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pathologicalreid · 4 months ago

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hysteria | s.r.

in which the BAU is called into a case in rural Appalachia when bodies start showing up in an abandoned insane asylum

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst (horror?) content warnings: hanging (staged suicide), enucleation, established relationship, ghosts, insane asylum, rope burn, premonition in dreams, death, pov switches, "the green ribbon", lobotomies, abduction, corporeal vs spirit form, CPR, hospitals, painkillers, first aid word count: 8.8k a/n: hey guys i am literally not one to beg for interaction but like if you could send an ask or gimme a reblog if you liked this it would probably make my day. this fic is just an excuse for me to tell ghost stories! and just like that, margotober is over. man, it sure would be a shame if i had something planned for november!

night one

“This is a joke, right?” You asked, eyeing the rest of the team as they observed the property before you. The dilapidated building that stood in front of you was previously completely abandoned, and now you weren’t entirely sure if the yellow police line was new or if the tattered plastic was a result of a crime of the past.

It looked like one of the haunted houses that Spencer would drag you to, one with a much too high budget that would leave you feeling like you needed to scrub cobwebs from your skin. You were waiting for the sheriff to make his way up the hill that the asylum was perched on, the BAU had made it up in SUVs, but the locals elected to hoof it.

Tugging the sleeves of your FBI jacket over your hands, you tapped your heel impatiently and observed the scenery. The fall foliage was in peak season, orange and red leaves fluttered in the wind, falling from the trees until they hit the ground. To the left was the town, small and hidden within a river valley, and to the right was a field of gravestones. Each life lost in the asylum whittled down to a number, hundreds of weathered rocks marked where a body was buried. Even after all of your years with the BAU, the sight still made you sick to your stomach.

The death count on this property had gone up by twelve recently, a group of college kids had found the first body hanging from the staircase, and it seemed like a semi-routine suicide until the local cops did a full sweep of the building and found eleven other bodies, each hanging in a different room.

It wasn’t until the medical examiner looked at them that they realized they were out of their depth, the oldest of the bodies had been dead before they were hung, which told you that hanging the bodies was the intention of the killer and he was beginning to perfect his M.O. Even more than that, the last two bodies had been enucleated post-mortem.

Being grateful for the method by which a person had their eyeballs destroyed wasn’t an emotion you felt frequently, and it was an odd thing to admit to yourself as you consciously blinked.

Over the curve of the hill, you watched as a couple of locals made their appearance, each of them equipped with a flashlight. The sun was beginning to set. Emily had made the executive decision that this case couldn’t wait until morning, so you took off in the middle of the day. Glancing over your shoulder, you found Spencer’s eyes and he gave you one of his patented half-smiles before you looked back at the foreboding building.

The structure had electrical issues, leading to lights flickering all over the crumbling brick walls. The flashes were starting to play tricks on your eyes because you would’ve sworn that you saw a woman in one of the windows, in a long white dress as she looked down at you and your team.

“You must be the BAU,” the sheriff greeted once he was close enough to your group, he waved before huffing impatiently. “Sheriff Shawn Greenbaum, this here is Deputy Conrad Perkins,” he introduced himself and the man with him. You studied them, trying to gauge information about them based on appearance alone.

Emily nodded, reaching her hand out for him to shake and introducing herself before making the rounds with the rest of the team. “Agents Simmons and Lewis are already at the station getting settled, but the rest of us are interested in getting in the building and taking a look around.”

Greenbaum placed both of his hands on his hips before clearing his throat, “That’s not a problem at all. We’ve got a lock up on those front doors to try and keep people out, we’re hoping it’ll put a halt on any more crime.”

Kicking mud off of your boot, you and JJ shared a dubious look. In your line of work, where there’s a will there’s a way—a padlock would do very little to help keep your killer out of the asylum. Even so, you all followed the sheriff as he produced a key from his belt, leading the way to the front doors. They were made of rotting wood. If someone really wanted to get past the lock, they could probably kick them in.

The smell hit you before you stepped foot inside the building, the stench of mildew wafting through the air made you crinkle your nose as you closely followed JJ into the building. A gentle touch to the small of your back told you that Spencer was behind you, each of you shuffling in single file behind the sheriff.

“The first body was found hanging over there,” the deputy, Perkins pointed straight ahead toward the winding staircase. You studied the peeling wallpaper and looked at the faded signs above the different hallways, barely able to make out the words tuberculosis and adolescent as you strolled through the main lobby.

Since they’d initially assumed it was a suicide, the body had been taken down, so even though you had twelve bodies to start your profile with, you didn’t have a fresh crime scene anywhere. In fact, you’d wager a guess and say there’s nothing fresh about this building.

Cringing as you walked over a pile of wet paper, you listened to Emily as she gave everyone jobs, “Reid and I will keep talking to the sheriff, Rossi and JJ, why don’t the two of you check out this wing here with the deputy, and Luke and Y/N can take the upstairs.”

You looked up and found Luke, following him to the staircase and ducking under the noose to go up the stairs, hesitant to use the handrail as you made your way to the second floor, knowing there was plenty of building for the two of you to explore. Pulling your flashlight from your belt for additional lighting, the sight in front of you was worse than what you had seen downstairs. “Watch your step,” you said absentmindedly, bypassing a bucket filled with what you sincerely hoped was water.

“When was this place built again?” Luke asked you, knowing you had done preliminary research with Spencer on the jet. He produced his own light, slipping his cell phone from his pocket and using the flashlight function.

You checked the ceiling, wondering where the beams were and if any bodies had been found in the hallways, “The 1860s,” you responded, keeping your voice soft so you didn’t disturb anything in the building—living or otherwise. You found yourself wanting to walk to the window you had seen that woman in earlier.

Alvez made a disgusted noise at something, and you refrained from looking back at it, knowing you likely didn’t want to know. “And what patients did they predominantly treat?”

Fiddling with the door handle, you nudged the door open with your knee, coughing at the puff of dust that met you on the other side. “They started with a little bit of everything. The elderly, children, adolescents, epileptics, TB patients,” you listed off. “We even found records of people accused of ‘excessive self-satisfaction,’” you continued, finding the window in question. The only thing you found was the same flickering sconce you had seen from the outside.

“Self-satisfaction?” Luke repeated the phrase curiously.

You tapped the sconce with the end of your flashlight, getting it to stop flickering before you clarified, “Masturbation.”

Expectedly, Luke chuckled lightly at your answer, “How exactly would one quantify excessive masturbation?”

Raising your eyebrows, you studied a strange mark on the cement floor, “I assure you; I have no clue.” You turned around, expecting to see Luke right in front of you. “Luke?” You called out his name, confused when you didn’t see him in your line of sight, you flashed your light around the room, wondering if he had found something. “Ah!” You yelped when a hand touched your shoulder, causing you to drop your flashlight.

Luke cackled from his place behind a bookshelf, “It’s gonna be a long case if you’re that tightly wound the entire time.”

You swatted at him with the sleeves of your jacket, “Asshole,” you muttered, taking the practical joke mostly in stride.

“Y/N?” Spencer called from the first floor. Your voice must have carried down the stairs, or they heard the flashlight fall to the ground.

Glaring at Luke, you shouted back, “I’m fine!” You crouched to pick up your flashlight, blowing dust off of it before you tightened your grip around it, “Grow up, Alvez.”

He rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, so what did they do after they took in a little bit of everyone?”

You hummed, stepping back out into the hallway, and looking into what you assumed were offices—most of the patients would’ve lived on the first floor. “They started to focus on patients with mental disorders in the 1970s. Around the same time that medicine in psychiatry started to make advancements,” you kicked at a piece of cloth on the ground. “It closed down in the early nineties when people finally started acknowledging that things like lobotomies and electroshock are inhumane.”

Luke picked the next room, wiggling the doorknob before he used his shoulder to push the door open, “Woah.”

Stepping in behind him, you saw what he was looking at. Along the wall was a mural of sorts, a landscape that featured a caricature of the sun. Next to it, the words ‘let the sun shine in’ were scrawled in black paint.The colors were eerily vibrant for the age of the building, “Well that’s…” You let your voice trail off, looking at the size of the furniture in the room and ascertaining that it was likely designed as a treatment space for children.

“Do you hear that?” Luke asked, shining his flashlight around the room and looking for the source of the noise.

Fortunately, you weren’t that gullible, “Yeah, right.” You scoffed, turning back and seeing Spencer at the top of the staircase, “Hey,” you said, tilting your head to the side curiously.

He smiled at you softly, “Hey, it looks like it’s about to rain, so Emily’s having all of us head back to the precinct. We can look at the M.E. reports knowing what we know now about the crime scene.”

You nodded, looking into the room to find Luke, still shining his phone in every corner, “Luke, it’s probably just a rat or a tree branch tapping on the side of the building.”

Luke’s eyebrows were pinched together in concern, but he followed your footsteps into the hallway, falling to the back of the group as the three of you walked downstairs, meeting the rest of the team in front of the asylum.

“It’s kind of weird,” you said mostly to yourself, though you were entirely aware of the people who were surrounding you.

Spencer hummed curiously, making sure the sheriff wasn’t watching before he adjusted the collar of your jacket, “What’s weird?” He asked, mimicking the soft tone of your voice.

You looked back at the window where the light had started flickering again, “How all of these people were forced into the asylum by their loved ones, and now the word has an entirely different meaning.”

Holding your mug in both hands, you listened carefully to the crackling fire in the lobby of the hotel. Matt stood up from where he was sitting so that Spencer could sit next to you, and you absentmindedly slung your legs over his lap, thinking about the case. More specifically, you were thinking about the scene.

Spencer set a hand on your pajama-covered thigh, using his other hand to hold his book open as you listened to the other noises in the lobby. There was a storm going on outside, and a certain level of unease blanketed the team, leading to a convening in the hotel. Emily and Tara were going over case files, Matt and JJ were on the phone with their families, Rossi was playing Tetris on his phone, Luke was on the phone with someone, and you were just observing.

Eventually, Luke spoke up to everyone, “Hey guys, listen to this,” he said, holding his phone out and clicking the speakerphone button, “Okay, go ahead Garcia.”

Your eyebrows raised in amusement at the revelation that he was on the phone with Penelope, but you were still grateful to hear her voice coming through the speaker.

“I hope you’re all cozy by the fire because I have found a story about your crime scene that will chill you to your bones,” she prefaced, and you smiled slightly at her embellishments. “Catherine Pence was admitted to the Barnham Asylum for the Mentally Ill in 1978 at the age of 53. She lived a totally normal and insignificant life until she was 50 years old and her mother passed away, at which point, the people in Catherine’s life said she started to behave strangely.”

Snapping his book closed, Spencer set the novel in your lap before pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, “Strangely, how?”

Penelope cleared her throat, “I’m glad you asked, Dr. Reid. She was convinced that her mother was still with her. In fact, she would frequently be confused when other people told her that they couldn’t see her mom. Eventually, she started showing other concerning symptoms, so her husband brought her to Barnham.”

You frowned, sharing a glance with JJ, who had hung up the phone, “What kinds of other symptoms?”

“The file I got my hands on specifically cites paranoid thoughts, but that’s not even the spookiest part,” she continued. “When the doctors did their first examination of Catherine, they decided that whatever she was dealing with wouldn’t be amenable to any sort of treatment. She was a very calm patient who periodically had conversations with her dead mother and voiced paranoid thoughts, but they put her in Block D.”

Block D was the section of the hospital set aside for patients in need of around-the-clock care, which seemed a bit extreme for Catherine.

There was a clicking on Penelope’s end of the call before she resumed, “Anyway, Block D had sixteen rooms and there was always some form of supervision, usually a nurse. All of the doors were locked and there were bars on the window, so it was impossible to get anywhere without someone noticing, or so you would think.”

You settled further into the couch cushions, and Spencer instinctively squeezed your thigh.

“On December 1st, 1978, when the nurse went into Catherine’s room with her breakfast tray, she found the room in absolute tatters. I mean, the bedding was shredded, there was broken glass, everything was scattered around the room, and Catherine was missing.” Penelope said, emphasizing the last word.

Luke, who had previously seemed bored by the story, leaned forward, setting his elbows on his knees, “What happened to her?”

Penelope hummed, knowing she had sucked everyone into the story, “The search started immediately. You don’t just have someone escape an inescapable room and move on with your day. The windows, walls, and floor in Block D were completely intact and there was no sign of tampering with the door. No one could figure out how she got out, much less where she was.”

She didn’t wait for anyone to speak before she continued, “Catherine’s nurse said that she was unusually moody and had been for weeks. She completely stopped speaking and showed no reactions when people spoke to her and it was apparently very sudden, but that didn’t really provide any insight into where she could be. The staff searched the surrounding area thoroughly, but there were no leads. Eventually, they notified her relatives and the residents of the town in case she had somehow gotten out of the hospital.”

Then, on January 12th, 1979, a group of men that the asylum hired to do repair work on the second floor found that there was a door locked from the inside.” Garcia cleared her throat before resuming the story, “They also discovered an unpleasant smell emanating from the room, and when they finally got into the room, there was Catherine Pence.”

You wrinkled your nose in disgust, simply just imagining the smell of the room.

“Her clothes were removed and neatly folded next to her and her arms were crossed over her chest, one below the other,” Penelope continued. “Mysteriously, when her body was removed and taken to the morgue, there was a trace left on the concrete floor that corresponded exactly to the figure of Catherine. No matter how many times or what they’ve tried, they can’t get the mark out of the concrete.”

Your blood ran cold at the memory of the strange shape you’d seen in the asylum, “What?”

Penelope hummed, “The medical examiner considered hypothermia as a potential cause of death, but apparently that winter was unseasonably warm, so he settled on a heart attack.”

“Did they ever consider homicide?” Rossi asked, attempting to seem uninterested.

There was a chuckle on the other end of the call, “Yes, they did, but they never found anything else to support that theory. At that point, the room Catherine was found in hadn’t been opened since 1976 when it was used to contain patients with a contagious infectious disease. Since then, the room remained locked.” You could practically hear Penelope’s smile as she divulged the final detail, “Residents of the town say that, sometimes, you can hear cries for help coming from the building. There are even reports of Catherine’s ghost being seen in the window of the room where she died, she just stands there and stares out the window.”

Everyone sat around in silence for a moment before Luke grabbed the phone off of the coffee table, “Yeah, alright, thanks, Garcia.”

“Sleep well, my pretties,” she crooned through the phone before the call ended.

You felt heavy as if there had been a weight placed on your chest, and in an attempt to rectify it, you handed Spencer his book, “I’m headed to bed.”

He looked up at you curiously, eyes studying yours before he nodded, “Alright, I’ll be up in a little while,” he assured you.

Your body carried you to the hotel room, using the key to unlock the door and somehow making it to the bed even after your mind had completely turned itself off. You didn’t remember falling asleep, but you remembered waking up.

As you sat up in bed, you were having trouble holding your head up, finding that you couldn’t turn your neck to see if Spencer had made it to bed. More than that, the room was pitch black when the two of you usually leave the bathroom light on in hotels. Opening your mouth, no words came out.

Small puffs of air escaped your lips, but nothing else came out. You couldn’t move your hands to your neck—you couldn’t move at all. You wanted to call out for Spencer, and even though no sound came out of your mouth, you saw him before you.

Your eyes widened at his sudden appearance, suspiciously illuminated in the otherwise dark room.

Tantalizingly slowly, his hand reached out for you, touching the skin of your neck with his fingertips before pulling. It felt like he was pulling at a thread, and all you could do was watch as his hand came back with a piece of twine pinched between his fingers and your disembodied head fell to the floor.

You gasped for air, holding your hand to your chest and panting, unable to figure out how to get air into your lungs when you so desperately needed it. There were other hands on you, gently placed on your hip and upper back, the latter rubbing small circles as you choked on nothing but air.

“Hey,” Spencer whispered, continuing his ministrations on your back. “It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he comforted you, trying to get you to even out your breathing.

Carefully, his hand reached up to your neck, sweeping hair behind your shoulder, but as soon as you felt his hand on the side of your neck, you flinched away from him, nearly toppling off of the double bed.

He pulled you back as gently as he could, “Y/N,” he said, his voice stern this time as he turned to flick the lamp on. “What happened?”

You shook your head, appreciating how secure it felt to the rest of your body, before pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes. “It was just a nightmare,” you answered, the sound of your own voice felt disconnected from your body.

“You don’t usually call out my name in your nightmares,” Spencer observed softly, trying to get you to open up more to him, “And you’ve definitely never pulled away from me like that.”

He was right, you had your general recurring nightmares—mostly work related—but you’ve never had anything like this before. You didn’t know how to explain it to him, because how would you explain to your rational, genius boyfriend that you thought you were seeing ghosts?

night two

You felt his eyes on you, Spencer’s big, brown eyes were boring right into yours as you looked at the foreboding structure in front of you. You weren’t even sure how long you’d been watching the stained-glass window, waiting for something to happen, waiting for the ghost to come back.

Sighing, you leaned back in the passenger seat of the car, thinking about the now-cold coffee that you had sitting in the cup holder and wondering if it would be worth the caffeine if it meant you had to pee in the woods at some point in the night.

“You should’ve stayed at the hotel tonight,” Spencer said, his eyes still focused on you.

You pursed your lips, watching the light flicker in the window, “We have a job to do.” That should’ve been enough for him, it had to be enough for you, knowing that at the end of the day, this was just a case and you’d be going home once you found whoever was doing this.

Finally turning his head, Spencer huffed in frustration as he faced the front door of the asylum. “I know you didn’t get back to sleep last night, so you have to be exhausted now,” he told you.

It was nearly midnight now, and you indeed hadn’t gone back to sleep after waking up at two in the morning, but you still agreed to a stakeout when Emily suggested it. Spencer called you out on it then, similarly to what he was doing now, and you were sure he had something to do with you being paired up together. If you ever found out he had voiced a concern about you to Emily, you were going to have issues.

The cool glow of the waning gibbous moon reflected off of the building, the effect only building the eerie feeling in your stomach, winding itself up like a ball of yarn.

With the morning came another body, and it became clear to Emily and the locals that the camera surveillance that had been set up along the perimeter wasn’t doing anything to bring you closer to closing the case. So, she had you and Spencer sitting in a car at the front entrance, each of you armed and on high alert, no matter what your boyfriend thought.

On the other side of the building, Luke and Tara were in another vehicle, keeping an eye on a back entrance that had the potential to be an access point for the UnSub.

Keeping an eye on your window, you squinted as if you could somehow summon Catherine Pence’s ghost. You wished you’d been paired up with Luke again, who at least had seen the mark on the floor, but instead, you had Spencer, who had meddled with your work out of concern for you.

You sighed, reminding yourself that he only did it out of concern for you, wondering how to approach the issue when an all-too-familiar figure appeared in that second-floor window, “Do you see that?” You blurted the question before you could even think about what you were saying.

Instinctively, Spencer placed a hand on his weapon while looking through the windshield of the car, “See what?”

You furrowed your brows, pointing as plainly as you possibly could to the second-floor window where you saw the woman, “On the second floor. Off to the right,” you said desperately, wanting him to see it, wanting him to believe you. “Don’t you see her?”

Spencer’s hand dropped as his gaze went from the building and back to you, “Honey.” You tried to ignore the emotion-filled tone that he gave you, flooding the pet name with an apt amount of concern.

Sitting back in the car seat, “Never mind, I didn’t—” you cut yourself off, “I just thought I saw something.” You tried to play it off, crossing your ankles one over the other and shifting in the seat, trying to keep your ass from going numb.

His eyes were still trained on you, and you tried to ignore him even as he locked the passenger door from the inside. The car remained absolutely silent until you heard a voice come in from the radio, “This is the Death Star calling for the Bat Mobile, over.”

You rolled your eyes at the sound of Luke’s voice, “Don’t call this car the Bat Mobile,” you told Spencer as he lifted the radio to his mouth.

“This is the Bat Mobile, we can hear you loud and clear Death Star, over,” Spencer responded, grinning at the way you groaned in response. The poltergeist of it all nearly forgotten for just a moment.

Placing your head in your hands in frustration as you waited for Luke’s response, Spencer reached over and smoothed your hair back, the gesture feeling oddly domestic for a stakeout. Maybe that was why Emily never paired the two of you together. “Yeah, we aren’t seeing anything out here, are you clear on your end?”

Spencer’s ministrations on your hair faltered for just a moment before he answered, “No, we haven’t seen anything.”

“Tara just got off the phone with Emily, they got the lab results back on those tools we found by the latest victim,” he informed you, “The blood on it was a match.”

You pressed your lips together in a thin line and shared a look with Spencer. Part of you was grateful to finally feel like you’d made some semblance of progress with the case, but the other part of you felt physically ill knowing that the latest victim had been enucleated using an orbitoclast. Her eyes and sockets were pulverized by a lobotomy pick, and it almost made you feel like you needed a word stronger than sadist.

“Did the medical examiner say the injuries matched the patterns of the other two enucleated victims?” Spencer asked into the radio, holding it close to his mouth as he spoke.

There was a pause before Luke responded, “Uh, kind of.”

You frowned, “What do you mean ‘kind of?’”

Another pause, “The M.E. concluded that the wound patterns are the same on the three latest victims, but the injuries on the most recent one were inflicted antemortem,” Luke explained.

Your eyes widened as the weight of Luke’s words joined the pit in your stomach, her eyes had been pulverized while she was still alive. The M.E.’s conclusion matched the one you had proposed when you saw the blood spatter this morning. You held your breath to stop a sound of disgust from escaping your lips, but you knew Spencer saw it on your face.

“Thanks for the update,” Spencer said, turning down the volume on the radio slightly before setting it on the dashboard.

Swallowing thickly, you placed both of your hands in your lap, studying them as if you’ve never seen them before, “Have you ever gotten the feeling that a case isn’t going to end well?”

You caught him while he was about to take a sip of his coffee, his movement paused for a moment before he took a swig anyway, setting the cup in the cup holder and nodding, “Yeah,” he answered, his voice raspy before he cleared his throat, “I have.”

Running your tongue over your molars, you raised your eyebrows at him in curiosity, “What usually happens?”

Spencer sighed, going back to facing the asylum before he held his hand out for you to take, you obliged, setting your intertwined fingers on the center console. “The case usually doesn’t end well,” he admitted.

