#but has always simply backed whoever she thought would get it done

[reiderwriter]

Flirting with the FBI

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word count: 7.1k

Request: Hiiii!! This is my first time requesting anything on this app, but Spencer reid has me in a chokehold. So, I was thinking that the reader is the unsub, and she's like this very good hacker who keeps teasing the fbi cause she's bored or something so she keeps sending hints about who she is or where she is but they keep getting nothing on her. And all of this just keeps getting on Spencer's nerves. And so when Spencer finds her, she keeps teasing him and acting like a brat so he "disciplines" her and takes her roughly and maybe a bit of spanking???

Warnings: a lot tbh - mentions of case details, mentions of domestic violence and police brutality, reader is a possible target of a serial killer, bad tech skills from the writer who really couldn't be bothered to do anymore research than the actual CM writing team, rough Dom Spencer, brat reader, sexual innuendo, semi-public sexual play, spanking, dirty talk (good girl, brat etc.) fingering, raw sex/creampie, aftercare, slight dacryphilia (crying kink) and bimbofication.

A/N: My last fic was a heartwarming family fic, and now I'm back to being depraved. Apologies to anyone here for cute fluff 😭

Masterlist

You always thought hacking the FBI mainframe would be hard, but it's one of the easiest things you've done all week.

If they were going to sit around doing nothing while a serial killer ran around in their own backyard, then obviously, they needed a helping hand. Or a helping poem or two.

Getting into their security camera feed was just an added bonus.

You grabbed your bowl of popcorn and settled into your desk chair, clicking open the window to find which room exactly they would gather in to freak out together.

You made sure to get their attention, blacking out all the computers in the office as they ran to a backroom where a very distraught looking blonde woman was sat. She was evidently the go-to tech support of about six agents who quickly ran to her room to figure out what the issue was. It was show time.

“There once was a serial killer,

Who ate boys and girl both for his dinner,

He cut, diced and slashed,

Left the feds quite abashed,

So I leave this message to be clearer”

The poem scrolled onto their screen on a loop, flashing in and out quickly before you let the computer systems relax again.

You thought they'd panic, scramble for a pen or paper or something, but none of the agents moved until the flashing was over.

You watched curiously as an older man took charge of the scene, likely directing the woman at the desk to figure out who you were, where you lived, and what your social security number was. She got to work quickly, and he moved on to the other agents.

None of them had written the poem down. None had even taken a picture, but one man started talking, and for a while, all eyes and attention in the room were focused solely on him. His hands moved as his mouth did, as if he were casting a spell over the room as he spoke. Even more intriguing was the fact that he rarely seemed to make eye contact with any of them as he spoke. He wasn't conversing or giving directions. He was simply talking.

And you really wanted to listen in.

The younger man began to walk and you watched him quickly pace over to a whiteboard, switching from one feed to another as he made his way there, and pick up a pen before notating the poem perfectly.

Whoever this man was, he was making you feel more and more excited about the game of cat and mouse you had begun with the FBI. You weren't entirely sure if he was to be the cat or the mouse, though.

A few days later, they'd seemingly lost the motivation to work, so you again did their job for them.

With another accompanying limerick to help them along, of course.

“There once was a bullpen full of agents,

Who thought they were very surveillant,

But a simply code crack,

And there system did hack,

A young girl who lived quite adjacent.”

This time, you let the words linger on the screen longer, as you slipped your information into their files, leaving more bread crumbs they could follow to the real villain.

The Agent - Doctor, you had since learned - took up his pen once again and scribbled your first poem next to your most recent.

Doctor Spencer Reid. An IQ of 187, three PhDs and however many Bachelor's Degrees, a member of the Behavioural Analysis Unit, and, as you could somehow tell from the grainy security footage, incredibly attractive man.

He was calm, again talking with his hands as he notated, again drawing the rooms attention like he was the sun and everything needed to orbit him to sustain life. You wondered what it would be like to fluster him.

Typing something out quickly, you broke back into the FBI system. It was risky doing it again so soon again, knowing that their tech analyst was already actively hunting you down, cyber-wise. But you couldn't resist.

“The tall, dark and handsome employee,

How I do wish that he could enjoy me,

I would gladly submit,

we match wit for wit,

But he's trying his best to arrest me.”

The BAU team stood silent on the camera before the two women on the team burst into rambunctious laughter. The camera feed was archaic, black and white, and grainy to boot, but even you couldn't miss the red stain against Doctor Spencer Reid's cheeks. A bonus was the other gentlemen subtly posturing, trying to figure out exactly which of them was “tall, dark, and handsome.”

The payoff for that poem was so great that over the course of the next few days, you kept serenading him with love poems among your quick hints about the actual crime being committed.

You'd first suspected the man of being dangerous when you'd seen the state of his wife. 19 domestic disturbance calls in two months, 0 arrests, and 1 very cushy job as a police detective. You'd done some simple computer programming for your local precinct, inputting data from cases into an algorithm that helped track everything easier, so you'd been intimate with cases that he'd handled.

