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winterzsurprise · 1 year ago

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Taking care of you || Miguel O'hara

Pairing: Miguel O'hara x f!reader

Summary: Miguel comes home after a rough week and a half out of his universe and you decided that the only way to take care of him was to web him down.

Tags: NOT BETA READ, SMUT, bondage, overstimulation, denied orgasms, multiple orgasms, blowjob, blindfolds, he bites you and paralyzes you, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it folks), big dick Miguel, sub Miguel (ig??? he still try to get the upper hand throughout)

Words: 2k

I was struggling because all the words I know are aggressive because I watch gaming streamer (Quackity & Roier) and I don't think moaning pendejo or chinga tu madre is very sexy.

Spanish speakers, tell me what moanable curses you guys have, it's for science (I am begging u)

mi vida - my life || cariño - honey || mi amor - my love || dios mio - my god || mierda - shit || puta madre - motherfucker

When Miguel came home after a long week and a half, he’d expect a heartful meal to consume before passing out on a warm bed beside you. To get bound on the chair with a special web fluid designed to keep him down in the dimly lit apartment is not one of those expectations.

Being a Spider-Man with no spider senses, his first instinct was to break out of the binds, calming down and unmasking once he caught a whiff of your scent.

“Mi vida? What are you planning this time?”

“Nada, is it a crime to want to take care of you?”

Your touch burned through his suit as you dragged your fingers across his chest. After days without being to see nor feel your presence near him, the desire in his chest grew from a pea sized to universal.

“I’ll give you thirty minutes to finish what you planned before I break out of this shit.”

You grabbed his jaw, forcing him to look over his shoulder where you stood so mysteriously with no indication of your clothing visible to his eyes.

“You won’t.”

Miguel chuckled. “Why not? I can probably break out of this if I want to.”

“I’ll go back home to my dimension for a month and you wouldn’t even be able to find me since you’d be busy with work.”

He frowned, cursing under his breath to which you giggled at.

“Are you going to break out, mi amor?”

He said nothing, turning away bitterly and you took it as a win.

“Now, let me take care of you.”

When your lips first touched his neck, a spark went off in his veins. He grunts as your hands start roaming his chest with feather-light touches, forcing him to retract the suit to be able to feel your warmth on his skin to complete the gaping hole in his chest.

There was something about Miguel being tied up, hopeless and responsive to your touches as depravity clawed at his chest.

The frustrated groan when you pulled away to reposition yourself to sit on his lap told you everything you knew, the tent poking you when you sat on him was also a confirmation. Placing a kiss on his cheekbones, you pulled out the blindfold from your pockets and he groaned.

"Really?"

"Oh shush."

You've read somewhere about blindfolds enhancing the experience as a whole, something about taking out one sense amplifying the others and decided to try it out tonight.

And Miguel having sharper senses than most Spider people only made your plan irresistible to not do.

Tying it around his eyes, you find yourself enamored with how vulnerable and submissive he looks right now.

"Darling, you look so pretty like this."

He scoffed. "I would look better on top of you, cariño."

"Fair enough."

Unbuttoning his shirt, you placed light kisses on every inch of skin exposed to your eyes while he'd sigh at the feeling of your lips on him. You weren't able to unbutton it all nor push it away due to the webs but you deemed it perfect as long as his pecs and some parts of his collarbones are out in the open.

Turning your attention to his pants, you captured his lips with yours and it instantly grew heated with a hunger not even a meal alone can satisfy. Pulling his fly down, your hands rose to tug at his hair to which he groaned, a reaction you've never had in the past.

Is it really effective?

Pulling away, you tugged on his waistbands and pulled them down to reveal his girth standing at full attention leaking with pre-cum.

"Fuck… touch me."

“You’re not in control here.”

Even then, you wrapped your hand around his dick and even that alone got his breath stuck to his throat.

Maybe you should bring the blindfold more often…

Pumping him leisurely, he threw his head back, melting into the chair, thighs spreading wider as the enhanced ecstasy spiked his veins, stirring every fiber of his system awake.

"Mierda, th-that feels so good…"

The sight of his glistening chest heaving heavily as sweat beads on his forehead is enough to make your nose bleed till the next year. A memory forever ingrained in your mind.

You trailed kisses on his collarbones and up to the side of his neck. Miguel's streams of mumbled Spanish curses and shaky exhales should be classified as a drug with how addicted and how greedily you were engulfing every noise he makes.

"You look so pretty like this baby, it makes me want to tease you a little."

He said nothing, reveling in the nirvana you offered him so generously. His hips struggled and writhed in the small space he was allowed to, chasing his promised euphoria with desperation.

But before he could notify you, you unmounted him and he let out a frustrated groan. Miguel was about to rip the binds until you got to your knees, only to web his feet to the chair legs as well and he grew more tempted to do so.

"Come on! Even the feet?"

"Gotta secure the package, darling."

Placing chaste kisses on his weeping head, the complaints died down in his throat. You then laved your tongue around his slit, gathering as much of his pre-cum and he groaned, dick twitching in your hold. His taste is heavy on your tongue and you moan.

You missed him on your tongue.

Taking his whole cockhead, Miguel flinched, arms struggling behind him as you hollowed out your cheeks and sucked hard while circling your tongue around his girth, providing him multiple sensations surrounding his girth.

"Dios mio, remove this blindfold. I wanna see you." He said, almost begging. "Please?"

"No, you look prettier this way."

Your hands stroked the places your mouth couldn't reach and Miguel's thighs trembled. His pants and borderline whimpers sounded like a sweet melody, the sight of his perspired skin glistening under the moonlight with his head thrown back burning itself at the back of your lids.

You'd stop at nothing to be able to see him like this again.

Then you heard a snap from the webs and you halted, pulling away to his absolute dismay.

"No no no no, ay puta madre—"

"Stop struggling and maybe I will continue."

He didn't say anything, his fuzzy mind struggling to conjure any good bargain to bring up.

"R-remove the blindfold then I'll consider."

"Nope."

He groaned, almost whiny and you grinned. Miguel slowly settled down, suppressing himself from breaking more threads. Once you deemed him behaved enough, you dipped down to take him in once more.

Relaxing your mouth, you sink in another inch of him before descending as further as you could go and pumping the other areas you knew you couldn't reach. The groan that left his lips was guttural, almost animalistic.

"Fuck, I'm near. Deeper cariño, I know you can do it."

Pinching his shaking thighs, you quickened your strokes while waiting for any tell tale of his climax. When his breathing picked up and his abdomen pulsed, you pulled away.

And Miguel whimpered.

And he realized it a little too late, cheeks darkening as he groaned in embarrassment.

"You did not hear that."

You laughed lightly. "But it was cute."

"Fuck your cute and pretty bullshit, why did you pull away?!"

You grinned. "I liked seeing you struggle."

"Ripping this off gets very tempting every passing second."

"I'll run away and don't think I won't do it."

The sound of you shedding off your shorts stopped him from mumbling incoherent complaints. You swung your leg over his thighs and placed yourself above his weeping dick. With his sense of smell

"Don't break from the webs, alright? If you do—"

"You'll run away, I know. Just fucking get on with it."

"So impatient, what if I don't do anything at all?"

"I will break off these chains and take you on the floor. Don't tempt me." He growled, pushing his arms out, stretching the webs as a demonstration.

Rolling your eyes, you lined him against your heat and sank down, the hardest part of your plan for the evening. Despite trying your best to stretch yourself out earlier before his arrival along with the drenched state you're in, it proved useless with how difficult it was to have him.

You hissed as the burn of the stretch lit your veins on fire and Miguel grunted, arms twitching at his sides.

"St-stop clenching so hard!"

"Not my fault you have a big dick!"

As you take in more of his inches, Miguel grew crazy at the warm tightness surrounding him reawakening the denied orgasm earlier. The blindfold taking away his sight only magnified the pleasure flooding his system to the brim. The coil in his abdomen tightened and he threw his head back, absolutely light-headed and drunk on ecstacy.

"Le-let me bite you, yeah? It'll go away. Fuck…! I'm so close..."

You didn't second guess his intentions, falling to his shoulder with your neck bared to his lips. Trusting your Spider-Man genes, he spared no time leaning down and sinking his fangs into you.

You gasped at the feeling of his incisors piercing your skin as your mind grew fuzzy and your body numbed itself to paralysis. Miguel, desperate for his climax, plunged his entire length into you before thrusting savagely in and out of your heat.

The sound of a hundred threads ripping off cuts through the air, his arms surged from behind the chair to curl around you. His heavy exhales, borderline whines, made your brain short circuit as he chased after his denied orgasms ferociously.

Panting openly on your shoulders with your name vaguely murmured like a mantra, you moaned at his sounds as he came with a shout, the feeling of his liquid arousal spurting into you made you shiver with delight but the shaking thighs beneath you only fueled your arousal further.

"F-fuck…! Thank you cariño. Mierda..."

The paralysis ebbs away while Miguel continues to convulse, albeit weaker than before. Mouth hung open as he threw his head back, hands falling to your waists.

"How rude, you didn't even consider my pleasure, mi amor."

His grip on your sides tightened as you bounced on his dick and he faltered, trembling as he gasped and groaned at the overstimulation nipping at his senses. His hands tapped your thighs, asking for some rest and you slowed, waiting for him to use your safeword.

When he didn't, you picked up your previous pace and grinned.

"But when I did that, did you stop, cariño?"

He didn't answer as streams of Spanish curses and colorful words escaped his mouth.

"Exactly, so take it like a king, alright? Maybe I'll forgive you for getting off the web."

You rolled your clit in tight and fast circles, growing merciful for him as his sounds turned into whimpers and pleads. The sinful sight of his sweaty self blindfolded and body intoxicated by ecstasy along with his beautiful noises was enough to bring you to the edge.

With a few strokes and rolls of your beads, you came. Warmth explodes from your chest to your fingertips and you let yourself sag to his shoulder whilst he grunted at the stings of overstimulation still mouthing at him as your walls pulsed around him.

"Fuck…! G-get off…"

He didn't even manage to get his sentence out when he exploded again inside of you and practically lost consciousness with how lax he turned beneath you.

Concerned, you tapped his cheeks. "Baby, are you still there?"

It took a while but he eventually answered, removing the blindfolds himself to peer up at you with glazed eyes. "Barely… You won't leave right?"

"Yeah, I was joking."

"Alright…"

You smiled, placing kisses on his forehead, cheeks, and lips. Miguel's face bloomed at this, grinning slightly.

"You did so well, darling."

He only nods. "I'm confiscating that solution by the way, you're not webbing me up again."

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara x reader one shot #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman smut #spider man smut #spider man fics #marvel smut #marvel fics #miguel o'hara x reader smut

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hiragikiss · 5 months ago

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𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆, 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆！

₊˚ෆ── tags : fluff, slight hurt/comfort, married life, husband & wife, fiancé & fiancee, mentions of kaiser's past (spoiler ig?), mentions of pregnancy, mentions of nudity(no smut), pro athlete!au

₊˚ෆ── including : fiancé!michael kaiser, husband!mikage reo (ft. wife/fiancee! reader)

₊˚ෆ── sum. : hey, where's your ring? why is it off your finger?(should i do part 2. . . ? )

⊹ ִֶָ𓏲࣪𖹭 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑

when it comes to choosing partner, a person that he wishes to spend the rest of his life with, michael kaiser is very careful about it. he has witnessed the darkness behind a failed marriage for so long and decided to never make a mistake in his own, as to not bear the consequences of poor decision. thus, kaiser has always been so full of love and patience when it comes to you. he has always been as gentle as possible whenever he speaks or touches you.

but, everyone has a limit and seems to react negatively to it in the most non suitable moment ever. you knew he might have been so upset and emotionally disturbed with all of the pent up stress, building up from the pressure of the media, his team and more. however, it does not act as an excuse for him to let it all out on you. that night, he was obviously irritated to the point of snapping at you.

he laid on the sofa, sighing heavily as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to calm himself down from the sudden bubbling anger rushing through his veins at this very moment. he had just return from an interview regarding to his career updates and happened to be rudely bombarded by nosy paparazzis, causing his phone charm to be lost in that moment. the crowd was too much, he can't reach nor search for the charm, not when the guards were shoving him into the van with protective manner. to the others, it might have been a cheap phone charm that he could purchase any time yet to michael kaiser, it holds so much memories, it meant a lot to him. and you.

you heard your fiancé while you were cleaning up the kitchen. excited to see him, you toss your apron onto the marble kitchen island, making your way towards him. perhaps you were too excited to see him that you didn't notice the still wet floor that you mopped minutes ago, ending with you falling onto the floor with a loud thud, sound of picture frame crashing could be heard as you tried to hold onto a surface to balance yourself but grabbed the wrong thing instead. the loud noise startled kaiser, his anger is pumping rapidly in his veins again, rising up from the sofa and make his way toward the noise.

"love— "

"why can't you be quiet for once? you always had to do something to get on my nerve, don't you?"

your eyebrows furrowed upon his taunting words that are hinted with anger. you knew that he's overstimulated by frustration but it still stir the annoyance in you. who is he to snap at you just because he is feeling negatively?

"wow, my bad i guess. didn't know it'd be a crime to be excited to see my fiancé."

kaiser frowned at your words.

"i don't like your tone."

"right, says the one who started being such a bitch."