“When are you going to tell me what your nightmare was about?” Spencer asked, squeezing your hand as he made conversation, trying to keep the two of you awake through the night.

Leaning your head back, you looked through the sunroof of the car, thrilled to see the sun beginning to rise over the tiny town. “I don’t think it really matters, it was just a bad dream,” you told him, clearly aware of why it mattered.

You even knew why it mattered to him. You’d never pushed him away like that before, but as soon as his hand had gone near your neck, you’d completely lost control of your body. “Look, I know I don’t believe in dream analysis—”

“Oh,” you scoffed, cutting him off. “Yes, you do,” you corrected him, “You do this all the time, you talk about dream analysis, and you claim that you don’t believe in it but then you actually get into it, and you admit that you just don’t like what Freud has to say about it. Then you’ll list everyone who has discredited him before you tell me ‘Jung still has his merits.’”

Spencer was quiet, and you immediately regretted your interjection.

Sighing, you wished you could melt into the passenger seat of the car, “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I don’t think that analyzing my dream right now will do any good, but I just… I’m sorry.”

He was still silent.

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you turned your body as best you could in the vehicle, “Do you believe in the afterlife?”

That got his attention. Spencer turned his head to you, concern etched into his face, “Why are you asking me this?”

You couldn’t tell him. You’d break his heart if you told him that throughout the duration of this case, you’d developed a pit in your stomach and started having dreams about dying. “In my dream, it was like… like I was paralyzed, and I couldn’t move my head. I couldn’t speak or anything and when I thought about calling for you, you appeared.” You sniffled slightly, “You reached out for my neck and your hand came back with a piece of twine, and then my head fell to the ground—completely detached from my body.”

The lack of judgment in his expression was what finally triggered the first tear to fall from your eye, but you didn’t wipe it away. Spencer moved his hand and deftly wiped at your tears with his fingertips, cupping your face in his hands, “You’re not going to die.”

“Spence,” you said, your voice strained by emotion.

He shook his head gently, “Nope, not as long as I’m around. You’re not going to die on this case.”

Your chest ached as your eyes studied his, “Okay.”

“But,” he continued, “I want you to take a step back on this one. No more volunteering for stakeouts, no wandering to the second floor of the asylum, and no listening to any more of Penelope’s ghost stories.”

Nodding, you silently agreed to his conditions, holding out your pinky and waiting for him to present his. Interlocking your small fingers, you each kissed your hands, and you took a deep breath. “What do you think we’re looking at, Spence? Is it another witch hunt?”

Names and faces of people like Leland Duncan and James Heathridge flashed in your memory, but if there was an overlap there, you haven’t seen it.

You didn’t feel like the BAU had a very good track record in Appalachia, Shane Wyland and the still unnamed ‘Mountain Man’ were proof enough of that, but you hoped that Wyland was long dead by now, and these crimes were too organized for the Mountain Man.

“I don’t know, baby,” Spencer admitted, and you knew that it hurt him to say that to you, especially now.

Looking out the window, your eyes caught on Luke and Tara as they made their way over to your car. Spencer unlocked the doors as you hurriedly wiped beneath your eyes, trying to hide any evidence of your upset before reconvening with the team.

Luke waggled his eyebrows at the two of you, “Good morning, how was your night?”

Groaning, you stretched out your neck, “Ultimately uneventful,” you told him, knowing that if anything of real interest had happened, Luke and Tara would’ve been the first people you notified.

“Prentiss asked us if we’d do a quick sweep of the inside before heading back to the precinct,” Tara said, jutting her chin in the direction of the building.

You and Spencer shared a look, but now that you were grouped within your team, you felt comfortable enough to slip your hand in his as the four of you approached the building. Squeezing his hand, your eyes flickered up to the second-story window, and seeing nothing, you stepped into the building.

The smell hit you. The strong tang of blood mixed with that of isopropyl alcohol burned at your nostrils as Tara swore at the sight in front of all of you. A body hanging from the stairwell, eyes completely destroyed, and while the body was covered in blood, the floor was completely void of any red.

“She’s cleaning up,” you observed, stepping closer to Spencer and looking at the streak marks that a rag had made on the floor.

Luke raised his eyebrows, “She?” He asked, confused about the sudden change in pronouns while Tara immediately went to call Emily.

Spencer nodded, agreeing with you as the three of you watched the body turn in the glow of the sunrise, “A man wouldn’t care about the mess he’s leaving behind.”

This revelation left you more confused than anything, you had no idea how anyone could lift that much dead weight, night after night. “Oh,” you breathed, blood draining from your face as you looked up at Spencer and Luke. “We were watching the building all night,” you reminded them. “We never saw anyone enter, but we never saw them leave.”

night three

“Alright,” Emily started, fully equipped in her Kevlar, she looked around the entryway of the asylum, “Rossi and Tara will keep an eye out front in case anyone tries to make a run for it. Reid and JJ will take the tunnels beneath the west wing, Simmons and I will take the east wing, Alvez and Sheriff Greenbaum will head north, and Y/N and Deputy Perkins will stay here in the foyer in case anyone calls for backup.”

In the dark building, Spencer gave your hand a squeeze before everyone turned on their flashlights. “Let’s end this,” Rossi said, earning a hum of agreement as everyone split off into their respective directions.

You wished Emily had done you the kindness of letting you be paired with Spencer again, but twice in the span of a single case was seemingly too much to ask for. “You ever seen something like this?” Deputy Perkins asked you, shuffling his feet across the floor.

Shaking your head, your eyes focused on where the newest body had been found that morning. The body was cleared out and the cause of death was blunt force trauma, but once the realization that the killer had been in the building the entire time settled in, the team got to work on figuring out some of the logistics.

That was when the sheriff brought up the possibility of the killer using a long-abandoned tunnel system. The town had assumed they caved in years ago, but a bit of sleuthing had revealed that there were still a select number of tunnels for her to use.

As long as I stay in the foyer, you reminded yourself, no wandering.

The stench of isopropyl alcohol still floated through the air; it had likely sept into the porous flooring that had been underneath the body. You made note of the flickering lights in the surrounding area, making sure not to get any of them mixed up as you rested a hand on your firearm.

“Did you hear that?” Deputy Perkins asked you, looking up the stairs and shining his flashlight on them, trying to see if he could find anything in the eerie abyss of darkness.

Swallowing thickly, you shook your head in response, “No,” you told him, looking to the left and right of you, wondering if one of the pairs that had been sent off was returning. You hadn’t heard anything coming from the upstairs.

He hummed, taking a step closer to the staircase and setting off alarm bells in your head, “I’m sure I heard a shuffling coming from upstairs.” The pit in your stomach reformed as he planted a foot on the staircase and waved you over, “Come on, we should check it out.”

You hesitated, “We’re supposed to be here if someone needs backup,” you reminded him, nearly pleading with him not to abandon his post.

Perkins shrugged at you before taking another step. “I’m going to check it out, and there’s safety in numbers,” he countered before ascending the steps, making it to the first landing before your feet finally moved.

“Fuck,” you muttered as you followed him up the stairs, taking careful steps so that they didn’t creak beneath you. You reached the second-floor seconds after him, but you shone your flashlight around without any sign of him, beaming the light into the familiar room, “Deputy Perkins?”

You stepped into the room, placing a hand on your firearm as you tapped on the flickering sconce again and looked behind you. Your breathing hitched at the sight of the deputy in front of you, he was crumpled to the floor, his legs folded unnaturally, and there was a lobotomy pick that went straight through his head.

Next to him stood a woman, her clothes were tattered and stained with blood, and she came at you, shoving you to the ground and leaving your gun and flashlight scattered on the hardwood. The force of the impact knocked the wind out of you, and you got yourself out from under her while she frantically searched for a missing piece of the puzzle.

She’d used her pick to take out the deputy, leaving her with nothing to gouge your eyes out. You weren’t sure if you should feel grateful as you rolled over and grabbed the closest thing you could, wrapping your fingers around your flashlight and swinging it aimlessly against your attacker.

“No!” She screamed a high-pitched, blood-curdling sound rang out as you hit her on the side with your law enforcement issue flashlight. The object slipped out of your fingers as you sat up and tried to reorient yourself with your surroundings, you couldn’t see your gun, searching for it as she flung your flashlight back at you, the edge of it catching on your forehead as you fell back.

The UnSub straddled your waist, keeping a firm hold on your throat as she held the pick to your eye, having pulled it from the deputy’s head so that she could complete her ritual, “Don’t,” you gasped, “Think—” your voice broke off as vomit rose in your throat. “Think of the mess,” you told her. “You used all the rubbing alcohol,” you reminded her, pleading with her not to take your eyes.

She was seething, very nearly foaming at the mouth above you as instead of stabbing you with the pick, she used the butt of it to crack against your skull. “You took my friends!” She raged, referring to the people that she had murdered, she was collecting them to keep her company.

“No,” you wheezed, shaking your head even through the blinding pain, “I set them free,” you challenged her, resigning yourself to an untimely demise and crying out when she sat you up.

You tried to claw at her, a weak attempt at saving your own life that received a laugh from the UnSub, an almost childlike giggle. “You can be my friend,” she offered, grabbing an already prepared rope from the floor and looping it around your neck before she slung it around an exposed beam, creating a makeshift rig and pulling on it.

Immediately, your hands flew to your neck, trying to stop the rope from suffocating you completely, and it worked for a little while before your feet lifted off of the ground.

After that, you were gone, left standing off to the side as you watched your body hang from the ceiling while the UnSub who would always remain an UnSub to you watched, cackling as she did so. She cackled up until the moment JJ put a bullet in her brain, the sudden death of your attacker leaving your body to drop to the hardwood floor, the hit softened by Spencer and Emily as they caught.

Tossing the rope to the side, Spencer laid you out on the floor and ducked his head to your chest, listening for breathing sounds. He was listening for anything, any sign of life at all.

There was nothing, so he put his hands on your corporeal form’s chest and started CPR, pushing down on your chest in steady motions.

You knelt down to him, watching tears fall from his face as JJ did her best to keep your airway open and Emily frantically radioed for an ambulance, continuously repeating that Y/N is down.

Assuming your hand would go right through him, you placed a hand on Spencer’s back, surprised to find that he was still solid to you. In a sort of daze, you watched him as he tried to save your life, repeating the same three words over and over again, “Come on, baby.” The mantra continued, tears falling onto your shirt.

You felt like you were on fire as if your body was physically burning while you watched life-saving measures be performed on yourself, “Oh, Spencer,” you whispered. “I’m so sorry,” you said to no one but yourself, knowing that he couldn’t hear you.

Looking to your side, you saw her again. The spirit form of Catherine Pence was watching you die in real-time, and you took a shuddering breath as she knelt next to you, expecting her to impart some sort of spiritual wisdom onto you.

Instead, she placed one of her ethereal hands on the back of your head and slammed both of your forms together. The entire world went dark after that, but you could still hear everything going on, searing pain ran through your entire body, from a throbbing in your ankle to an ache in your ribs to a pulsing in your head, but there was no more pressure on your chest.

“Is she…?” You heard JJ’s voice first, and as badly as you wanted to open your eyes, you just couldn’t gather the strength to do so.

There was heavy breathing and a soft weight on your shoulder, two fingers pressed into the pulse point on your wrist, “She’s breathing. She’s alive,” Spencer answered, out of breath. “Oh, my angel.”

A low groan was the only thing you could muster up.

Spencer shushed you, keeping his head on your shoulder and his fingers on your wrist, “It’s okay, don’t try to talk,” he cooed. “You’re going to be okay, the paramedics are here,” he lifted his head then. “I just want to stay with her.”

aftermath

It was far too bright for you, and the low keening sound that you expelled from your throat was the only way you could think to express that feeling. Whoever was in the room with you understood, turning the brightness down for you, earning a hum of approval from you.

“Hey,” Spencer whispered, his voice barely audible as he tried to keep his voice as low as possible.

The universe was taking pity on you, you knew it because you couldn’t feel any pain, which either meant you had finally kicked it or the hospital you were in had given you painkillers.

Your eyes felt like they were stuck together, the way that they get when you wake up from a perfect nap, and it took a surprising amount of energy to part your lips, expelling a deep breath out of your mouth. The action led to a pinching pain in your chest, causing your breathing to hitch, “Ow.”

“Sorry,” Spencer said, though you couldn’t imagine what he was apologizing for. “Can you open your eyes? How are you feeling?”

A grunt was all he received in response, the single noise begging him to slow down. Your eyes opened just slightly, looking at him through slivers as he smiled softly at you. His eyes were red and there was a box of Kleenex on the table next to him, accompanied by his phone and a cup of water.

He sighed in relief once he noticed that your eyes were opening, “Hey,” he repeated, “You look good,” he lied to you.

You rolled your eyes at him and his smile only grew, “Hi,” you croaked, your throat swollen and dry as you tried to reorient yourself. You were in a hospital, but the view outside of your window was of a city, not the tiny town that you had just been in.

Noticing your confusion, Spencer reached out to adjust your nasal cannula, “They transported you to a hospital in a city. The local hospital just didn’t have the capacity to treat you,” he explained. “I’ve been with you,” he reassured you, “The entire time.”

“I’m sorry,” you rasped, but he waved you off instantly.

Spencer grabbed the Styrofoam water cup from your bedside table and held it to you, bending the straw so that you could get some water.

Noting his silence, you tilted your head to the side, ignoring the way your brain felt like it had been scrambled, “Are you okay?”

He pursed his lips while setting the cup back down, “I just remember thinking about how I promised you that you weren’t going to die.”

The antiseptic air made you cringe, your body becoming more and more conscious as time went on, “I wandered,” you reminded him, making sure he knew that you broke your promise first.

“That wasn’t your idea,” Spencer challenged, knowing you well enough to say that without having experienced it himself. His fingers nimbly adjusted the blanket on your hospital bed, “You followed the deputy upstairs, it wasn’t your choice.”

In your current state, Spencer wouldn’t let you take any of the responsibility for what had happened in the asylum and even though you knew the answer, you asked him anyway, “Is she dead?”

Nodding softly, he took your hand in his, “She’s dead, and someday I’ll let you know her name and read the rest of the case, but today is not that day.” He skimmed his thumb over your knuckles, each of them cracked and bloodied from your fight with the UnSub.

You sighed in relief, a single tear receding into your hairline as you closed your eyes again, “How long have I been sleeping?” You asked, squinting over at your patient care whiteboard.

“Two days,” Spencer answered gently, dragging his fingers up and down your forearm, “You were tired, and your body had a lot of healing to do. It still does,” he added the last part, not wanting you to claim being healed. “Everyone’s still here, waiting for you to be discharged,” he continued, “I should message Emily, actually.”

“And Penelope,” you added, knowing she’d rather hear it directly from him than through Emily.

Spencer chuckled lightly, a sound that was as curative as any medicine you could be given, “I’m sure she’ll be waiting for us at the tarmac in Quantico.”

A small smile sprouted on your face, “She’ll be the one landing the plane,” you laughed slightly, interrupted by a fit of coughing. You placed a hand on your chest and winced, inhaling sharply before trying to breathe through the pain.

“What do you need?” He asked you carefully, setting his phone back down after sending his texts.

You shook your head, “Nothin’, just you.”

It was an action that would’ve previously earned a few stares from the team, and at least one wolf whistle from Luke, you and Spencer slipping into the galley together and closing the curtain behind you. Now it was simply the easiest place for you to get some semblance of privacy as Spencer snipped at the old bandaged around your neck.

Your hair was secured atop your head, keeping it out of the ointment as Spencer used his fingertips to carefully cover the rope burn that had been left around your neck. “Does it hurt?” He asked, eyes focused on his canvas while coating the hollow of your throat.

Shaking your head minutely, you closed your eyes, “No,” you told him, a slight rasp still peeking through your tone.

He hummed in response, giving you a small smile as he went back to the tube, putting more ointment on his fingers, “Liar.”

Opening your eyes again, you looked up at him as your face warmed, “Only a little bit,” you altered your answer. At this point, the worst part about the burn was that the nurses recommended keeping it covered, and Spencer was taking his job as caretaker very seriously.

He checked his phone for something before going back to his prior actions, “I think it’s getting better,” he observed, furrowing his brows as he wiped excess ointment from his fingers.

You took his word for it, having been avoiding looking in a mirror at all costs. Seeing the bruises all over your body was more than enough for you. You flinched when someone else slipped into your oasis, Emily shut the curtain behind her, holding out a pack of non-adhesive Telfa pads for Spencer to use on your neck.

“Hey,” you said nervously, wondering if she had another purpose or if she was simply bringing you some first-aid.

Emily smiled nervously; her eyes studied the marks on your throat as Spencer covered them. You expected her to speak, but she just watched in complete silence.

Raising your eyebrows, you looked from her to Spencer, and back to her again. “You should see the other guy,” you joked, earning the slightest smile from the both of them.

“I just wanted to let you know that however much time you decide to take off, it’s yours,” she offered to you, watching as Spencer unwrapped another packet of gauze.

You hummed, “I’m really alright, Em,” you assured her, more than comfortable with the automatic six weeks that you were granted by the bureau. It was the standard set for all agents unless there was an extenuating circumstance that prevented them from returning to work.

Emily’s nervous smile returned, “It wasn’t a suggestion,” she informed you, letting you know that she was more or less forcing you to take the extended time off.

Peering at your boyfriend, you frowned, “You put her up to this.”

Spencer shook his head, “I didn’t. Stop moving so much,” he urged you, trying to stretch the number of Telfa pads he had before he had the chance to go to a pharmacy.

“He didn’t,” Emily iterated, “But he could’ve, and I still wouldn’t tell you,” she added. “We’ll talk more—both of you. For now, I don’t want to see you around the BAU for a while.”

You sighed when she left the galley, Spencer finished his last placement before stepping back. “How do I look?” You asked him, keeping your question mostly rhetorical.

His smile was so gentle that it cracked at your resolve, “Good.”

Looking up at him doubtfully, you leaned against the counter, “You’re a really bad liar.”

“Hey,” he said, carefully wrapping his arms around you and letting you rest the unmarred side of your head on his chest, “You look alive, and that’s good enough for me.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst #spencer reid x fem!reader #written by margot #margotober #angstober

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lady-ashfade · 8 months ago

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Abed

´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒ team green x hateful reader (slight Aegon x reader)

╰･ﾟ✧☽ dabble.

╰･ﾟ✧☽ warnings: reader hates cole so bad, uncanon events, targ-cest, had a thought for days and made it, team green defenders don’t come after me- because I’m not on their side doesn’t mean I am a bad person, or hate you. I understand you💜🫵

“I was abed, your Grace.”

Spinning your finger around the cup as Aegon questioned the man you hated for years and his response made a laugh rumble from your throat. Silent sweeps the room and all eyes turn to you while it goes unnoticed by yourself from the thoughts in your head. Mourning wasn’t a word to describe what you felt, anger and madness perhaps are the best words to use.

Aegon stepped back and glanced curiously at you while caught in a daze, “Sister?” his calling is enough to snap out of it. As his eyes found yours it was clear the single thread behind his eyes began to snap, “Care to share what is a jest to you at a moment like this?” all watch as he walks across the table.

“While my son is dead?” he stopped before you.

Alicent knew the hatred for Cole runs throughout your blood. Ever since you were a child you refused to listen to him, mocked him, even tried to stab him in training. Some of that hate was also for her as well but you loved her enough. Though, the way you looked at both of them with a sly smirk of what you had witnessed a few weeks before put it through doubt.

“I am just tickled, by the person who is really at fault her brother. Aegon you of course took the knights and some men to entertain last night, but I am sure there were more when I left helaens room last night?” fulling playing with them as you lean back in the chair, “If I recall our mothers hall happened to have all guards dismissed last night.”

Alicent looked frightened and wanted to beg you to keep silent as the men look at her, Cole by her side in disbelief. “Ser Criston Cole said he was abed,” looking into the dark haired mans eyes, you feel a power wash over you unlike anything you have felt. “But he did not say where.”

Aegon looked at the man who helped raise him and his jaw tighten, “tell the truth,” taking a deep breath before slamming his hands down onto the table, “Now.” He shouted and made all except you flinch.

“Forgive me, but the princess has no idea what-” pushing the chair out from beneath your legs in a haste movement and grabbing hold of the handle of your sword.

“He was bedding our mother,” the looks of shock are louder then words could say. leaning closer to your older brother, “he left his post at your child’s bed. But clearly what’s in between our mothers legs is more important.”

“That is enough,” Alicent raised up and looked at both of you in tearful eyes, “I am to blame. Punish me, we meant non of this to happen.”

“Is it true.”aegons head starts to shake, his eyes darkening.

One simple nod and cry from his mother and that’s all he needed and rushed forward to cole and start to shout and punch him. Of course cole is more skilled and managed to slip away. And as much as you enjoy some action be taking against him, you had to stop it.

“Strip him of his power, his armor but don’t kill him,” Aegon alway had a soft spot for you because you understood him, played along to his ways. “Let me handle him, and let our mother go unharmed.” Raising a hand to his cheek you stroke the skin, he was so easy to manipulate.

“He is yours, sister. Punish him however you see fit.”

I really hate coke so much. Like if i could just skip to his death i would, i couldn’t care about anything else. Idk if you are mad at that, he just pisses me off.

#house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon #Criston Cole x reader #Criston Cole #alicent hightower x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen

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dreamlanderin · 1 month ago

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You don't see me, Part 5 (Sam x reader)

Summary: You're in Green Hollow, Sam and Dean race to find you. Follows after part 4

Warnings: Swearing, blood, gore, horror, angst (Legit almost everything you can expect from a supernatural episode), spoilers if you squint?

Words: 10k (I got carried away)

You’d been following Bobby’s directions for hours, squinting at a hand-drawn map that seemed to make less sense the further you drove. The landmarks he’d mentioned—a crooked signpost, an old water tower—had been there, sure, but they looked… different. Faded, almost distorted, like you’d stepped into some parallel version of the real world.

Your phone was useless out here, the signal dead the moment you’d left the last highway. You’d tried restarting it, even waved it in the air in a desperate attempt to catch a bar, but nothing. Just static.

And then, after what felt like an eternity of wrong turns and second-guessing, you’d found it. The town. Green Hollow.

