sell, weaving in and out of the rickety stands that filled the dim space. The air was thick with smoke and the scent of stale bread and roasted game. It was the same every night, though tonight, something felt... different.

You felt it before you saw him—a prickling awareness at the back of your neck like someone’s eyes were boring right into you. Glancing up, you saw him standing across the room, the faint glow of a single bare bulb casting shadows over his face. A young peacekeeper, uniform pristine, with piercing blue eyes that didn’t waver when they met yours. Coriolanus Snow.

You’d heard whispers about him—the Capitol boy with ice in his veins who’d recently arrived to serve in District 12. He was unlike the other peacekeepers who draped themselves lazily over chairs or leaned casually against walls. No, Snow stood stiffly, as if he’d never let himself blend into his surroundings, as if he were above it all.

But tonight, he was focused on you.

After that night, Snow began appearing everywhere you went. At first, it was subtle—a figure lingering just far enough away to be nearly invisible but always there, always watching. In the crowded marketplace, in the quiet moments when you paused on your way home. Every time you dared to glance back, his eyes were waiting. He’d give a slight nod, a slow acknowledgment, a silent claim that grew stronger with each day.

Soon, it became impossible to ignore. Snow wasn’t simply watching; he was weaving himself into every part of your life, binding himself to you with an unspoken possessiveness. He knew which paths you took and where you liked to sit by the river, and he’d often appear there, casually positioned as if by chance, though you knew better. When you questioned him, he’d smile, a strange blend of amusement and arrogance in his eyes, as if he enjoyed toying with your sense of control, as if he wanted you to know that your life was no longer entirely your own.

One evening, when you were out trading goods, Snow approached you without warning, slipping into step beside you.

“I don’t like you coming here alone,” he murmured, his voice soft but laced with an edge. “Too many people who don’t have your best interests in mind.”

You tried to brush him off, saying you could handle yourself, but he scoffed, an unsettling smile spreading across his face.

“You don’t understand. You don’t have to be strong or careful. Not with me here.” His words were meant to reassure you, but they settled over you like a shadow, a cold reminder that his protection was not optional, that he would always be there whether you wanted him to be or not.

But he didn’t own you, nor did he control you. Taking a deep breath, you mustered your courage and offered him a polite smile, careful to keep your tone light.

“I appreciate the concern, Coriolanus,” you said, choosing your words delicately. “But I don’t need you looking out for me. I’m fine on my own.”

You could see the faint twitch of his jaw, and a slight narrowing of his eyes, but you ignored it, determined to stand your ground. Before he could reply, you turned on your heel, heading down the narrow path toward home without looking back.

The silence behind you was tense and heavy, but you walked briskly, half-expecting him to let it go. Yet something about the quiet felt wrong, and that prickle of unease crept up your spine once more. Suddenly, you heard him call your name—softly, but with an unmistakable edge.

“I don’t think you understand what I’m saying,” he said, his voice dangerously low. You could feel his footsteps behind you, and before you could quicken your pace, he was by your side again, his eyes dark and unreadable.

“Do you think this is a choice?” His voice was no longer smooth but sharp, each word edged with frustration.

“You don’t just get to walk away.” He reached out, his fingers grazing your arm, his grip tightening when you tried to pull away. “I’m here because you need me. I see the way people look at you, what they think they can take from you.” His gaze bore into yours, and you realised that his frustration ran deeper than anger—it was something primal, possessive, a hunger to control.

“Don’t make this difficult,” he murmured, the unsettling calm in his voice sending a chill through you.

Your pulse quickened as his grip tightened, firm enough to keep you there but not enough to hurt—yet. Snow’s expression shifted, the mask of calm giving way to something far darker. His eyes, usually so controlled, now blazed with a fierce possessiveness that was almost terrifying.

"You think you’re safe here?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper, yet laced with a quiet fury looking down at you as though you were stupid. "This place would swallow you whole if I let it. You have no idea what people are capable of."

His words hung in the air, and you felt a tremor of fear. “Maybe so,” you replied, voice steadier than you felt.

“But that’s my choice, not yours.” You forced yourself to meet his gaze, hoping he’d see the resolve in your eyes, but instead, he laughed softly—a hollow, unsettling sound.

“Your choice?” He echoed, his lips curling into a faint, mocking smile. “No. You don’t understand, do you?” He leaned in close, his breath warm against your cheek, and when he spoke, his voice was both a promise and a warning.