"watch your mouth— "

"watch yours first, michael kaiser. look, i don't know what had happen during your interview but can you not take it out on me? i'm not a tool for you to release your stress on. you know what? go cool yourself off, until then we'll talk."

you ignored him as he stood there silently. you fetch your cleaning tools and carefully deal with the broken pieces, placing the picture back on its place while gathering the ruined pieces of broken picture frame into the dust pan. michael only watch your movements, not even a word spoken. he knew you're right and listened to your words as he remove himself from the spot, heading out for a walk.

kaiser spent quite a long moment as he sit by the lazy chair perched up in the garden where you've planted various flowers. the warm white light shining onto each petals and leaves of the flowers, making it appearing more romantic to look at. kaiser's fingers fiddle with his engagement ring hugging his ring finger as he zone out. his mind is clouded with hazy thoughts that are rapidly messing up his mind at this moment, be it from his past or present. he rethink of his behaviour toward you moments ago and sighed heavily. such violent behaviour his, it almost resemble to his abusive male parent back in his childhood.

growing up in violent atmosphere, pain is all he ever learn about. he yearn for love ; to love and to be loved. he spent his childhood imagining what a love would feel like ; is it true that motherly love feels like heaven? is it true that fatherly love feels like you're in the safest universe ever? they said, parents are the hero of every children, yet, why does his abused him and neglected him?

was it because his parent's love were meant to be painful as you yearn more for it? was it because love was never real? or worse, was it because he is just an unlovable child? if love truly exist, why does he need to suffer in order to get a taste of it? they said love is sweet, yet why was it bitter to him? they said love is warm, yet why was he lying on the cold floor as warm fist pounding his fragile body? they said love is soft, yet why was it full of thorns as he held it in his palms?

that was what he was taught about love from the unhealthy surroundings he was locked in. when he met you, he discover what true love is like. he learned that love is when you let out quirky laughs that tingle his ears yet warms up his chest as he laughs along with you ; he learned that love is when you learn about soccer trick online to impress him just for you to clumsily trip, telling him that you'd love to learn more of his passion ; he learned that love is when you hold him tightly as his vulnerable side was exposed when he had failed his own expectation, validating his emotions and never resort to violence to make him quit from feeling low. love with you is what he has always read about on the fairytales storybook that he secretly kept in his room when he was a kid.

you came to him and show him that love isn't always a hard gain yet he hurt you with his action. the thought of you walking away from him suffocate him. he knew he is only imagining about it yet to not see your smile, to not hear your laughter, to not smell your heavenly fragance, to not touches your skin and to not share your warmth is something he could never want to lose.

"god, i fucked up." he cussed under his breathe as he runs into the house, looking for you.

he entered the shared bedroom, heart drop at the sight of your engagment ring placed upon your vanity table. you're not in the room, which adds up to his overthinking. when he heard the soft patterings of shower waters hitting the floor, that's when he knew you're in there. it confirmed his guess when he heard soft sniffles coming from there as he leaned his ear against the door. he was quick to undo his garments and grab your ring, entering the bathroom as quietly as possible.

"darling?"

his heart soften yet saddened at the sight of your crying nude form, standing under the shower head as you try your best to not let out too much sniffles. thank god you're still with him. he makes his way toward you, engulfing you into his chest, holding onto you as his lips raining kisses unto your wet skin.

"please forgive me, my love. i'm sorry for hurting you." he apologised, rubbing your back softly to comfort you.

"must've hurt your ego to apologise to me, huh? serve you right." you countered his words with a hint of sadness in it.

"it hurts even more if i lose you, love. i never want to lose you."

he whispered, lowering his lips to capture yours, apologising to you silently. you closed your eyes, savoring his kiss, letting his lips stiches apology unto yours, a promise to never hurt you again. he parted his lips from you, eyes looking into yours as his palm make its way to caress your cheeks. his hands then moves itself to grab yours, kissing each knuckles before he slides your ring back to its place. he sealed it with another kiss on the ring.

"please, don't leave me, love."

"i won't, darling. i'm here, forever and always."

⊹ ִֶָ𓏲࣪𖹭 𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐎

mikage reo, a man who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth along with a face blessed by the heaven. he has always knew that his life is well promising and had nothing to worry about. he has always been so generous of his money, be it to use on himself or use it on his friends. just as when he was with his toys when he was a toddler, always sharing it with his play dates or childhood friends. when he reached the age of entering teenager life, he is still so kind when it comes to money matters until it was when he met his friend, nagi seishiro. for once in his life, he dislike sharing, nagi is his friend and nobody could have him.

that goes on until the day he met you. when it comes to you, not even his beloved close friend could have a touch. for the very first time in his life, he is not kind with nagi when it comes to you. nagi wants to play games with you because he heard you're good at it? no need, reo is hiring a famour gamer to play with nagi. nagi would like to hear about your plant pet? no need, reo is buying him a whole nursery of cactus that varies from different species of cactus. nagi was suspicious of reo but he couldn't complaint because at least he is getting something better to ease his boredom.

reo even make it obvious to the other girls that he is yours the moment both of you made it official. reo is well known for using aesthetic hard covers for his phone but when he started dating you, he changed it to clear case, polaroid of you that's his favourite will be placed in it, displaying to others and showing off his lovely lover.

what about you? how do they know that you are mikage reo's lover? it's easy, it's those luxury branded items that you're wearing. he always make sure that most of it are custom made and limited item. it may cause him to spend a little bit extra but hey, if it's you, he'll even sacrifice the world to make sure you're always pretty and well taken care of. he knew how you love to care for yourself from the way you do your skincare, haircare, daily exercises, makeup and dressing up. he loves it as well and enjoys to indulge into it. as long as you're happy, he is happy as well.

that was until today, when he saw a frown on your pretty face. it wasn't common for you to get upset so easily, he wonder what could've cause such discomfort for you. is it the month of your menstrual cycle begin? no way, that'll be on another 2 weeks, he keep tracks on them. is it because your boss was being harsh on you? no way, he started up a business for you to run and support your cute cafe that sell fresh pastries, sweet flowers and refreshing coffee. is it because your favourite show was postponed because of the billing? no way, he made sure to purchase a year worth of membership with the highest graphic quality for you every year. so, what is it that bother you? he makes his way toward you and holds your hand only for you to pulls it away from him quickly, panic eyes staring at his. he noticed how you hide your hand behind you.

"hubby! hi!" you stuttered a little, trying your best to hide whatever you'd like to hide from him.

"you good, dearest? why won't you let me hold your hand?" he asked, his hand moving to grab yours again.

"my skin is too dry, it'd be unpleasant for you to hold them." you told him, removing your hands from his again.

"what a nonsense, you've always been perfect, dear." he praised, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

"my, thank you. aren't you praising me too much, reo?"

"mm, never, dear."

he kisses your lips this time, distracting you from his hand caressing yours, pulling away when he finally caught unto the reason of you hiding your hands from him. he looks into your eyes, scrunching up his nose when he noticed you're getting a bit shy from his full attention and affection.

"what?" you pouted.

"you're so cute and silly too, dear." reo teased, giggling when you playfully frowned at him.

he fish out a velvet box from his back pocket, showing it to you as he opens them. inside, is your wedding ring, the one that you thought you had lost it. you gasp and look at him.

"how?! i thought i lost it!"

"i took them for a cleaning, remember? how could you be so forgetful, dear."

reo smiles as he gets onto one knee, holding your hand gently as he slips it back onto your ring finger. standing up, he kisses the back of your hand. he is so amused with your expression at the moment, all flustered just like how he proposed to you before.

"why were you not telling the truth while ago, hm?" reo questioned.

"knowing you, you'd buy new ones if i truly lost it— "

"why, of course. i'll buy you as many rings as possible, as long as you're happy."

of course he would, how could you doubt him? he is your husband who love to spoil you a little too much.

"thank you, but i'd love to lower the usage of our money, you know?"

"why? is your cafe's billing getting higher? i'll— "

"reo hubby, no. little mikage is on the way, of course we should be spending wisely, right?"

"oh, right, yea— wait. what?!"

you laughed at his reaction. my, your husband is so entertaining.

"yes, dear. we're having a baby!"

reo laughs happily as he hugs you, carefully yet tightly.

"i'm calling nagi, he needs to know that he is an uncle now!"

and you know you did the right thing when you accepted his ring of promises and afraid of losing it. he promised to make you the happiest person ever and he did fulfilled his promises. or should you say, he has always been fulfilling his promises and sealed his promise to eternity.

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cupidkenji · 8 months ago

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ghost in the machine

Pairing: Unsub!Spencer Reid x Agent!Fem!reader CW: Fluff, longing, mild angst, one paragraph with heavy implications of sex, cursing, mentions of reader being in a car accident, mentions of suicide and death, suggestive Ig? idk Spencer kind of taunts reader, if I miss anything please tell me! Summary: An unsub targeting local political powers starts calling you. With virtually no memories of your life before 15, you're tasked with finding out why his voice feels like home. Disclaimer: Reader is chubby. She's not physically described in this but reader is literally always a bigger person. Anyone can read but I wanna clarify <3 WC: 7.8k I lokey feel like I fumbled this one but this idea has been in my head since I saw a post about it like last month so i'm sorry in advance if it sucks 💀 I'm not saying looping ghost in the machine by SZA while reading this will elevate the experience but just know it's strongly advised and im even giving you a link to the song for easy access.

The fourth case this month. This was the fourth battered politician you’d forced into handcuffs while ducking away from the recoil of blood spewing from his mouth. The men you’d arrested had all protested strongly - and wetly - while being walked to the back of your cruiser, demanding to know why you were arresting them even though they were the victims. They were always the victims. They’d been burgled and beaten - yes- oftentimes you were restraining them while they sat in bathrobes or pajama pants, but this unsub always jumped the gun. Somehow they managed all this damage while simultaneously kicking the dirt that had been sedentary for years out from under the rug. The men would call the police themselves - I’ve been robbed, I’ve been beaten - always astounded when you’d taken their statement then turned them around and recited their Miranda rights. This unsub was meticulous, planned down to the second. Somehow, the media always broke the story hours after the arrest with full fledged details on the crime - ones the BAU didn’t even have yet.

The first time this happened, you’d questioned every media worker from Quantico to DC. His target zone never seemed to reach beyond that, giving you an offender right in your backyard. Those were always the hardest to stomach. Journalists, Newscasters, even cameramen had been turned inside out as the team scoured for any connection. He was just too good.

“How can it be just one man?” Derek spoke first, but that was the question all of you were about to ask.

“Wife and kids were outta town. It was a sleeping 50 year old man against the element of surprise.” Prentiss was right, it wasn’t a difficult job when viewed like that. “Description is consistent with all the victims. All black attire, mask over the face.” She flopped the folder down in front of her for emphasis.

“Either he has another guy or he’s incredibly tech savvy. Some of this information was encrypted, it would take weeks to compile all of this. If he’s hitting a new vic every week that’s not nearly enough planning time for something this orchestrated.” Hotch checked the time on his watch. “We’re not finding him tonight. The local PD are investigating. We don’t have clearance until tomorrow. Everybody go home and get some rest, we need to crack down on this.”

As much as you loved your job, the departure was a welcome relief. The day had drained you, you had to basically drag yourself back to the BAU for the regroup after the case. It was routine, and incredibly necessary as this unsub continued his streak, but your brain was mush, and you didn’t know if you were capable of any breakthroughs in your current state. You were grateful, currently, that at least you weren’t dealing with a serial killer. He had an agenda, that much was obvious, but chasing a serial killer for a month bred a different kind of stress than chasing an anarchist.

The AC blast that hit you upon entering your home seemed to steal the tension from your shoulders. It was summer, so on top of hunting an unsub who was essentially a ghost, you were also bearing through the violently humid nights. You locked the door, pulling up your sleeves as you walked deeper into your house. The lights were on, you never left them off for long, and your eyes locked on the pile of notes sitting on your counter. Three small papers, torn at every edge, were draped over each other. Evidence, you thought. You’d kept them for evidence. Once you told the team the unsub had been reaching out, you would show them the notes. It was that simple, you were planning to tell them. You didn’t know why the information hadn’t entered their radar yet. This unsub was clearly infatuated. You could be a valuable part of solving this case, the notes could be the reason you solved it at all. Those were words straight from the source, they would tell you more about the unsub than any crime scene analysis would. Something about them just stilled your tongue, though. You never particularly liked the feds, the cops, the higher ups. You became one of them begrudgingly, you’d been good at reading people your whole life. You wanted to solve things, see justice. It was never primarily about helping people for you, and you feared the reputational repercussions if your team members ever found out about that. You weren't ignorant, you had morals. You simply lacked the place of purity they came from, the virtue your team members carried was one you were void of. Half of the time you walked away from a case, you disagreed with the verdict, and you were ashamed.

You had only realized you zoned out when the phone rang, effectively breaking your gaze away from the notes and onto the ‘Unknown caller’ screen glaring at you from your cell. Morgan just got a new phone, you remembered. He’s probably checking in. You picked it up, stating just your last name in greeting as a reflex from almost exclusively talking to other agents.

It was quiet for a moment, reaching the period of time where your stomach knotted up and almost forced you off the phone. “Hey, Y/n.” The voice was a new one, it pulled at certain strings within you. You knew him, but you didn’t recognize him.

“Who’s this?” The spark of familiarity filled you with guilt. A car accident when you were 15 had stolen most of the memories from your childhood and left a bountiful amount of scars in their place. You barely remembered your own parents, if this man was an old relative, you definitely didn’t know who he was. As much as your family tried to be empathetic, you could tell it hurt them when you were none the wiser.

“God, it’s good to hear your voice.” The man was smiling as he spoke, you could hear it in his tone. “Your number was shockingly hard to find. Feds really don’t mess around, huh?” Your shoulders tensed, you looked around. Blinds were closed, your house was the same as when you left it. You're sure it wouldn’t be hard to find your address if he’d found your number. “I’ve been trying, believe me. I left those notes while I was looking, although it’s really not the same, is it? Phones are so revolutionary, I mean writing you a letter is one thing but it’s so underwhelming in comparison. A piece of paper doesn’t let me listen to you, doesn’t let me hear those little breaths you take when you get scared.” You didn’t even realize your breathing had changed until he called you out.