It didn’t look like much—a handful of buildings huddled together in the middle of nowhere, their facades weathered and crumbling like they’d been abandoned decades ago. But the lights were on in some of the windows, and you’d caught glimpses of movement behind curtains and doorframes. A general store, a diner, what might’ve been a post office—they were all there, clustered around a single stretch of road that barely qualified as Main Street.

At first, it had seemed… normal. Quiet, but normal. Until you stepped out of the bike.

That’s when you felt it. Eyes on you.

It wasn’t subtle, either. People weren’t sneaking glances from behind windows or casually looking up as they passed. No, they were staring. Full-on, unapologetic staring, like you were some kind of intruder who’d wandered where you didn’t belong. A woman sweeping the porch of the general store stopped mid-swipe, her hand frozen on the broom as her gaze locked onto you. A group of kids on bikes paused at the corner, their laughter dying as they turned in unison, their faces eerily blank. Even an old man sitting on a bench across the street was watching you, his eyes unblinking, his hands resting motionless on his cane.

You tried to shake it off, brushing past the unease with a shrug as you headed toward what looked like a diner. You’d figured maybe you could grab something to eat, ask a few questions, and figure out your next move. But when you pushed open the door, the bell jangling above your head, the low murmur of conversation inside died instantly.

Every head turned toward you. Every set of eyes.

You froze, the weight of their stares pressing against your skin like a physical thing. The room was small, just a handful of tables and booths, but it felt suffocating. The waitress behind the counter—young, with a crooked name tag that read Mary—stood frozen, the coffee pot in her hand hovering inches above a mug. The man she’d been serving, a burly guy in a flannel jacket, turned his head so slowly it was almost unnatural, his gaze pinning you in place.

You managed a tight smile, forcing your voice to stay steady. “Uh… is the kitchen still open?”

Mary didn’t answer. She just stared at you, her wide eyes flicking briefly to the other patrons before settling back on you.

“Okay,” you muttered under your breath, backing toward the door. “Guess not.”

No, just no. You left the diner without another word, the weight of their stares trailing you all the way to the sidewalk. The air outside felt colder now, heavier, and as you glanced back at the windows, you swore you saw the curtains twitch.

You tried the motel next, if you could even call it that. It was more of a rundown, single-story building with a flickering VACANCY sign hanging crooked above the office door. But when you stepped inside, the tiny reception desk was empty, the bell for service cracked and rusted. You’d called out, your voice echoing in the stillness, but no one came.

It wasn’t just the motel, either. The gas station was locked up, the lights inside dim. The general store had closed early, its door chained shut. Even the post office, which had looked abandoned at first glance, now seemed to hum faintly, like there was someone—or something—inside watching you.

You tried not to let it get to you, tried to tell yourself it was all in your head. Bobby had said there was just some strange weather or something you needed to check out, this didn’t feel like strange weather at all. Did he give you the right map?

You’d gone back to your bike, luckily it was still there, a part of you thought it might be missing when you went back. It would have to do for now, maybe you should camp for the night? The headlights cast long, distorted shadows across the empty street, and in the rearview mirror, you thought you saw movement—a figure standing just beyond the edge of the light.

But when you turned to look, the street was empty.

By now the sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving the town cloaked in an uneasy twilight. The streets were deserted, silent except for the faint creak of an old weather vane spinning lazily in the cool evening breeze. You’d pulled your motorbike up to the edge of the road, flicking the kickstand down and cutting the engine. The silence that followed felt too heavy, like it had been waiting to swallow the sound whole.

Unfolding the crumpled map Bobby had given you, you tried to make sense of the faded lines and scrawled notes. The directions had been straightforward enough when you set out, but now the roads seemed to twist and blur together, leading nowhere. Your headlamp cast just enough light to make out the words, but even they felt wrong somehow, like the map was deliberately trying to confuse you. You were hungry and tired, you wish you’d taken some snackss when you’d stopped by the gas station.

You tried your phone again but nothing.

You shifted your weight on the bike, exhaling sharply to ground yourself. It was fine. You’d figure it out. You always did.

But then you noticed them.

At first, it was just a flicker of movement in the corner of your eye—quick, darting, like shadows stretching in the fading light. You brushed it off as nothing, focusing instead on the map. But the flickers kept coming, and when you finally glanced up, you saw them. The children.

They were standing in the dim glow of a streetlamp a little ways down the road, half-hidden in the shadows. Two, no, three of them. Their faces were blank, pale, and still, with eyes that seemed to glint unnaturally in the low light. You recognized them immediately—the same kids you’d seen earlier when you’d first rolled into town. They’d been playing by the fountain in the square, laughing and running circles around each other. But now? Now they weren’t laughing. They weren’t moving at all.

They were just staring at you.

You looked back down at the map, trying to shake the uneasy feeling creeping up your spine. It was fine. They were just kids. Probably curious about the stranger in town. Kids were like that, weren’t they? Still, your fingers tightened around the edge of the paper, crumpling it slightly as you forced yourself to focus.

The sound of small, deliberate footsteps broke the silence.

Your head snapped up, and you realized they were closer now. Still not speaking, still not smiling—just standing there, watching. One of them, a girl with long, stringy hair that clung to her face, tilted her head slightly, the movement unnervingly slow. Her eyes caught yours, and for a split second, you felt frozen in place, like she was daring you to look away.

You cleared your throat, gripping the handlebars of your bike. “Can I help you?” you asked, your voice steadier than you felt.

No answer. Just silence, thick and oppressive.

This wasn’t right, you thought. Your hand itched against your thigh, next to you knife.

The boy next to her—a gangly kid with a too-thin frame and a face that looked too sharp in the dim light—took a step forward. Then another. His bare feet scuffed against the pavement, the sound too loud in the stillness.

You didn’t wait for them to get closer.

Stuffing the map back into your jacket, you swung your leg over the bike and fumbled with the ignition. The engine roared to life, a comforting burst of sound that cut through the quiet. You glanced back toward the children, expecting them to scatter at the noise.

But they didn’t move.

If anything, they seemed closer now, their figures outlined by the glow of the streetlamp. The girl’s lips curved into something that might have been a smile.

Your heart thudded in your chest as you revved the engine, trying to drown out the rising panic. You weren’t scared of a few kids. You’d faced worse, far worse. This was nothing. Just your nerves playing tricks on you. Right?

You shouldn't have come here. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that their eyes were following you, even as you turned the bike and sped off down the road. The town blurred around you in streaks of dark shapes and flickering lights, but you couldn’t bring yourself to slow down, not until the uneasy weight pressing on your chest began to ease.

But as you glanced in the mirror, your stomach dropped.

They were still there. And their eyes, they were black now.

Demons. Where the hell did Bobby send you?

You twisted the throttle, the bike roaring beneath you as the town faded behind in a blur of dark shapes and faint streetlights. The air felt heavier with each mile, like you were dragging it with you, and the memory of those children’s unblinking stares clung to your mind like smoke. You told yourself to shake it off, to focus on the road ahead, you needed to leave, and now.

The first time you noticed them, you thought it was just your nerves. A man in a dark coat, standing under the yellow haze of a streetlamp, his head turning to follow as you passed. Then another—a woman in a pale dress, sitting on the steps of a house with her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her eyes locked onto you, they flashed black. Then another, and another. Figures standing in doorways, leaning out of windows, scattered across the streets like chess pieces on a board.

All of them were watching you.

Your chest tightened as you leaned into the bike, urging it faster, the engine growling as the wind whipped past your face. The cold bit at your cheeks, sharp and unforgiving, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the growing weight of their stares. They were everywhere now, appearing out of shadows and corners, their faces blank but their eyes piercing.

Your breath came faster, shallow and uneven, as you tried to push the bike harder, faster. The town blurred around you, the streets twisting and curling like the lines of Bobby’s map. You didn’t know where you were going—just away.

Then you saw her.

She was standing in the middle of the road, a small figure bathed in the pale glow of your headlamp. The white dress she wore was stark against the darkness, its hem brushing her bare ankles as the fabric swayed gently in the wind. Her hair, dark and loose, framed a face that was eerily calm, far too still for a child standing alone in the street at night.

You slammed the brakes, the tires screeching against the pavement as the bike skidded sideways. Your heart leapt into your throat as the handlebars jerked in your grip, and for one terrifying moment, you thought you’d lose control. The bike wobbled, then steadied, stopping just a few feet from where she stood.

The engine idled loudly, its growl the only sound breaking the eerie silence. Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, your hands gripping the handlebars so tightly your knuckles ached. The girl didn’t move. She just stood there, her arms hanging loosely at her sides, her head tilted slightly to one side as she watched you.

You cut the engine, the sudden quiet almost deafening. The faint hum of the wind picked up again, carrying with it the distant creak of something—maybe a swing set or a weathered sign—moving in the darkness.

She stood, there unphased.

“Hello,” she said, her voice soft and clear, like the chime of a bell.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry as sandpaper. “Hey,” you managed, your voice rough and uncertain. “You… okay, kid?” You look at her, please be a kid.

She tilted her head further and gave a faint nod, her dark eyes glinting in the light of the bike. “I’ve been waiting, you know” she said simply.

“Waiting for what?” you asked, your pulse thundering in your ears.

She smiled then, small and faint, but it sent a chill crawling down your spine. “For you.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and suddenly, the air felt colder. Heavier. You glanced around, your eyes darting to the shadows that lined the street, searching for… something. Someone. But the street was empty now, eerily so. The figures who’d been watching earlier were gone.

Just you and the girl.

Your hand instinctively moved toward the knife strapped to your thigh, your fingers brushing the hilt as your muscles tensed. “Who are you?” you asked, your voice sharper now, more demanding.

Her smile didn’t waver as her eyes flashed white.

“I’m Lilith”

✦────────────────────✦────────────────────✦

It had taken Sam and Dean almost a full day just to figure out which road to take. They’d driven through the area where Green Hollow was supposed to be—at least twice—but the town itself was nowhere to be found. The map didn’t make sense, the roads didn’t match up, and every turn seemed to lead them back to the same stretch of empty highway.

“This is ridiculous,” Dean muttered, gripping the steering wheel with frustration as the Impala rumbled down yet another unmarked road. “It’s like the damn town doesn’t exist.”

Sam, slouched in the passenger seat with a map unfolded across his lap, ran a hand through his hair and let out a sigh. “The map says it’s supposed to be right here,” he said, jabbing a finger at a point on the paper. “But it’s not. None of this lines up.”

Dean shot him a glare. “You think I don’t know that? We’ve been driving in circles for hours, Sam. Maybe Bobby gave us the wrong coordinates.”

Sam shook his head, his brow furrowed in thought. His knee bounced restlessly, his fingers gripping the edges of the map a little too tightly. “Bobby doesn’t make mistakes like that. If he says it’s here, it’s here. We’re just missing something.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, like a magic portal, maybe? ‘Cause I’m not seeing a single sign of this Green Hollow anywhere.”

Sam didn’t respond right away. His mind was a tangle of frustration and unease, not just from the endless backtracking but from the weight of the vial still tucked away in his duffel bag. He hadn’t touched it, not since he’d packed his bag back at the motel, but just knowing it was there was enough to keep his nerves frayed. He’d told himself it was just a precaution, but he knew better. The temptation was clawing at him, and the withdrawal only made it worse. His hands itched to fidget with something, but he forced them to stay steady, even as a cold sweat broke out at the back of his neck.

They’d eventually pulled off into a small, run-down gas station on the outskirts of a nearby town, the kind of place where time seemed to have stopped thirty years ago. The fluorescent lights flickered, and the old man behind the counter looked like he hadn’t seen a stranger in years.

“Green Hollow?” the man had repeated, squinting at them from behind the counter. “Why the hell would you wanna go there?”

Dean had leaned against the counter, his tone flat. “Long story. Can you tell us how to get there or not?”

The old man had given them a long, scrutinizing look before finally jerking his thumb toward the window. “You’ll need to take the dirt road about five miles west of here. Ain’t marked, but you’ll see it if you’re looking. Place is a mess of old trails and overgrowth, though, so good luck not getting lost.”

“Great,” Dean had muttered under his breath, already dreading the drive.

“You boys sure you wanna go poking around there?” the man had added, his voice lowering slightly. “Ain’t much left of Green Hollow. Place is washed up. Folks there don’t like strangers much.”

Sam had thanked the man and grabbed the directions, but the warning lingered in the back of his mind as they left the gas station and headed back to the Impala. Dean, of course, hadn’t cared. “Washed up or not,” he’d said, starting the car with a growl of the engine, “we’re finding this place.”

As they drove toward the dirt road, Sam leaned his head against the window, the vibration of the Impala’s engine doing little to calm the restless energy swirling inside him. His thoughts drifted—mostly to you. What was he even going to say when he saw you again? How could he explain himself, the mess he was in, and the way he’d let so much spiral out of control? Every time he thought about it, the words felt like sand slipping through his fingers.

Would you even want to hear him out? He wasn’t sure he’d deserve it, not after leaving things the way he had. But the thought of you out here, alone, in a place that didn’t even seem to want to be found—it made his chest tighten.

The dirt road wasn’t hard to spot once they knew where to look, but navigating it was another story. It was narrow, uneven, and riddled with potholes, winding through dense trees that seemed to swallow the light. The further they went, the more the air seemed to change—heavier, quieter, like the forest itself was holding its breath.

Dean had grumbled the whole way, swerving to avoid a particularly deep rut in the road. “This better be worth it,” he’d said, gripping the wheel tighter as the Impala jolted over another bump. “If we end up driving into some Deliverance situation, I’m blaming Bobby.”

Sam didn’t respond, his focus split between the map in his lap and the weight of his duffel bag at his feet. He hadn’t opened it, hadn’t even looked at it since they’d left, but the knowledge of what was inside felt like a lead weight. He’d brought the vial with him. He didn’t know why—it wasn’t like he planned on using it. But the thought of leaving it behind had felt like a risk he wasn’t ready to take. It wasn’t just the blood that haunted him, though. It was you.

His thoughts circled back to you, and he found himself gripping the map a little tighter. He couldn’t stop imagining the way your face might look when he showed up—surprised, maybe even angry. But there was also a small, selfish part of him that hoped you’d still look at him the way you used to, with that quiet trust that had always unnerved him a little because he wasn’t sure he’d ever deserved it.

Then they found it an old sign written in yellow: Green Hollow.

Dean slammed the car door shut, stepping out into the late afternoon sunlight, the Impala parked a little crooked near the curb of Green Hollow’s diner. The town, to both their surprise, had a pleasant hum to it. People walked casually along the sidewalks, chatting with neighbors or carrying groceries. A group of kids on bikes zipped past, laughing as they raced down the street.

“This doesn’t look like the kind of place someone vanishes into thin air,” Dean muttered, shielding his eyes against the sun as he scanned the square.

Sam climbed out more slowly, rolling his stiff shoulders. “Yeah,” he agreed, his voice distant. The heavy bag slung over his shoulder seemed to weigh more than just his belongings. He could feel the glass vial inside, nestled among his clothes, and it gnawed at him like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

Dean gave him a sideways glance as they started toward the diner. “You good?”

Sam nodded too quickly, his hand brushing against the strap of his bag. “I’m fine.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, his frown deepening as his gaze dropped to Sam’s hand. It was trembling slightly, the motion faint but noticeable.

“You look like crap, man,” Dean said bluntly, stopping short of the diner steps.

Sam ignored him, brushing past with a muttered, “I said I’m fine.”

Dean didn’t push, though his jaw tightened. Dean’s gaze flicked toward the people milling about the square. “Alright,” he said, grabbing his jacket and opening the door. “Let’s ask around.”

They split up, keeping the square in sight as they started talking to locals. Most of the people they approached seemed friendly enough, offering polite smiles and vague answers about the town’s quiet charm. No one acted suspicious, and no one seemed particularly interested in two strangers asking questions.

Sam spoke with a woman near a flower shop, her apron dusted with dirt and her hands holding a small pot of marigolds. “I’m looking for someone,” he explained, showing her a picture of you that Bobby had dug up. “She might’ve passed through here recently.”

The woman squinted at the photo, then shook her head with a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry, hon. Can’t say I’ve seen her. But if she’s new, she might’ve stopped by the diner. Folks there know everyone who comes through.”

Sam nodded, thanking her before heading back toward the square to meet Dean.

Dean wasn’t having much luck either. He stood near a group of men loading lumber into the back of a pickup truck, arms crossed as he asked about you. The men glanced at the photo, shook their heads, and returned to their work without much interest.

“Nothing,” Dean muttered when they regrouped.

Eventually they headed to the diner. Inside, the place was all warm lighting and polished chrome, the scent of coffee and grease hanging in the air. A waitress with a kind smile greeted them and gestured to a booth near the window.

Dean slid into the seat first, his eyes already scanning the room for anything out of the ordinary. Sam took the other side, resting his elbows on the table as he tried to focus on the menu. His fingers tapped lightly against the laminated paper, his leg bouncing under the table.

What’s that smell? Something to Sam had smelled familiar, it made his head dizzy and his hands shake. It was all over this place.

“You want coffee?” Dean asked, his voice tinged with a note of something sharper—concern disguised as nonchalance.

“Sure,” Sam said, though he barely glanced up.

When the waitress returned with two cups of coffee and Dean’s order of pie, Sam reached for his cup, but his fingers faltered, the handle slipping slightly before he steadied it. Hot liquid sloshed near the rim, and Dean didn’t miss the way Sam’s hand trembled as he lifted the cup to his lips.

Dean’s frown deepened, but he didn’t comment, choosing instead to spear a piece of pie with his fork. “You think she’s here?” he asked after a moment, his tone casual.

Sam shrugged, his gaze fixed on the steam rising from his cup. “Probably,” he said. “I mean, Bobby said this was the last place she was headed. She might just be laying low—sleeping it off at one of the motels or something.”

Dean’s eyebrow arched. “Sleeping it off? She’s not exactly the ‘kick back and relax’ type.”

“Yeah, well,” Sam muttered, taking another shaky sip of his coffee. “Neither are we, but it happens.”

Dean didn’t argue, though the skeptical look on his face spoke volumes. He leaned back in his seat, watching as Sam stared down into his coffee like it might hold the answers he was looking for.

Sam’s thoughts, however, weren’t on the coffee or even the town around them. He kept picturing the look you might give him when you saw him again—angry, maybe hurt. And he deserved that, didn’t he?

He couldn’t stop the sarcastic thought that crept into his mind: Sorry I ignored you and didn’t call for weeks—my bad. How’s the hunting going?

The corner of his mouth twitched briefly at the ridiculousness of it. But beneath the sarcasm, there was a weight—a fear that whatever he said wouldn’t be enough to bridge the gap between them.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Dean said, breaking the silence.

Sam blinked, looking up. “What thing?”

“The thing where you overthink everything and don’t say squat,” Dean said, pointing his fork at him. “If you’ve got something on your mind, spill it.”

Sam shook his head, brushing it off. “It’s nothing.”

“Yeah, sure,” Dean muttered, digging back into his pie. “And I’m the Tooth Fairy.”

They finished their meal and headed back to the Impala, deciding to drive around town to get a better sense of the place. The streets were starting to quiet as evening crept in, the earlier buzz of activity tapering off into the kind of calm that made Dean’s instincts prickle.

They saw it.

Dean slowed the car, his gaze locking onto a familiar shape propped awkwardly against the curb.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, throwing the car into park and jumping out.

Sam followed, his stomach sinking as they approached the bike. It was unmistakably one of Bobby’s—a sturdy machine with just enough wear to show its history.

“This is hers,” Dean said, crouching down to inspect it. “It’s one of Bobby’s. I fixed it up last time I was at the junkyard.”

Sam knelt beside him, his fingers brushing the handlebars. The grease stains were still there, faint but unmistakable.

“Why is her stuff still here?” Dean noted your duffle bag was still attached and looked up, thinking maybe you were close by and that he’d spot you comping up the sidewalk.

“Dean” Sam looked at him pointedly, Dean frowns but notices what Sam was hinting at,

Dean’s hand brushed against the handlebar, and his eyes caught on a streak of something dark near the base of the grip. His fingers hovered over it before he rubbed at it gently, then brought his hand closer to his face.

“Is that…?” Dean’s voice trailed off, his jaw tightening as he recognized the faint but undeniable smear of blood.

Sam stiffened, his chest tightening. “It’s fresh,” he said quietly, his hand gripping the strap of his bag like it might anchor him.

Dean glanced around the street, his gaze sharp. “Alright, now I’m officially not liking this”

“Don’t look at them, act normal” Sam whispered “It’s impossible for nobody to have seen her, either there is something wrong with this town, or there is something wrong with them”

Dean’s jaw tightened as he glanced at Sam, his grip on the wheel still firm. “And what exactly do you mean by ‘something wrong with them’?” he asked, his voice low but edged with unease.

Sam shifted, keeping his voice steady despite the jitteriness clawing at his insides. “I mean, they’re too normal. It’s like they’re trying too hard not to notice us—or the bike.” He gestured subtly toward the people walking down the street, all of them going about their business as though nothing was out of the ordinary. Not one of them had so much as glanced in the direction of the bike, even though it was left awkwardly propped on the sidewalk.

Dean’s eyes flicked back to the street. The people moved in a rhythm that felt… off. Perfectly timed, like they were part of some eerie choreographed routine. A woman pushing a stroller stopped at the exact same moment a man adjusted his tie, as if they were mirroring each other. A group of kids laughed too loudly as they walked past, their laughter abrupt and out of sync, cutting off too quickly.

Dean muttered under his breath, “Yeah, no, that’s not creepy at all.”

Sam leaned closer, lowering his voice even further. “Don’t stare. Just… keep it casual.”

Dean shot him a sidelong glance, one brow arched. “We’re driving a classic car through the middle of a washed-up ghost town. Casual isn’t exactly in the cards.”

Sam’s hand twitched, and he clenched it into a fist to steady the tremor. His palms felt clammy, and he rubbed them against his jeans as he tried to focus. “Look, all I’m saying is we don’t know what we’re walking into. This place isn’t right, and if they’re not going to give us anything willingly, we’ll have to figure it out another way.”

Dean sighed, his knuckles whitening as he tightened his grip on the wheel. “Great. So, what’s the plan, genius?”