"I know everything about you. I know where you live, the way home, the people you talk to. I know your fears. I don’t just watch, I protect. And whether you like it or not, you’re mine.” He glowered down at you.

You tried to pull away, but his hand tightened, holding you in place as his gaze bore into you with an intensity that made it clear he would never let you go.

“I won’t let anyone else have you,” he continued, his voice low and unwavering, as if stating a fact rather than a threat.

“So stop pretending you can push me away, or ignore me. You belong to me, and I won’t have it any other way.” His grip finally loosened, but the weight of his words lingered, searing into your mind as he released you, his face unreadable.

You backed away, heart racing, aware that this was only the beginning of something that would bind you to him in ways you couldn’t yet understand.

The intensity in his stare held you captive, as though he was daring you to challenge him, to defy the claim he’d just laid upon you. For a brief moment, you thought about running, about putting as much distance as you could between yourself and the figure before you. But something told you he would follow—no matter how far you went, he would always find you.

“I don’t belong to anyone,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper, defiant yet trembling.

His eyes narrowed, a flicker of something dark and dangerous crossing his face. He took a step closer, closing the distance you’d tried to create.

“You can lie to yourself all you want,” he murmured, each word deliberate, his tone unsettlingly calm. “But you’ll come to understand, in time. I don’t give up on the things I want.” His fingers brushed your cheek, lingering for just a second too long. “And I want you.”

The weight of his declaration settled over you like a shroud, suffocating, and you could feel the force of his obsession surrounding you, pressing in on all sides. His presence was inescapable, a shadow that clung to you, a constant reminder that no matter where you went, his eyes would always be watching, his influence always closing in. The cold, unsettling truth sank in: Snow wasn’t merely infatuated. He saw you as something that belonged to him, something he would protect fiercely—and control completely.

As he finally released you, his gaze softened, a twisted tenderness flickering there. “One day, you’ll see I’m right. I’m the only one who can keep you safe, who can truly understand you.”

His voice dropped to a whisper, his words chillingly soft. “One day, you’ll realise that’s exactly what you need. That I'm exactly what you need.”

Time had passed, and somehow, you found yourself bound to him in ways you never anticipated. His words, his presence, his very being had become woven into your life like an invasive vine, tightening its hold each day. He didn’t give you a choice; his insistence became an inevitability. He declared that he was what you needed, and his grip on your life became as unyielding as the iron-fisted peacekeepers he commanded. Somewhere along the way, resisting felt as exhausting as it did hopeless.

When he was gentle, his touch was light, his words tender as he whispered promises in the quiet moments between you. “No one will ever understand you like I do,” he’d murmur, his fingers tracing soft patterns on your arm.

“They don’t know you the way I do,” He'd say to you breathing down your neck lips grazing your skin when he had you pinned against a cold desolate concrete wall across from the Hob in the dark when he saw you chatting with another man from inside the hob his jealousy overriding his train of thought leading you to where you were at that moment.

Those words made you feel both cherished and trapped, his affection tinged with a possessiveness that stifled you, smothered you. But he saw this as devotion, a twisted loyalty that would bind you to him, even as he twisted your will to fit his.

Yet his moods shifted like shadows, sudden and dark. One wrong word, one misstep, and his gentle touch could turn cold, his smile fading into an unyielding glare.

“Where were you?” he would ask, his voice deceptively calm but his eyes burning with a simmering anger.

“You think you can just slip away whenever you want?” He’d take your wrist, just tight enough to remind you who held control, his grip softening only when he saw the hesitation in your gaze.

He’d pull you close, his voice a possessive whisper. “I won’t let you leave. Don’t even think about it. No one will ever protect you like I will.”

And still, there were moments when he was vulnerable—when his mask slipped, and you could see the frightened boy behind the stern peacekeeper, an illusion to the young boy he once was in the Capitol.

“I’ve lost too much already,” he confessed one night, his voice breaking the quiet of the room, low and strained after the passion that had consumed you both.

A sheen of sweat glistened across your bodies, the air thick with the aftermath of your shared breathless silence. The dim lantern flickered in the corner of your small home, casting a warm glow that only served to make his sharp features more prominent, his icy blue eyes brighter than you’d ever seen them as if the light revealed something deeper—something more fragile. His hand rested protectively over yours intertwining your hand with his, his other arm draped across your frame, tugging you closer as if he could fuse you into him, as though he needed your presence to solidify his reality.