“Do I scare you?” He sounded so domestic, the contrast between the genuinity laced in his words and the actual words themselves just about knocked you over. “I hope I don’t. I’m not trying to.”

“What are you trying to do?” Your mouth felt sealed shut, just barely managing to grate out the words.

“If you’re asking about my agenda, I’m afraid that’s a private affair for now.” He was so casual about this, sarcastically sucking air in through his teeth like he was telling you he couldn’t meet for coffee next week.

“What do you need with me, then? You don’t want to share and you aren’t calling to gloat. What’s the point?”

You heard him click his tongue at the question. “Everything is so technical with you agents.” You could basically sense his lips quirk up, gaining some type of sick intuition for the man’s tendencies. “Maybe I just wanted a word with the pretty detective working my case.”

Your knees were trembling, your grip getting looser on the phone as you struggled to keep your hold through the tremors of your hands. You had to focus, you could take advantage of this. “Why politicians? What happened to you?”

“Personal grudge.”

“How do you get their data so fast?”

“I know a guy” He knew a guy?

“So you have a partner?”

“I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Why not?”

“It’s no one of importance.” Sibling, maybe?

“It’s important to me.”

He chuckled at that. You needed to hang up.

“Y/n-” Could he sense your fucking muscles tensing? “Don’t tell your friends.” He could hear your heartbeat from where he was, you were sure of it.

“Why?” You were instantaneous, barely letting him finish before responding. “You gonna hurt me?”

“No.” He scoffed. “If you tell them, I’ll have to stop reaching out.” You swore you could feel the weight of his eyes on you. “Is that really something you want?” Cold sweat pierced through the skin on the back of your neck. You yanked the phone down from your ear and hung up.

No, it wasn’t.

–

You dreadfully greeted the sun as it peeked through the slits of your blinds. You’d slept maybe a half hour in total last night, sleeping in five minute increments while bearing through a paranoid haze only comparable to the first time you’d smoked weed. The world felt unreachable. You could see it like a screen but your true consciousness sat captive in his hands. He’d known you. That was the fact stuck in your throat, that’s why you couldn’t sleep. Does that mean you knew him?

“Jesus.” If you had to guess, the sight of your sunken eyes and hunched shoulders was the trigger for Morgan’s reaction to the sight of you. Walking into work wasn’t going to be fun, you knew that, but you hadn’t expected such an immediate acknowledgement. “Someone have a rough night?”

You wished you could banter with him. Morgan always made working here feel lighter, he was fun to be around, but you were guilty. If you were tired from a one-night, insomnia, even if you were drunk and puking your guts up all night, you would have joked back with him. Now, you had to force yourself to make eye contact. A childish part of your brain was scared he'd smell it on you. At this point, you were fraternizing with the enemy, and it’s repercussions were draped over you like a curtain. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Clearly.” He handed you a mug of coffee. “Is it the case? If it’s bugging you that much, one of us can stay with you for a couple nights. It’s no trouble.”

“No, Morgan, that’s not necessary.” He was so kind it was nearly suffocating. If someone stayed, he either wouldn’t call or you’d have to decline it. Both of those options making an uncomfortable amount of unease stir inside you. “I appreciate it, but I’ll be fine.”

“Just tell me if you need anything.” He nodded at you, you nodded back, then you both headed into the conference room.

“Any leads?” You walked to your seat as you asked, unsure what you were hoping to receive as an answer.

“None.” Everyone else was gathered around the table, Hotch scanning through the file as he replied to you.

“We’ve pretty much ruled out the media workers.” Prentiss spoke up. “This guy’s most likely an anarchist. His previous victims haven’t belonged to a consistent party so he’s not lashing out at the opposing side.” She thought for a moment. “What path leads somebody to anarchy?”

“Maybe he’s been kept out of office.” Morgan started speculating, just trying to sweep together something they could pin to him. “If he’s been running long enough, maybe he gets angry, changes course. He could be jealous of his targets.”

Your brain was half focused on the case, half focused on him. Two sides of you were fighting, one instilling a sort of protectiveness over him, one howling at you to do your fucking job.

“I don’t think he’s an anarchist.” You leaned forward in your chair, revving up to present your theory. “He’s been described in the same outfit for every victim. Long Sleeve, cargo pants, gloves and a ski mask - all black. That’s as minimal as it gets. Some pretty low income areas are well within his safe zone.” You paused, looking around to see if they were understanding what you were getting at.

“He’s poor.” Hotch had a glint in his eyes. Almost.

“So - what?” Morgan prompted. “He’s doing this for money? This is way too elaborate for somebody needing cash.” He shook his head as he spoke. “Hotch, there was evidence of Scopolamine injections. A man who either knows how to make the chemical or already has enough money to buy it wouldn’t be in a position that warrants this. Plus, the kind of tech it would take to get the information he steals? Way more than your typical Best Buy - this is Garcia level stuff. He injects them and probably forces them to help with the robbing, he beats them senseless - he’s getting some kind of kick out of this.”

“He’s not poor” You concluded. “But I’m pretty sure he used to be.” You sat up straighter to elaborate. “A lot of times, kids who grow up homeless or with no money feel wronged by politicians. Here they are going to school hungry while the mayor rolls in cash and lets them bear the consequences of a put-off promise to help the community.”

Prentiss sat back in her chair as she considered your words. “To build this type of anger, though? This is a vendetta.” She glanced down at the crime scene photos as a reminder.

“Exactly. Anger is expected in normal cases. Something extreme clearly had to happen to explain this type of outburst.” Personal grudge, you remembered him saying. You felt like you were airing out his secrets as you spoke. A weak sense of betrayal tugged at your guts. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot, going over what type of event could cause something like this and I think I have an idea.” You pulled out your phone while talking to call Garcia, the woman answering immediately.

“Garcia, can you look up children in the Quantico to DC area who died from complications with chronic illness? Probably late 90’s to early 2000’s, I don’t think our guy is old enough to have been running for office.”

“That’s gonna be a large list. Any more parameters you can give me?”

“Look for families making less than 20,000 a year.”

“Got it. There were three families making under 20,000 that reported losing a child of illness. One was of stage 4 cancer with no plausible recovery and the other two said they couldn’t afford the medication needed for treatment. I just sent them over.”

“You’re the best.”

“Don’t I know it.” You hung up the phone, pulling up the files she found.

“What exactly are we looking for here?” Morgan looked to you.

“We can rule out the first family. Dying of cancer wouldn’t create the effect needed for our unsub.” He looked like he was about to reiterate his question. “What we’re looking for is a sibling. If your family is struggling, you already have the seed of anger that this guy has. I think a family member dying from the lack of money might just give him the motive he needs.”

“That’s good thinking, he could be avenging someone.” Praise from Hotch always felt better than others. “The Bryson family was just the mother and the daughter who died. She worked in janitorial for the local middle school.”

“Doesn’t exactly fit the profile.” Morgan was right, all the testimonies had described a man. Plus the assumption of decent financial prosperity didn’t fit someone still working at a middle school.

“Who does that leave?” You were searching for the answer to your question, but Prentiss was quicker.

“Diana Reid and her two sons. Henry had type 1, seems like they could afford the insulin for a little while but something must have happened. He went into DKA and died a week later.”

Two sons. “What about his brother?”

“Uhhhh-” She scrolled down on her tablet. “That would be one Spencer Reid who…” She scrolled just a little bit further to find the whereabouts of the man, the hope in her eyes snuffing out with the information she read. “is dead. Says he committed suicide a couple years after his brother died.” The whole table deflated a bit as she said that.

“It was a good idea.” Hotch, despite being a monotone man, usually tried to keep things optimistic. “We’ll continue pursuing that angle. Morgan and Prentiss, I want you to go back to the first crime scene. I’ll call Dave and we’ll head to the latest.” The mentioned agents nodded their heads and started making their way out the door.

Your eyebrows furrowed at your lack of instruction. “And me, sir?”

“Go home.” He looked you over for a moment. “You look like hell.” Then he was gone, calling Rossi on his way out. How mortifying.

–

It had been three days since Hotch’s dismissal of you. You managed to get some sleep, convincing your co-workers of normalcy when you went back into the office the next day. In truth, you were anything but. You had been noticeably distracted but the others chose not to mention it until it hindered your performance, which it had yet to do. You were on a timer, counting down the seconds until your next call with him. You seemed to be endlessly tugged back and forth between excitement and pure dread. Everytime you got home, you took a moment to stare at your phone, almost like you could will him to call if you glared at it long enough. The day was just shy of a week since his last attack, and you were nervous as hell. Your phone buzzed once, then it buzzed again. He was calling.

“You’re early.” You didn’t find it fitting to greet him. You knew who it was, why be friendly? “Is there another one?”

“Relax, honey.” His voice lit a fire in you. Jesus. “I didn’t know I was only permitted one call a week.”

“What are you playing at?” You tried to sound sturdy, but your voice hit your ears with more desperation than you’d ever expressed.

“I could ask you the same.” You could hear the tilt in his words, he was so sure of what he was doing. “You didn’t tell them about us.”

“How would you know?”

“I’m not in cuffs, am I?”

“You think we’d catch you if I told them?” Was it your fault he was still free?

“No.”

“Maybe they’re listening.”

“Maybe.” He was so unbothered by the notion. You were never a good bluffer.

“It wouldn’t bother you?” You narrowed your eyes at nothing, staring at your wall as you tried to read him through the phone.

“You could bring in the whole nation, Y/n.” You listened more intently than you ever had. “It wouldn’t keep me from you.” You felt like you were choking on your own heart, feeling it beat at the confines of your throat. Jesus Christ.

“Do you know where I live?” Your lips were too weak to hold back the question. It’d been the only thing on your mind since the first note had been left on your car.

“Why?” His smile bled into his words. “Are you inviting me over?”

“Answer the question.”

“Why don’t you answer a question of mine?” He was so intentional, his MO proudly showing in the way he spoke to you. “Haywood or Clancy?”

“Are those your actual choices?” You tried to analyze him, justifying your actions with the ruse of investigation. He’d tell you more if he wasn’t monitored. “Or are you trying to throw me off your trail?” It was certainly plausible. Get you running after two men not of interest, leaving his real victim neglected by your team.

He laughed, breathy and soft. “I don’t know.” You could almost picture him tilting his head, faceless and so enticing in your imagination. “Pick one for me. Maybe I’ll do him next in your honor.”

“What do you know about honor?”

“Everything I do is about honor.” What did that mean?

“The only thing that would honor me is you turning yourself in.”

“What do you know about honor, agent?” His voice was taunting, you heard his body shift. “What do you think that team of yours would think about us, hm? Those are their words, not yours. You’re the one who’s waiting on calls from the enemy.” Shock paralyzed your tongue. You felt your head pulse with the blood rushing to your ears. “You don’t have to be guilty about wanting it, honey. You don’t fit with them.”

“As opposed to what? Fitting with you?”

He chuckled. “You’ve thought about it.”

“Nightmares, maybe.”

“That’s the angle you're going with?” He saw through you. “If you dreamt of me, I doubt they were nightmares.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t know where you are.” You didn’t feel relieved. “I have no interest in hurting or robbing you. Why would I want your address?.”

You slipped your hand under your shirt to trace the scar across your chest. Gift from the accident, now a nervous habit of yours. “What do you want?” God, you were a broken record.

“It doesn’t matter what I want, Y/n.” You could barely hear him over the thrum of blood in your veins. Your entire body felt tuned into his words. You’d never felt so far away while connected. “Only what I can do.”

“You take everything from them. More than just money. Clearly you lost something.” You were so sick of asking this question but you were getting farther from the answer with every conversation. “Why are you doing this?”

“They made the first move.” Jesus what did they do to this guy? “I’m not the bad guy, honey. I’m just defending my side.”

“This isn’t a game.”

“It might as well be.” He was quick with his responses. “It’s all the same to men like them.” You stayed quiet for a moment. How did you reply to something like that? “Get some sleep. It’s late.”

“Give me less crime scenes to look at and maybe I’ll sleep more.”

He smiled, you could hear it in his tone. “Every mean has an end, agent.” You held your breath, and as if gaining consciousness, you hung up the phone. You felt the brick of the encounter sit heavy in your stomach. He wasn’t lying. You were guilty, and you wanted it beyond belief.

–

You’d talked to him four more times over the past two weeks. There’d been two more victims corresponding with those calls, continuing his routine of a new one each week. Your understanding of your feelings had become less hazy as you talked to him more. Your guilt wasn’t from withholding information from your team, it was from the fact you wanted to. It stemmed from your instinctual desire to keep him to yourself. Let him exist differently in your home life than he did in your work life. It was difficult keeping something from profilers. It made you feel worse that they definitely knew something was up, but chose not to push it because they trusted you. Did this truly make you untrustworthy? You were only human.

You’d spent what was meant to be your day off at the BAU working. When there was a case like this, rest time seemed to take the backseat. You were drained, more emotionally than physically. You were lying to your friends, but truly, you didn’t know how deeply you considered them friends. They were good people, easy to like and easy to work with. You were starting to wonder if that's where it stopped, though. Everything about their company was easy, but it lacked gratification. His company was hard on you, but it was so rewarding, so filled with feeling that you started to wonder what your morals even were. You wouldn’t find them here, you thought. You certainly tried. You stared into the chipped white paint aging poorly on the brick wall of the bar as if the pigment of the words would organize your thoughts better than your malfunctioning mind could. The liquid in your glass was nearing it’s end. The drink had loosened your joints, loosened your mind. You hadn’t come here to get drunk, you were basically still sober, you just needed the warmth of a drink. There was a certain coldness within you, there had been since the accident. You accredit the feeling with driving away any potential love interests of yours. There was always a sense of being stuck, like you were interrupted in the middle of moving on, and never fully got to close the chapter. This wasn’t hard for others to sense. You were as emotionally nonreciprocal and unresponsive as a corpse.