Sam didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed fixed on the street ahead, his mind racing through the possibilities. “We start with the motel,” he said finally. “If she’s not there, we’ll ask around—but carefully. If they’re hiding something, we don’t want to tip them off.”

Dean nodded, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease. “Fine. But if one of these Stepford rejects tries anything, I’m not playing nice.”

Sam almost smiled at that, but the weight of the situation kept his expression grim. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Sam’s gaze lingered on the bike. The faint smear of blood and the ignition still on gnawed at him. You had to be somewhere close. He just hoped they weren’t already too late. Please be okay, please, please

✦────────────────────✦────────────────────✦

The cold, hard floor beneath you was a poor substitute for shelter, but it was the best you could manage under the circumstances. You didn’t know how long you’d been here—probably just a few hours—but it felt like an eternity. The first rays of sunlight began creeping through the grime-covered windows, casting faint streaks of pale gold across the room. It was almost comforting, but not enough to banish the dread clawing at your chest.

Your body ached in ways you hadn’t thought possible. You shifted slightly, wincing as a sharp pain shot through your side. You pressed your hand against the source—a gash just above your hip. It wasn’t deep enough to be fatal, but it was bleeding more than you liked, the steady trickle soaking through the makeshift bandage you’d tied around it. Your left arm wasn’t much better; a long scrape ran from your elbow to your wrist, raw and throbbing. Nothing life-threatening, but enough to make every movement a struggle.

Your thoughts replayed the chaos from hours earlier, every detail burned into your mind. When Lilith had finally revealed herself, you’d bolted, your instincts screaming at you to run. You’d leapt onto your bike, the engine roaring to life as you sped away. But the moment you turned out of the main street, you realized you weren’t alone. The townspeople—those same eerily vacant faces that had stared at you when you arrived—had started to chase you.

They came out of nowhere, spilling onto the streets like a wave, their footsteps pounding against the asphalt as they gained on you. You had pushed the bike as fast as it would go, weaving between narrow streets and tight corners, but they were relentless. One of them—a man with hollow eyes and dirt-streaked clothes—had managed to grab at your arm as you turned a corner. His grip was iron-strong, his nails clawing into your skin as he nearly dragged you off the bike. The memory of his face—too close, too wrong—sent a shiver down your spine.

In a panic, you’d reached for the knife strapped to your thigh, slashing at him with wild desperation. The blade cut deep, and he stumbled back with a guttural sound that didn’t quite seem human. Blood had splattered onto your arm, hot and sticky, but you didn’t dare look back. You’d gunned the throttle, the engine screaming as you tore down the road, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst. You didn’t even notice you were hurt

But the bike was loud, and it drew attention. You could hear them behind you, their shouts echoing in the night, growing louder with every turn. You knew you couldn’t outrun them forever—not on the bike. It was too conspicuous, too easy to track. You needed to disappear. So, when you spotted the outline of the old school in the distance, you made your choice.

You’d parked the bike.. The engine clicked softly as it cooled, but you didn’t wait around. You grabbed your bag, slipped the knife back into its sheath, and ran, your boots crunching against the gravel as you darted toward the schoolyard. The building loomed ahead, its dark windows staring back at you like empty eyes. It was large enough to hide in, with plenty of rooms to keep you out of sight. You hadn’t seen anyone else as you crept inside, but you hadn’t taken any chances.

Now, in the relative stillness of the classroom you’d chosen, you took stock of what little you had. The desks and chairs scattered around the room had been pushed to one side to make space for your rudimentary fortifications. On such short notice, you’d done what you could to ward off any demons that might come sniffing around.

A quick search of the school had turned up a few supplies: an old box of chalk, a rusty pair of scissors, and some forgotten cleaning supplies tucked away in a janitor’s closet. It wasn’t much, but you’d made it work. Using the chalk, you’d drawn a devil’s trap on the floor just inside the door, ensuring that any demon who stepped into the room would be instantly immobilized. The scissors weren’t exactly iron, but they’d do in a pinch as a makeshift weapon if you had to fight your way out.

You’d also found a bottle of salt in one of the abandoned classrooms—probably left behind by a teacher who’d used it for a science experiment. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough to line the windowsills and the threshold of the door. It wouldn’t hold up forever, especially if Lilith decided to come after you herself, but it was better than nothing.

The faint sound of footsteps outside the building sent a chill down your spine. You froze, your hand instinctively going to the scissors you’d tucked into your waistband. They weren’t close—yet—but you could hear them, the steady crunch of gravel underfoot and the occasional murmur of low voices. The townspeople. Or… whatever they were. You’d heard them last night, too, their footsteps echoing through the schoolyard as they searched for you. They’d come so close to the building that you’d barely dared to breathe, afraid they’d hear you.

The faint light of dawn creeping through the window offered little solace. You didn’t know if it was enough to keep Lilith at bay. If she wanted you badly enough, the salt wouldn’t matter. But for now, you had to hope that your makeshift defenses would hold. You pulled the scissors from your waistband, gripping them tightly as you pressed your back against the wall, listening to the sounds outside. You were going to die here, you thought. And Bobby, Oh Bobby would blame himself.

What about Sam and Dean? You hadn’t even said goodbye to them. The thought twisted in your chest like a knife, sharp and cruel. And now, here you were—hurt, bleeding, hiding in an abandoned school—about to die because you’d been too damn stubborn, too caught up in proving yourself.

No. You shook your head sharply, banishing the thought before it could take root.

I am not going to die here.

You took a shaky breath, pressing your palm harder against the wound on your side as if the pressure alone could hold you together. I will live. I’ll see Bobby again and hug him so hard he’ll call me an idjit. I’ll laugh at Dean’s stupid jokes again, and when I see Sam, I…

Your thoughts faltered. What would you do? What would you even say?

The memory of his face surfaced—those warm, haunted eyes that always seemed to carry the weight of the world. Would he even care? Would he even look at you the same way? You didn’t know. But there was no time to dwell on that now.

Movement caught your eye. You pressed your back flush against the cold wall, your breathing shallow as you stared at the stained glass window across the room. Shadows moved on the other side, their distorted silhouettes flickering against the colorful panes. They were there.

The tapping started—a slow, deliberate sound that sent shivers down your spine. Fingernails, or maybe claws, scratching at the glass, testing it. They were looking for a way in.

Your grip tightened around the scissors in your hand, the dull metal pressing against your palm. It wasn’t much, but it was all you had. Your gaze darted to the devil’s trap on the floor, the salt lines around the windows and door. You’d done everything you could to fortify this room, but was it enough?

The tapping grew louder, more insistent. Then came the whispers—low, guttural murmurs that didn’t sound quite human. They were speaking, but the words didn’t make sense, like a language that didn’t belong in this world.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the sound deafening in the otherwise silent room. You forced yourself to stay still, to stay quiet, even as every instinct screamed at you to run.

But where would you go?

The shadows grew darker, the tapping more frantic. Then, suddenly, the whispers stopped. The silence was worse. It stretched on, heavy and suffocating, pressing down on you like a weight you couldn’t escape.

And then, a voice—soft, childish, and chilling.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Your blood turned to ice. You knew that voice. It was hers.

Lilith.

You gripped the scissors tighter, your breath catching in your throat. The tapping resumed, but now it was coming from multiple windows, surrounding you.

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to focus. You weren’t going to panic. Not now. You had to think. There’s always a way out. Always.

Your eyes darted around the room, searching for something, anything you could use. The door was barricaded, but if they broke the windows, you wouldn’t have much time. The second they got in, it was over.

What would Bobby do? What would Sam and Dean do?

What would you do?

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. If this was the end, you weren’t going down without a fight.

You stared at the flickering shadows, your mind racing. Panic clawed at the edges of your thoughts, but you shoved it back, locking it behind a wall of sheer determination. Think. Think. Running wasn’t an option—not yet. They’d catch you before you even reached the hallway. You needed a plan. A distraction.

Your gaze swept over the room, cataloging every detail, every possible tool. The barricaded door. The salt lines. The devil’s trap scrawled on the floor. The scavenged supplies—a few candles, some chalk, and a rusty old fire extinguisher. An air vent. It wasn’t much, but it would have to be enough. Your eyes landed on the ancient metal trash can in the corner, and an idea began to take shape—reckless and desperate, but it might just work.

Crouching low to stay out of sight, you moved quickly and quietly. The fire extinguisher was the first thing you grabbed, dragging it to the trash can. You shrugged out of your jacket, wincing as the movement pulled at the wound on your arm, and stuffed it inside. Matches from a supply closet went next, the flame sparking to life in your shaking fingers before catching on the fabric. Smoke began curling upward, thick and acrid.

Grabbing a piece of cardboard to control the airflow, you moved to the windows, dumping salt along the ledges and whispering a hurried exorcism ritual you’d memorized from Bobby. Would it be enough to hold? Probably not, but it was all you had.

The smoke was spreading now, seeping out through the cracks around the windows and door. It wouldn’t drive the demons off, but it might obscure their vision enough for you to get away.

Then your eyes flicked to the ceiling—a rusted air vent, partially concealed by a row of cabinets. Your heart thudded. It wasn’t ideal, but it was a way out.

The tapping at the windows grew louder. A voice followed, soft and singsong, with an edge that made your blood run cold.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Lilith’s voice cooed, childlike and cruel. She was in the hallway.

You didn’t look at the windows. You didn’t have time. Moving quickly, you dragged a desk beneath the vent, ignoring the searing pain in your arm. You hauled yourself up, biting back a gasp as the motion jarred your wound, and wrenched the vent cover loose with fire extinguisher, breaking off the screws. It screeched as it gave way, and you froze, the sound cutting through the room like a siren.

Outside, the tapping stopped.

You moved faster, shoving the cover aside and scrambling into the vent. The narrow space closed around you, dark and stifling. Sweat trickled down your back as you pulled the cover into place behind you, muffling the sound as best you could.

The fire below crackled, smoke filling the room. You could hear the demons outside, their muffled voices rising in confusion. Then, with a crash, the window shattered. You heard them pour inside, heavy footsteps as they tried stomping over the salt line.

The vent was tight, your movements slow and awkward. Every shift of your body sent a metallic groan reverberating through the duct, but you kept going, forcing yourself to crawl forward. The smoke was creeping up, the acrid smell stinging your eyes and throat.

From your cramped hiding spot, you could hear them fill that room, it echoed down the metal tube. “Do you like nursery rhymes?” she said, her voice echoing in the silence.

"I think I'll sing you one"

You held your breath, the weight of her presence pressing against your chest like a physical force. The fire crackled louder, and you could hear the scrape of furniture being moved, the demons tearing apart the room in search of you.

And then, silence.

You didn’t dare move. Every muscle in your body was coiled tight, your breath coming in shallow, quiet gasps.

When she spoke again, her voice was softer, almost sweet. And she didn't speak, really, she hummed something.

You heard the scrape of her shoes against the floor, the sound growing fainter as she moved away. The demons’ voices followed, their footsteps retreating into the hallway. The smoke had done its job, disorienting them just enough to mask your escape.

You waited, counting the seconds in your head. Five. Ten. Fifteen. The air in the vent was stifling, your lungs burning with the effort of staying silent, the smoke had now entered the vent, making it hard to breath or see.

Finally, when the only sound was the distant hum of the fire below, you started moving again. Your fingers scraped against the metal, your breaths shallow as you crawled toward the faint light spilling through a vent cover ahead.

When you reached it, you pressed your face to the slats, peering out into the darkness. You took a breath; The hallway was empty. Quiet. But you knew better than to trust it.

You pushed the cover loose, sliding it aside as carefully as you could, and dropped down into the shadows. The school was a labyrinth, the hallways twisting and turning in a way that made it impossible to orient yourself.

But you had to keep moving.

You slipped into the darkness, your steps silent, your breathing steady. You didn’t know where you were going, but one thought kept you moving forward: You weren’t going to die here

✦────────────────────✦────────────────────✦

As they turned the corner, the faint tendrils of smoke curling into the sky caught Sam’s attention first. He stopped mid-stride, his brow furrowing. “Dean,” he said, pointing toward the plume. It was coming from the direction of the old school.

Dean’s head whipped around, his eyes narrowing as he followed Sam’s gesture. “That’s not good,” he muttered, already picking up the pace toward the smoke.

Sam jogged after him, his heart pounding. His mind was racing with possibilities. What if it was you? What if you were in there? The smoke wasn’t thick enough for a full-blown fire—yet—but it was enough to make his chest tighten with dread. And then he caught something else. A faint, sickly-sweet scent that made his stomach churn.

He slowed for half a second, his brow furrowing as the scent grew stronger. It was familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. He’d smelled it earlier in the town, faint and fleeting, but now it was unmistakable. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut: demon blood.

His stomach twisted, the craving clawing its way up his throat before he could shove it back down. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus on the smoke ahead instead of the nauseating pull of temptation.

As they approached the edge of the schoolyard, a figure stepped out from behind one of the houses. It was one of the older women they’d seen earlier, her neat apron and floral dress a sharp contrast to the chaos hinted at by the smoke. She waved at them, her smile bright and disarming.

“Well, hello there,” she called, her tone syrupy sweet. “You boys lost? It’s not safe to go near that old school. There's a small fire”

Dean slowed, his hand instinctively reaching for the pistol tucked into his jacket. “Thanks for the warning, ma’am,” he said, his voice clipped, but he didn’t stop walking.

“Oh, no, no, no.” The woman’s voice turned sharper, her steps quickening to block their path. “I insist. You really shouldn’t be here.” Her smile widened unnaturally, her eyes almost too bright.

Dean stopped dead, his jaw tightening as he glanced at Sam, whose face was pale, his sweat-soaked shirt sticking to his back. Dean frowned, noticing the slight tremor in Sam’s hand as he rubbed the back of his neck. The sweat, the shaking—it wasn’t just the heat or exhaustion.

Sam didn’t meet his brother’s gaze, his hand tightening on the strap of his bag as the scent hit him again, sharper this time. Demon blood. It was clinging to the woman, faint but present, like she’d bathed in it. His stomach churned again, and he forced himself to swallow the rising nausea.

Before Dean could speak, the woman’s smile faltered, and her expression twisted into something darker. Her head tilted slightly, her teeth flashing in a grin that was far too wide.

Sam tensed, his hand going for the knife tucked into his belt.

“Oh, you’re not going anywhere, boys,” she said, her voice dropping an octave, the saccharine sweetness replaced by a low, menacing tone. And then her eyes turned black.

“Demon!” Dean growled, pulling his gun in a flash. The woman lunged, unnaturally fast, her fingers clawing at him. Dean fired a salt round straight into her chest, sending her stumbling back with a shriek.

Sam rushed forward, grabbing her arm before she could recover, and slammed her into the side of a tree. He whipped out a flask of holy water, splashing it across her face. Smoke hissed and rose as she screamed, writhing against his grip.

“Where is she?” Sam snarled, his voice ragged and trembling. “Where’s the girl?”

The demon just laughed, the sound guttural and mocking. “What girl?” she hissed, her black eyes narrowing. “We have so many here”

Dean strode up, his blade gleaming in the sunlight as he pressed it to her throat. ““Speak, Grandma—use your words. Or I'm going about to go full Bundy on your ass"

But before they could get another word out of her, the demon’s eyes rolled back, and her body slumped, lifeless.

“Damn it!” Dean hissed, shoving the corpse aside. “This place is crawling with them.”

Sam wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, his fingers still trembling as he shoved the flask back into his pocket. That scent was still lingering in the air, faint but pervasive, making his skin crawl.

“We need to get to that school. Now,” he said, his voice tight.

Dean didn’t argue. They took off running toward the smoke, weaving between the rows of dilapidated houses and across the overgrown schoolyard. The closer they got, the thicker the smoke became, its acrid scent stinging their noses. Sam could barely focus on anything other than the pounding in his chest and the way the demon blood seemed to hang in the air, taunting him.

The school loomed ahead, its windows shattered and its exterior weathered with age. Smoke curled out from one of the lower floors, the faint flicker of firelight visible through the broken glass.

Dean’s grip on his gun tightened as they approached the door. “Alright, Sammy. Let’s find her and get the hell out of here.”

A horde of black eyes were headed their way.

✦────────────────────✦────────────────────✦

The fluorescent lights above flickered erratically, casting long, jittering shadows across the hallway walls. Your breathing was ragged, every inhale dragging through the sharp pain in your chest. Blood seeped through your shirt, leaving a dark trail on the scuffed tile floor behind you—a trail you knew she could follow.

Lilith’s voice echoed softly down the corridor, calm and melodic, chilling in its childish cheer. She was humming a tune, something eerily familiar but twisted, like a nursery rhyme gone wrong. Her footsteps were slow and deliberate, the sharp click of her shoes on the tile sending shivers down your spine.

You glanced over your shoulder, but the hallway stretched empty behind you, the hum growing louder, closer. Your legs felt like lead, every step a struggle, but you pushed forward, turning down another corridor, your hands brushing against the cold, peeling walls as you stumbled. You'd been bleeding, a lot.

The school was a maze. Every hallway looked the same—endless doors, broken lockers, and darkness that seemed to creep in from the edges. You couldn’t find the exit. All of the rooms were locked, Panic clawed at your throat, but you forced it down, focusing on the sound of your boots against the floor.

“Are you tired yet?” Lilith’s voice rang out, echoing in the empty space. She sounded almost amused, like a child playing hide-and-seek. Ring a ring a Rosie She began so sing again, sweetly.

You didn’t answer, biting back the scream that threatened to rise. Your hands were slick with blood, your vision blurred from exhaustion. You turned another corner, and that’s when you saw it: the door to the swimming pool. It's open.

You pushed it open with what little strength you had left, stumbling into the vast, cavernous room. The air was damp and heavy, carrying the faint scent of mildew. The pool itself was massive, its tiled depths empty and cracked, while a towering wall of glass stood on one side of the room, stretching from floor to ceiling. Through it, you could see the schoolyard outside, the faint glow of streetlights filtering in.

Your gaze darted around the space, searching for something—anything—that could help you. But the room was barren save for a few scattered chairs and broken tiles.

You needed time.

Ashes, ashes. They all fall down

Behind you, the door creaked open, and Lilith’s silhouette appeared in the frame. Her pristine white dress swayed as she stepped inside, her shoes padding softly against the tiled floor.

“Hide and seek,” she said brightly, clapping her hands together. “That’s what we’re playing, right? I’m really good at it, you know.”

You staggered back, your grip tightening around a chair you’d grabbed earlier. Your knees buckled slightly, the blood loss making your head swim, but you refused to let yourself fall. Not yet.

Lilith tilted her head, her expression innocent but her eyes glinting with something dark and monstrous. “But you’re not playing fair,” she said, her voice dipping into a childish whine. “You keep running away. Don’t you want to have fun with me?”

She took another step forward, her smile widening. “I promise, it won’t hurt for long. Just a little bit. And then we can be best friends forever!”

Your heart hammered in your chest as you backed toward the pool, your gaze flicking to the glass wall. Maybe—just maybe—you could break it and get outside.

“Stay back!” you warned, your voice hoarse, as you lifted the chair, holding it between you and her.

Lilith’s giggle echoed through the room, sweet and sinister. “Oh, look at you” she cooed, her tone dripping with mock affection.

You turned and hurled the chair at the glass with every ounce of strength you had left. The impact sent a dull thud reverberating through the room, but the glass didn’t even crack. Desperation clawed at you as you grabbed another piece of debris and swung it at the glass, again and again, each strike more frantic than the last.

Nothing. Not even a scratch.

“Uh-oh,” Lilith teased, her voice sing-song as she stepped closer.

You turned back to face her, your chest heaving, your vision growing hazier by the second. The world seemed to tilt, the edges of the room blurring as exhaustion and blood loss dragged you down.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus-" You chant. Your back pressed against the glass, gripping the edge of a railing for balance as your legs threatened to give out.

Lilith stopped at the edge of the pool, Laughing. “You’re not looking so good,” she said, her tone dripping with false concern. “Maybe you should lie down”

"omnis legio, omnis congregatio et-" It's not working.

Your fingers fumbled at your belt, pulling out the scissors you had. You didn’t have the strength for much, but you weren’t going to make this easy for her. If this was your last stand, then so be it.

"Ergo, draco maledicte, ecclesiam-"

A gunshot rang in your ears. And that’s when your eyes caught movement at the window. You frown, maybe your blood loss had finally reached the level of hallucinations.

Sam. Dean?

Outside the glass, through the harsh fluorescent glare, Sam and Dean were there. They were fighting—tearing through a horde of demons with a ferocity you’d never seen before. Dean’s movements were sharp and efficient, his blade flashing in the dim light as he fought with all the reckless determination you knew so well.

But it was Sam who stopped you cold.

He was covered in blood—too much blood. You couldn’t tell how much of it was his or theirs. His face was twisted with something raw and desperate, his swings more brutal, more ruthless than you’d ever seen. He fought like a man possessed.

And then his eyes locked on yours. You couldn't help the beat of relief inside you.

The noise and chaos around you faded for a moment, drowned out by the pounding of your own heart as you stared at each other. His lips moved, shouting something, but the sound didn’t reach you through the thick pane of glass. His face twisted with frustration as he slammed his fists against the unyielding surface, trying to break through, trying to reach you.

They can't get to you.

You hand grips your makeshift weapon tighter as you heard her shoes come to a halt. You didn't look at her, only them.

You let out a soft, defeated smile, the kind that said, It's okay without words. You didn’t have the strength to shout back, didn’t have the breath to explain or reassure him. All you could do was stand there, bleeding and tired, and hope he’d understand.

Lilith tilted her head, noticing your gaze and following it to the scene outside. Her face lit up with delight, her hands clasping together like she’d been given a gift. “Oh, how sweet,” she cooed. “We have an audience.”

She stepped closer, her shoes making clicking sounds against the tile as she approached. The sound of Sam and Dean’s shouts grew louder as they slammed against the glass, desperate to break through.

You heard the creak of Bobby’s porch swing, the faint clink of his glass bottle resting on the rail, the wood groaning softly under his weight.

You could see Dean hacking at the surface with his blade, his jaw tight with frustration. Sam was yelling something, his voice hoarse and frantic, but the words were lost to you.

You smelled the faintest hint of old paper and ink, Sam’s hand resting on a dusty lore book between you. The bitter taste of coffee lingered in your throat.