A pattern had emerged, a series of murders of “undesirables,” people the city didn't care about when alive and certainly didn't have the resources to allocate to after their deaths. Prostitutes, the homeless, and runaway foster kids. All missing or dead, all cases handled by the same officer. The officer that lived next door to you and was one beer away from beating his wife into submission 5 days a week.

After your third 911 call, you'd been notified of your contract termination with the precinct. After the tenth, you noticed parole cars driving by every hour.

By call number 19, you were sure it was a miracle he hadn't tried to have you arrested.

So you turned back to the FBI to see what they could do about a man who treated his wife, and basically everyone else, like scum of the earth.

“Please don't get sidetracked by my hacking,

I'm a good girl, your team I am backing,

the killer, you see,

Is right now hunting me,

You're the ones who can do better tracking.”

You watched the tension snap back into place in the office as, for the first time, Spencer Reid was silent at your message. They all got back to work quickly, going over the files you'd dropped in their servers.

That night, Spencer Reid stayed in the office late, reading through piles and piles of files and looking for the connection he needed. You watched in pity, feeling almost guilty that you'd placed this burden on him instead of just approaching them honestly. But you'd called the police before, and it hadn't worked, so getting attention anyway you could was the only way to go.

You watched for so long that you began noticing his small habits. Each time you sensed frustration, he would run a hand through his hair and tug it slightly. When he found something, he leaned in closer to the page, as if his proximity to the words would make them clearer. Finally, he stood and began clearing his files. But you weren't quite ready to sign off yet, the shouting already beginning in the apartment next to yours, so you quickly typed out the first thing that came to mind to get him to stay.

“There once was a doctor called Reid,

Who I simply and truly just need,

I would lie on my back,

And then let him attack,

Any inch of my body with his seed.”

He fumbled the files in his haste to remove your words from his screen, from every screen now in the building, face awash with embarrassment as he looked around for some sign that no one witnessed your words.

Luck was not to be had as the tech analyst - Penelope Garcia - came shooting out of her office to join him in the near empty bullpen, and the older team leader - Aaron Hotchner - also looked out over the bannister from his office as they bore witness to your seduction.

You were driving Spencer Reid crazy.

He'd spent the last two weeks tracking down a serial killer who may or may not exist based on the word of a set of limericks delivered to the BAU through illegal means that had begun unabashedly flirting with him.

This latest limerick was his last straw.

“The cameras are how I can see you,

I do find myself enjoying the view,

His hair is so fine,

I wish he was mine,

The agent with more PhDs than two.”

“Another score, pretty boy, it was about time someone noticed your good looks instead of your brain for once.” Morgan patted him on the shoulder, barely containing his glee and laughter.

“She's watching us through security feed, and that's all you have to say?” he grumbled, writing out this limerick again, the words to the others burned into his brain. “She's playing with me.”

“It sure sounds like she'd enjoy doing just that,” Emily laughed from her desk, “but I think she might be right, Spencer. Every case file she's given us has suspicious activity on it. They're all unsolved, but the victims aren't linked.”

“He's crossing race and gender boundaries, but he's hitting undesirables.”

They had a case because of you. It didn't mean he wouldn't enjoy handcuffing you and putting you in a cell once this was all finished.

“WE'VE GOT ANOTHER ONE,” Penelope shouted from her office, to no avail. If it was at one computer, it was on all of them.

“The agents grew closer by day,

As the killer wanted to escape,

He paced across the floor,

As I watched by his door,

Getting closer than the agents could say.”

He paused then for a second, thinking through each of the limericks in turn and the panic began.

“Closer than… Emily, the officer that took in all of the cases, what was his name?”

“Officer Falstaff, why?”

“I think he might be our killer. And I think he knows she's on to him, or if he doesn't, he will soon.” He stood suddenly, grabbing a file and sprinting to Penelope’s office, Emily and Morgan trailing close behind.

“Spencer, wait-”

“No time. If we want them both alive, we have to move now.”

Throwing the door to Penelope’s room open, he didn't even bother with niceties.

“Can you get her a message?” He demanded, panting from the short run.

“A wha-? Spencer, what are you talking about?”

“Can you send the hacker a message? Or leave her one so she can find it when she comes?”

Penelope swivelled around in her chair once again, doing who-knows-what to answer his question.

“There's no telling what she actually sees in our servers, Spencer, we didn't see any breach in classified files, the only thing she's done is read your personal file and drop us hints.”

His hands closed into fists as he nodded along. “So no?”

“No, Spencer, I'm sorry. Why? Are you starting to grow fond of our little helper.”

“She's not our little helper. She's a criminal. And she'll be dead soon if I don't confirm with her that we have the right guy - excuse me.”

The anger was washing over him now, as he left the room to get some air, getting only as far as the corridor before slamming an open palm into the wall and resting his forehead against it for a moment, just thinking.