"Don't make me lose you too," he repeated, his voice muffled as he pressed his forehead against yours. You could feel the tremor in his breath, the weight of his words sinking into your skin. The raw vulnerability that had bled through him during those moments of intimacy now lingered in the air, like an unspoken plea that both terrified and touched you. His lips, still warm from the kiss that had left you breathless, moved softly against your forehead as he whispered, "I've already lost so much. I can't bear to lose you too."

You lay there, caught between the storm of desire and the weight of his obsession, feeling the intensity of his emotions wrapped around you like a vice. He wasn’t just holding you physically; he was anchoring himself to you, weaving a web of control and love that was both suffocating and intoxicating.

Every touch felt like a claim, every whispered word a promise you weren't sure you could escape. But in the stillness of that moment, when his heart seemed to beat in time with yours, you wondered if there was a part of him that truly did love you, or if it was simply the fear of losing control over something—someone—he had come to see as his.

His eyes met yours in the low light, searching you, reading you, as though trying to gauge whether you felt the same hunger for him, the same need. You could see it then—the darkness in him that was more than just obsession. It was desperation. Desperation for your love, for your loyalty, for a future where you would never leave him. He was willing to give you everything, but it was clear that everything meant something far different to him than it did to you.

In his mind, you weren’t just a part of his world—you were the only thing worth holding onto, the one thing he could never lose. And in that moment, as the weight of his words settled over you, you realized that you were no longer just a passive observer in this dangerous dance between love and control. You were as bound to him as he was to you, and though you longed for freedom, you couldn't help but wonder if his love for you—his need for you—was something you could ever truly escape.

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clover-46 · 1 year ago

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the writers on here making the miguel fics need to remember his fangs inject paralytic venom hes not a real vampire it was just a joke in the movie 😭

oh but i still want him to bite me don’t get me wrong idgaf if they have venom 🤷🏾‍♀️🤷🏾‍♀️

#the copious amounts of smut i’ve seen with this man and the fangs is crazy #y’all need to tone it DOWN wheres the fluff omg??#there’s like so many smut x reader fics clogging the miguel o’hara tag and people can express their creative liberties or whatever but it’s #getting CRAZY #like why is almost nobody talking about his character and writing an analysis on him #AND WHY ARE SO MANY FICS WRITING HIM TO BE SOME FERAL AND MEAN BEAST #firstly it’s feels racist to write a brown latino man that way.#second it feels fetishiz-y with how people only sexualize the fuck outta him and talk about nothing else when it comes to him #to add onto that people are drawing him with a MUZZLE on #at first all this didn’t really register in my head as bad but after seeing so much i see it 😭#also some spanish speakers have said people are using incorrect spanish when writing dialogue for him and thats kinda funny #don’t use google translate please 💀#miguel o’ hara #spiderman 2099 #across the spiderverse #i also saw someone say miguel would not be a good partner or something and i just know you didn’t pay attention #and i wont go into why because its spoilers but we have seen him be soft and happy with someone he cares about it’s just trauma that has #made him mean and depressed #he was obviously projecting onto miles in the movie when he acted like that let’s be fr #why am i writing a novel down here idk i just wanted to talk about it a little #i love the smut (trust me) but pleaaseee don’t start being fetishize-y

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rxttenfish · 6 months ago

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while aaravi remains firmly within "yeah miranda has a difficult personality and isn't very easy to get along with + has many rough edges which are slowly being worked on but still going to be an issue" after having been very much so within the camp that miranda is a Vexing Bitch upon first contact/getting to know her, she DOES go from "miranda is unpredictable and dangerous as a merfolk and large macropredator and her emotions are inscrutable and random" to "merfolk aren't very hard to understand or predict and it's very easy to stay on the safe side if you keep basic rules in mind and don't freak out the second something unexpected happens"