“Mind if I join you?” A man who’d immediately caught your eye upon entrance gestured to the barstool next to you.

You motioned to it. “Please.” A casual invitation. You didn’t know how to talk to random men in bars. You took a good look at him, something subconscious stirring beneath your skin. The minimal buzz of the drink you had making you write it off, preferring the focus of his eyes on yours.

“What’s your name?” The smoothness of his voice could have rivaled the most expensive whiskey in that place.

You told him your name. He nodded, murmuring a “pretty” under his breath as he took a sip from his glass.

“I’m Matthew.”

“Pretty.” You reiterated, raising your eyebrows slightly as you joked. He chuckled, and you asked if he was new to the area.

“I’m a local, actually. I grew up here, surprisingly never been to this bar, though.”

“Really? I grew up around here too. This place is old as dust, been here forever.” You looked down, finishing the last of your drink.

“I know. I’ve wanted to come here for a while because it’s so old.” Something about him was so off putting but so irresistible. You’d never encountered such an uncomfortable concoction. It was intoxicating. “I lost the knack for drinking I had in my teen years. Back then my friends and me would just buy a 12 pack and get drunk in the field on Fromage.”

You lacked the memories to know if you related to the man, but you weren’t going to delve into why and kill the mood, so you lied. “That field used to scare the shit out of me. Everyone at my school said there were bodies out there.”

His eyes held a certain glint in them when he looked at you, his lips perked up at the edges slightly, if you hadn’t been a profiler you might have missed it. “Really?” Maybe you imagined it all, that or he caught on to you, the look leaving his eyes after lingering for a moment. The slight promise of something more sinister pulsed throughout them. The hairs on your arm were standing. “Mine said the same thing.” He smiled, looking away, shaking his head fondly as he remembered. “My school was full of dumbasses though so I never really took it seriously.” And you laughed.

You laughed a lot throughout the time you sat there with him. A few hours, you’d guess. He lowered your guard so easily, walking leisurely through the gates of you. You’d practically rolled out the red carpet for him. You wondered if he could see how easily he got in, how much you welcomed the feel of him in your veins. He didn’t seem to mind if he could. When he’d wanted to take you home, your lips parted, and you said you’d like that. You don’t really remember driving, knowing one of you did, both of you sober by the time you’d left. He’d been so gentle, so all-consuming. He’d run his thumbs along the scars he encountered, punctuating the sensation with his lips following close after. Mumbling praises against your skin and rhetorically asking “does that feel good, honey?” as your legs shook around him. He melted you down to pure liquid gold with just his touch, knowing exactly how to map you out. You’d felt him everywhere, his fingers burning their respective shadows on your skin, seeping slowly into your soul to leave marks there too. He’d felt so safe, the pure want joining the two of you together. A euphoric distraction from all the disaster you’d let befall you. He was gone before you woke up the next morning, but you saw him in your shadow, felt him in the soreness of your legs. He’d been a deviation, something put in your path to confuse you. What a brutal fucking night.

–

The same day, you’d gone to work, gone home, and then ended up back at the BAU an hour later. There had been another victim. Two days early. This was his eighth, and up until now he hadn’t strayed from his weekly pattern. This was a bad sign, if he was ramping up, who knows how many more he wanted to hit. The story had stayed the same, and that night you were arresting another board member, this time for solid ties to human trafficking. He really knew how to pick them. You’d give him that, at least.

The meeting post-arrest basically just shared what you were all thinking. He was ramping up, and you were getting no closer to catching him. Stating the obvious was doing nothing but wasting time. He was good. One of the best you’d ever seen. Nobody really knew what to do at this point. You watched their faces get more and more helpless and you felt bad. Nothing in your calls with the man would have helped you solve this case, you were almost positive. Any aspect that could have helped was one you explored.

Emily had said the name ‘Spencer Reid’ and the way your stomach lurched made you feel like you had to be onto something. You’d never had such an intense gut feeling about something only for it to be absolutely impossible. You hadn’t told them, but you looked more into him. His death was an easy one to fake. As much as you hated speculating on what could very well have been just a heartbroken boy, you couldn’t deny the theory you were building. His mother had found a suicide note, they hauled a body out of the river a month later and just assigned Spencer’s name to it, marking it down as conclusive. You weren’t convinced.

–

You got home within the hour, locking the door and pulling out your phone. You hadn’t called him before, but it was the same number every time, and you needed to talk. The phone rang so long you were almost sure he wouldn’t pick up. Almost.

“Y/n.” He greeted you. “This is new.”

“You broke your pattern.” You started with the topic at hand. “Why did you do that?”

You heard a chair squeak slightly as he leaned back. “What can I say? You being so interested gave me some extra motivation.”

“Interested?” What the fuck was he talking about? “This isn’t - I’m not fucking interested in anything. You’re a criminal.” You were slightly out of breath. When you lied to him, no matter how small the lie, air seemed to gain a disinterest in staying within your lungs.

“Mhm.” He was smug. That wasn’t a good sign. “I don’t believe that. You seemed pretty interested last night.”

He had pulled a lever, and your stomach dropped to your shoes. “That was you?” You sounded as defeated as you felt. Your eyes were watering from the pure shock, feeling the drop of the bomb shake you down to your core.

“You kept tracing that scar on your chest, you know that?” You hadn’t known that. “Almost like you could feel it.” Feel what? He didn’t elaborate. “You sounded so pretty when I touched it, when I kissed you. Been thinking about it all day.” He was breathy, sounding like he was trying to put himself back in it as he spoke.

You steadied yourself before you opened your mouth. “You lied to me.”

“I’ve never lied to you.” He sighed. “You lied to me, though.” You hadn’t imagined it. “That field used to scare you?” He laughed slightly. “You were the one who told me about it. Took me over there once to look at the moon in the back of your dad’s pickup.”

God, this was frustrating. “Who are you?” The tears were dancing the border of your eyes, begging to run down your cheeks. “I knew you?”

“You know me.” He was so sure of it. “I’m still in there. Everything is.”

You had to ask, at this point you were near certain of it. “Spencer?”

He sighed, relief intertwining with his words. “There she is.” It was such a soft delivery, the moment he took before replying had you wondering if you’d said anything at all.

What kind of situation even was this? “Is this about your brother?”

“You know, when we were younger, my mother knew the mayor. He used to babysit my brother and me when she worked nights.” His tone was humorous, bitter, like he couldn’t believe the stupidity of what he was explaining. “I listened to him promise us he would change the community when he got the time. Get us a house with more than one bedroom, get us into a school system deserving of us. He used to call me a genius.” He scoffed at the thought. “Then my mom couldn’t afford the insulin, and he let my brother die.”

You didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.”

“The payments wouldn’t have even made a dent in his pockets.” You could visualize him, alone in a room somewhere, that familiar crease between his eyebrows as he talked. You were going to be sick, you thought. “One man for every year my brother got to live. Seems only fair.”

“Two more to go, then?” You couldn’t identify a single thought in your head. All of them speeding past you like bullets before you could latch onto one. “Is it helping?”

“Yeah.” He sniffled, quiet and subdued. “It is.”

“I - um” A tear finally fell, breaking the dam. You wiped it away quickly, two more taking it’s place almost immediately “I have to go.”

“Y/n-” but you were gone already. You put your hand over your mouth, laughing into it slightly at the absurdity of your situation and sobbing into a moment later as you took the cold plunge into reality. You texted your parents, knowing they were asleep, asking if you could swing by when they woke up. If anyone would know something, it was them, and you had every intention of shaking them down to find out exactly how you’d known the man. You had to know. You spent the night preparing the questions you’d ask and trying to fall asleep. You were almost paralyzed with the weight of him on you. There was no getting out of it now.

–

The outside of this house always felt alien. You knew you’d grown up here, but it lacked any sense of home. You wondered as you stood out front how much Spencer had to have meant to leave more of a mark than the place you spent your first 18 years in. The sun was nearing it’s peak in the sky, it was almost noon. Your parents had texted back at eight am, worried and eager to know what was wrong, eager to see you. You’d fallen asleep barely an hour before that, waking up at eleven and quickly getting ready after seeing the text. You were scared. These were practically strangers to you, and you were betting an ungodly amount on them. That’s not fair, you thought. But honestly, nothing was fair, and you calmed your guilt with promise of filling the void in your gut. You broke your staring contest with the front door and leaned forward to knock, the thing opening almost immediately.

“Hey.” You spoke before they did. You found that being the first to talk usually decreased the amount of warmth in their greetings. “It’s good to see you guys. Thank you for having me, I know my texts were sort of alarming. I just needed to talk about something.” You held eye contact to the best of your ability. They brought out a deep feeling of shame, knowing they didn’t blame you for the distance but still being responsible for it nonetheless.

“Of course.” Your mother talked while your father looked down. “It’s good to see you too. Come in, please.” Your father broke from her side to go sit down, while your mother opened the door to usher you in. You stepped forward, nodding at her in thanks as you passed her, joining your father where he sat.

“Um…” You faced both of them as your mom took the place by his side. How did you even start this? “Well, in a case I’ve been working on, somebody came up.” You couldn’t tell them he was alive. “And he just…seemed familiar, I guess. Did I know a boy named Spencer Reid growing up?” You watched the sparks of recognition ignite in their eyes as you said the name. Your mother’s grew teary, while your father’s seemed to harden.

“Knew him?” Your mother chuckled at the thought of it being so simple. “You two were more in love than your father and I.” She rolled her eyes as she held your father’s arm, the man laughing lightly at her words.

“He was the first friend you talked about. I remember picking you up from the first day of kindergarten and listening to you rave about the boy who was ‘smarter than the teacher’.” Her tone got lighter at the end, seemingly trying to imitate the excitement of your adolescent self. “You two were always close, you know?” She seemed to remember him fondly. “When you got older, you would get so defensive if I asked after him so eventually I stopped. But I knew. I knew you two would end up together from your first playdate.” She was on the verge of tears, giggling at her own words as the stories she told surrounded her, smiling at the past.

“His family really struggled. Such a sweet kid, him and his brother both. They were over here a lot.” Your father took the role of speaker as your mother’s emotions got the better of her. “We went back and forth for a while after the accident on whether to tell you or not. It just seemed cruel to. He died the night before you got hit, and you were such a wreck we just -” He struggled to find the words. “We considered it a blessing you didn’t remember him.” Your father’s guilt was apparent, twisting his features slowly as he explained their choices. “You were so in love, sweetheart. You didn’t know who he was when you woke up and we figured, you know, what’s the point? When the only thing that could come from it was pain, it just seemed futile.”

You don’t think you blinked the entire time they were talking to you. You only knew you were crying when your vision went blurry, completely neglecting the beading of tears down your cheeks. You remembered the day your mother was talking about, seeing the children you once were illustrate the world in front of you. You could almost see his face, how it would have looked when he died, how he used to look at you. Like he was staring at the universe’s secrets, easing his hands through the veil to touch them - to touch you. You remember the feeling he gave you, something warm and distinct, reserved for the two of you only. If you could have seen yourself in the moments you shared, you’re sure you would have worn the same look in your eyes.

You started speaking, but couldn’t manage much. “Yes, yeah, you’re right.” Reassurance usually worked well. “It was a…a good call.” You had trouble with your words, remembering the feelings of him but lacking the visuals. “Do you have any pictures?” Your mother nodded in response, detaching from your dad and going to retrieve something that held the memories you sought.

“I’m-” Your dad started. “We’re sorry.”

You shook your head. Your parents were the last people who owed an apology. “It’s ok, dad. I’m glad you did it.”

“I could never myself look back at these. Thinking about what happened to them I just…I can never look at them knowing they’re gone.” Your mother re-entered the room holding a camera, dark pink and cheap. “It was meant to document your childhood, but he was around so much, it’s basically just a compilation of you guys.”

You held the thing in your hands. It was everything you wanted to happen but you couldn’t force your fingers to move. Did you even want this? He was alive, sure, but you’re certain the boy next to you in these photos would never see the light of day again. All your birthdays for thirteen years, field trips, science fairs, even just the two of you sitting together reading. It was all here. All consumable. You felt the urge to boil them down and burn your skin with the residue. Anything to keep a semblance of this life with you. You had a right to them, they were yours. Your teeth clenched at the sting of the absence. He had been yours and you couldn’t even remember. “Can I keep this?”

“Of course.” You’re sure the thoughts in your head were obvious to them, spinning like a cyclone in your eyes zoning out on the camera. “I’ve thought about giving it to you for a while now anyway.”

–

They’d made you lunch, then dinner. They told you tales of your past and you let them glance into your present. It was dark by the time you left, setting the goal to talk with them more. You walked to your car, having parked down the street, and tried to shake yourself out of the trance that house put you in. You thought you were seeing things at first, squinting slightly to focus on the chunk of passenger door that was shrouded with out of place darkness. Someone was leaning against your car. You didn’t feel defensive.

“Spencer?”

“Hey.” He pushed off the door and walked closer to you, facing you on the sidewalk. You could see him now, lit up by a streetlight. He took you in, too. Glancing at your hand and grinning. “I remember that thing.” You had forgotten you were holding the camera until now.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I don’t know, honey.” He shrugged, matching your exhaustion at the situation. “I guess I wanted to see how much you remembered.” He looked at you, his eyes just as bright as they’d been a decade ago. “How much I could make you remember.”