The stress of the case was almost too much for him as he turned around and rested his back against the wall, sliding down it until he was sat on the floor. He may have despised you at that moment, but he didn't want you to get yourself killed.

Something nagged him, still, some stress or anger that hadn't yet surfaced, or some case fact he was missing. A glint at the corner of his eye had him looking up to the camera currently trained directly on him.

Computers are useless, he thought to himself, when you can send a letter.

The next time you sat down at your desk, you weren't exactly shocked to see an up close and personal shot of Aaron Hotchner - they'd turned your security stream into a one way facetime and you were sat directly opposite the big boss himself in an interrogation room.

“Checkmate, I guess,” you said, waiting for the man to move.

A signal from behind the camera let him know you were online and watching. He picked up a pen and paper and scribbled down something before holding the note out to you once more.

The name and location of the bastard next door. They'd done it, and now you simply had to drop your evidence, shut down your computer, and wait for the sirens to sound.

You felt slightly sad typing out your last message, knowing that you had no more reason to stay in touch with the team now. Still, you were only human and couldn't resist the chance to say something more.

“Aaron Hotchner and his clever team,

Working with you has been like a dream,

When Reid comes it is wet,

And my mind is all set,

Oh, I do wish that he'd make me cream.”

The camera turned seconds after your message was sent, and there he was, reading intently, frow creased in annoyance as he tried to remain calm. He, too, picked up a pen and paper.

“I have questions,” the paper said when he turned it around. Holding it up for a few seconds before returning his pen to paper. You typed out a message before he could finish dictating his, though.

“When you find me there's lots for me to say,

I can't help simply feeling this way,

Your profile I read,

Can't believe you're a Fed,

I yearn for you all night and day.”

Somehow, the lines between his brow deepened as he quickly scribbled out another message. This one wasn't a question, though. It was simply two words.

He'd written your name on that paper. He'd found you.

You weren't sure if the tingle that ran up your spine was fear or anticipation. One one hand, you'd likely committed multiple felonies in the pursuit of justice, and the SWAT team about to pick up the killer was going to knock for you, too. On the other hand, it was pretty much a given that you would be seeing Spencer Reid in person in the next few hours.

“The Doctor had finally cracked it,

The only identity that could fit,

The pretty young thing,

Who'd been flirting with him,

And was thinking of sitting on his…”

You sent a second message along with the first.

“I couldn't make this one rhyme, Doc. Come and get me.”

The sound of the FBI outside your neighbour's door had you stepping away from the computer finally. It was time to get ready to see him. You stepped out of your robe and into the shower as you waited to be collected and hauled into a police vehicle.

xxx

So far, you were a bit disappointed by the look of the BAU offices. It was smaller than it appeared on the CCTV, and you hadn't exactly given the tour. Unless the whole tour was the wall from the elevators, through the bullpen and straight to interrogation room one. You were also slightly embarrassed that you had yet to be greeted by any of your favourite characters yet. The lead swat officer had led you in some desk agents dropping by to have you fill out some simple documents - waiving your rights and all that. You'd seen not even a single member of the BAU since dropping in two hours ago, but you felt his eyes on you.

You faced the mirror, trying your best to stare straight through it and into the man beyond.

Spencer Reid was there. He had to be. He was too curious to be anywhere else. You smiled at him through the mirror and waited.

You were right, of course. Spencer stood on the opposite side of the one-way window and watched you look for him in every inch of the glass. He watched you squirm when you couldn't find anything, watched you pick at your nails as he made you wait.

He watched you cross and uncross your legs, the short skirt you'd slipped into just before you left providing just enough mystery to catch his eye and his breath.

He was annoyed, frustrated, a little bit impressed, anxious, and - to his peril - turned on.

“Spencer,” Hotch said, breaking the man's concentration. “We can't keep her that much longer. Go in and say something, or I'll cut her loose.”

Reluctantly, he pulled his eyes away and stepped out of the waiting room before letting himself into yours.

“Miss Y/N, my name is Doctor Spencer Reid, I'm a profiler working with the Behavioural An-”

“You're joking, right?” You asked, eyes lighting up, spine straightening as you looked up at the man. “I know who you are, Doc.”

“Please call me Doctor Reid,” he asked, setting down a file on the table and looking over the desk at you.

“Oh, I don't even get your first name.” You lifted your leg and ran it along the side of his until he moved his chair back, just out of reach. You pouted as he began reading through documents, asking you to confirm exactly which technical breaches you were responsible for.

“And the breach at 1:27pm on Thursday 5th-”

“Yes, that was me, too. They were all me, Doc, is that all? Are we finished now?”

“I don't know, are we finished? Can I leave?”

“No,” you shouted, just as he stood up to gather his things. “No, don't go. I want to talk to you.”

He sat back down, finally looking at you instead of words on a page.