#all the care guide says is 'biomass'#miravi.txt #just. thinking about it!#thinking about specifically how merfolk (like most other animals) growl/hiss specifically as a deterrent #like if you start really upsetting miri and she wants space and you to Please Stop #she will probably turn her face away from the other person or turn her body away from them #while growling or hissing and pulling her fins back #and will open her mouth to bare her teeth or gape her mouth open to show her teeth (including heavily panting)#where the point is ''i will hurt you if you touch me/get closer/dont stop so please dont do that''#but a lot of people read it as her being either obtuse (if she turns away from them)#or outright aggressive for the showing of teeth and growling #when shes really not. shes being very polite in merfolk terms in giving multiple chances to avoid violence #shes going ''i am worried i might have to hurt you so please reconsider'' in a way thats very readable if youre another merfolk #who will then step away or give her her space and switch the tone of the conversation #to see whats wrong #whereas her being more deliberately aggressive/violent usually comes with minimal vocal cues at all #or (if shes specifically threatening someone such as in the case of getting aggressive over perceived threats to her social bonds)#she will often turn towards them and open her mouth and flare her fins #often deliberately closing the distance and making herself appear Extra Large #she WILL growl here but will never hiss (hissing being a more defensive sound)#and will often smack her tail against the ground or show her claws or otherwise demonstrate how large and how scary she is #as a deliberate point of ''you crossed a line and this is what is going to happen to you if you dont make it up right now''#which! both require VERY different responses but might look similar to a human!#and might end up coming off as unpredictable or random in her actions and cruelty!#when shes not! shes just doing things the way a merfolk does them #which means aaravi realizes VERY quickly after learning about all of this #just how many cues miranda gives that people are starting to make her uncomfortable and feel Not Okay #that are ignored or written off because theyre merfolk cues #merfolk are very tolerant of stress but have basically no concept of escalation of violence for that reason #because if youve ignored every chance to prevent something dangerous up until the point it goes too far

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aventurineswife · 3 days ago

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Stages of Shadows: Chapter 4 - Unexpected Friendship

The air buzzed with excitement as the audience erupted in applause, their cheers echoing off the high ceilings of the grand theater. Aventurine, with his flamboyant style and magnetic presence, commanded the stage, seamlessly weaving together an intricate tapestry of dance and music. His performance was a testament to his talent, captivating those lucky enough to witness it.

In stark contrast to the exhilaration surrounding him, [Name] sat slumped against the wall in the waiting room, staring blankly at the floor. Shadows danced across their features as flickering lights from the stage illuminated their downturned face. The cheers and music felt distant, muffled by the weight of grief and anxiety pressing down on their chest. Robin’s death loomed heavy in their mind, a constant reminder of the fragility of life in this brutal competition.

Across the room, Ratio leaned against the doorframe, his muscular build casting a long shadow. He observed the other contestants milling about, but his focus remained fixed on [Name]. While most were lost in conversations or preparing for their own performances, [Name] was isolated in their sorrow, an island amidst a sea of vibrant life.

Ratio knew that it was time to act. He pushed himself off the frame and walked over to [Name], his presence commanding but measured. “You seem lost in thought,” he remarked, his voice steady and confident. “As though the world is pressing down on your shoulders. Would you care to share what’s on your mind?”

[Name] looked up, surprise flickering across their features. They hadn’t expected anyone to approach them, let alone someone as imposing as Ratio. “I—” they started but faltered, words caught in their throat. Instead, they lowered their gaze again, unable to meet his intense eyes.

“Do you think avoiding conversation will ease your burden?” Ratio pressed gently, crossing his arms. “You’re not the only one who carries a heavy heart in this place.”

At his words, [Name] finally met his gaze, feeling a flicker of curiosity. “What do you know about burdens?” they replied, a hint of defiance in their voice. “You seem too busy with your own ambitions to care about anyone else.”

Ratio’s expression softened slightly. “On the contrary. My ambitions stem from a desire to eradicate ignorance and share knowledge with others. But that doesn’t mean I’m oblivious to the pain around me. I’ve witnessed the struggle in many faces, including yours.”

[Name] inhaled sharply, feeling a twinge of something—recognition, perhaps. “I don’t know how to handle this,” they admitted, their voice barely above a whisper. “Robin—she was my friend. But… now she’s gone. I don’t know how to keep going.”

The vulnerability In [Name]’s voice struck a chord in Ratio. “Grief can be consuming,” he acknowledged, his tone shifting to something more empathetic. “But you must find a way to navigate through it. Knowledge is a powerful tool; it can guide you when all feels lost.”

“Easy for you to say,” [Name] shot back, frustration bubbling beneath their words. “You’re a genius. You have all the answers. What do you know about loss?”

Ratio’s expression hardened for a brief moment before he regained his composure. “I may not know your specific pain, but I’ve faced my own losses. The world is filled with cruelty and hardship, yet I refuse to succumb to despair. I channel my grief into purpose.”

Intrigued by his earnestness, [Name] felt the walls they had built around themselves begin to crack. “And what’s your purpose in this competition? To show off your intellect? To prove something to those who doubt you?”