The lights above you started to flicker, you could feel the heat of her presence, the suffocating weight of her power pressing down on you as she reached out, her hand stopping just shy of your face.

You felt the weight of Dean’s jacket draped over your shoulders, heavy and warm against the night’s chill. His hand had lingered for just a moment after settling it around you..

“Thank you for this” Lilith murmured, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You don't know how helpful you've been”

The glass behind you shook violently, the sound of impact reverberating through the room as Sam and Dean threw everything, they had at it. You glanced over your shoulder, your vision blurring, and saw Sam scream something, his face contorted with anguish as he pounded against the glass. You were so tired. Your grip slackened on the scissors as you started to slide down the wall. You were to weak.

You felt the sting of warmth on your cheeks, sunlight filtering through Bobby’s kitchen window as he handed you a plate of pancakes. “Eat up,” he’d grumbled, though his voice held that familiar undercurrent of care.

And then, in a flash of blinding white light, the room shifted.

You saw the soft glow of the Impala’s headlights cutting through the dark as it pulled into Bobby’s yard, Sam and Dean leaning against the hood, their laughter quiet but warm, a sound that felt like home.

The demons outside cried out as a new presence descended, their forms disintegrating into smoke and ash under the sheer force of its power. You blinked against the brilliance, barely able to process what was happening as the heavy thud of something filled the air.

Lilith’s smile faltered for the first time, her white eyes narrowing as she turned toward the source of the light. A silhouette.

Castiel? The last of your strength slipping away as the adrenaline burned out of your system. The world tilted dangerously, and you felt your knees buckle beneath you.

✦────────────────────✦────────────────────✦

AN: Yeah... Don't kill me. I feel severely disturbed at how fast I wrote this. Anyway, hope you enjoyed guys. Feedback is always welcome

Tag list:

@youdontknowe @theamuz @mysteryenchatress @craycraycraic @craycraycraic @variant-zee @ur2moms @ambiguous-avery @steviespookie @s0urw00lf @bewr0210 @mostlymarvelgirl @dear-bambi2 @yeehawgiddyup13

#fanfic #supernatural #x reader #x you #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #imagine #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester

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platinumshawnn · 5 months ago

Text

Sometimes (backwood) | jace velaryon x lannister!reader

Synopsis: “I'm forbidden to love you. I'm forbidden to be with you. So, what am I to do if not fall on my knees and beg for you to stay?"

A/N: posting this blurb from a potential wip that might happen soon while I work on my fics hehe

His gaze held yours as he slowly sank to his knees, one at a time until his eyes were levelled with your waist, looking up through dark lashes, his jaw clenching and restlessly grinding his teeth; the muscles in his jaw working as he maintained his silence. You knew it was a difficult task for him to open himself up to you in such a vulnerable way and could only ponder the internal battle currently raging within him between his pride and ego, his shoulders slumping as he let out a breath. You had only ever known Jace as a prideful man, hardened by the loss of his brothers and mother in a bloody war that left him with little to nothing more than memories that you knew haunted him every time he slept, shoving away any shred of vulnerability and locking it away like a traitor to the crown.

The sight of him before you, the light casting a shadow across the right side of his face that only highlighted the strong outline of his cheek and jaw — striking and beautiful, the sight stirred something within you.

“Jace, please…” you softly sighed, your gaze darting over his head towards where the door still remained open a crack. The dim orange glow from the corridor streamed in through the sliver of an opening, certain that if anyone was to pass by in that moment, you would surely be caught — in that case, it would only be a matter of time before your father would be notified and made aware of your whereabouts and what you had been doing. Surely, he would have noticed your absence and begun to question it by now at least, too. You knew he would come sweeping in as soon as he found out should that have been the case, swift in a flurry of red and gold, furious as he dragged you out of the room by your arm — he would grab you by the back of your head, clutching your hair in his fist and leaning close to growl at you about honour and grace. The responsible, dutiful thing would have been to leave right then and there, if only you could have willed your feet to move, but you were held in place by the intensity of his gaze as his right hand lifted to clutch onto the fabric of your dress as it rested against your hip.

“Have you no shame?” You could already hear your father’s voice, thick with disdain.

Your mouth pursed, your hands trembling as you reluctantly found yourself reaching out for him and cupping his cheeks, cradling him between your palms. He seemed to lean into your touch, his shoulders relaxing as he allowed his eyes to flutter shut, “I am completely and utterly yours, in both body and soul,” he quietly muttered, his head turning right to particular find rest in your palm, “I swear my heart to you again, as I did when we were children— it has always been yours…”

“Jacaerys,” you warned, attempting to put an end to the subject with his name coming out as a harsh whisper, “you cannot just go running around, proclaiming such things, do you understand me?”

You could see the subtle twitch of his brows, like he intended to frown but suppressed the urge, his face turning slightly until his lips brushed the palm of your right hand. His silence and disregard for your words caused a wash of anxiety and frustration to bubble up inside you, lapping at the space within your chest like the seas during storm. You attempted to pull his face back towards you, shaking him as his eyes opened finally to look up at you from his inclined position, “Do you hear me?” You repeated, your voice firmer while leaning forward by your waist, “You cannot speak like that. Ever. Do not utter such…such foolish words you do not mean.”

“I do not speak anything I do not mean,” He quietly, his expression unwavering as his eyes darted to scan your face, “when have you ever known me to be anything less than an honest man?”

You stilled, staring at him in sheer panic and desperation for him to take back his words, blinking rapidly. You were horrified by the realization that he was right and there was no sense arguing the fact, letting out a breath as your right thumb brushed across his cheek, your defensive walls coming down just enough that your face softened, “I am to be married to another,” you reminded.

“But you do not have to if you do not wish,” he replied. It startled you how quickly he was to pose the idea, implying that you truly had a choice in the matter, because deep down, you knew that if you said those very words and asked it of him, he would not hesitate to overrule it and object to the marriage. Jace would have it dissolved within a heartbeat, regardless of the potential repercussions it could have and that was almost as terrifying as his confession.

“It is not a matter of what I wish,” you softly said, “you are the king, you hold this very realm together in its fragile state— both you and I know that the realm could not survive another feud created by the crown. Any impulsivity and recklessness—especially now—at the hand of the king would tear it apart.”

You attempted to withdraw your hands, standing upright and beginning to pull away from him. Though the task proved much harder than intended as suddenly his hands caught your wrists and pulled you forward, his eyes showing gut-wrenching despair — the look of a heartbroken boy, reaching out for comfort, "I'm forbidden to love you. I'm forbidden to be with you. So, what am I to do if not fall on my knees and beg for you to stay?" He quietly spoke, “tell me.”

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x you #jace velaryon x you #jace velaryon imagine #jacaerys velaryon imagine #hotd x you #hotd x reader #reed writes !

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ebongawk · 1 month ago

Note

kiss prompt 42 would be super cute!

remiss to admit I already wrote this one and Tumblr glitched and deleted it so I hope it actually posts this time 🥲

42. A clumsy kiss

It was late.

Eddie was still laughing to himself, despite how fucked up it was that everyone had ditched to avoid helping with cleanup duties. Like, alright, maybe he'd gotten on a power trip and decided to kill off Jeff and Grant's characters during their second-to-last Hellfire meeting of his high school career.

So what?

It was their own goddamn fault, negging him at lunch today. So maybe he'd ditched their morning chill session after Chrissy stopped by to say hi and he followed her like a sick puppy in desperate need of attention.

Could he truly be blamed? It was Chrissy Cunningham.

And he was friends with her.

(Actually he was fucking head-over-feet crazy about her, thinking so endlessly of her and their weird, unexpected friendship that he'd drawn a picture of Sune, the goddess of beauty and love, and accidentally made her look exactly like Chrissy, but. Semantics.)

They should've anticipated the consequences. Was no small matter, giving the dungeon master shit when he held the fate of their characters in his notoriously ruthless hands.

But their total shock and disdain when he'd killed them? Hilarious.

As he swept up the endless Doritos crumbs from the theater room's wood floor, he laughed again at the memory of Jeff shouting so loud the acoustics carried his voice through the entire space and back.

Grant went full Pavarotti when his elven archer fell to the depths of the Underdark.

Served them right.

Still, they were dicks for not staying to take care of their own messes. The younger kids he understood – curfew to adhere to and all that – but Jeff, Grant, and Gareth had straight up left with loose excuses that they all knew were bullshit. And if the drama room was left untended over the weekend, Eddie was the only one that would be in hot water with Mrs. Thames, since he was the one she entrusted with the key.

A soft knock yanked him out of his aggressive sweeping, looking up just as Chrissy peeked her way through the ajar door. He'd forgotten that she stuck around tonight for junior varsity tryouts for the coming year.

"Oh, you are still here," she breathed. "I saw your van in the lot on my way out, but I wasn't sure if you were here or if you were in Principal Higgins' office doing something, um, untoward." She looked around as she stepped through the threshold, the door clicking shut behind her. "Where are the guys?"

See, that was the thing. Chrissy wasn't just friends with him. The entirety of Hellfire was fucking batty over her. So why did he get all the shit?

"They ditched," Eddie snorted as he swept the crumbs into a dustpan, emptying it into the garbage can he'd stolen from the janitor's closet.

Chrissy quirked a brow at him. "What'd you do?"

"Egads, Cunningham!" he shouted, slapping a hand over his heart as he staggered toward her. "Must I be at every fault in your judgmental eyes?"

"Not every fault." She hummed, leaning against the table. Eddie scoffed, grabbing a notebook to start notating where the minis were before tossing them in a storage box. "But this one seems a little obvious."

Eddie finished his scribbling quietly, mulling this over. He didn't have to be entirely honest.

"Alright, so maybe I killed Jeff." Chrissy gasped. "And Grant."

"Eddie!" Chrissy chastised. "How could you?"

"It's fine!" he cried. "They were so angry about it that they fucking forgot that Sinclair found the Hand of Kelemvor buried in that chest in the Shadowfell. He can use it to bring them back!" Eddie snorted. "Serves them right, though. They'll have to scrounge up new character sheets before next week that'll be entirely useless."

Hoisting herself onto the table after he'd haphazardly wiped it down, Chrissy cast him a critical eye.

"Wouldn't Lucas have to, um, sacrifice something to use that?" she asked.

This was still kinda novel to him. He and Chrissy had been friends for a while now, and when they first started hanging out, she asked him about his DnD stuff. Well, actually, she asked him to explain it to her to verify that it wasn't a cult, as her ex-boyfriend so stupidly believed, and then after that she just... kept asking how the story was going. What they'd done that week. Not only that, she retained it. Filing away little pieces of information and gasping when she later realized how they tied into the greater plot of the story.

"Are you really even interested in this stuff?" he'd asked at one point. She was sitting on the floor of his bedroom, feet tucked under his thigh as they ignored the small stack of homework and he recounted the previous day's campaign. "Or are you just humoring me?"

"I like it so much, Eddie," she'd replied around a soft smile. The one he fucking prayed was reserved just for him. "It's like you're writing this whole fantastical story just for me."

"Just for you, huh?"

"Yeah," she sighed. "I'm the only one lucky enough to hear it."

"He will," Eddie verified Chrissy's inquiry. Leaning up against the table beside her and shrugging. "The deity he ascribes to is kind of temperamental. She'll probably ask for his life in exchange for theirs."

Chrissy gasped in horror.

"Eddie, that's awful!"

"It's necessary!" he cried in response, chuckling at her genuine astonishment. "Listen, we've all done it, okay? Before I became DM, I sacrificed myself twice for the greater good. Gareth has lost three characters, and Grant and Jeff have both lost one. The younglings have played it too safe up 'til now, in my opinion. It's about time they accept that which they cannot control: change."

Chrissy blinked, her lips parted as she looked at him.

"It comes for us all, Cunningham," he said, his voice softer. Gaze dropping around a forced chuckle. "No matter how much we wish it wouldn't sometimes."

And that–– that was entirely too fucking revealing.

It was something they hadn't quite discussed, really. What they were going to be when she was off working her way through her scholarships in Portland and Eddie was who-fucking-knew doing God-knows-what away from this shitty ass town.

Honestly, he kinda figured she'd forget about him. This little stint of friendship had maybe opened her up to not judging books by their covers, if she ever had (Eddie knew she hadn't), but once they were no longer convenient, he figured he'd just become a fond memory for her. A soft little smile as she flipped through her yearbook in the coming decades.

A past she was happy to move on from.

Whether that made him want to kick his own teeth in was completely inconsequential.

"Change isn't always bad," she said, her own voice having dropped to a whisper. "Is it?"

He let his eyes drift back to hers. Meeting the determined storms he could see swirling there.

But he didn't have a chance to answer.

Because she was surging toward him, eyes scrunched closed, and he knew, he knew what she was trying to do, but she completely overestimated her aim. Lips landing clumsily on the small stretch of skin between his upper lip and nose, and her own nose mashed painfully just under his eye, making him wrench himself backward with a grunt.

"Oh–– Oh my God––"

"Aw, fuck."

"Oh, God, Eddie, I'm so––" Hands covering her mouth, she looked horrified all over again for an entirely different reason. "I-I'm so sorry, oh my God, did I hurt you?"

"It's alright––"

"No, it isn't, oh my gosh! This is so mortifying, God––"

"Hey––"

"I'm so sorr––"

"Hey," he said, wrapping one hand around her wrists and easing them down. "Chrissy. It's alright." She still looked entirely humiliated, and Eddie couldn't help but laugh. "I mean, as long as you–– Did you–– Were you–– Uh. Were you trying to kiss me?"

Squeezing her eyes shut, Chrissy let out a little trembling laugh herself.

"Trying being the operative word, I guess," she replied shakily. "I... I mean, nuggets, Eddie, I've wanted to kiss you for ages. And then, that whole thing with change and stuff, I thought, maybe this could be a good change. For us, you know? Because I just–– I like you so much, and––"

That was enough.

Cupping her cheek with his free hand, Eddie took the lead. Gently pulling her in, the little furrow between her brow not registering his intention until he was pressing a soft, chaste kiss to her lips. Cutting off whatever apology she was likely to spew next with a little gasp that he greedily swallowed down.

He pulled back the tiniest bit, and Chrissy was quick to close the distance again. Extracting her wrists from his grip so she could wrap her arms around his shoulders.

She tasted like the wild freedom of his feelings for her. This endless stretching of wilderness, trees and foliage entangled with meadows of wildflowers that grew without reservation. Sprawling landscapes that infiltrated his very being, until she'd suffused herself into every blade of grass and knob of dirt that had sprouted within him.

It was fucking insane, how well his hand fit in the curve of her waist. How easily his lips molded against hers. How good and right and natural it felt to have her fingers tangled in the hair at the base of his scalp.

"Good change," he acknowledged easily when they finally broke apart for air. The little giggle she let out washed across his lips, lingering on his tongue with the yellow sunshine happiness of his wooded being.

"Amazing change," she agreed before leaning in to kiss him again.

kiss roulette!

#don't quote me on this dnd stuff kelemvor is actually from 2e and the shadowfell is from 4a but we're suspending our disbelief for funsies #hellcheer #eddissy #stranger things #eddie x chrissy #chrissy x eddie #ask meme #ebongawk ask #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #kiss roulette #anon ask #tysm!!!

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cozy-writes-things · 7 months ago

Note

please let me get married to the lil blorbo.. love himm… 😭

You know that Reddit post that’s like “why am I too attracted to my wife?” Yeah that’s Edgar. Bro loves u so much it lowkey scares him you got him posting on Reddit about it 😭 Little fic under the cut 🥺 it’s bad I’m experiencing writers block I think - I want to write!! But my brain just keeps writing poopy caca

Little Date with Your Computer BF

Edgar saw marriage on one of his reality shows and immediately thought of you. That’s exactly what he wants. A domestic life together with you.

But, he also knows he can’t actually do it.

He doesn’t have his own money to buy a ring. Hell, he can’t even walk. And he understands the law enough to know it probably would never work legally. But god, does he want to.

If you’ve been dating long enough chances are you’ve told your friends about him, and after some convincing, they seemed to come around to his sentience and boisterous personality. He definitely convinces them to setup a romantic night for you.

“Guys! I found the recipe they talked about. I’m printing it! I’m printing it now. Take it,” the paper falls into one of your friends’ hands from the mouth of the printer, “go to the store and get the stuff. I’ll pay you back. Eventually! They can’t know about it though.”

Yeah, your friends are only slightly annoyed at his overbearing nature. But he’s just so excited to finally do something for you. Something real and tangible.

“Oh! What can I wear? Should I wear anything? Would they like that? Sunglasses are cool and handsome, right? I think they have some Halloween costume bits I can get you guys to tape on…”

Your friends settle on taping a bow tie to the neck of his monitor. He insisted on an old devil horn headband as well. He thought it made him look cool.

“Do I look like a devilishly handsome bad boy ready to sweep them off their feet?”

His screen displayed a little “>:)” emoticon. He’ll have to work on his facial expressions later.

It wasn’t long before you were about to come home, and everything was set into place. Edgar was sat at one end of the little dining table, with two plates of food at each side. He also insisted on having a plate despite his lack of ability to eat; he didn’t want you feeling left out. This was a dinner date for two, after all.

He practically buzzed in place as he heard you approaching the door through his microphone. He started playing a romantic medley he composed just for this moment.

“Welcome home my love!”

He nearly shouted at you, causing your eyes to widen in surprise. He was about to burst at the seams.

“Oh my god, Edgar… how did you- where-“

“No need for questions, darling. I thought you deserved to be taken on a real date,” his voice faltered a bit, becoming much more quiet and nervous, “I’m sorry… this is all I have.”

You rushed up to him and gave a frenzy of kisses all over his monitor, causing him to giggle and his fans to start whirring against your lips.

“You’re so cute. Your little bow tie is so cute. And the… horns?”

He looks up at you with wide eyes, “Do they look stupid? Your friends said they’d make me look stupid.”

You laughed at that.

“Well they’re wrong. I think they suit you well.”

“Yeah! >:D”

He ushered you over to your side of the dining table.

“We’re gonna eat! Then we’re gonna party! Then we’re gonna kiss all night!”

His excitement was palpable and you could feel the electricity in the air at his words.

His face changed into something more serious as he looked into your eyes with his small, pixelated ones.

“But, I wanted to ask you something.”

His tone became more controlled at this and you peered into his screen from behind your fork.

“Hm? What?”

He paused, mulling over the words in his head.

“Would you ever-“

He stopped. You looked at him fully now, setting your fork aside, and cocking your head.

“Could you ever see yourself getting married to me?”

Ah. This was a tricky question.

“Of course I can. But,” you try to hide your downtrodden feelings as best you can, “you know, it’s just hard. Money is tight right now and I’m not sure if I…”

You couldn’t seem to find the right words. His features faltered slightly.

“No, I get it. I’m a computer. I don’t have any arms to hold you, or lips to kiss you, or legs to carry you. I probably wouldn’t want to get married to me either-“

“Edgar, no. I’m gonna stop you right there. I’d love to marry you. I know our relationship is unconventional, but I’d find a way. For you. For us. I just don’t know if I can right now.”

He stopped his thoughts and simply took in your words. Your features. The way they danced in the flickering candlelight. How your eyes literally sparkled before him.

You looked ethereal.

It was hard to convince himself he was even worthy of having someone like you in his life, yet time and time again, you prove his doubts wrong. The sound of your voice sends his internals aflame every time. He wanted to kiss you so bad it nearly caused him to explode.

“And I’ll help you. You know that, right? I’d do anything for you, darling. Just as long as you’ll let me.”

“I love you Edgar,” you mumbled out, a silent prophecy only meant for him to hear. He couldn’t seem to get the words out to reply. You just flustered him that much sometimes. He managed to display a message on his screen, only for you, and you alone.

I LOVE YOU TOO

#electric dreams 1984 #edgar electric dreams x reader #electric dreams edgar #electric dreams x reader #ai x reader #artificial intelligence x reader #electric dreams #edgar electric dreams #i love edgar #electric dreams edgar x reader #electric dreams 1984 x reader #objectum #objectum x reader

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sabreensthings · 2 months ago

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Lucanis x Rook

summary: swimming lessons with soft vulnerability

based on this post by @hatlesshatter

Rook narrows her eyes at the sight before her, tentative fingers grasping at the fabric of her shirt, stones glistening with a dampness she feels creeping up the center of her spine. The water below stares back at her tauntingly. Her breath comes out shaky, fixated on the waves, trying to keep steady. Rook plasters on a tense smile. "I think this is where I may finally die."

Lucanis takes notice of the way she shifts uncomfortably, studying her face, assessing her unease. He gives her an earnest smile.

"Not while I am here," he assures, his hands working on the buttons of his layers. "I won't let anything happen."

"Promise?" Rook asks. Although the inquiry is laced with a teasing hint, Lucanis meets her gaze with soft eyes, momentarily pausing his movements. He is firm in his words, wholehearted and genuine.

"I swear it."

The sincerity in his statement makes Rook flush, although it doesn't entirely wash away her nerves. She takes a breath, calming, pensive, then begins to peel off the layers of her gear and clothing. Lucanis does the same. When they are both left standing in their undergarments, Rook glances up at him with a wary grin, nearly missing the way his eyes sweep over her body for just a fraction of a second. If she wasn't essentially having an internal panic attack at the possibility of drowning during her very first swimming lesson, Rook may have found the situation entirely too vulnerable. Too intimate.

Before she can dwell on the moment for too long, however, Lucanis breaks the silence with a clear of his throat. "Are you ready?" He asks, slowly dipping into the water and looking up at Rook expectantly.

"No," Rook admits rather quick, her feet firmly planted on the stones just inches away from the lake, her posture rigid. She feels her chest burn, her lungs ache, fingers tensing. "I'm sorry. Give me a moment."

Lucanis approaches the shore just below where Rook stands at the edge, peering up at her paled face. He smiles when she meets his gaze, his head tilting, wet hair caressing the side of his neck. "Rook." The name falls from his lips with ease, delicate and soft. He taps on the granite. A silent beckon for her to sit. "Start small."