“Do you enjoy attention, Miss Y/N?” He asked, voice cold but gaze burning like fire into your skin.

“As much as anyone does.”

“Do you enjoy my attention?” The words hung between you for a few minutes as you watched him carefully, searching for the right answer.

“What do you think, Doc?”

“Doctor Spencer Reid,” he repeated reflexively.

“I know your name,” you smiled, and he finally looked away, breaking contact to regroup for a second.

“We have reason to believe you used your backdoor into our system to access my personal file, is that correct?” It may have been asked as a question, but Spencer Reid already knew the answer.

“Yes, I did.”

“Why?”

You laughed at the simple question, sure that your behaviour until this point was evidence enough to answer it.

“Why? Because you're attractive and your smart and-”

“Why haven't you used the content of the files as leverage? I've been digging at you for the last half hour, and you have plenty of ammunition to throw back at me, yet you haven't. Why?”

For the first time in a while, you were speechless.

“Oh. Wow. Should I have said something? Would you have felt more comfortable if I were a horrible person using your background to make you feel vulnerable?”

“Why, Y/N?”

You sighed and looked back up at him.

“I'm interested in you. That's it. Honestly, there is nothing in your file more interesting than how you look running your hands through your hair.”

His jaw clenched and unclenched before he let out a sigh.

“So you're a compulsive liar.” He said it so finitely it was like a kick in the teeth.

“Or maybe you're just insecure. I can help with that.”

He shot you another warning look as a grin spread over your lips. Yes, it was very fun to mess with Spencer Reid.

“FBI Agents aren't allowed to sleep with suspects.”

“You want to sleep with me?”

His eyes went wide as he realized his mistake, mouth opening and closing as he tossed another annoyed look in your direction.

The door to the interrogation room opened, and Reid quickly bolted out of his seat as Aaron Hotchner entered. The two men shared a nod before the younger man left the room entirely.

“Such a shame, I thought we were really getting somewhere.”

To your surprise, Hotchner’s lips curled up in a laugh as he sat down, straightening his suit.

“Miss Y/N, we've reviewed the information you've given us and taken into account your motives, and the FBI has decided not to prosecute you for your actions.”

You sat for a minute, Hotch doing the same, the both of you caught waiting for each other to say something or continue.

“But?” You prodded, knowing there was more left to say.

“But, we'd ask for your cooperation on cases in the future that require technological man-power. In a consultancy role, of course. You wouldn't be given a badge or a gun or any clearance, and you'd need to be with an agent at all times.”

You tapped your fingers against the desk, trying to figure out if this deal was beneficial or not.

“I'll do it if I can pick the Agent.”

Now, the man was fully smiling at you or giving you what you assumed passed for a smile in his books.

“We had recommended Doctor Reid for the role. Of course, if you're more comfortable with another agent, you can-”

“Doctor Reid is perfect, thank you.”

The man nodded and stood, and you stood with him as he led you quietly out of the room.

A flustered Spencer Reid exited the adjoining room, hurrying to catch Hotch before he really signed his life away to you.

“Hotch, what is this?” He demanded, stopping the man in his tracks. They both paused, turning around and moved a few feet awaywfrom.you whispering out their argument.

You couldn't catch most of it, but you did happen to catch the phrases “man-eater,” “I'm not good with people,” and “Spencer, this will be good for you.” Victory in the end went to Hotch, who promptly turned on his heel and kept walking down the hall.

“I work here now,” you said, grinning up at Spencer.

“No, you don't.”

“According to your boss, I do. And you're my babysitter.”

“You're a criminal. You hacked into the FBI database to leave ominous clues to multiple murders.”

“If you call those ominous clues, I'm curious how people usually flirt with you.”

“They don't. Why…why are we having this conversation?”

He stormed off ahead of you, and you quickened your pace to catch up to him, following him down a familiar hallway to what was obviously tech central at the BAU.

“Spencer, seriously? You're walking around looking like that, and no one hits on you?”

He stopped abruptly, and you ran into his back before he turned around to scowl at you again.

“Can we keep this serious, please?”

“I'm very serious about flirting with you, and I'm stumped why more people aren't.”

“Okay, let's go somewhere and talk,” his hand landed on your waist, readying his grip to forcibly move you if need be.

“I thought that's what we were doing.” Instead of allowing him to move you, you leaned into his touch, stepping closer and raising a hand to his chest, as his head dipped to maintain eye contact.

“No, this isn't talking, this is some weird foreplay I've never heard of, and I'd like you to leave my office if you're going to continue,” the woman sat at the desk exclaimed, horror and amusement fighting a battle for her facial expressions. “I like to keep my office a no trauma zone, so please take a walk to the nearest bed or storage closet or car and you can shove your tongues down each other's throats in peace and out of my sight, please and thank you.”

Spencer tried to step away, but a hand on his tie kept him close and kept his eyes on you. You poked your head out around him and smiled at the other woman.