You sighed. God, if only it worked that way. “Do you want to-” What the fuck were you thinking? “Do you want to come over?” You’d looked through every picture on that camera. You missed him. You missed him in your space, on your bed, waiting for you at the bus stop. That knot of feeling stuck only wanted to unravel if it were his hands tugging at it. “I can drive us.”

He raised his eyebrows, surprise blending seamlessly with the undiluted hope he carried as a kid. “Ok.” He smiled, just a tiny lift at the corners of his lips. The image of that smile resting on his teenage face struck you so violently you felt it in your bones. You looked at him, starstruck. His presence was a trance of it’s own.

“Ok.” You repeated him, trying to elongate the moment. You weren’t sure when you’d be ready to look away. He’d have to move first, and he knew it, so he walked to the passenger door. You blinked, grounding yourself, and unlocked the car.

You were preparing for an awkward car ride, but clearly your subconscious was more than familiar with him, being silent with him came as second nature to you. You took the long way back to your house, trying to enjoy the comfortability as long as you could. He added an elevation to your existence that you hadn’t been aware you were lacking. You pulled into your driveway ten minutes later, parking and turning off the car.

“Did you really not know where I lived?”

“No.” He was looking out your windshield, taking in the sight of where you felt safest. “I meant what I said. I never needed to.

You walked into the house first, hearing him shut the door softly behind him. You’d been listening to see how he’d close it, not sure what it would tell you, but deeming it important regardless. He’d been nothing but respectful of your space both times he’d been here. You sat down, nodding your head to the chair near you.

He let a moment pass, waiting to see if you had something to say. You had too much to say, too much to articulate. “I want you to leave with me.”

“Spencer-”

“Don’t.” His eyes were pleading, glistening with his unique mix of hunger and control. “Don’t write me off, Y/n. Nobody would know. They’re not gonna catch me. You can quit, and we can leave.” You looked away, down towards your hands. “Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it.” It was all you’d been thinking about. Usually in dreams - obviously your mind was more up to date than you were. You were going to do it, you thought. Of course you were. You looked at him and knew you’d go anywhere he asked you to. Still, though, you had a life. One you needed time to wrap up before you could leave it. You were a federal agent, if you went missing, they’d send the entire nation to step on your heels.

“Can I think about it?

He looked at you, suppressing a smile and tilting his head slightly. “Sure, honey.” He could read you so easily. He’d known he had you from the moment he asked. “I’ve still got two more.” The burning in your stomach wasn’t a resistance to the words. It was an admiration, a feeling you could wallow in. You weren’t an opposing force to him. Had you ever been? Truly?

“What happens if I don’t go?”

His eye contact had a way of transferring, enveloping any part of you it could reach. You were testing him. “Don’t force my hand, Y/n.”

You didn’t plan on finding out what that meant.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #x chubby reader #x fat reader #x plus size reader #spencer reid x chubby reader #spencer reid x plus size reader #spencer reid x fat reader #spencer reid fanfiction #suggestive #probably ass #im sorry for this #cupid:SR

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cozywolvie · 3 months ago

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hii, i was wondering if u could do a fic of logan nd wade with a sunshine reader ^_^ like an overly happy and energetic person ig. IF THAT MAKES SENSE LOL. i don’t see too many fanfics with sunshine readers… or at least when i look. not sure if u have gotten many requests yet but hopefully this isn’t a bother to u!! u can add smut or smth if u want. u seem super cool and hopefully u have a fun time writing this if u do :3 have a great day or night!!

a/n: yayy! my first request! thank you sm for requesting and you are not a bother at all. I really hope this is somewhat of what you wanted. this is straight fluff and cuteness, so I hope you enjoy!

You have always been a morning person. You loved watching the sky turn different shades of yellow and orange as the sun rose, and you loved having a cup of coffee while watching it. However, your boyfriends couldn’t disagree more with you.

Here you are, laid out on the back porch, wearing one of Logan’s plaid flannels, baking in the rising sunlight as it goes over the horizon. A warm cup of coffee is settled in between your fingers, and you grip it tightly, loving the warmth it gave you on this crisp morning.

While you laid out here, Wade and Logan lay inside sound asleep in your shared king size bed. They always love to tease you about your chirpiness and happiness, especially in the morning. They couldn’t get around the fact that they both were somehow able to fall in love with a person so opposite of them, especially Logan.

It was around 10 am when you started to hear the two men stir. You were in the kitchen, humming, flipping pancakes on the stove. Logan emerged first from the bedroom, wearing a pair of sweats that hung low on his waist, a flannel hung along his shoulders, underneath was bare, and you tired not to gawk at his figure. He smirks when you see’s you. “Smells good.” He compliments, walking around to your side and placing a long kiss on your temple. You smile, practically leaning into his tender embrace.

“Good morning” You beam back at him. You loved mornings like this, calm, peaceful, anything to get away from the stress of Wade and Logan's crime fighting careers. You offer him coffee, which he leaves black, and sits down at the kitchen table. You continue to hum in content, even dancing to nothing in the kitchen, enjoying the sizzling of the pancake batter on the stove. There was just pure joy and happiness radiating off of you. Logan smiles at the sight.

“Good morning bubbles!” The sound of your other boyfriend radiates the room. Logan groans in discomfort at the loud sound, plugging his ears closed. You giggle at Wade’s nickname. Awhile ago when you three had gotten together, Wade had referred to the three of you were like the powerpuff girls. You, bubbles, because you were always bubbly. Buttercup, Logan, which is pretty self explanatory. And Wade, Blossom, because he claims that he was the captain of your little team.

“Good morning Wade.” You give him peck on the lips, and hand him his coffee, with a shit ton of creamer and four sugars, he loves things sweet. He takes a sip and nods approvingly. “Ah, sweet! Just like my girl.” He gives your behind a cheeky slap and you giggle, swatting him away playfully.

You all sit at the table, munching down on pancakes. Wade drowns his in syrup and Logan cringes at the sight. “You’re gonna get diabetes if you keep doing that.” Logan scowls.

“I already got cancer, I’ll take my chances.” Wade says back, shoving pancakes in his mouth. You grin, rolling your eyes at the pair. Logan eyes your cup of coffee. “Which number cup is that?” He teases.

“My forth.” You grin, taking a sip. Logan chuckles, shaking his head in amusement, “No wonder you’re always so energetic.”

"Nah, it's just the way our girl is." Wade says, sending a wink your way. You grin and try to hide your blush. "I have no reason to be anything else. I've got a good life, a roof over my head, and two incredibly amazing sexy men who are in love with me." You giggle with a wink, watching as both the men smile, making your heart warm.

"About that, thank you." Logan states. You crinkle your brows in confusion, not knowing what he is thanking you for. He see's your confusion, stumbling over his words, becoming flustered. "Well, uh, ya'know-"

"What peanut is trying to say is, that we are grateful for you. You're the light in our lives that we both needed." Wade states, grabbing your hand from across the table. You can't even contain the blush on your cheeks now. If anything, you should be thanking them.

"I'm the grateful one." You say. The boys smile, showering you in love and kisses. The rest of the day is spent with the three of you relaxing in your free time, cuddled up by the two men you love most, all three of your laughters echoing around the small cozy apartment.

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starry-bi-sky · 8 months ago

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my body's aching like a knock-down drag-out

and my poor heart is an open wound A Childhood Friends Au snippet that very briefly delves into Danny's life post-accident. CW: Mild Mentions of Blood, Violence, VERY mild gore ig. Danny briefly recalls getting impaled during a fight.

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What they don't tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it can hurt. That it can hurt more than when you were alive. That when you die, the emotions you die with stick with you like a leech that just won't let go. That emotions are ugly little thorns that stick their barbs into you and grow beneath your skin; or, at least, whatever’s left of it.

Danny is familiar with anger. It kept him warm in Gotham, when his parents weren't home from work and he and Jason were crowding Crime Alley with their presence. It kept him warm in Amity, when the fresh sting of moving was still needling into his heart and he wanted nothing more than to rip and tear into the closest person next to him.

He's familiar with violence. With fights. With death. He's seen people die in Crime Alley probably every day. From overdose, from gunshots, from stab wounds; anything that can kill, rest assured he's seen it. He's familiar with getting his own knuckles rough and bloody when other kids turn and bare their teeth at him and Jason; they're all just starving dogs stuck in a fighting pit, primed and ready to rip out each other's throats.

Black eyes, stomped hands, bloody noses. You name it; he’s had it. Gotham is paved with the blood of her children, and Danny likes to imagine that when he was born, the doctors handed his mother a file and told her; “Take it. He’s going to need it for his teeth.”

Danny’s mom (and dad, for that matter) was too busy trying to keep him and Jazz fed, so Danny stole the file from her drawer with Jazz’s help, and did it himself.

He’s familiar with anger, he thought he was getting better at it these days. It doesn’t come to him as easily as it did before. Of course, that was before Jason died.

Danny is less familiar with grief. Caring kills and Gotham kills the caring, so Danny cares very little about other people. Or he tries to. But grief hurts. His grief hurts. It hurts too much. It hurts like a bug trying to crawl out of his chest; like a rat chewing a hole through his heart. Some days he wants to dig his hands into his hair and split himself down the middle. Some days he just wants to scream.

He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead.

He wants the whole city to hear him wailing, some days. It sticks itself in the back of his throat like bile, and Danny is one wrong retch away from letting it loose. It sticks in his lungs like all the tar he’s smoked in since he was nine. It pushes and aches at his temples, in his head, like his brain is trying to swell out of his skull. His thoughts becoming so loud they threaten to commandeer his tongue.

He has no mouth, but he must scream.

Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it hurts more than when you were alive. Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it’s violent. That it’s bloody. Or as bloody as it can be when everyone has no blood.

Another thing they don’t tell you about being dead, is that it’s a lot like Gotham that way.

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies forget death itself. Blood comes easy, like water, and teeth are encouraged. Bring your own fangs to the fight. Dying is something you can just walk off.

Danny’s been dead for three months. He can’t say he’s been walking it off easy. He’s perfected the art of turning his nails into claws since his heart was still beating, but he can’t say he’s perfected fighting other ghosts.

Scrappy is just not enough.

He feels like he’s back in Gotham again. Back in her death-shroud alleyways, fighting someone bigger than him. But there’s no Jason to watch his back, and Danny has to get himself out of there alone. Or he might just not get up at all.

Black eyes, busted lips. It’s familiar to him like an old scent, Danny isn’t quite sure that he’s missed it. It’s more familiar than his fights with Dash.

But there’s no one else who can do it but him. Not Sam, not Tucker. He can’t lose them too. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t. His heart can’t take another break, he already feels like he’s going insane.

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies fight like death themself. He learns why when Technus puts a street sign through his stomach one day. It pins him to the asphalt like a moth pinned by its wings.

Danny claws at the metal like how an animal caught in a trap chews off its leg, and every move is blinding pain. He thinks he was howling, but it’s hard to tell. He couldn’t recognize the sound of his voice.

He bleeds green. It mixes in black with the pitch blackhole in his heart, which throbs and twists and cries in time with his reckless panic. The finger-choking terror of dying again strangles out the air he doesn’t need. His blood evaporates, only to reabsorb into him. It just bleeds out again, cycling like a snake eating its own tail.

Danny breaks his nails clawing at the metal, and eventually gets it in his mind to pull it out. So he does, and the end drips ectoplasm green as he gets to his feet. In red-vision, Danny sends the sign back with snarling, vicious fervor. The pain is irrelevant in his rage.

Only after the fight does the hole the pole left start to close. Danny doesn’t shift human until it’s gone. Unlike other injuries, a scar stays behind. Ugly; mottled, it aches for a week with every twist and stretch his body makes. He hates it.

Being dead is agony.

Every part of him is in pain. Every step, every word he speaks, everything he does, it is prerequisite with pain. The body is temporary, but the soul is forever, and death has carved into it with its freezing green hands and left him with never-ending heartache. It has torn from him and stolen what of him it could, and in return it’s left him with sorrow.

His pain is his grief, and he’s sobbed in the safety of his room more times than he can count. It’s still as fresh as the day he heard the news of Jason’s death. He knows, instinctively, that it will stay fresh forever.

In his room, Danny shoves his hands over his mouth and shrieks in whatever, muffled way he can into his pillow. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. He needs to be louder. He needs to be heard. He refuses to be.

Being dead hurts.

#tw mild gore #cw mild blood #cw mentioned violence #dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dpxdc crossover #dpdc #dp x dc crossover #dead on main #dp x dc au #dp x dc fanfic #cfau #cfau danny #obsessed with the fact that danny just has the WORST fucking time after jason dies and baby i can make it worse #*kills you and makes you a banshee and puts you in an irrevocable state of grief*#delicious angst. danny is having the wORSt time ever lol. lmao even #was originally meant to explore the idea that danny can survive lethal injuries as phantom. which briefly got mentioned.#but i got away from myself. leaning reaaal heavy into the fact that danny's a banshee. At 19 he's got a pretty good handle of himself #but imagine being a fresh out the gate banshee. usually they get time to themselves in the zone to cry until their heart's content.#sorry danny. you have school tomorrow and family sleeping in the bedroom next door #kinda proud of myself. you can kinda see how Rath would've occurred here.#danny is going through it rn #was gonna add a snippet about the city's thoughts on phantom but couldnt fit it in

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angelwishess · 1 month ago

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The Floyra Confession™️

Rambling utc !!! :3 (its kind of cringe pls have mercy sigh, not a fic at all js spilling out my thoughts ig?? But at the same time its kind of from Kyra’s pov so like.. idk… sigh…)

I honestly think Kyra would be in disbelief that someone truly loves her, which is part of the reason she doesn’t confess.