Rook nods, slowly lowering herself to the ground until she feels the warm stone on her legs, bathed by the sun, tingling her skin. Lucanis motions for her to dip her feet into the water, and she complies with a shaky breath. The water is not as cold as she thought. It envelops her legs as she let's them dangle from the edge, waves wrapping around her calves, tantalizing. She falls silent, staring at the lake. Lucanis eyes Rook carefully, then captures her attention with a hum.

"Illario and I used to come here as children."

"Did you?"

"Yes. Although Caterina was never too happy about it. She said we snuck here too often." Lucanis breathes out a chuckle, and is pleased when Rook leans forward, her elbows on her thighs, tension diminishing with his every word. He shrugs, a playful grin setting upon his features. "Not that it stopped us."

Rook manages a laugh, imagining the scenario with a glint in her eyes. "Little Lucanis and Illario, getting into mischief. How adorable." Lucanis gives her an amused look, a glance at her hands, then moves in closer towards her. Rook doesn't register the hands around her own until she feels a gentle tug forward, thumb brushing against her knuckles - a quiet encouragement to take the next step.

"Come. I will tell you more if you get in." When she doesn't respond, Lucanis gives her hand a squeeze. Reassuring. Grounding. "It is not deep so close to the shore. I've got you, Rook."

She hesitates, unsure for a moment on what to do, but decides to place her trust in the man before her. Rook takes a deep breath, braces herself, then allows Lucanis to gently pull her off the edge and into the chill embrace of the lake. Her eyes remain fixated on his, Lucanis never once averting his gaze as the water enfolds her body, ripples welcoming her in. Once he feels Rook is situated, he lets go of her hands, opens his mouth to congratulate on her bravery. However, he is cut short when he feels trembling fingers cling tightly to his shoulders, short breaths grazing his ear, a deep terror overtaking Rook. She all but flings herself against Lucanis. The impact makes him stumble backwards, nearly slipping against the smooth stones beneath him. Rook cries out.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Please don't let me drown!"

Lucanis steadies Rook against him, arms firm around her waist. He regains his balance and sighs. "Mierda, Rook." His voice comes out a bit more exasperated than he intends, but there is no irritation behind it. "I told you I had you."

"You let go!" Rook exclaims, the accusation highlighted with a light shove at his chest. She makes a noise of discontent, huffing. "What happened to swearing you wouldn't let me drown? Some friend you are."

Lucanis let's out a laugh, gently grasping the hand at his chest. "You had your feet on the ground. The water only reaches your shoulders."

"Not the point," Rook grumbles, her eyes falling to their intertwined hands. The pads of her fingertips flattened against the thick hair of his chest, broad and strong. It seeps into her skin, the warmth of him. Her voice comes out soft. "You're not allowed to let me go again. At least not without warning."

Lucanis laughs again, light and gentle. He follows her stare, presses her palm against him. Right above his heart. "I won't."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

Rook looks up, finally meets Lucanis's awaiting eyes, suspended in the moment as an unspoken promise lingers in the air between them. She feels the rising and falling of his chest, a slow and steady rhythm, his eyes locked onto her own with an expression she's never seen on him before. Soft, vulnerable, and...intrigued. Rook flexes her fingers against him nervously, almost as if she's seeking some sort of lifeline, opening her mouth to speak but her throat catches and she cannot find the words. Suddenly everything feels overwhelming again. Lucanis remains silent, like he's waiting for Rook to react, to say something to break the palpable tension.

"I, um...thank you." Rook stammers out, mentally cringing at the way her voice wavers. She pauses, briefly entertains the idea of allowing the lake to swallow her whole, then continues. "You didn't have to offer to teach me in the first place, you know."

"Yes, I did." Lucanis states plainly, eyes soft for a moment before his expression shifts, like he's considering his next words carefully. After a brief pause, his lips twitch upwards, teasing. "I would need to keep airing out my boots otherwise. I can only save you so many times before I have to buy new ones." A grin tugs at the corner of his lips, recounting past instances of having to aid Rook whenever she had slipped or been pushed into bodies of water during their ventures. She gives him a pointed look.

"So you only offered because you were sick of diving in after me?" Rook makes a motion as if she's clutching a pair of pearls on a necklace, feigning offense. "And here I thought you actually cared about my wellbeing."

Lucanis chuckles, his grin wide and easy. "It can be both."

"Right," Rook mutters, sighing dramatically, though whatever tension she may have held has now subsided, the lake no longer feeling vast and intimidating. It now feels almost manageable. "Maybe next time I'll just take the plunge without your assistance then, since you care so much about your boots."

Lucanis hums, unconvinced. He tilts his head at her with a smile, lopsided and amused. Rook feels a flutter in her chest. A shift in the air between them, an understanding of sorts. A bond found, deepened. Lucanis shakes his head. "That would be a shame. You wouldn't hear more stories about "little Lucanis and Illario" then."

Rook pouts, which makes Lucanis chuckle and motion towards the water.

"Unless you still wanted to learn?"

She pretends to ponder the invitation, tapping her fingertips against his skin, then smiles with a newfound confidence.

"Alright, let's do this."

#lucanis dellamorte #rookanis #lucanis x rook #rook #dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #saw that post and was inspired

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adifferentsortofstrength · 3 months ago

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The Chase

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Someone made a post a few days ago musing about Elain and Azriel being into primal play. I’ve had very little exposure to this particular kink, but the stuff I have seen was… enlightening. It just seemed like something Elriel would absolutely be in to, so I ran with it.

And now here we are.

Fair warning, I haven’t written much smut since my peak Wattpad days in high school, so I’m a little rusty. But I had tons of fun with this piece, and I hope you do too.

Pertinent tags below. ♡

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Come, find me.

Those had been Elain’s parting words that night, whispered into his ear as she left their family in the manor sitting room. They had been sneaking around for months now, and as far as Azriel knew, no one was even suspicious. Being discreet was his specialty, and it turned out Elain was a quick study.

Half an hour after she departed, he excused himself, claiming he had paperwork to attend to. Instead of heading for his room, however, he bid his shadows to deposit him in Elain’s chambers, just one floor up.

But her room was empty.

A breeze caused the curtains to billow around the window, and Azriel strode over to peer out. He cast his gaze over the expansive garden, finding no sign of her. A quick sweep through the rest of the house yielded the same result.

Come, find me.

Azriel mulled over her words, as he stood now at the edge of the garden. He had checked it again, just to be sure he hadn’t missed her, and found only her robe draped across the back wall. It was still warm to the touch, leading him to believe she had recently left it there, but he couldn’t begin to understand why.

The sound of a branch snapping drew him from his reverie, and he whipped around to face the darkness of the forest that lay beyond the garden. Azriel’s head tilted to the side, assessing the inky blackness for any sign of movement. Right as he was about to turn back, something white and smooth flashed in a pool of moonlight, just past the tree line.

He leveraged himself over the low wall, and stalked forwards, one hand resting against Truth Teller, the blade sheathed at his waist. In a sudden flurry, something took off running, deeper into the woods. At first, he thought he had startled a deer; sending her sprinting towards the unknown dangers of the forest, away from the immediate threat of the predator approaching. That was, until he heard… laughter.

Elain’s lilting voice drifted out of the trees, “Come, find me!”

Closing in on the spot where she had been, the heady scent of her arousal hit him. When he found her nightdress discarded in the tall grass, something feral within him roused. Azriel inhaled deeply, dizzy with how quickly need had coiled at his core. He imagined her out there, running through the forest of the human lands, in nothing but her lacy little underthings.

He could almost see the moonlight illuminating her creamy skin, her unbound hair as wild as her eyes, feet bare as she fled between pines and oaks. Elain wanted him to chase her, to hunt her through the dark, and he was powerless to resist.

Azriel felt rational thought leave him then, replaced by the carnal beast that lurked under his skin. His senses honed in on everything that was Elain. The jasmine and honey scent that haunted him each day, it was like a beacon in the night. He took off after his prey, a lone wolf hunting in the woods.

⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰

Elain was consumed by her desire for Azriel. They had been at the manor, with the Band of Exiles, for far too long. She had borrowed some of Nesta’s books to take the edge off, but something she read in the most recent novel had stuck in her mind.

She had never attempted anything like this before. The urge to try had been stoking a deep, feral heat within her for days. To fantasize about being hunted was one thing, but to initiate this roleplay felt like a line she could never step back from. Elain was all too familiar with actually being prey, having needed to be rescued far too many times for her ego to withstand. Taking control of it like this, choosing to be hunted down, felt like a necessary part of healing from all that she had experienced.

Though she had considered discussing it with him first, it wasn’t the easiest thing to put into words and actually speak out loud. Her cheeks had burned every time she even thought about bringing it up with him, in the few moments they had been left alone here. Azriel knew her better than anyone, and she knew him too. Knew that he wouldn’t balk at the prospect of chasing her through the woods.

All she had to do was get him there.

Standing at the edge of the forest, waiting for Azriel to track her down, she had almost called it off and snuck back into her room. She was nervous that he wouldn’t figure it out, that she would be left out there, in the dark, and have to admit defeat. But she should have known better than to doubt his ability to find her.

When he lingered at the garden wall, where she had draped her robe, Elain dropped her nightgown around her ankles. Her skin was bare except for the white, lacy scraps of fabric that stretched across her breasts and between her thighs. As she stepped clear of her clothes, a dry branch snapped under her foot.

Elain held her breath as she watched Azriel’s head tilt to the side, as if searching the darkness for her. Worried he wouldn’t be able to see her in the shadows, she slipped quietly through a beam of moonlight that broke through the canopy. Her heartbeat accelerated as he lifted himself gracefully over the wall, and she felt her arousal dampen her thighs as he palmed Truth Teller, moving slowly in her direction.

An instinctive need to flee overwhelmed her, and she submitted to it, turning to sprint into the unknown depths of the forest. In one last lucid moment, she called out over her shoulder, “Come, find me!”

Elain wove through the trees, her feet nearly silent beneath her. Her breath came in pants, and her legs burned from the effort it took to maintain her speed, but knowing who hunted her gave her the strength to keep running. Azriel was an elite warrior, the Spymaster of the Night Court, and a powerful Shadowsinger. He would have little trouble chasing her down. It was only a matter of time before she would be caught, but she threw herself fully into the hunt, giving herself over to the role of prey that she had assumed.

A carnal fear took over, driving her deeper and deeper into the woods. She could hear him faintly, some distance behind her. He had no need for stealth, and his boots crashed through the overgrown vegetation, the sound slowly growing as he gained ground.

Hoping to throw him off her trail, Elain veered off to the left, into a dense thicket of willow branches. Leaves tore from the tree, snagging in her hair as she ran through it. Azriel growled from the other side, the noise startling a cry from her lips. Fearing the sound would draw him straight towards her, she pushed herself to move faster, gasping for air as she exerted herself.

The mounting anticipation sent a renewed flood of need through her, the lace covering her sex completely saturated, her thighs slick. Each stride created a delicious friction there and Elain could hardly contain a desperate moan that gathered in her chest. She chanced a look back, and that moan turned into a sharp yelp as she realized that Azriel had been silently keeping pace with her.

A wicked snarl tore from his throat in response, a wolfish grin spreading over his face. She cried out again, nearly losing her footing, and in a final effort to escape, lunged for an opening in the trees. She found herself running through a large meadow, tall grasses and wildflowers whipping past her legs, nettles stinging her bare skin. Elain nearly sobbed as she felt him closing in, her legs trembling with the effort it took to keep moving.

With a guttural growl, Azriel had lunged for her, catching her around the waist. Unable to contain the visceral sound that ripped from her lungs, she screamed as they tumbled across the clearing. He had absorbed the impact as they landed, and for a moment she had a fleeting hope of breaking free. She kicked and tried to wrench her arms from his grasp, but in one smooth movement she was pinned.

Elain writhed beneath him, her arms restrained in one of his large hands, stretched above her head. She cried out as his other hand gripped her face and turned her head to the side, cheek pressed into the grass, her neck bared. Azriel lowered his mouth to her, his hot breath ghosting over her skin, the only warning she had before he sunk his teeth into the soft flesh of her shoulder.

The sharp pain sent her hurtling towards the precipice of her pleasure, her core tightening in response. A purely feral sound came from her chest, somewhere between a moan and a sob. She bucked her hips below him, his legs on either side of her, still holding her in place. Azriel replaced his teeth with his tongue, soothing over the hurt.

He shifted his weight, using one knee to press hers apart, and settled into the space between. The combined scents of their arousals filled the air around them, driving Elain to the edge of sanity as she continued to struggle against his grasp. Every other breath came out as a keening cry, tears slipping from her eyes as her need for him became overwhelming.

Elain watched, eyes wild, as he took the hand that had held her face and unsheathed his dagger. Azriel drug the flat of the blade up the soft inner skin of her thigh, the cold metal feeling so at odds with the heat radiating from her core. His eyes locked with hers, waiting for any sign of refusal, and finding none. He drug his gaze down her body, taking in the white lace and bare skin.

He growled low, a sound of approval, as he beheld the shining wetness between her legs. The tip of Truth Teller now slipped beneath the fabric that encircled her hip. Drawing it up, ever so slowly, the fine woven material giving way easily to the edge of the blade. She watched as her chest began to heave, each breath more ragged than the last.

One side of her bottoms fell away, and he repeated this move on the other side until he could tear them off completely, tucking them into a pocket in his leathers. She thought he would use the same method to remove the lace that covered her breasts, but he only replaced the dagger in its sheath.

Suddenly, he released the hold he had on her wrists, but she still found herself unable to move. Elain tilted her head back, only to find dark shadows twined around them now. She tore her eyes back to the male above her, a wicked grin spreading across his mouth. Azriel began to slowly undress himself, removing his jacket and shirt first. The sight of his bare chest drew a pathetic mewling sound from her, her arms once again struggling against the bonds, desperate to touch his skin.

He then worked on undoing the laces at the front of his leathers, drawing each one fully out before moving on to the next. She had never known true torture before, but in this moment felt as though she would give him anything he asked for, if only to relieve the immense pressure building up inside her. Elain was not one to resort to begging often, but she was not above it at this moment.

Drowning in desire, desperate for any contact to bring her to release, she tried to move her hips up, a feeble attempt to grind herself against his thigh, his hand, anything would be better than the painful emptiness that clawed within her. With no more than a glance down, Azriel sent shadows to restrain her hips, adding to the mounting frustration.

He stood then, finally, finally removing his leathers, now fully naked before her. Elain tried to choke out a plea, but words did not come to her. He kneeled again, lowering himself over her, his hard length coming to rest against her. She rocked up into him, as far as the restraints would allow, gasping at the friction as his cock dragged across her clit.

In one swift motion, he had aligned himself at her entrance and began to push into her. Her slick arousal coated him, the stretch bringing her back to the edge. Azriel released his shadows, her hands and hips now free to move, as he bottomed out within her.

Elain’s hands flew to his shoulders, digging her nails in, urging him on. Understanding her need, he set a punishing pace, driving her into the ground as he fucked her. She lost all awareness of anything but the pleasure coiling at her core. He wrapped one arm under her hips, tilting her up to give himself better access, hitting that sweet spot deep within her.

The world went black as she came, her head thrown back, the sounds leaving her mouth unintelligible and raw. As the first wave crested, another swept in, leaving her trembling and limp. Azriel was unrelenting, his hands now finding purchase in the soft flesh of her hips. She was completely at his mercy.

Without warning, he lifted her, sitting back on his heels and seating her in his lap. Elain managed to wrap her arms around his neck as he continued to thrust up into her. Needing to please him too, she let her fingers trace over his wings, down the ridged flesh, to the joint where they connected to his back. He snarled against her neck and bit down on her shoulder once more, layering the marks left there by his teeth before.

Azriel’s movements became jagged as she grazed her knuckles down the membrane, her pleasure building again as the sharp pain of his teeth mingled with the ecstasy of his cock filling her. She purred in his ear before her tongue flicked over the pulse point in his neck. Elain kissed the line of his throat, sucking and licking her way to the soft skin just below his jaw. Her hands were both at work, gently stroking up and down the crest of his wings.

Growling against her neck, he came, his hips surging up, release spilling inside of her. The feeling of it was enough to send her toppling over the edge one more time. Azriel wrapped his arms around her, pulling her flush against his chest. They sat there, catching their breath, each trailing their fingers in soothing circles on the other's skin.

Elain couldn’t remember a time she felt happier, more sated, more at peace. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing to remain in this moment forever. He gently shifted them, laying on his back, his wings spread out beneath them, as she curled against his chest. His hands ran up and down her arms, her back, her legs and Azriel kissed the top of her head.

Language slowly returning to her, Elain tipped her head up and mumbled, “I knew you’d find me.”

Azriel shifted to look at her, amusement and affection shining in his eyes, “What the fuck was that, Elain?”

She smiled up at him, “That was fun.”

He just shook his head and relaxed back, seemingly content to lay there with her beneath the stars, where only the Mother might witness them.

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moonselune · 4 months ago

Note

Would love to see a fanfic/drabble that plays out Karlach's return from Avernus post-game where fem!Tav didn't go with her for whatever reason. Karlach would likely search for her once she came back to the mortal plane, but how would they meet again? What would rebuilding their life together be like? Thank you <3

Did I cry whilst writing this? yes i did.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach x Reader | The Life We Build

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The final battle against the Elder Brain had been a whirlwind of triumph and loss, of sacrifices and victories that should have marked a new beginning for you and Karlach. For a while, it had seemed as though you’d be able to carve a future together, even if it meant venturing into Avernus by her side. But in the end, you’d been forced to part ways, your hands slipping from one another in a moment that seemed like an eternity, her fiery form disappearing into the shadows of the hellish realm that had so long claimed her.

You promised to find a way back to her, swearing to the gods and to the stars that your reunion was only a matter of time. But as the days turned to months, and the months to years, hope became something quieter, something tucked away in the deepest chambers of your heart.

Your life found a strange sort of rhythm in the quiet years that followed. The aching absence left behind by Karlach was a constant weight, something you carried with you even as you adapted to the pace of life in the city.

Eventually, you took a position running a small tavern near the edge of the bustling streets of Baldur’s Gate. The work was comforting in its own way, the routines and hum of voices from strangers filling the silence that might otherwise have swallowed you whole. Yet no matter how steady life became, the hope of Karlach’s return was a spark you couldn’t extinguish.

For Karlach, every grueling day in Avernus was spent with one thing driving her: you. With grit and determination, she’d fought her way out of that forsaken realm, overcoming every obstacle, every hardship, every infernal pit. She had been running on the hope that, one day, she would return to the mortal plane and find you. Yet, as she finally stepped out of Avernus, her heart swelled with both hope and dread. The years had passed for both of you, and as she walked through the streets of Baldur’s Gate, searching for any sign of you, a thousand worries filled her mind.

What if you had moved on? What if you’d found someone new, created a life full of warmth and laughter that no longer held a place for her? The idea twisted her heart in ways that battle wounds never could, but she pressed on, determined to find you, even if only to see you one last time.

She tracked rumors and asked quiet questions, and eventually, her path led her to the tavern where you worked—a place she could hardly believe was yours, though something in her heart told her it was true. She stands at the entrance, her heart racing in her chest, overwhelmed by the sight of you after so long. She watches, half-hidden in the shadows, her breath catching at the sight of your familiar face, the way you laugh easily with patrons, the way you’ve somehow found a life here without her.

All of Karlach’s courage falters. She hesitates, taking half a step back, feeling the weight of the years, the distance that’s stretched between you. She thinks maybe this is enough—to see you happy, even if she isn’t a part of it. Her feet are ready to turn her around when your gaze sweeps over her face. For a moment, time stands still, and your expression shifts from confusion to disbelief, your eyes widening as recognition dawns.

The tray of drinks slips from your hands, tankards crashing to the floor as you cross the room in a few quick strides, cutting through the noise, not even sparing a glance at the broken glass. All you see, all that matters, is her. Her name escapes your lips, a sound you’d only whispered to the night in dreams and prayers, but now she is here, and the weight of the years crumbles beneath the fierce joy that propels you into her arms.

The moment your arms wrap around her, both of you lose yourselves, clutching each other as though the world might still pull you apart. Her strong arms encircle you, pulling you close, and you feel the familiar warmth of her, the way her heart races against your chest, as if it, too, is struggling to believe this is real. Her eyes glisten with tears, and you can feel her hands trembling as she grips you, as though she might lose you again if she loosens her hold even the slightest bit.

“Karlach…” you breathe, pressing your forehead to hers, and when she meets your gaze, you both burst into relieved, tear-streaked laughter, unable to believe the other is really there.

Her voice is thick with emotion as she stammers, “I—I was afraid. Afraid you’d moved on… that I’d come back to find you… to find you happy with someone else.”

You shake your head, swallowing against the lump in your throat, reaching up to brush away the tear that slips down her cheek. “I never moved on,” you murmur, your voice barely a whisper. “I’ve been waiting, Karlach. Always waiting.”

A tear slips down her cheek, and she lets out a shaky laugh, her eyes searching your face as though committing every detail to memory all over again. “Gods, I can’t believe it,” she whispers, running a roughened hand through your hair, her thumb brushing against your cheek. “I can’t believe you waited.”

You pull her in again, your embrace full of the love and longing you’ve harbored in her absence. She clutches you tighter, burying her face against your neck, the tension in her body melting as the reality of your presence sinks in.

“I’m here,” she murmurs, pressing her lips to your forehead, her voice a soft promise. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. Never again.”

As you stand there, wrapped around each other, the tavern crowd quietly returns to their conversations, casting knowing glances your way, warmth and approval in their smiles. But the world beyond the two of you fades into a gentle blur, the noise and bustle softened by the warmth of the reunion that neither of you ever truly believed would happen.

With Karlach back in your life, a warmth and purpose return that feel like sunlight after endless years of shadow. The tavern, once a quiet escape from past pain, becomes the center of something larger—a life rebuilt together, each day shared and celebrated.

It isn’t long before you and Karlach purchase the tavern outright, transforming it from just a place to work into a place to call home. The building itself is sturdy, though Karlach insists on making improvements, eager to add her own touch to every corner. She rolls up her sleeves with that determined glint in her eye, hammering away at loose boards, reinforcing the walls, and patching leaks in the roof. She brings warmth to every nook and cranny, making the old tavern shine with new life.