“Sorry to disturb you. I'm Y/N. Based on the tech, I assume we will be working with each other soon.”

“Oh my gosh, you were, like, my number one most hated person last week. Penelope Garcia, tech analyst.”

“I'm sorry about that. If it makes it any better, it was really hard to get past some of your firewalls. And I couldn't even touch the classified files.”

“Apology accepted, on the condition that you lead young Reid out of my office right now before he explodes.”

You grinned and grabbed the man's hand, sending Penelope a quick goodbye as you pulled him out of the room.

He stumbled behind you for a few moments before catching up and pulling you in a different direction, keeping your hands intertwined as he bee-lined for the elevators and pushed the button to go down.

It arrived, and he pulled you in, not releasing your grip until the doors were fully closed and you were alone.

“Getting me all alone, Doc? What do you have in mind?”

“I'm driving you home.”

“My apartment is a crime scene, and I have no family in the city.”

“What about friends?”

“I've been stalked by a homicidal police officer for the last month and barricaded myself into an apartment. Do you think I have friends?”

His gaze was somewhat softer as he looked at you again. You saw the math happening in his head as he tried to figure out what to do with you. You also saw his brain short circuiting when you wrapped yourself around his arm.

“We're friends now, Doc. Isn't that right?”

“What?”

“We're friends,” you repeated again, tone becoming a little defensive in a pout.

“We are not friends, Y/N. We've known each other for less than 6 hours, and we haven't engaged in any friendly conversation.”

“We've known each other for two weeks, and I've been more than friendly enough for the both of us.”

The elevator stopped, and the doors opened. Gesturing for you to go first, Spencer hurried you out of the elevator and into the parking garage.

“Trust me, Spencer, deep down, part of you really wants to be friends with me,” you said poking his chest with a finger. You couldn't resist flattening your hand against his surprisingly hard chest and letting the hand drop slightly.

“And an ever deeper down part of you doesn't want to be friends at all,” you smiled at him.

He caught your wrist before it could reach his belt buckle, your unconscious finish line, spinning you around and dragging you to his car.

The biting cold of metal cutting into your wrists was the first indication that maybe Spencer Reid wasn't as easy to mess with as you'd hoped. He closed the handcuffs around your wrists and handed you into the car as you gaped at him.

“Spencer!”

“Doctor Spencer Reid.”

“I’m not a criminal, Spencer, let me go.”

“I'll let you go when you prove to me you can behave.”

You pouted as he strapped you into the car and closed the door, walking around to the passenger side before letting himself in.

“What's next? Are you going to gag me?” You scoffed as he turned over the engine and began backing out of the parking lot.

“No. I think you'd enjoy that too much.”

The drive to Spencer's apartment was long and quiet as you sat pouting in the passenger seat. Every few seconds, you twisted and moved your arms, fidgeting left and right so he could see how much the restraints bothered you. Luckily, he'd handcuffed your hands in front of your body, so you still sat somewhat comfortably, but you didn't want him to know that.

He pulled up to the building and turned off the engine, pulling out his keys.

“Let's go,” he said, not even sparing you a look as he climbed out.

“Spencer, I'm handcuffed. How do I even get out?”

“You'll figure it out. You're a smart girl, right?”

He closed his door and began walking, and you quickly fumbled your way out.

“Spencer… Spencer, your neighbours are going to ask questions about you bringing a handcuffed girl into your apartment!” You whispered at him as you paced behind him, somehow running to catch up with his mere walk.

“I don't have neighbours like you, Y/N. They won't notice a thing.”

“Right, okay. And when you murder a dozen people over a six month period, they won't hack the federal government.” You rolled your eyes as he unlocked the door, taking your arm and finally handing you into the apartment.

It was dark and cold, and you shivered, feeling his body pushed in right behind yours, closing the door before he felt around for the light switch.

When the lights turned on, you blinked, adjusting to the light again as he walked you further into the apartment, hands on your hips as you slowly stumbled forward.

“Can you take the handcuffs off now?” You asked, looking over your shoulder at him.

“And let you touch my things? No.”

You shook off his hands and walked further into the room.

“You know I can still mess with your stuff with my hands tied up like this,” you said, walking to the nearest bookshelf.

“Whoops, look at that,” you said, pulling a book off the shelf and letting it fall to the floor between you with a thud.

“Y/N!” He exclaimed, voice pitched up in exasperation.

“Oh, this stack of books on the ground looks well organized. Oopsie!” You acted out tripping over the books, sending them flying in different directions.

“One more time, Y/N, mess with my stuff one more time-”

You didn't hear the words as you pulled yet another book off his shelf and let it tumble to the ground.

He was on you in seconds, lifting your wrists and pinning them to the top shelf, pressing his body against yours as he stretched you out.

You gasped at both the sudden contact and the tight grip he now had on your hands.

“Tell me, do you actually want to be in control, or do you just think you should want to be in control?”