Throughout her life, everytime she tries to be herself around other people she always received a negative reaction in return. Because of this, shes come to the conclusion that no one could ever love her when shes being herself, that all of her flaws and “ugly parts” are unlovable, and the only way she could ever be loved is if she hides those sides of herself and acts as the perfect figurehead her family wanted her to be.

During her time at NRC, she lets herself loose. But thats only because she knows her time there is temporary. She didn’t expect to meet so many wonderful people who’d welcome her so warmly.

And she didn’t expect to fall in love, either.

Shes so very scared of it. Shes gone awhile without having those nasty thoughts, but the moment she realizes her feelings they start bubbling up again. It was hopeless, she thinks. How could anyone love someone like her? She was pretty, sure— but she was impulsive, reckless, blunt, rambunctious and uncontrollable. It didn’t matter how nice she was to look at, the fact is most people only ever ‘loved’ her for her looks. And she doesn’t want that.

How could someone as wonderful as Floyd love someone like her? That would never happen. And so she ignored her own feelings, convinced that it was nothing but wishful thinking.

So imagine her surprise when he confesses to her.

Floyd, her partner in crime. Her best friend. The person closest to her heart. He’s seen every flaw and every ‘ugly side’ that she so desperately used to hide back in her world. He’s seen her recklessness, heard her foul mouth, he’s watched her trip over her own feet, dig through trash cans, wrestle with magical creatures and get covered in dirt and mud, eat things that honestly should never even be near someone’s mouth— but hes still here. And hes still saying that he loves her.

At first she thinks hes joking. That its some sort of cruel prank, and so she laughs it off. Like she always does. But he’s serious, and she realizes that.

When he says he loves her, he means all of her. And that makes her break down. How could he love someone he knows is so flawed? Shes naive, shes selfish and sometimes shes even mean. He knows all of that, so why does he still love her so? It didn’t make any sense to her.

She, who has never been given love unless she exhibits perfection.

“How could you love someone like me?!” Is all she managed to choke out in that moment. It didn’t make sense— none of it did. Not when she believed so deeply that she was truly unlovable unless she lived up to the expectations of others.

He held her close, held her gently. She could barely even see him through her tears. “How could I not?” His voice was so soft, so sweet. He went on about all the things he adored about her, looked back on each memory of their various chaotic escapades with a smile, and looked at her with so much adoration it made her melt even more.

Ah, he was always too good for her. She knew that. She didn’t deserve him… He really did love her for her, huh?

…Maybe, she can be selfish once more. Because she loves him so deeply sometimes it hurts. Was it wrong of her to keep him to herself like this? Maybe. But he was her missing piece, she was sure of it. And she wouldn’t give him up for anything in the universe.

#🎀🦈! floyra #🎀! yap #🎀! doodle #twst #twisted wonderland #twst oc #oc x canon #yuusona #this isnt the angst i was talking abt btw i have smth else cooking up HHAHA #<- lets see if i actually post it tho😭

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jennifer-jeong · 7 months ago

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Okay so first, I really love your LnD fics (patiently waiting for more of your amazing works) 🥹🫶 and hear me out...

Reader who is reincarnated as a Fae being and has been alive since. But the thing is, her wings had been clipped off (with the use of silver chains, meaning she's vulnerable against silver) for a century and is in Linkon city since she feels that part of her (her wings) are somewhere hidden in the city (Think of Maleficent live action ig where her wings were taken from her) and meets the guys and so on :)

HI ANON THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR ASK AND YOUR KIND WORDS FJDSKLAFJSDL;A I APPRECIATE IT SM!! TY FOR INTERACTING!! I’m so glad to hear you like my fics and I promise more are on the way hehehe please do request me again if you have more ideas!!

I hope I did your prompt justice! I definitely did think a lot about maleficent when writing this hehehehe

Fluff + Angst | LADS x Fae!Reader Angel

CONTENT Angst to fluff, gender neutral reader, mentions of violence, blood, trauma, torture, healing alongside them, mutual pining between you and the boys, happy and open ended endings! ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+

Your wings were a pretty and pearly milky white. Your wings resembled those of high flying birds. They were thick enough to allow gliding and also strong enough to give you lots of control in the air. They were iridescent in the sun and carried you high in the bright sky. The air was thin but more refreshing up there. You played with clouds and soared through the endless blue. It was freedom. It made you feel alive, warm.

It was your gift, but unfortunately, it was on someone else’s wishlist.

You’d never been a spiteful being, nor had you ever hurt a fly. But when silver chains ripped your flesh and tore your muscle to take your wings, severing your very soul from your body. When they destroyed your forest, your home, your family, your heart. You swore to make them suffer.

You were powerful and hunting these fools down was nothing difficult for you. The problem was hunting without your wings, your best weapon.

The lack of mobility and being forced to fight on the ground made it so that you could maim the weak ones, but you could never reach the ones who profited off the suffering of you and your people.

Linkon city is where they were. You knew this. You could feel your wings there. You also knew that you’d need to hide, figure out who did what and how to get your damn wings back. It would take time, but time was all you had as a fae. You’d do whatever it took to make them pay.

It’d take years, but it was worth it.

2 years later and you’ve already made moves to apprehend (and torture) a few key figures, always leaving them in front of the police station when you were done. You still had so much good in you and it always prevented you from killing. But it made you seethe that they were filthy fucking rich from what they stole from your homeland. They sold your resources and displayed your bodies, your wings, like they were trophies. Life was still cold and depressing for you but you did manage to make some friends in Linkon. They’d even help you with your mission. You only trusted them with the information because they had similar goals.

XAVIER

Xavier was a local policeman you had met a few decades into your plot when you were hired to help with the case. He was coincidentally also investigating illegal hunters and black markets selling goods stolen from other civilizations such as yours. It was a big ring of crime and he was determined to end the atrocities that were being committed in it. Meeting you was just extra motivation on top of his already relentless drive for justice. You became investigative partners since you were both capable in combat and often investigated the same people anyways.

Xavier was kind, gentle, quiet, and stronger than he let on. He always worked without expectation of reward and you appreciated that. You just wanted justice and he wanted the same. It helped that he didn’t seek publicity because it would’ve made your life harder since you were probably wanted as a vigilante from before. Xavier taught you his philosophies and you realized you’d been consumed by your desire for revenge, unable to enjoy life outside of it. You admired him for his morals, so you learned from him, and it made you two grow closer. He was more than happy to help, it was so rewarding to see you slowly become your bubbly self that he guesses you lost a long time ago.

He had his suspicions that you might be fae. The man was smart but he played his cards carefully, he always held them close. He acted aloof with you and pretended to not constantly stare at the back of your shirt, trying to see if you had imprints of missing wings on your shoulder blades. He also figured that your motivation for wanting to crack these cases came from somewhere. If he also managed to figure out that you’d been behind some of the previous mysterious arrests, he’d turn a blind eye. He knew your actions weren’t crimes. He felt glad that you got them back for what they did to you and your people.

After a few years of planned raids and dozens of arrests, one of the recovered items from the warehouse was a beautiful pair of wings. Still buzzing with magic, craving to feel the wind again. You felt them when they were being transported to the police HQ. The surge of energy that continued to approach you made you hold your breath and bounce your leg out of pure anxiety. Xavier put a hand on your shoulder to try to calm you down. He’d already figured out what was going on just by looking at you. You didn’t need to say a word. It was something that slowly came naturally since you two spent so much time together. You smiled and he smiled warmly back. You were in the middle of panicking because Xavier was still touching you when you were presented with your missing soul, your wings. You requested to view the “evidence” privately with Xavier and wasted no time in feeling your delicate wings with your fingertips again.

Xavier stood behind you, his right hand found its way to your upper back. He finally traced the outlines of your cut wings. It made you gasp at first, but you trusted him. As he continued to feel them, you shivered. They were scars, they were more sensitive. He stepped to your side and you turned to partially face him, his hand sliding off of you. You looked into his eyes and your longstanding feelings for Xavier were making their presence known by heating up your face, flushing your cheeks. You swore you saw a slight tinge of red on the tips of his ears too. He spoke to you in his familiar voice that you loved so much. He decided to tease you slightly.

“I think I always knew that you’d have wings, you were too perfect to not be an angel.”

ZAYNE

Zayne was a surgeon you’d met one day when he treated your wounds since you collapsed outside the hospital. He discovered the scars where your wings used to sit on your back. You were high off the morphine when he checked your back for more injuries so you barely even realized.

He questioned you but not in the way you expected. You thought he wouldn’t know what they were or try to take advantage of you. But instead he asked what you knew about the hunters that took your wings. He already knew exactly what happened to you just by looking. He was involved in cracking down on research related to Fae and Lemurians since there were people trying to fuse their genetics with these races to gain their beneficial traits such as immortality.

He knew some things you didn’t know and vice versa. You both began working on this together, investigating research facilities, interrogating suspects, and fighting only when needed. You were unstoppable and the law didn’t plan to ask you to let up. You both hand delivered them collectors and shadowy figures that had hid from the police for so long. When you fought, Zayne could both heal and attack from afar while you rushed them head on. You were unafraid because you believed in your partner, your trust in Zayne only grew as the years went on.

Early on, Zayne encouraged you to let go of the spite, the revenge. You knew he was right when he said that they did not benefit you in this. He saw the rage in you and could see that it was hurting you, mentally and physically. You listened, you knew better. You stopped the relentless tortures and instead, let the collectors rot in jail, but not before you got in a few good punches. Zayne watched you slowly come out of your shell again, actually taking the time to enjoy the little things in life instead of being hyper focused on revenge. He’d be lying if he said you weren’t one of the most rewarding patients he’d ever had.

Working with your partner was definitely quite the rollercoaster. He was always so professional and mature but would also randomly tease you as if you were kids, albeit with a fully deadpan expression. Zayne was reserved and often came off as cold but he made you so warm. You knew he was an extremely compassionate and kind person under his exterior and you admired him for it. Zayne also adored you in the same way. You had gone through so much pain and suffering but you still smiled and shined like the sun.

Over time you adapted to live without your wings but after one specific raid on a collector’s mansion, you knew exactly what the collector’s prized possession was because it belonged to you. You could feel your wings. They still surged with energy and upon seeing them when you went to do follow up investigation, you immediately called to them. They flew towards you and you inspected them, almost not believing the scene in front of you. Zayne stayed close ready to support you, especially if you were to fuse with your wings again, he knew it’d be hard to keep them hidden and it’d just bring up so much previous trauma.

You turned to face him slowly, leaving your wings behind you. You hesitated. Not letting your wings fuse with you yet. Zayne looked into your eyes, trying to comfort you with his presence. After a few seconds, Zayne held out his hand, you took it. His skin was cold but somehow it made yours burn, the heat spreading through your body as your face warmed up. He spoke quietly to you, telling you to take your time. You closed your eyes and took deep breaths, your thumb slowly caressing the back of Zayne's hand as he did the same back.

Zayne had always been good at comforting you with his words, maybe it just came naturally since he was a doctor. Regardless, you knew it was exactly what you needed right now. You didn’t know what you’d do after you got your wings back. Would you go home? Would you continue this mission with Zayne? Would having your wings make it harder? Would it make it easier? You confided in Zayne as you spoke your thoughts out loud. Once you were done, you were overwhelmed and he could tell. He started his reply with a sentence that filled you with warmth, hope, and a little bit of giddiness. He speaks, teasing you a bit at the end, his face flushing.

“It doesn’t matter what you are or if you have the wings or not, you’re beautiful and you should follow your heart… especially if it’s here.”

RAFAYEL

Rafayel was a painter “looking for art or inspiration” that you met at an underground event where illegal goods were being sold, but you quickly figured out it was a front. Rafayel was a Lemurian, you sensed it immediately since you weren’t human. As a fae you had the ability to sense certain things, and so did Rafayel. Upon meeting each other at an art exhibition, you quickly exchanged information and agreed to meet up again the next day. You almost simultaneously revealed that you were both after the hunters that destroyed your homes when you finally got to chat alone.

The two of you start to frequent more underground events, both of you being well connected and hiding your true intentions very well. You use the events to gather information and then put your plans into action when your targets are alone. It worked amazingly well, you were both extremely skilled and efficient at what you did. It slowly chipped away at this network that shamelessly destroyed your beautiful homes.

Rafayel was a bit of a loose cannon. The man was so sweet and bashful one second and deadly serious the next. He was so gentle with you but didn’t hesitate when there was business that needed to be done. He could easily switch it on and off too. You were just glad you were on his side of this war.

Both you and Rafayel were out for revenge but something about your partnership changed you two. You both slowly helped each other heal, confiding your worries and traumas in each other. You were still both ruthless when it came to apprehending the people who did you wrong but the tortures stopped and the warmth returned outside of the violence. You two actually started to make good memories and live life instead of just trying to survive. You’d often watch the sunset over the ocean together, it was peaceful and you’d chat about anything and everything.

Eventually, after dozens of raids and missions, Rafayel finds weapons that used to belong to his family at the same time you find your wings again. You kept quiet until the mission was done, knowing you could feel your wings but not wanting to startle Rafayel. You looked at the weapons with him, you put your hand on his back to show your support for him. His eyes stayed glued on the knives and his face was a painful melancholic expression. You rubbed circles into his upper back with your thumb, hoping it could ease some of the pain caused by resurfacing memories.

After ensuring that the weapons would be sent to his personal studio, he continues to explore the mansion with you, following you while you find your wings. You communicated to him about your wings and he knew this would be tough for you too but you were both glad you had each other in this moment.