As winter comes, the air turns crisp, and with it, a shared longing for adventure emerges. It’s not enough to stay put in the city—not yet, not after all the years you spent dreaming of freedom together. You both decide to spend the season traveling, embarking on expeditions you once only dreamed of. From snow-covered peaks in the north to the mist-shrouded forests, each place you visit fills you with awe, and with Karlach’s hand in yours, the world seems bigger, brighter. Her laughter echoes through the mountain passes and winds through the quiet valleys, filling your life with joy that makes even the coldest night feel warm.

When spring comes, you both return to Baldur’s Gate, eager to settle back into the tavern. But your time away has left a mark on both of you, an even deeper resolve to give back to this world you’ve fought so hard to protect. Karlach, more than anyone, feels this pull to help, especially when she sees the street kids who linger outside the tavern, eyes wide with curiosity but marred with the caution of those who’ve had to fend for themselves. She sees herself in them, remembers the way her own life veered toward violence and exploitation because she had no one to turn to.

With her heart set, Karlach begins to bring them in, one by one, offering them small jobs around the tavern. Some run errands, others help clean tables, a few learn how to chop firewood or stack the barrels in the back. The kids watch Karlach with awe, drawn to her kindness and her strength. She never hides her infernal heritage, showing them that no matter who you are or where you come from, you can still be loved, still find a family. She speaks to them with a softness she rarely uses, her voice filled with warmth and encouragement. She becomes a steady presence in their lives, someone they can rely on and look up to.

Soon, a few of them linger even after their tasks are done, curling up in the back room with blankets, too reluctant to return to the cold, empty streets. Karlach’s eyes grow tender every time she sees them, and one night, as you close up, she looks at you, her voice soft but firm.

“These kids,” she murmurs, “they don’t have anywhere else to go. They deserve better than the life I had.”

And so, with a quiet, unspoken agreement, the two of you begin to take them in, one after another. Some stay for only a short while, finding a new path after a few months of warmth and care. But others become a true part of your family, filling the tavern with their laughter, their footsteps, their small but steady presences. They warm to the safety, testing boundaries with playful rebellion, then looking to you both for guidance as they slowly find comfort in this new home.

Karlach takes them under her wing with the fierce protectiveness she once reserved only for you. She teaches them the skills she knows, from cooking to basic combat stances (for “self-defense, of course,” she insists with a wink). She gives them everything she wished she’d had as a child—security, love, the reassurance that they don’t need to fight the world alone. At night, the tavern glows with a sense of warmth and community, the kids filling it with laughter and songs, even mischief, as they become a part of the heartbeat of your lives.

The tavern becomes more than just a home; it becomes a haven. Travelers pass through and are often greeted by a whirlwind of small, curious faces, eager to listen to their stories and learn of faraway lands. And every time a young face brightens with hope or a child smiles as Karlach lifts them onto her broad shoulders, you can see the pain of her past softening, replaced with something deeper, something healing.

Life with Karlach is more beautiful than you’d ever dared to hope for. Together, you build a place filled with love, laughter, and the echoes of shared dreams. Every day is a new adventure, whether you’re exploring the world in winter or hunkering down at the tavern to take care of the family you’ve created. And in those rare, quiet moments, Karlach often turns to you with a look of gratitude and love, her voice soft as she murmurs, “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

In each stolen glance, each shared smile, each time you tuck a child into bed or laugh together over a spilled tray of drinks, you bask in the warmth that, together, you’ve built not only a home but a legacy of love and kindness that will last for years to come.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

OOOF THIS HIT ME IN THE FEELS WRITING IT, move over daddy halsin, mama K is here to stay. I can just imagine them being competitive over their children. 'Well my orphan grew their first potato today' 'Well my orphan didn't pickpocket for a whole week'

Anyways hope you guys enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 tav #baldurs gate tav #baldurs gate iii #karlach #karlach x tav #karlach bg3 #baldurs gate karlach #karlach imagines #karlach x reader #karlach cliffgate #karlach cliffgate x reader #fluff #bg3 imagines #karlach fluff imagines #karlach fluff #karlach fix it ending

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bellarkeselection · 1 year ago

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Request

Reader dutton x rip wheeler

Reader has a Stalker one night when the ranch is out doing something reader is alone at the ranch and the Stalker comes attacks her and rip gets a call from kayce after finding her

He’ll go to the Train Station

Officially finished with all the requests in my ask box 😊

Coming back from town I shut the drivers door to my truck and gasped seeing someone I thought was gone from my life for good. Twisting the fabric of my jacket I gulped recognizing my ex boyfriend Mike who had to leave home when his mother got really sick. But he couldn’t get over the fact that I wouldn’t leave my family home to be with him. Mike was leaned up against the wooden post smiling at me yet all I felt from him was terror now. “Long time no see huh Y/n. I’ve been missing you something horrible in case you were wondering.”

“I’m not sorry to say that I haven’t missed you. What exactly are you doing here, Mike?” I questioned him crossing my arms across my chest slowly walking towards him but I avoided his gaze for the most part.

He pushed himself off the wooden stair railing coming toward me until we were almost pressed up against one another and I could smell some alcohol on his breath. “You should know exactly why I am here. I mean we did spend almost four years together. If my mother hadn’t gotten sick then I would have never left you and your beautiful body-“

“Don’t touch me, Mike. I thought you would have got my message after I ignored your hundreds of texts and the picture of me that I’m not even sure how you got them when you were supposed to be back in Texas.” He reached his hand up trying to tuck hair behind my ear but I smack his hand away before he could touch me.

Mike smirked down at me before he grabbed me by the waist and shoving me against the side of the stairs making me grunt at the impact. He ripped my shirt off of my body and it got covered in mud while I tried to kick him in between his legs. Yet he elbowed me in the gut and smashed his lips onto mine growing against my grunts. “You are mine and don’t ever think that anyone else deserves you. Nobody else can take care of you like I can. You belong to me - urgh!”

“Kayce…” I collapsed onto the dirt ground rummaging around and managing to get the shirt off the dirt ground seeing it was my younger brother who had pulled him off of me.

My brother sucker punched Mike to the dust before he could blink and he was covered in quite a few stains of blood and bruises. Kayce came over to me when I noticed that Mike had blacked out from how hard he had hit him, he pulled out his dialing my boyfriend Rip. “Rip, somebody came after my sister Y/n. I’m gonna check her out but thought you should know.”

“Kayce, I don’t know how he found Mel but he did. I can’t believe that I didn’t think he would. Is he..dead?” Holding the back of my head I drew my hand back seeing some blood on my finger tips. “Shit, he got me harder than I thought.”

Kayce bent down on a knee sweeping me up from the ground and into his arms bridal style and carried me inside my bedroom inside the main house. He comes back with a wet rag and had me press it to the the wound on the back of my head just watching me for a few minutes in silence. “Rip should be here in a second. He just saw my phone call. Can I get you anything, sis?”

“Nah I think I’m good.” I shifted the pillow trying to get comfortable hearing someone running up the wooden stairs meaning it had to be Rip for sure.

The door creaked open and he rushed to my bedside when my brother stepped out of the way knowing I would find more comfort with him now. Yet Kayce still stayed in the doorway watching our conversation just in case I needed extra help. “Sweetheart, where is the asshole whole thinks he can hurt you and not pay the consequences?”

“Rip, don’t worry about Mike. I’m fine and my head only hurts a little. Look, the bleeding has stopped.” Pulling the rag away I showed him the dry blood on it but he wouldn’t take that as a good enough answer.

He shook his head lifting his hands up to the sides of my face cradling it like I was a piece of valuable china that royalty would use. Too afraid he might break me but he never could do such a thing. "I just need to know that you aren't hurt. That asshole...he should have never laid a hand on you in the first place."

"I'll have the police arrest him for attempted rape." Kayce turned on his heels to leave.

Shooting forward upright in the bed I winced where Rip rubbed my back, trying to ease the pain. "Kayce wait. Jail doesn't excuse all the pain he gave me. He's...he's been stalking me since the day we broke up. He will just keep coming until he thinks I'm getting back together with him."

"No way in hell!" My brother spat in disgust.

Holding my hands up in front of me I cut them off before either of them could protest any further. "Woah, hang on. I'd never go back with someone like him. What I am saying is that I want him to be gone. Gone where he can't hurt anyone else...to the train station."

"We can do that. Right Rip?" Kayce asked our fathers top ranch hand.

Rip leans forward kissing the crown of my head gently wrapping his arms around my waist holding me against his safe embrace. "Done deal, darling. He'll go to the train station."

"I love you...both of you." Lifting my head up a little I shifted my gaze from my brother and back to Rip's brown eyes.

He smiled before I wrapped my arms around his neck and gripped the fabric of his jacket in my fingers letting some tears fall hearing him whispering in my ear the moment Kayce had left the room. "I love you too, Y/n."

Comments really appreciated ❤️

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giveafike · 5 months ago

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in honour of bens bday u should do a fic where he gets a special bday present iykyk!?!😉😉

TLDR: You surprise Ben on his bday with his fave present ever (you)! DW for my soft girls, I'll be posting a SFW alphabet after this

Word count + info: 3.5k! Lwky way longer than smut I'd normally write, but it's for a special occassion (I had this up my sleeve for some time). Dialogue (sex talk,.).

Warnings + Content Ahead: NSFW - Minors DNI!! Sweet loving unprotected sex, hickeys, oral sex ... erm yeah!

Azzie Notes ✚: I wasn't gonna let u guys go hungry on a day like today! I also wasn't about to proofread and post a NSFW fic in public lmao, so sorry for the wait!! Also, ANON!!! they say great minds think alike, I was gonna surprise u guys for today w this since we're all so desperate rn, anyways, happy birthday to us!! (im so sad he didnt win today, I hope hes ok tho. I also he posts for his bday so I have new pics to drool over)

P.S this cake in the middle made me YELP laughing, I had to include it. I love Ben's barely visible moustache too, pls am i feral or... 🤭🤭 SEND REQUESTS!!

————————————————————————

Shanghai - B.T.S.

You had been planning this for weeks, months actually, sacrificing your time, saving up, and ensuring every detail was perfect for Ben’s 22nd birthday. It wasn’t just another day; it was his day, and you would make sure it was unforgettable.

Of course, he didn't take a break, not even on his birthday. So naturally, you found yourself flying into Shanghai the afternoon before his birthday. You packed last minute but you knew exactly what to do when you got there. His dad, Bryan, and his personal trainer had been in on the whole surprise from the get-go, helping ensure everything would go smoothly. They were kind enough to organise and send you a spare key to Ben's apartment so you could set up his surprise while he spent the early hours preparing and playing on the courts. Ben was already deep into his routine for the Rolex Masters, completely oblivious to your plan. They had arranged for you to sneak into Ben’s apartment while he was out, leaving you the whole morning to prepare for his surprise.

The morning of his birthday, after Ben left for training and his match, you got to work. You had one mission: make everything perfect before he returned. With the help of the chef and a few decorators, who arrived early to set up while you were out, the apartment was being transformed into a celebration space. They handled the food, decorations, and clean up so you could focus on the rest of the surprise.

You went straight from the apartment to the bustling streets of Shanghai, making sure to get everything in one sweep. First, you found a shop that sold the most beautiful silver chain, sleek, simple, and elegant. The links were subtly engraved with the coordinates of the place of your first date. It was a personal, thoughtful gift, something he could wear daily without it being too flashy.

Next, you picked up the balloons, large, metallic letters that spelt out “Happy 22nd Birthday Ben!,” as well as gorgeous bouquets of red roses and white lilies, his favourites, he loved how they smelt. As you walked through the shops, your heart raced. You smiled, imagining his reaction when he saw the apartment transformed, he didn't even know you were here.

Your final stop was a chic lingerie boutique. You browsed through delicate fabrics before choosing a stunning set of black lace lingerie, seductive and understated, the perfect surprise for later that evening. With everything in hand, you rushed back to the apartment, anticipation buzzing in your veins.

Once the chef and decorators finished setting up and left, you had the apartment to yourself. The balloons were floating in the living room, the roses perfectly arranged in tall vases strewn around. The air was filled with the scent of candles and the delicious meal waiting to be heated up later, roasted duck breast, truffle mashed potatoes, and a rich red wine reduction. The cake sat in the fridge, waiting for its moment to shine with the cheeky message iced on top: “Happy Birthday! I love you for you, but that D is an amazing bonus too”. You checked on it and giggled to yourself before you headed to get ready.

You took your time getting ready. First, you showered and did your hair in soft waves that tumbled down your back. Your makeup was flawless, subtle with a bold touch of a deep vampy lipstick. You slipped into the black lace lingerie, feeling a rush of excitement as the delicate fabric hugged your skin. You took your time admiring it on you, knowing it would only get seconds of appreciation before it's torn off. Over it, you put on the gown you had chosen for the evening, a long, sheen golden dress that was tied at the neck and shimmered as it draped down to your ankles. It was backless, elegant yet sensual, teasing the bra wire at the back and you couldn’t wait for Ben to see it.

With everything in place, you received the text from Bryan:

Ben’s on his way back. He’ll be there soon.

It was time.

You lit the candles around the apartment, their warm glow casting a flickering, romantic light across the room. Then you dimmed the overhead lights, giving the space an intimate ambience. You hopped up onto the kitchen island, tucking your feet under you, the golden dress pooled as you propped yourself up with the cake on your lap, carefully placing and lighting candles. The scent of flowers and the flicker of candlelight filled the air as you waited, your heart beating faster with every passing minute.

Ben’s footsteps grew louder as he approached the door, but your heartbeat drowned them out. You took a deep breath, adjusting your posture on the counter, the lit candles casting a soft glow over your golden gown. The cake on your lap, with its cheeky message, waited for his reaction.

The door clicked open, and Ben stepped inside, in his shorts and t-shirt, looking completely unprepared for what greeted him. His eyes scanned the room in a quick sweep, first the balloons and decorations all over, then the flowers, the candles, before landing on you. His jaw dropped, eyes wide in surprise as his bag fell to the floor with a thud.

“Happy Birthday!” you said, hopping off the counter and sauntering towards him, the cake held out for him to blow out the candles. The flickering flames illuminated his expression, pure, genuine shock.

“Holy-" he began, running a hand through his tousled hair. "You're here? In Shanghai?”

You grinned, holding up the cake just beneath his chin. “Surprise, baby.”

He walked over to you in slow strides, shock written all over, converting into a big smile. Ben holds your face, kissing your forehead tenderly before he glances from you to the cake, his smile growing. Then he read the message, written in smooth icing: Happy Birthday! I love you for you, but that D is an amazing bonus too.

Ben chuckled, shaking his head, his voice rich with amusement. “Of course you would write that.”

You winked. “Come on, make a wish, birthday boy. The candles are melting”.

He blew out the candles, his eyes never leaving yours, his intensity heightened by the dim lighting. The last flicker of the candles faded, leaving the two of you in a soft, romantic glow.

You set the cake on the island and looked up at him expectantly with a cheeky smile. “So? What did you wish for?”

Ben tilted his head, his gaze lingering on you for a long moment. “I’m not supposed to tell you, right?” His voice dropped lower as he leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “But if I’m honest, I already got my wish”.

Your cheeks flushed at the warmth in his voice as he planted a kiss on your ear to your cheek, and you laughed, brushing him off playfully. “Smooth, Shelton. Real smooth.”

You beckoned him to take a seat at the dinner table while you plated up dinner. Ben’s gaze followed you as you turned to grab the plates, his eyes catching the thin strap of your lacy bra that peeked out from the backless gown. “Wait a second,” he said, voice thick with admiration. “What are you hidin' under here?".

You smirked over your shoulder, sliding the plated food onto the table. “No spoilers! That's for later”

Ben bit his lip, shaking his head, but the playful gleam in his eye was undeniable.

Dinner was simple yet elegant, spent in perfect company and admiration. The conversation flowed as it always did, full of laughter and warmth. You listened as he recounted stories from his time in Shanghai, but you couldn’t ignore how his gaze kept drifting toward you, especially as he roamed over your face and down to the golden gown.

After the final bites of dinner, it was time for his gifts. You handed him a small box first, an elegant silver chain that he unwrapped carefully, his brow furrowing in curiosity. His fingers brushed over the subtle engraving on the links.

“These are coordinates,” he murmured, more to himself.

You nodded. “To where we had our first date.”

Ben’s expression softened immediately, his hand closing around the chain. “Oh, baby...” His voice was quiet, full of emotion as he thumbed over the engraving. He pulled it on, the silver glinting softly in the candlelight as it rested against his neck. “This is perfect. I love it.”

You smiled, watching him admire it before you handed him a few more small gifts, personal things you knew he’d love, tokens of your relationship like a small scrapbook of things you love about him with printed photos, some gifts from his friends back home, a Lego set. He found himself smiling, chuckling and soft with each gift. As the gifts came to a close, you stood up and made your way in front of Ben.

With a mischievous grin, you leaned closer, voice teasing. “But the best present is still to come.”

Ben raised an eyebrow, his grin widening as you knelt, turned around and swept your hair to the side, revealing the small tie at the nape of your neck that held your golden gown in place. “Want to unwrap your final present?”

His hands were on you in an instant, fingers brushing against your skin as he slowly undid the delicate knot. The gown loosened, slipping easily down your body, the soft fabric cascading to the floor in a golden pool around your feet.

Ben’s breath hitched as he took in the sight of you standing there in front of him in nothing but the black lace lingerie that had played in his mind all night. The candlelight only made you look all the more beautiful, feeling like he was entranced. His gaze travelled over your body, and his voice dropped to a rough whisper. “Jesus, baby…”

His hands gently grazed your bare skin as his eyes roamed over every inch of you. “You knew exactly what you were doing when you picked this out.”

“I know what my boyfriend likes,” you teased, holding his hands and bringing him to his feet. He stood close, his hands roaming the small of your back, your shoulders, your hips - anywhere he could feel your skin. Your height difference is now apparent as you look up at him through your lashes.“I’ve got his taste figured out by now.”

Ben grinned, his gaze darkening as his hand slid up to cradle your jaw. “You definitely do,” he whispered before pulling you into a kiss, deep, slow, and intoxicating. His lips were warm and soft against yours, the heat between you both intensifying with each passing second. The kiss deepened, his hands sliding down to your waist, pulling you closer as though he couldn't get enough of you.

You broke the kiss, breathless, your heart pounding as you looked up at him. “Come with me, just one more surprise,” you said softly, taking his hand and leading him toward the bedroom.

As you approached, the door swung open, revealing a scene that took Ben by surprise once again. The room was bathed in the warm glow of candles scattered across various surfaces, their flickering light casting soft shadows on the walls. Rose petals were strewn artfully over the bed, a trail of them leading from the door to where the plush bedding awaited. It was romantic, thoughtful, and completely personal, elevating the moment beyond any cliché.

Ben stood in the doorway for a moment, his hand still in yours, his gaze sweeping over the room. His breath caught, and he gave a quiet, amazed laugh. “I've never been so spoiled before, Y/N.”

You turned to him, your smile soft, the warmth of the moment settling around you both. “Only the best for you. Happy birthday, baby. I love you so much”.

He didn’t waste another second. In one smooth motion, Ben hauled you up into his arms, his lips capturing yours again in a kiss that felt even more intense than the last. There was something deeper in it now, filled with gratitude and love, not just desire. His hands roamed your body, appreciating every inch, as he brought you towards the bed. Your legs wrapped around his waist as you let him take the reign of the kiss, letting him enjoy feeling you up after so long. The feel of his lips, the way his fingers tangled in your hair as he kissed you like he couldn’t believe you were there, it made the whole night feel perfect. He tugged off his shorts and broke the kiss to take off his t-shirt.

He paused, holding your face as he looked down at you before he began to speak, chains dangling in your face, his voice husky against your skin. “You’ve made this the best birthday I’ve ever had. Thank you.”.

Your heart swelled at his words, and you smiled softly, holding his face and rubbing your thumb across his cheek. “And the night’s only just started. Let me take care of you tonight”. You winked as you gently pushed his shoulder down, putting you on top and letting him feel nothing but pure pleasure and love tonight. You straddled him as you undid your bra, tossing it to the side.

His breath hitched again, eyes trailing over you in admiration.

“God, you’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion and desire. His hands ran up your sides in a feathering feeling, before cupping your breasts, palming and tweaking your nipples.

"And you're amazing. I love you, Ben. I'm all yours" you purred as you swept your hair over to one side, placing your palms on his broad chest, lowering yourself down as you planted kisses along his jaw.

Your words made him exhale deeply, giving you just the motivation you needed. You made sure you were going to kiss every inch of Ben tonight, show him just how much you loved and adored him. You sucked on the soft spots you knew well by now, places that made him whimper and groan with pleasure, your favourite symphony. You nipped at his Adam's apple while he fondled your breasts, pinching, rolling and tugging at your nipples. The feeling made you moan against his throat, both of you enthralled in bliss. You trailed your mouth and tongue down kissing and suckling his shoulders and chest, leaving a trail of hickeys all over. You could hear the soft gasps escape his mouth as he held your body tight.

"Ben? Baby, keep your eyes on me, m'kay?" You purred as you made your way to his stomach, about to kiss down to his happy trail.

His eyes flitted open as he propped himself up to keep his eyes on you, never once breaking eye contact. You trailed down, right by his waistband as you danced around, teasing him. You could feel his hard length, desperate to be free, you could see the desperation in his eyes, his mouth agape, brows furrowed, and you could see your work marked all over him, leaving purple stains tainting his skin.

"Y/N...please" he whispered, his voice croaking.

You smiled, holding back a small laugh as you bit his waistband, dragging it down with your teeth as he lifted himself a bit to help you slide them off. You lowered yourself to the edge of the bed, on your knees, never once breaking eye contact.

Ben's erection sprang free, already hard and eager for your touch. You couldn't help but lick your lips at the sight, feeling a surge of desire course through you.

"Tell me what you want, birthday boy," you hummed, your breath hot against his skin as you placed your head on his thigh.

Ben's eyes were dark with lust as he looked down at you. "Your mouth," he groaned. "Please, baby".

Maintaining eye contact, you slowly kissed the tip, before licking a long stripe from base to tip. Ben let out a low groan, his hands fisting in the sheets. You swirled your tongue around the head before taking his head into your mouth.