“What's the difference?”

“The difference is how much you enjoy it. I think you're only being a brat to get a rise out of me. You're doing this because there's no one else in your life that will give you exactly what you crave."

"And what would that be?"

"Attention," he whispered into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Great, thanks for the therapy. Are you going to show me how much I can enjoy relinquishing control now?”

“Brat,” he spat at you.

“Fed,” you spat back.

“You have a problem with law enforcement?” He asked, his breath hitting your ear as you tried not to shiver again at his touch.

“My neighbour was a serial killer whose day job was police brutality," you said, as if the answer was obvious, but Spencer still stared, waiting for true confirmation.

“Yes I have a problem with law enforcement. What, are you going to spank me?”

His eyes lit up, and you suddenly wondered if you'd made a mistake.

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

“N-No.” You stuttered, but he'd already begun moving you over to his couch.

“It was a joke. Spencer, it was a joke, don't-”

You underestimated his strength as he flipped you around and guided you down over his lap. Keeping your hips raised, he used one hand to hold you down while the other pushed up your tight skirt.

“S-Spencer, I really don't think-”

“Then don't think,” he said, bringing his hand down hard on your ass as you cried out in shock and pain.

“Stop thinking. You think too much, let me do it for you.”

With each hit, your shock grew fuzzy, melting into pleasure as you felt wetness pooling between your thighs.

The doctor you thought would be an easy target was not sadistically returning every teasing word back to you with his hands, letting bruises blossom all over your ass as he delivered painfully arousing strikes.

His hand stopped and he rubbed your ass as you twitched at the gentleness, panties sticking to the folds of your cunt as you absent mindedly pushed up into his touch.

“See, now you're listening,” he said, fingers trailing down to touch you over the sopping undergarments.

With two quick fingers, the crotch of your panties peeled away from your skin and he was plunged deep inside you, fingers pressing in as his thumb found its way to your clit.

“Fuck, Spencer-”

“Doctor Reid. You can use my full title now or you don't get to cum.”

“D-Doctor Reid, please!” His thumb rubbed slowly over your clit bit his fingers didn't move as you shuddered and contracted around them.

“Please what?” He asked, voice light as if he wasn't two knuckles deep in you already.

“Please make me cum, Doctor Reid!”

“Good manners,” he said as he finally began pumping his digits in and out of you, spreading your legs wider as you clawed your hands into his couch cushions to ground yourself in the moment. His spare hands left your wrists, and you felt them again, delivering small, almost cute hits to your ass as you twitched around his fingers, shying away from the painful contact.

“That's it, Y/N, let yourself relax,” he whispered, shifting his weight underneath you as you became aware of the tent in his pants.

Your brain was jello as you tried to bounce back on his fingers, chasing your oncoming orgasm.

“Look at you, trying to cum on my hands. You're just an attention-seeking slut, right?”

His fingers continued ppimg as your tongue hung loosely in your mouth.

“Answer me, or I'll leave you here high and dry, Y/N. Tell me you're an attention seeking slut that's been fingering yourself to the thought of this for weeks.”

“I-I'm an a-atten…tion seeking s-slut,” you stifled a moan and bit back tears as he pressed another finger inside of you. “Spencer I can't I need to cum,” you cried, tears spilling down your cheeks pathetically.

“Say it.”

“I'm an attention seeking s-slut that's been th-thinking about this-”

“Fingering yourself,” he corrected.

“Fingering myself to the thought of this for w-weeks,” you cried, sniffing now as your thighs shook in anticipation.

“What a nasty little slut,” he said as you finally came, your cum running down his fingers as he kept his hands moving.

Your tears were falling freely now as you bit back little sobs and chokes of emotions, the pleasure from the orgasm almost too much to handle.

Underneath you, Spencer shifted, freeing himself from his position and laying you fully down on the sofa as your legs still shook.

“There once was a doctor called Reid,” he said, unzipping his pants as he took up his place behind you.

They were your words, and your body signalled warnings everywhere as his hands pulled your hips up once more, pulling your knees up too to bend under you, laying you face down ass up.

“Who I simply and truly just need.”

He pulled the panties down to the crook of your knees before leaning down over you so he could deliver the next few lines as whispers into your ear.

“I would lie on my back, And then let him attack, Any inch of my body with his seed.”

A weak moan escaped your lips as he sank his cock inside of you, lips still pressed against your ears.

“I don't want you on your back, though. I much prefer you like this.”

His cock slid out of you and returned with a speed and strength that had your eyes rolling back in your head.

He was thick, maybe a little longer than average, and he filled you perfectly using your cum as lubricant.

“Such a good listener, now, Y/N. I like you like this,” he said with a moan, thrusting hard and deep inside of you.

You didn't talk. You could only drool and moan into his couch as he emptied your brain one thrust at a time.