When you saw your wings in a display case at the end of one of the hallways, you bit back tears. It was a lot to take in. You passed millions of dollars worth of paintings to reach the most priceless thing in this whole building. Rafayel lags slightly behind you, wanting to give you a moment. You turn to face him, telling him that you don’t know if you want the wings back or not. Would they make you complete again? They can’t bring anyone back, can’t take away the pain. You couldn’t hide them like Rafayel could hide his true form, would it be a nuisance?

Rafayel makes his way towards you as you ramble, clearly distressed. He quickly envelopes you in a hug, letting you cry lightly into his chest, a painting of Lucifer on the wall next to you. You stay like that for a while. When he finally pulls back, he cups your face with his hands. You were his fallen angel, he wasn’t always great with his words but he truly spoke from the heart when comforting you like this.

“You never needed these wings to be complete, you’re ethereal with or without them. You’ll always be my angel, no matter what.”

|| MASTERLIST ♡ || Thank you for reading! ||

#love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #l&ds x reader #xavier x reader #xavier fluff #xavier angst #zayne x reader #zayne fluff #zayne angst #rafayel x reader #rafayel fluff #rafayel angst #love and deepspace fluff #love and deepspace angst #lads fluff #l&ds fluff #j's silly ramblings #j's asks

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the-laughing-lunatic · 7 months ago

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Scout x reader who's never been to a baseball game before (ROMANTIC)

(I was bored and wrote this, I actually have been to multiple baseball games before but my ass still doesn't know anything about it. Reader's gender neutral as always. Trying to get better at writing oneshots so have this ig :/ Word count: ~1400)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was strangely calm that day, it was one of the occasional days off that the mercs had. You sat on your bed, reading through some random magazine you’d picked up here or there when your boyfriend Scout barged in. “Hey doll!”

You continued flicking through the pages of the magazine, not flinching. You’d gotten used to this after a year of knowing him and two months of dating him. The door might as well not have existed at this point. “Yes?”

“Wanna go to the game today? With me?” he said, flashing you two tickets in his hand.

“What kinda game?” You looked up.

“Only the best game to be created,” he said with a smirk. “Baseball.”

You shrugged. “Sure, I don’t have anything else to do—” you barely got out before you were tackled with a hug by Scout, your magazine falling somewhere on the bed as you were wrapped up in his arms. “Jesus, you’re that excited, huh?”

He only chuckled and kissed your cheek. “Hell yeah I am! I get to have my two favorite things, baseball and you, dollface.”

You roll your eyes and give him a kiss on the cheek back, relaxing into his arms for a moment as you soak up his warmth. “...wait, am I below baseball?”

“Uhh…”

ੈ♡˳

“Bye Engie! Thanks for the ride!” Scout yelled out as Engineer drove away in his pickup truck, leaving the two of you to the sea of people waiting to get in despite the insufferable heat.

“Geez, are there normally this many people at these things?” you said as you held onto Scout’s hand to not lose him as you walked to the back of the line for the ticket booth.

“What, ya never been to a baseball game before?” he said with a laugh. It was a rhetorical question from his perspective, but not for you.

“No.” Scout’s jaw dropped.

“W- whaddya mean you’ve never been to a baseball game before, w- why? How?” In his mind, baseball was the most amazing game in the world, and it was simply a crime that the most amazing person in the world had never seen it.

You shrugged. “Just never did.” Scout was full of feelings about this. On one hand, you were his dollface and it hurt that you had been deprived of one of the greatest pleasures life could offer. On the other hand, he got to be the guy to introduce you to your first baseball game, which had the same significance as a first kiss. In his mind at least.

“D’ya at least know the game? Like, how it works?”

You thought for a moment before saying: “Um, you hit balls and run a lot?”

Hoo boy. Scout sighed. “I mean- you ain’t wrong but ya ain’t right. Listen doll, so there’s nine guys on each team, right? And one of the guys is the pitcher for the inning. The pitcher, he’s the fella who . . .”

ੈ♡˳

“. . . and then the outfielders, once you have those fellas you can get somethin’ called a line drive where it hits right to ‘em without touchin’ the ground–”

It had twenty non-stop minutes of Scout explaining the entire concept of baseball to you, and if you heard another way a ball can be thrown you were gonna snap. You took his face in your hands and kissed him before another move could be explained.

His ears flushed red and he froze for a moment after you pulled away. “Uh, what was that all about, doll?”

“I love you but if I hear another word about baseball I’m gonna lose it. Can I just watch the game with you and enjoy it that way?” you ask.

“Fine, fine—” he cuts himself off as the two of you are both hit with the realization. You said I love you. Shit, shit, shit shit shitshitshit!

Before you can stammer out a sorry or any other form of explanation, the woman in the ticket booth says “Next!” and you’re left to panic while Scout gives her the tickets.

We’ve only been dating for a few months, is that weird to say? It must be, he didn’t say it back. Maybe he didn’t hear me? No, he definitely heard me. Oh god, I fucked this up bad, fuck—

“Hey dollface, she said we can go in, c’mon,” he said with a smile, squeezing your hand and leading you into the stadium. You two found a spot in the bleachers, luckily under the shade of an awning. You nervously bounced your leg as you prepared for the game to begin.

He’s not treating me any differently, maybe he’s just gonna ignore that I said that. Please, god just ignore it.

“Geez, real anxious to see the game, huh doll?” he said to you with a smile.

“Yeah, yeah.” Maybe this would all be okay, another normal date. Just ignore that gross feeling in your gut and it’ll be fine.

ੈ♡˳

It was not all fine. Everytime the word ‘love’ came out of Scout’s mouth you couldn’t help but feel a growing annoyance. And he said it a lot.

“Man, I love that guy!”

“ —fuckin’ love this hot dog—”

“Love the view, right doll?”

It’s like he was rubbing it in. The gross feeling, the loud noise and the tight packed crowd all teamed up to give you a headache. Great. You distracted yourself from the feeling by leaning into him and eating your popcorn, desperately trying to understand the game in front of you. Maybe you should have listened a little more to your boyfriend’s explanation. “You cold dollface?

“Nah, just tired and have a little headache, ‘m fine,” you said as you popped another piece of popcorn in your mouth.

He wrapped his arm around you so you could have more support. “We, uh, don’t have to stay if you don’t want to, y’know. It’s the bottom of the fifth if you wanna get out of here.”

“No, no, it‘s fine, gotta stay for my first baseball game. Besides, isn’t that rude to just leave?”

“Naw, it’s fine. ‘S pretty normal not to stay the whole nine innings for your first game. ‘Sides, I don’t want you to feel like shit. We could go to a game some other time, how’s that sound?”

You smiled softly. “Sounds perfect.”

“Good, now c’mon,” he said as he picked you up in his arms to carry you out of the stadium.

“Jeremy, my head is the thing that hurts, not my legs. I can still walk, you doofus,” you laughed. He kissed your forehead.

“Whatever you say, sweetcake, but I’m still carryin’ ya.”

ੈ♡˳

It was dark out, and Jeremy had just finished calling Engineer on the pay phone while you sat on a nearby bench: Scout’s jacket draped over you. Only a few people milled about, leaving to their cars underneath the street lamps.

Jeremy sat down next to you, reaching to hold your hand. “Engie’s gonna be here in ‘bout ten minutes...you alright doll?”

You delicately took it. “I dunno…”

“Did anything happen?”

“I mean, kinda? It’s stupid though, dunno why I’m getting so focused on it.”

“Can you tell me?”

You took a deep breath and looked at the concrete. “Well, I don’t know if you actually heard me, but earlier I accidentally said that I love you. I- I mean, not accidentally, I do, but it just, y’know, slipped out.”

“I heard you doll,” Scout said, tilting your face up to look at him.

“Then why didn’t you say anything? I mean, I get if you don’t love me yet, I’m not gonna blame you, but just say something.”

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t know if you were bein’ serious, doll,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “Y’know, you’re amazing and sweet, and almost every time I’ve liked someone this fantastic they’re just with me for laughs.”

“Jeremy…we’ve been dating for two months, did you really think that I don’t care about you?”

“Well I mean, two months right. I kinda thought you would’ve already said ‘I love you’ by now, so just- I dunno. . . do you actually love me?”

“Of course I do, Jeremy, I just was nervous because I thought I said it too early,” you said, leaning closer to him, looking at how his face caught the light of the street lamp.

“I love you too,” Scout said with a dorky smile before pulling you close and kissing you. You probably would’ve kissed for much longer but the sound of a truck horn interrupted you.

“Hey lovebirds, get in!” Engineer shouted from the truck.

Scout pulled away and blushed before getting in with you, holding your hand tight the whole time.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 x reader #team fortress 2 x reader #scout tf2 #scout tf2 x reader #scout #scout x reader #fanfiction

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aihoshiino · 28 days ago

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chapter 164 thoughts

This post discusses suicide and suicidal ideation in the context of Oshi no Ko.

Chapters Until The Story Ends Without The 143 Kiss Being Addressed Or Acknowledged: 2

Bizarrely, I feel like I don't have a ton to say about this chapter. Not because stuff doesn't happen in it but because… fuck, man. What do I even say. I can't quite 100% shake my suspicion that Akasaka has some asspull up his sleeve and that Aqua might come back in style form, even if altered to the point that he isn't the Aqua we know anymore, but this chapter is clearly set up for us to think he's dead and for us to see other character's reactions to this news, so I'll talk about the text with that assumption in mind. This one will probably be kind of all over the place so bear with me ig

That being said… this is all kind of dumb as fuck, huh

Like. There's just so many insane contrivances with this setup that it's impossible for me to take it seriously. Putting aside that there's no way on planet earth Aqua's plan should have fooled anybody, why in God's name are his family and friends finding out about this from a news broadcast and not, like… Being contacted by the police?? Or at least hearing about it beforehand??

I also really don't like that we're setting up to have a whole chapter focusing on Ruby's response to all this while Aqua's Literal Mother and all his friends get like. Two panels to be shocked at the news. If the series ends without giving them all the space to grieve I think I will be legitimately really pissed off lmao

The presence of 15 Year Lie in this chapter also makes me agonizingly aware that we know basically nothing about it to this day, even though the contents of the movie are what this final arc revolves around. Aqua's plan relies on Kamiki's crimes as exposed by the movie being heinous enough that Kamiki would kill Aqua to silence them but…

WHAT FUCKING CRIMES???

The Kamiki we saw in the movie was only ever portrayed as a victim in the scenes we see. Unless the story is trying to imply that Kamiki is somehow responsible for Uehara and Airi's deaths or that 15YL makes him directly responsible for Gorou's death or - literally I have no idea what this could be referring to.

I dunno, man. It's hard for me to really want to buckle down and analyse this because so much of it feels entirely contrary to the story that came before. I've always insisted that the one thing that we could guarantee was that Aqua and Ruby would survive the series and be happy because so much emotional weight is put on Ai's wish for Aqua and Ruby to grow into adults and be happy, and it really seemed like we were building up to an ending of Aqua deciding for himself that he wants to finally live for himself, so this sudden swerve into Aqua being told by God "actually your purpose in life is to nobly commit suicide for your sister" is uh, jarring to say the least.

Part of the issue with this is that I think Akasaka doesn't think of Aqua's sacrifice as being a suicide, narratively speaking, even though Akane literally acknowledges it as such. But the thing is, Aqua's "sacrifice" is emergent from all the same things as his suicidal ideation - his belief that his life is intrinsically less valuable than everyone else's and his continued guilt and self loathing as a result of his trauma. Aqua literally says to Ruby's face in 143 that he feels guilty just for being alive and it's literally never addressed again.

So it's very difficult not to read this ending as the story approving of Aqua killing himself, but only if it's for the right reasons. Not only is that an insanely irresponsible message to put into a story as widespread and visible as OnK is right now, it's also just fucking ghoulish.

Idk. Even if Aqua lived here, I just really dislike this idea of his whole life's purpose being Narratively Affirmed as being to uplift Ruby at his own expense. Aqua is very much like Ai in that he's a person who has spent basically all of both his lives in service to other people, unable to pursue the things that he wants and that make him genuinely fulfilled - an ending that parallels Ai, where he is denied this to the extent that it kills him, is not a bad idea on paper but the execution here makes it fall apart. Like, if the framing was that Aqua and Kamiki were both unable to move on from the past to the point that it kills them, I'd vibe with that or something like it. But as is, this shit is just baffling.

It doesn't help that Aqua's death is just completely unmoored from anything the series has been setting up all this time. I've seen people defending this as being what Aqua's revenge was building up to, but this very explicitly isn't about Aqua's revenge. It's about "protecting Ruby's future", but the idea that Kamiki was a threat to Ruby specifically is something that was introduced all of four chapters ago. Even then, it's deeply undercooked. Like, what it is about Kamiki that makes him SUCH a threat to Ruby that Aqua has no choice but to take the nuclear option and kill them both? Why is this the one and only way to stop him? We don't know - we basically know nothing about Kamiki besides "he's Ai's crazy ex" which is such a massive letdown for an antagonist who's been built up for this long.

Speaking of Ai…. where the fuck is she!!!

I know this is predictable background noise from the Ai Wife Guy, but it really is baffling to me that she's such a nonfactor when the climax happening right now is her son confronting the man who killed her. At best, we get mild lipservice as to her existence but the series is so all-in on this "protecting Ruby's future" framing that Ai's absence here feels jarring. It's not just that Ai should be relevant because I like her (but I DO and she SHOULD) but because it makes for a bizarrely deflated finale. Instead of the tragedy we've been building up to avenging for over 140 chapters, Aqua's death comes as the result of a plan he came up with on the spot to deal with an ill-defined threat that only came into existence 4-6 chapters ago.