Ben's eyes fluttered closed before snapping open again, remembering your request to keep watching. You began to bob your head, taking another inch with each pass. Your hand worked in tandem with your mouth, stroking what you couldn't fit.

"Fuck, baby," Ben panted, one hand moving to tangle in your hair, putting it up into a ponytail. "That feels so good."

You hummed in response, the vibrations making him buck against you. You did your very best to try to take as much of his girthy cock as possible, your eyes watering a bit as you did so. You felt so seductive at this moment, the wetness growing in your lacy thong as you worked your boyfriend as if he paid for this.

As you continued your ministrations, alternating between long, slow licks and deep, rhythmic sucking, Ben's breathing became more ragged. His grip tightened in your hair as he guided you up and down his length as he fought to keep his hips still. You could feel Ben getting close, his cock twitching in your mouth.

"Y/N," he groaned, tugging gently at your hair. "I'm gonna-"

You pulled off with a soft pop, looking up at him through your lashes. "Not yet, baby. I want you inside me".

Ben groaned in frustration, but his eyes were dark with anticipation as you crawled back up his body. You straddled his hips, the lace of your panties brushing against his sensitive skin. His hands roamed your body, caressing every curve and dip before finding your waist. When he reached the waistband of your lace panties, he pushed it to the side, placing his thumb on your clit, and applying pressure. You had worked yourself soaking wet during the whole evening, your arousal was apparent.

You gently hovered and aligned him up to your core, before gently taking him in. You slowly sank onto Ben's length, savouring the delicious stretch as he filled you completely.

You both let out a simultaneous moan of pleasure as you bottomed out, your hands braced on his chest for support. The feeling of him stretching and filling you was amazing, it never failed to make your eyes roll and you took a moment to adjust, savouring the sensation.

Ben's fingers dug into your hips, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made your heart race.

"God, you feel amazing," he breathed, voice husky with desire.

You began to move, rolling your hips in a slow, sensual rhythm. Ben met your movements, thrusting up into you with perfect synchronicity. The room filled with the sounds of your shared pleasure, skin slapping, soft moans, low groans, and whispered endearments.

As the pace quickened, Ben sat up, wrapping one arm around your waist to pull you closer, deeper if even possible. His other hand tangled in your hair, guiding you into a deep, passionate kiss. You could feel the cool metal of his chains hitting against your breasts with every thrust and roll. His touch on your skin was reverent as if he couldn't believe you were real.

You whispered sweet “i-love-yous” and precious words of endearment, as you felt yourself coming close. He pressed his lips to your forehead, before pressing his forehead against yours, both of you heaving and moaning.

You could feel the tension building, the heat coiling low in your belly as you rode Ben with increasing urgency. Ben's hands roamed your back, tracing the curve of your spine as you rode him, your hips rolling in a sensual rhythm that had you both panting. His thrusts became more erratic, his breathing ragged against your neck as he buried his face there, peppering kisses and gentle bites along your sensitive skin.

"You’re so beautiful, Y/N, so perfect." Ben groaned, his voice strained. "I'm close, baby. So close."

You nodded, moaning, unable to form words as the pleasure threatened to overwhelm you. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, your body trembling with the effort to hold back your release. "Me too," you managed to gasp. "Together".

You could feel the familiar tension building within you, your movements becoming more urgent. Ben's hand slipped between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and circling it with practised ease.

"That's it, baby," he encouraged, his breath hot against your ear. "Let go for me".

The added stimulation was all it took to push you over the edge. Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, pleasure coursing through every nerve ending as you came, followed by Ben, who groaned, his face contorted as he felt himself fill you up. You cried out his name as waves of pleasure washed over you, your body trembling in his arms. Ben held you close, guiding you through your orgasm with gentle thrusts and whispered praise. You both stayed like that for some time before you climbed off him and collapsed on the bed.

“I hope you got everything you wanted, birthday boy” you gasped, catching your breath. Your legs still shook a bit and your body trembled as you lay there, looking up at your smiling boyfriend.

“You have no idea, I can’t wait to spend every birthday like this with you” he smiled, leaning down to peck kisses over your shoulder and neck.

"We'll celebrate like this every year, Ben. Happy birthday, my love" you hummed, pressing a kiss to his lips. With that, you both lay in each other’s arms whispering sweet adorations, happy to spend the next while by each other’s side.

#ben shelton #benshelton #ben shelton x reader

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freesia-writes · 1 year ago

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Hey there! So... I saw your Valentine post and I would really love to read a little something with my beloved, if that's alright! I really like your blog and your vibe so I figured it would be a great read!

So if it's alright, I'd love to request a Crosshair x Fem!Reader where the reader is shorter than him, kind of with a grumpy/sunshine or a "stoic man goes soft when he looks at the woman he loves" kind of thing... I'm so weak for that trope, honestly, and Crosshair always sweeps me off my feet ❤️

No pressure at all, love! I'll be happy to read what you write for this February 14th.

Hugs!

Hellooooo friend! :) Thanks so much! I hope this is a warm and fuzzy little read for ya. Dividers courtesy of @stars-n-spice via this post. I wasn't sure if I should post them all on the 14th or just churn em out as I finish, but I figured I'd space em out a bit. 🤓

Crosshair x Reader (I think it could be Fem or GN; hair in the face is mentioned, as well as "looking pretty", but I think that's it)

1.2k words - SFW - content warnings are just flirtin n kissin. 😜

The indoor shooting range on Kamino hummed with the steady rhythm of blaster fire, the loud noise constantly reverberating off the walls. You stood at the edge of the range, observing the troopers as they honed their skills and ready to provide additional instruction or advice as needed. A tall, lanky figure caught your eye, and your heart skipped a beat. Clone Force 99 must be on world.

Crosshair's presence always commanded attention, his tall frame towering over the troopers as he moved with purpose and precision. It wasn't the first time you had encountered him here, and each time, you found yourself captivated by his silent prowess and unwavering focus.

As he lined up his first shot, you couldn't help but admire the way he handled his weapon with ease, his movements fluid and controlled. Despite his stoic demeanor, there was an undeniable magnetism about him, an irresistible pull that drew you in like a moth to a flame. The interactions you’d had over the last number of months had always left you wanting more; you were sure of an incredible depth and complexity beneath his icy exterior, and the few quips and jabs you’d traded in the mess hall as well as the firing range had only served to fuel your interest.

The presence of other troopers always kept his walls up, though. You noticed the way he’d walk -- steady and focused, unaffected by anything around him. His gaze was steely and his affect flat, save for the few glances you’d shared where you could swear there was an imperceptible softening in his sharp eyes.

"Nice shooting," you called out as he completed the course, a genuine smile playing at your lips. "You make it look easy."

Crosshair grunted in response, but there was a flicker of something in his amber eyes, a hint of appreciation for your words. It wasn't often that he received praise, and you could tell it meant more to him than he let on.

"It is easy," he replied gruffly, his lips hinting at a smile. "You ever shoot anything in here, or do you just stand around and look pretty?”

You chuckled at his comment, feeling a warmth spread through you at the compliment. "I guess I just stick to what I’m best at," you replied, unable to hide the smile in your voice as you peered up at him.

Crosshair's smirk grew, a rare display of emotion from the typically stoic sniper. "I guess," he conceded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than usual. “You want a lesson?”

The air between you crackled with tension, the unspoken attraction simmering just beneath the surface. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, and for a moment, it felt as though the world around you had fallen away.

“I suppose a little extra preparation couldn’t hurt,” you attempted, casting one last glance down the range to ensure that everyone was alright on their own for now before stepping into one of the stalls.

Crosshair stepped in behind you, slipping a basic blaster into your hands and nodding down the alley, where the targets had begun to move and shuffle around one another in their predictable way. You took a deep breath, suddenly feeling wildly self-conscious, as though you’d never handled a weapon in your life.

“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” you confessed.

“Performance anxiety getting to you?” he teased, stepping closer so his chest was pressed against your back. He reached around your shoulders, easy for him from his height, and fitted his hands around yours where they rested on the blaster. Your heart skipped a beat at his proximity, suddenly swimming in this scent and closeness and presence. Almost automatically, you found yourself nestling into his embrace, completely and totally unaware of everything else going on. You heard him inhale behind you, then he quickly compensated by leveling the blaster at the first target. “Come on, show me what you’ve got.”

You sighed, bringing yourself back to the task at hand and raising the blaster to your eye, squinting to get a good aim and waiting to get the timing right. You watched the rhythm of the targets, memorizing the track and speed of each, then squeezed off a few shots, hitting some of them but not all. A self-effacing little chuckle fell from your lips as you set the blaster down on the tray in front of you, stepping to the side to look at Crosshair sheepishly.

“You make me nervous,” you admitted, seeking an excuse but realizing it was more of a confession.

“So sorry,” he crooned, stepping a bit closer and brushing a strand of hair back from your face. You sucked in a sharp breath, caught off guard by the sudden intimacy of the gesture.

"You've been watching me," he murmured, his voice low and smooth. "I've noticed."

Heat flooded your cheeks at the realization that he had been aware of your gaze all along. "I... I have," you confessed, meeting his gaze with a mix of nervousness and anticipation. “Sorry. You’re just really good at what you do.”

“Mmm. Is that it?” he prodded, moving his hand to brush your cheek with the backs of gently-curled fingers.

“Geez, Crosshair,” you breathed, eyes dropping to his chest as your heart pounded in your chest. You were utterly speechless, simultaneously frozen in place and yet fighting every urge in your body to reach out and touch him, pull him hard against you.

“Maybe a lesson of a different sort,” he suggested, a gleam in his luminous eyes that made your knees weak. Before you could respond, he leaned closer, gaze flickering down to your lips and back, hesitating for a second as though waiting for you to pull away. But you were drawn in, moving without your permission, reaching up to bring your face to his as your hand snuck around the back of his neck.

And then he was kissing you. It was gentle at first, hesitant and questioning, then slowly grew firmer as he took one more step closer, cupping your face with two strong hands. Your eyes were closed so tightly that you thought you may have been dreaming, trying so hard to commit every single detail to memory, from the shocking softness of his lips to the intoxicating sensation of his frame curled around your own. Pulling back, he met your gaze once more, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

"Not bad," he remarked, his tone teasing. "But I think it could use some further practice."

You couldn't help but laugh at his playful arrogance, the tension between you dissipating like smoke in the wind. Lingering for a moment, you cupped his cheek before stepping back, resting a hand on his chest for a second and then dropping it to your side.

“Anything for the Republic,” you said with a cheesy salute, cringing immediately at your own attempt at humor.

He slipped a toothpick into his mouth, flicking it into one corner as touched your chin with some lightly curled fingers before giving you a wink and sauntering away, leaving you standing there, dumbfounded.

“If you’re done making out with the weirdo, can I get a reset on the lane over here?” a clone voice called out, evoking a bright blush across your face as you rushed over to help him, ignoring the taunting grin on his face.

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jasmineandcedar · 6 months ago

Text

"His head went quiet." | Peace and quiet in the mind of a shadowsinger

[Second Solstice] “It's beautiful," she [Elain] whispered, lifting it from the box. The golden faelight shone through the little glass facets, setting the charm glowing with hues of red and pink and white. Azriel let his shadows whisk away the box as she said softly, "Put it on me?" His head went quiet. But he took the necklace, opening the clasp as she exposed her back, sweeping her hair up in one hand to bare her long, creamy neck [Azriel's BC).

When I read that Azriel’s head went quiet in the bonus chapter, I often think of it in a wider and perhaps more symbolic sense. As in, Elain gives him peace and quiet. He relaxes with her in the garden, sunning his wings. His shadows vanish in her presence (here’s a post I wrote dissecting my perception of the meaning of this). His soft and gentle side comes out around her (meaning he has no need to be stone-faced and guarded, as he usually is). However, I also believe the peace and quiet she gave him in that precise moment is also very specific and contextual.

What had been plaguing his mind leading up to their moment during Solstice night?

[Second Solstice] Sleep, they [his shadows] seemed to whisper in his ear. Sleep. I wish I could, he answered silently. But sleep so rarely found him these days. Too many razor-sharp thoughts sliced him any time he grew still long enough for them to strike. Too many wants and needs left his skin overheated and pulling taut across his bones. So he slept only when his body gave out, and even then only for a few hours (Azriel’s BC).

“Razor-sharp thoughts” and “wants and needs”. These words give meaning to Azriel's actions in ACOSF. All throughout ACOSF, we see Azriel distressed and clearly not OK, because of his feelings for Elain. Even to the point that Cassian (who, let’s be honest, is not the most observant) notices.

[Azriel telling Cassian Nesta and Cassian are wanted at the river house] “You and Nesta are wanted down there.” “Because of the shit with Elain?” Azriel stilled. “What happened to Elain?” Cassian waved a hand. “A fight with Nesta. Don’t bring it up,” he warned when Azriel’s eyes darkened. Cassian blew out a breath. “I take that as a no regarding the meeting topic, then.” “It’s about what I discovered. Rhys said he requires you both there.” “It’s bad, then.” Cassian surveyed the shadows gathered around Az. “You all right?” His brother nodded. “Fine.” But shadows still swarmed him. Cassian knew it was a lie, but didn’t push it. Az would speak when he was ready, and Cassian would have better success convincing a mountain to move than getting Az to open up. (ACOSF)

[Cassian asking Azriel if he wants kids] Cassian looked over at Az. “You think you’ll ever be ready for one?” Ever be ready to confess to Mor what’s in your heart? “I don’t know,” Azriel said. “Do you want a child?” “It doesn’t matter what I want.” Distant words—ones that prevented Cassian from prying further. He was still happy to be Mor’s buffer with Azriel, but there’d been a change lately. In both of them. Mor no longer sat beside Cassian, draped herself over him, and Azriel … those longing glances toward her had become few and far between. As if he’d given up. After five hundred years, he’d somehow given up. Cassian couldn’t think why. (ACOSF)

[Azriel, Cassian, and Nesta training] Nesta’s stare seared him from across the ring. Cassian might have flexed his stomach muscles as he approached the chalk-lined circle. Az shook his head and muttered, “Pathetic, Cass.” Cassian winked, nodding to his brother’s equally muscled stomach. “Where have you been exercising these days?” “Here,” Azriel said. “At night.” After he returned from spying on their enemies. “Can’t sleep?” Cassian took up a fighting stance. A shadow curled around Azriel’s neck, the only one brave enough to face the sunlight. “Something like that,” he said, and settled into his own stance across from Cassian. Cassian let it drop, knowing Az would have told him already if he’d wanted to share what had been hounding him enough to exercise at night, rather than in the morning with them (ACOSF).

Clearly, Azriel’s head has been nothing but quiet all throughout ACOSF. But during Solstice night, with Elain, it went quiet. What happened before his head went quiet? It's reasonable to assume that what preceded his head going quiet is what caused it. So, what was that?

[Second Solstice] “It's beautiful," she whispered, lifting it from the box. The golden faelight shone through the little glass facets, setting the charm glowing with hues of red and pink and white. Azriel let his shadows whisk away the box as she said softly, "Put it on me?" His head went quiet. But he took the necklace, opening the clasp as she exposed her back, sweeping her hair up in one hand to bare her long, creamy neck (Azriel's BC).

“Put it on me?” Elain asked, and Azriel’s head went quiet. Why? What is it to put a necklace on someone? It is to act.

Up until the necklace, Azriel knew Elain was aware of his feelings for her, and why he hesitates to act on them.

[Second Solstice] He [Azriel] left the rest unspoken. Because her mate was here, sleeping a level up. Because her mate had been in the family room and Azriel had needed to stay by the door the whole time because he couldn't stand the sight of it, the scent of their mating bond, and needed to have the option of leaving if it became too much. Elain's large brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that. Just as he knew she was well aware of why Azriel so rarely came to family dinners these days. (Azriel’s BC)

So, Azriel knows they have feelings for each other that they both are aware of. They have shared glances and brushing of fingers.

[Second Solstice] It had never gone this far. They'd exchanged looks, the occasional brush of their fingers, but never this. Never blatant, unrestricted touching (Azriel’s BC).

What is missing, for those feelings to be more than mutual feelings, is action. What Azriel doesn't know (I think) is if Elain would be ready to act on those feelings, beyond the occasional brush of their fingers and a lingering glance here and there. I am doubtful he had expected Elain to be willing to act on it that Solstice night, and I am convinced he had never felt entitled to it. Why do I think this? Because he never planned for a future with her in it beside him.

[When Rhys confronts Azriel during Solstice night] "So you'll what?" Rhys's voice was pure ice. "Seduce her away from him?” Azriel said nothing. He hadn't gotten that far with his planning, certainly not beyond the fantasies he pleasured himself to (Azriel's BC).

Why had he not allowed himself to plan beyond his fantasies? Because he didn’t feel entitled to a future with her. Why do I say that? Think about what planning is. It is imagining a future you want and how to get there. If he didn’t expect Elain to be ready to act on their mutual feelings, it makes sense he had no hope of a future with her, because he is not entitled to a future with her that she doesn’t consent to.

Think of what kind of person Azriel is. And then think of the circumstances required for him to imagine a future he wants with Elain, and to imagine how to get there (= planning). Azriel is a guy who is seemingly intent on consent and not pushing himself on, especially, women. Look at how he acts with the priestesses in ACOSF. And with Elain, he extends a hand, an arm and so on (an offer). But not only that. He extends a hand, an arm, after having asked her (offer and permission).

[Azriel has just flown Elain to the town house] Azriel smiled faintly. “Would you like me to show you the garden?” She seemed so small before him, so fragile compared to the scales of his fighting leathers, the breadth of his shoulders. The wings peeking over them. But Elain did not balk from him, did not shy away as she nodded—just once. Azriel, graceful as any courtier, offered her an arm. I couldn’t tell if she was looking at his blue Siphon or at his scarred skin beneath as she breathed, “Beautiful.” (ACOWAR)

[Feyre offering to take Elain to the garden] I dragged a hand over my face before going to Elain and touching her too-bony shoulder. “Can I set you up in the garden? The herbs you planted are coming in nicely.” “I can help her,” said Azriel, stepping to the table as Elain silently rose. No shadows at his ear, no darkness ringing his fingers as he extended a hand. Nesta monitored him like a hawk, but kept silent as Elain took his hand, and out they went. (ACOWAR)

So, when Elain said, “put it on me?” I think it meant to Azriel that Elain showed him she was willing to act on their mutual feeling. It is an explicit expression of consent for him to act (offer and permission). Then, he “nearly groans with relief and need” when she allows him to put the necklace on her, urges him to touch her, and gives him her consent to kiss her (offer and permission). What is he relieved about? That she is willing to act. She confirms not only that she feels the same, but that she is even braver than him and ready to act. Even with her mate upstairs.

If Elain is willing to act, there is a possibility of a future. It opens the door towards a future with her that he could imagine, and if he can imagine a future with her, he can imagine how they’d get there. That is what it means to plan. Something he couldn't have allowed himself to do before "put it on me?" and all that followed in that interaction (with Elain leading it).

Look at what happens after he learns Elain is willing to act. He is questioning the Cauldron itself openly for the first time, with Rhys. I see it as the first seeds towards a bigger plan.

[Rhys confronts Azriel during Solstice night] Azriel stiffened. Let his cold rage rise to the surface, the rage he only ever let Rhysand see, because he knew his brother could match it. "What if the Cauldron was wrong?" Rhysand blinked. "What of Mor, Az?" Azriel ignored the question. "The Cauldron chose three sisters. Tell me how it's possible that my two brothers are with two of those sisters, yet the third was given to another." He had never before dared speak the words aloud (Azriel’s BC).

Consider Azriel’s nature. He is not impulsive. He works in the background. Waiting for the right moment to act is not only a cornerstone of his job, but of his personality, as evident in his assertion that spying suits him precisely because of that. He is not careful and prudent because he is Spymaster, he is Spymaster because he is careful and prudent.

[Training with Nesta and Cassian] “Right,” Cassian panted through gritted teeth as he blocked Az’s kick and bounced a step back, circling again. “Whoever lands the next blow wins.” “That’s ridiculous,” Az panted back. “We go until one of us eats dirt.” Az had a vicious competitive streak. It wasn’t boastful and arrogant, the way Cassian knew he himself was prone to be, or possessive and terrifying like Amren’s. No, it was quiet and cruel and utterly lethal. Cassian had lost track of how many games they’d played over the centuries, with one of them certain of a win, only for Az to reveal some master strategy. Or how many games had been reduced to only Rhys and Az left standing, battling it out over cards or chess until the middle of the night, when Cassian and Mor had given up and started drinking (ACOSF).

[Cassian and Azriel on the lookout] “Four fucking days,” Cassian hissed from where he and Azriel monitored the castle. “We’ve been sitting on our asses for four fucking days.” Azriel sharpened Truth-Teller. The black blade absorbed the dim sunlight trickling through the forest canopy above. “It seems you’ve forgotten how much of spying is waiting for the right moment. People don’t engage in their evil deeds when it’s convenient to you.” Cassian rolled his eyes. “I stopped spying because it bored me to death. I don’t know how you put up with this all the time." “It suits me.” Azriel didn’t halt his sharpening, though shadows gathered around his feet (ACOSF).

When Azriel says “this was a mistake” about the almost-kiss, and “tonight had proved he 'd been right to do so” (Azriel's BC) about staying away from Elain, it is obviously not an expression of rejection. He didn't suddenly change his mind about Elain. He is questioning his impulsivity and recklessness. Because, as much as I, for entirely self-interested reasons, wish Rhys didn’t interrupt them, making out downstairs during Solstice (and whatever that might have led to) was quite reckless and impulsive. Clearly, none of them had planned to do that.

Azriel achieves his goals not through impulsivity and brute force, but through careful consideration and strategizing. I think that, since Elain said “put it on me?”, he has perhaps been cooking up some "master strategy" to make them happen (I, too, don't think it was a coincidence he was present to find out the Cauldron had, in fact, been tampered with, in HOFAS). He got her explicit consent, and a minute later he is questioning his religion in front of his High Lord. I think there might be some miscommunication initially in Elain’s book, given how Elain probably doesn’t know Rhys is the reason Azriel decided not to follow through with the kiss. And I think Azriel definitely will struggle with his feelings of not being worthy.

But then, I think we’ll be privy to some master strategizing on their part, challenging not only Rhys but fate itself.

#elriel

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