You didn't think about how he wasn't wearing a condom. You didn't think about how he'd spat your words back at you, ready to fill you with his seed. You just sat in a pool of your own pleasure and let Spencer Reid use your body as you'd been begging him to for weeks.

He raised your hips and gave one last thrust, stilling there for a second as he filled your empty body and mind with his cum and his entire being.

If you weren't obsessed with Doctor Spencer Reid before this, you certainly were now.

He pulled out of you quickly, wiping his cock on your skirt before hurrying off to the bathroom to clean up.

Your brain was still absent when he returned, cleaning you off and finally removing the handcuffs. He removed your clothes, replacing them with his spares as he threw the soiled ones into the wash.

When you regained your wits or what was left of them, you were laid out in his bed, wrapped in a blanket and stuffed into a sweater and sweats, fully covered from head to toe. Spencer was picking up his keys and trying his shoelaces.

“Where are you going?’ You asked sleepily, stumbling to the doorway. Your legs were still shaky, and your movement was already limited. You knew that tomorrow, the use of your limbs would be nonexistent.

“Back to the office. Now that you're not around, maybe I'll be able to get some actual work done.”

“Spencer,” you said, forcing him to turn around to look back at you.

Before he could say anything else, you pressed your lips to his, hot and needy, wrapping your arms around his neck as he kissed back, slipping his tongue into your mouth and pressed you into the wall next to the door.

When you both pulled away for breath, you detangled your limbs, smoothing out his shirt and readjusting his tie.

He looked down at you, waiting for you to say something else as you met his gaze, grinning at him.

“I look forward to working with you, Doctor Reid.”

[helenanell]

A Breath of Life || Challengers

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

Part Two

Pairing(s) : Reader x Patrick – Reader x Art – Reader x Tashi (sort of.) 

CW: MDNI - 18+ : smut, rough / manhandling. Infidelity. Angst. A lot of yearning. (They all want each other, badly.) Manipulative behaviour. Minor spoilers for the film.

Notes: Female Reader (AFAB Reader) - Absolutely no use of y/n, (because I despise it, sorry)

Wordcount: 9.7K

Summary: You met Tashi in your final year of high school and were more than happy to have lost a tennis match against her. Afterwards, the two of you become inseparable and you find yourself feeling for her in a way that you don’t quite understand.And then things get even more complicated when Patrick and Art burst into your lives. As the years pass, desire, love and hatred all get tangled together...and so do the four of you.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

The idea of meeting Tashi Duncan had been much more intimidating than the actual event itself. It was an odd thing, to idolise someone who was the exact same age as you—a girl not yet out of high school and still so chronically unsure of herself and the world—but it was impossible not to. 

You had watched every single match of hers that you could, staring for so long at the way she moved, that you were left with the afterimage of her burned into your eyes: She was in your thoughts constantly and always waiting behind your eyes when you closed them hoping for sleep. 

You were brilliant at tennis, you knew that you were. But Tashi played like it was the only way she could take oxygen into her lungs; each serve and shot an inhalation and exhalation. You understood, because you felt something similar.

For a long time, you had been ignored or dismissed in every aspect of your life, by everyone. But then you had found tennis, and you were really fucking great at it. 

 Tennis saved your life by making you undeniably tangible. Your existence could not be disputed when someone had to react to your movements, to receive something you had offered. 

It was no wonder then, that for as long a match lasted you were unhealthily obsessed with whoever it was that you were playing against. They made you real. 

But then you played Tashi. You had lost, of course, but it had been a close match, neither of you dominating for long before the other gained the upper hand once more. The gasps from the crowd had been the swelling of some great tide, breaking against your flesh and reinvigorating you like freezing water. 

Once it was over, you felt bereft of something vital. You felt as though you had slipped back into non-existence, only this time it was worse than ever, because your connection to Tashi Duncan was gone. 

But your body remembered. It ached and throbbed, rebelling at all you had put it through- no. All Tashi had put it through. You were desperate to feel it again. 

And your prayer was answered. 

She appeared before you like an angel.

Tashi jogged over to you as you gathered your things after the match, flushed and with beads of sweat glistening on her skin like crystals. And her eyes…they had been wide and dark and enrapturing. And then she had said the words that would change the trajectory of your life: 

“So, when can I play you again?”

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

Ruah is the Hebrew word that means God’s spirit, but it is also breath or air and is widely understood to be God’s presence in the world. 

You couldn’t remember when you had learnt the word, but you knew that in the Bible, God had created Adam by breathing life into him. Which was why, when anyone joked about Tashi Duncan being some kind of deity, you could not dispute it, because that is what she had done to you. 

Tashi had breathed life into you.

 Her presence in your life has allowed you to come alive even off the court: you finally felt like a real person. Thanks to her, you knew that when you put your racket down, you did not simply disappear. 

Tashi saw you, on and off the court, and you loved her for it.