It just doesn't really feel satisfying, especially when the series has been so wishy washy when it comes to focusing on Aqua and Ruby's relationship. If the series was going to make that connection The central axis on which this climax revolves, then it needed more fleshing out than it got, regardless of if the series went the AquRuby route or not.

Two chapters left………..

#oshi no ko #oshi no posting #onk spoilers #chapter reviews

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bluemerakis · 11 months ago

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┌── ˚*❀*̥˚ ─── ˚*̥❀*˚ ──┐

✐ᝰ bluemerakis

┗━━• ❃ ° •° ❀ °• ° ❃ •━━┛

❝ paper trails ❞

⤷ Word count: 2.5k

Pookies it was my birthday yesterday, so in honour of that, I wanted to write a lil something something with coryo 🤭 not anything grand, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless

═════════════════

WARNINGS:

Implied smut ig, teensy bit fluffy, just coryo being the cutest little gentleman ever (outside the bedroom)

SYNOPSIS:

There was nobody else that Coriolanus trusted more with his cherished garden of roses than you. You were the keeper of his flowers, tending to them with a delicacy that only you were capable of. He’d always admired that about you—how your green fingers always seemed to yield a larger bloom rate than his own ever did.

You’d always thought that you were nothing more than a district eleven nobody gardener to Coriolanus, but little did you know that he knew pretty much everything (however little) there was to know about your history, including your birthday. He gives you a gift of his own, an invitation he’s hoping you’ll accept so that he may celebrate your birthday with you—Coriolanus Snow style.

═════════════════

Crouched low to the ground, you bit back a hiss of pain as a thorn pricked the tip of your index finger, withdrawing your hand to wipe away the welling drop of red at your fingertip. You fashioned more conscious caution as you returned your hand to the culprit rose and gingerly bent the stem towards you, your other hand gripping a pair of garden scissors. You nipped the stem below the dying rose head, the decayed, featherlight petals drifting to the ground to form a scattered painting of a crime scene.

Each time you were forced to cut away the wilted flowers, a piece of your heart ached. It was a necessary practice in order to keep the bush healthy and set it up for a successful next season, but it didn’t hurt any less to know that you’d once poured as much effort into preserving that very flower, and now you would lay it to rest simply because it had lost all grace and beauty—and hence value. Funny, really, how much that concept seemed to equate to the real world.

Overhead, the sun seared on, taking full responsibility for the beads of sweat that now dribbled down your temples. You dropped your scissors to the ground, it’s fall cushioned by the decayed bodies of your rose victims, and wiped your dirt-strewn hand across your forehead with a sigh. You took a moment to glance around the garden of the Snow estate, your chest prickling with a sense of pride at the perfect order you’d managed to bring it to.

Coriolanus Snow didn’t much trust anyone to tinker with his garden, it was one of his most prized possessions—a symbol of sorts that only he knew the meaning of. No matter, he’d taken you in from the districts and trusted you enough with the duty of being his gardener, and he was a very generous host in return. You stayed on the property—in this very garden, in fact, in your own little rustic cottage. He didn’t often make a stop there, mostly tending to his own business, but there were a few occasions where he did manage to pass-by and would check in with you.

The last thing you’d expected him to be was generous—and kind. It was practically an unspoken rule in the Capitol for the higher classes to spit on and degrade anybody from the districts, merely because your lesser existence was offensive to their way of living. You had to admit that you didn’t much hold any love for the Capitol citizens, either, but you thought that your dislike of them was far more justifiable and valid.

But there was an air around Coriolanus Snow, not exactly the most humble, but he was far from boasting his wealth and luxury of a lifestyle from the rooftops of Panem. It was almost as though he were too afraid to, as though this life would and could be robbed from him in an instant. It gave you the impression that he was not like most other Capitol-born citizens—perhaps he’d known what poverty was like, whether it was him or someone he knew that had endured it. Maybe that was why he’d taken pity on your life in the district and offered you this opportunity to come and live with him in return for your services.

There were many possibilities at play, but because Coriolanus Snow was such an enigma of a man, there wasn’t much hope of closure. As if the mere thought of him was a summons, you heard footsteps clatter down the bricked walkway winding through the gardens, turning your head just in time to glimpse that signature red ensemble of the man who’d been plaguing your thoughts for the last hour or so.

You instinctively rose to full height to offer him a modest bow of greeting upon his arrival. It was a gesture he’d insisted on neglecting for the first few days of your presence here, but he’d soon after given up on the matter when he realised that you would not listen. Now, going off of the sheer delight that seemed to glint in those deep blue eyes, you thought he rather enjoyed the importance that your greeting seemed to imply.

“Mr. Snow,” you offered a formal greeting, feeling suddenly conscious at how ragged and sweat-stained your gardening dress had become under this hot weather. Quite frankly, you hadn’t expected him to pay a visit today, given the scorching weather. You only wished that you could have presented yourself in a better manner.

Coriolanus stood towering before you, his chin tilted down to glance you over as he merely said, “Coriolanus, please.”

You were hesitant at his correction, before offering a slight nod of acknowledgment. “Coriolanus,” you repeated softly, feeling out each syllable of his name. It felt odd to use his first name outside of your thoughts, but even then, you almost always addressed him by full name.

You noticed the way Coriolanus’ eyes had lowered down your figure, and the self-consciousness only seemed to worsen at the idea that he may be judging your appearance. But you were taken aback as he leaned forward to take your hands into his, his thumbs ghosting over the back of your hands before he turned them over to survey your palms. The way he cupped your hands in his felt far too intimate, and you hoped by the grace of all the Gods that the dirt plastered to your face was mask enough to hide the colour inevitably warming the apples of your cheeks.

“Have you not been using those gardening gloves I gave you?” Coriolanus asked as he trailed his thumb over the cuts littered around your palm and across your fingers. He lifted his eyes to yours, they were shaped with genuine concern.

You were taken aback at how blatantly careless he was in his handling of you, and for a second you almost felt like an equal in status. Capitol-born rarely laid their hands on district occupants, as though they feared the poverty and dirt they carried were a plague to be avoided at all costs.

It took you a few seconds to find your tongue. “No, I haven’t,” you admitted, then quickly added, “not for lack of trying, though. I’ve never used gloves, even back in the districts—they make it difficult to grab ahold of the stems, and I find that my cut becomes rather clumsy with them on. I prefer the unveiled contact with my greenery.”

The white-haired man seemed to nod with understanding, a faint smile stretching his full and soft lips. “I guessed as much,” he responded. The confusion that swept across your face prompted him to explain. “I never developed a taste for gloves, either. When I inherited this estate, the garden was in a ghastly state. No matter how many gardeners I managed to enlist, none of them could bring my roses to justice. For a while, I did all of the work myself, and the garden thrived.” He paused with a sudden and wistful look. “But as it seems, my time wore thin with all my newly acquired responsibilities, so I turned to the districts in hopes of finding a suitable gardener to continue my work.” He paused as his eyes lowered down to your hands once more. “And then I found you.”

Your heart lurched at the way Coriolanus’ fingers began to caress the curves of your palms. You felt that somewhere along the line, you had missed the part of the story where the two of you had grown close enough for this sort of intimacy. But even then, you didn’t find yourself withdrawing from his touch. It felt oddly soothing, the way he dragged a constant, rhythmic pressure across your torn and aching skin.

“Why did you choose me?” You asked suddenly, causing Coriolanus to lift his head with that lopsided smile.

“I just knew you were right for me,” he responded levelly. “When I found your stall, I watched you for a while—the way you tended the flowers and assembled the bouquets for that Capitol celebration order. I thought the work looked familiar, I’ve seen it decorating most—if not all of the foyers of the upper-class Capitol buildings. The bouquets have always had a signature crown to them—one flower in the centre that sits a little taller than the rest of them, like a king that gazes down across his people. I saw you do the very same thing with all of your orders, and I knew then that you were the popular artist whose flowers haunt me wherever I walk.”

You let slip a giggle at his last words, not caring for etiquette at this point. You thought that you’d long since left formalities behind when Coriolanus had taken up your hands.

“I was unaware of just how much of a fan you were, Mr. Snow,” you teased, instantly catching your fault and correcting yourself. “Coriolanus.”

“Involuntarily,” he chuckled, his smile quieting as his eyes flickered across your face rather intensely. You would have cowered away from his stare, had it been casted under a different circumstance. “In any case, I knew I had to have you. Your talent and potential would have been laid to waste crafting posies and ensembles for sanctimonious Capitol parties. I doubt either one of them could properly recognise and appreciate the true effort imbued into their side-piece decorations.”

You pursed your lips at those last words, feeling rather propelled by a sense of pride at his praise and recognition of your hard work. “Putting aside the “sidepiece decorations”—could you, Coriolanus, properly appreciate my work?”

“If you have to ask that, I’m afraid I’ve been too subtle in my efforts,” he responded. Your lips quirked at that, only to gape in slight shock as Coriolanus lifted both of your hands to his lips, and in elegant sequence, placed a tender kiss onto your knuckles.

You swore that the very skin of your hands shrank away from the feel of his soft lips, an explosion of shivers sent along your rigid arms. “Coriolanus—” you started softly, but he cut you off.

“I chose you because of what your potential had to offer me,” he said, slowly releasing your hands to return back to your sides, and there they quivered as he went on. “But also because I knew what I could offer you. Nobody understands the scars of labour more than I do—don’t forget that I’ve been kneeling in your place, doing your job, long before I brought you here. Gardening, it isn’t just an industry—it’s an art, one that very few can appreciate, letalone master. But you—you’ve perfected it. I’ve never seen flowers so full and abundant in bloom.”

“You’re being too generous.”

“No,” he politely disagreed, a faint smile trailing after. “I’m simply giving credit where it’s due. Please, allow me to commemorate your hard work.” Your lips parted to question what he meant by those words, but you were silenced by the shuffling of his hands as he reached into his crimson blazer and pulled a white rose from concealment. “Take this.” He offered you the rose, and you gingerly accepted it.

Upon closer inspection, you noticed that it wasn’t a real rose at all—not all of it, at least, but one whose petals were expertly shaped from paper. The stem of it was real, but the thorns had been carefully carved away, the leaves left behind already starting to wither at the edges.

“Coriolanus,” you breathed, tilting the paper rose in every direction to marvel at its beauty. “This is so beautiful. I never pegged you for an arts and crafts guy,” you added with a chuckle.

“Neither did I,” he admitted. “It was one of the ways Tigris and I used to pass time as kids.”

You glanced up in faint surprise at the mention of Tigris. When Coriolanus had risen to power and status, shorty after inheriting the Plinth fortune, it was very difficult for his history to remain private. Everybody—even the districts, knew that Tigris was his older cousin, and that their relationship following his newly acquired fortune had since been estranged. After all, it was difficult to conceal the fact that his cousin no longer partook in his life, staying separated in her living quarters as well as neglecting the courtesy of attending his events of honour to show support.

You wondered whether Coriolanus ever regretted growing so distant with Tigris, but as you silently gazed at him, his expression let on not even the slightest hint of his thoughts or feelings on the matter. He was fashioned from composure, the only way to truly get an answer would be to hear it straight from his lips. But you wouldn’t pick at that particular scab, not when you had hardly known each other for more than a month—or spoken for more than a few minutes.

“Well, it’s beautiful,” you told him, gently clasping the stem between your fingers. “Thank you. I’ll cherish it forever.”

“I’m afraid you won’t have the opportunity,” Coriolanus said. You furrowed your brows. He made a slight gesture of his chin toward the rose, his hands sliding into the pockets of his trousers. “I left some notes on the petals. Feel free to read it once I’ve taken my leave.”

Your tilted down to the rose, your eyes narrowing in an effort to spot said note on the paper petals. After twirling the rose around for quite a bit, you managed to find the neat scribble of his handwriting nestled into the middle ring of petals. Before you had the chance to read the first word, Coriolanus’ voice stirred your focus.

“I’ll be seeing you,” he said before offering a smile and turning to take his leave from the garden.

You lifted your head and watched him disappear around a winding corner. “Goodbye!” You called after him, not sure he’d heard you at all. You turned your attention back to the rose and manoeuvred your fingers between the various paper petals, managing to find the beginning of the note. You push down the first petal and began reading it’s contents:

Your breath hitched in your throat at that last sentence. Coriolanus Snow, you little flirt, you thought, but you couldn’t deny the flush of your cheeks as you entertained that possibility. You pushed the thought away as you continued reading:

You chuckled at that statement. You weren’t going to be the one to say it. You bent down the last petal, the writing a lot less than the last few notes.

You averted your attention to the pathway that Coriolanus had long since disappeared along, your heart brimming with a sudden warmth. Nobody, other than your now deceased family, knew of your birthday. It had never been anything special, only a grim tally of your miserable years in the district.

You wondered how he’d come to obtain this information, and you realised then just how true to his word he’d been—he very likely did know every single thing about you. But you hated being perceived, especially by somebody you knew nothing about. So you decided then and there that you would take up his offer on tonight’s dinner,

And then, you intended to find out his every secret.

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This was so fun and refreshing to write. I’ve got about 7 unfinished drafts sitting around that I’ve been working on now and again, but I’ve been itching to get something complete and posted—so although this is something small, at least it’s something lmao. Sorry to disappoint y’all smut lovers, but I’ve got to keep it clean now and again.

Anyways, I just turned 19 yesterday, which feels surreal because I’m literally just a 17 year old teenage girl. I don’t think I’ll ever feel grown up. Every birthday is a goddamn existential crisis 😭

I hope you enjoyed this, likes and reblogs are always appreciated. Mwah!

𝔁𝓸𝔁𝓸

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