“Partly,” Ratio admitted, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face. “But more importantly, I want to inspire others. I believe knowledge should be accessible to all, not just a select few. This competition offers a unique platform to reach people who might otherwise remain in the dark.”

Aventurine’s performance reached its climax, and the audience erupted into rapturous applause, bringing the waiting room back into focus. Ratio’s gaze shifted towards the screen momentarily, then returned to [Name]. “You see, we all have our own battles to fight. Yours may seem insurmountable right now, but perhaps you can find a way to transform that pain into something powerful.”

“Powerful?” [Name] echoed, skepticism lacing their tone. “How? How can I turn this agony into strength?”

Ratio’s expression softened further, revealing a glimpse of the man behind the intellect. “By sharing your story, by connecting with others who understand your struggle. It may not happen overnight, but every step counts. You don’t have to walk this path alone.”

For the first time, [Name] considered his words. They had been so consumed by their grief that they hadn’t thought about how sharing their pain could foster connection. “You really believe that?” they asked, searching Ratio’s eyes for sincerity.

“I do,” Ratio replied firmly. “And I’d be honored to help you find that strength. We can challenge this competition and the expectations that come with it. Knowledge and compassion can pave the way for a brighter future—even in a place like this.”

As Aventurine won his performance, the sound of applause washed over them once more, but this time, [Name] felt a spark of hope flicker within. Perhaps, just perhaps, they could forge a connection amidst the chaos.

This unexpected twist meant they would have to work together, possibly forcing them to confront their own struggles side by side.

“Looks like our paths are intertwined,” Ratio said with a hint of amusement, though the underlying tension was palpable. “Are you ready for what lies ahead?”

Taking a deep breath, [Name] nodded, feeling a mix of apprehension and newfound determination. “Let’s see what we can do together.” they replied, a flicker of resolve igniting in their chest.

However, as they prepared to face the trials ahead, an unsettling thought nagged at the back of [Name]’s mind—a sense of foreboding that something darker was lurking just beyond the horizon of their newfound partnership.

“Just remember,” Ratio said, his gaze steady, “in this competition, we’re not only battling for ourselves but for those we’ve lost. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

[Name] felt a chill run down their spine, a premonition that echoed ominously within. The weight of his words lingered in the air, a fragile promise underscored by the reality of their perilous surroundings. In this arena of ambition and peril, they both knew that not everyone would make it through unscathed, and somewhere in the depths of their hearts, a fear grew that one of them might soon pay the ultimate price.

As the applause thundered through the walls, Sunday found refuge in the solitude of a dimly lit bathroom. The sounds of excitement and celebration in the waiting room felt like distant echoes, mocking the void inside him. He gripped the cold porcelain sink, knuckles whitening as he leaned over, desperately trying to steady himself. His eyes, usually clear and resolute, were clouded with grief and a pain he couldn’t seem to shake.

The loss of Robin hung over him like a storm he couldn’t escape, a ceaseless torrent of guilt and sorrow. Memories of his sister—her laughter, her strength, her unwavering kindness—flooded his mind, each one a dagger that twisted deeper into his heart. He remembered the last conversation they’d had, the words they’d left unsaid. If he had been there for her…

A tremor ran through him, and he swallowed hard, his throat tight with suppressed emotion. Sunday wasn’t one to reveal his vulnerabilities, especially not now, when so many were depending on him to remain strong, rational, and composed. But in this moment, all pretense fell away. He was just a brother grieving his sister, grappling with a loss he couldn’t protect her from.

“Robin…” he murmured, his voice barely audible, thick with pain. The name felt like broken glass on his lips, sharp and cutting. His grip on the sink tightened further, and his reflection in the mirror blurred, obscured by the tears he refused to shed. How had he failed her so utterly? How had he let her slip away in this brutal competition, this world that valued survival over compassion, cruelty over kindness.

He took a shaky breath, forcing himself to keep standing. There were others still here, others he was responsible for, others who could still be saved. But the thought felt hollow. What was the point if he couldn’t save the one person who’d mattered most to him?

Sunday’s shoulders slumped, and he closed his eyes, trying to regain a semblance of composure. But the weight of his loss was overwhelming, pressing down on him with unrelenting force. For the first time in his life, he felt truly powerless.

He heard faint footsteps outside, voice muffled but growing closer. He clenched his jaw, willing himself to bury his grief, to hide it as he always did. The world wouldn’t care about his pain. It had never cared. And he wasn’t sure he had the strength to care anymore, either.

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