But, by the time you were both accepted into Stanford, over a year after you’d first met, you still wouldn’t let yourself delve into that love, and work out the ways in which you felt it. Not only because, you’d only ever been drawn to guys in any romantic or sexual way, but also because you felt undeserving of her.

 How pathetic would it be for you, who crawled at your best friend’s feet, to look up and whimper out words of desire to her?

 You were blessed to have her in your life, let alone to be as close with her as you were. Love was so many disparate things; you could love her as a friend, and hold that carnal aspect deep down. Just having her in your life was more than enough. She was enough.

Or so you thought. 

At the party celebrating Tashi, the two of you had not yet left each other’s side. You were dancing together, close enough that you could feel the ecstasy of victory buzzing beneath her skin as she held your hands and pulled you close. Her hair was silken and flowing down her back and as you were tangled up with her, it tickled against your own exposed skin. 

“They’re still staring.” You whisper into her ear, laughing as she answers by twirling you around and then pulling you back in. 

You practically fall into one another, having to steady yourself by placing your hands on her hips, the beaded fabric of her dark blue dress digging into the palms of your hands. 

“Good.” Tashi answers, wrapping her arms around your shoulders.

She turns you enough that with your chin resting on her shoulder, you are looking right at the two boys who had been gawking all night. One dark haired with confidence coming off him in waves, the other more reserved, a different kind of potency bubbling beneath the surface.

The blonde’s eyes meet yours and he tilts his head, offering a delicate but untethering smile. 

“You’re going to have to talk to them.” You offer, still held in Tashi’s arms. “Otherwise they’re going to follow you around like lost puppies all night.”

You gasp and squirm away as your friend playfully pinches your side.

 “Do you really think they’re just looking at me?” Tashi questions incredulously.

You laugh at her shock. “Of course they are.” You say, gesturing up and down her form as she continues to sway to the music. 

“Oh my God!” Tashi exclaims, grabbing your hand and pulling you close again. “You’re such a fucking idiot! They’re looking at you, too!” 

You roll your eyes, but can’t help feeling a little buoyed at the prospect of being desired. “Yeah, right.”

Tashi shakes her head. “It’s a good thing you’re so oblivious, I like having you all to myself!”

Heat floods every part of you, acutely aware of the sweat trickling down the back of your neck, your skin uncomfortably warm. 

Only when the two of you have stopped dancing do they come over. 

Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig saunter needfully into your life and had you known then all that would ensue, you still would have welcomed their approach. 

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

The four of you had wandered down to the beach. 

Art and Patrick were sitting on deck chairs that sat side by side, their legs stretched out and their gazes lustful, both of them looking at Tashi who was perched on a rock opposite them. In that moment, the moon seemed made only for her, the silver light lining her form. 

You sit on the sand near her, your legs pulled up to your chest. The waves softly hit the beach behind you, lulling you into an even more incorporeal mindset. All that exists to you, is Tashi and the two boys who so clearly want her. 

Despite how desperately you want to engage in their conversation, you’re exhausted and distracted by the knowledge that your parents will already be looking for you. 

You’ve rested your chin on your knees, your eyes drooping shut, when a voice calls out to you. 

“Hey, are you okay?”

 Art is crouching beside you, his hand on your back, his knees sinking into the sand, shifting the surface beneath you. You jolt at the contact, scrambling to your feet as Tashi chuckles.

 Patrick’s gaze flits between you and Art and then over to your best friend, his cheeks dimpled with a smirk. 

“I’m fine.” You reassure with a shaky smile, brushing sand off the back of your dress. “I should go though, my parents will be waiting.” 

“You can’t leave!” Patrick protests playfully, placing a hand to his chest. “You’ll break my heart.”

You grin, spurred on by his own smile and shrug. “And why should I care about that?”

Patrick’s mouth drops open in feigned hurt as Art chuckles, shoving his hands into his pockets and stepping away from you. 

You turn to Tashi, meaning to say goodbye, but she’s already up and hugging you. She often kisses your cheek as a form of goodbye, but this time she gets so close that her lips tease the corner of your mouth as hers make contact. You are electrified by it.

You know that she isn’t doing it for you, which is confirmed when she pulls away with her eyes flitting giddily between Art and Patrick who have both gone utterly still as they watched the display. 

 Despite the jealous ache that blooms, you play into it, because another part of you is excited at the thought of working the two boys up. You pull Tashi back into a hug, your hands resting dangerously low on her back as you squeeze her. She giggles into your ear. 

“You already have them wrapped around your little finger.” You say it quietly, but loud enough that you know the boys will hear. 

Over Tashi’s shoulder, you see Patrick smirk again and Art runs his thumb over his his bottom lip with a small smile on his face.

When you do finally pull away, Tashi smacks you on the ass. 

“It was great to meet to you!” Art shouts after you. 

“I miss you already!” Is Patrick’s shouted offering.

You just shake your head and continue on your path away from the beach.

Unbeknownst to you, three sets of eyes follow you until you’ve disappeared from view.

When you get home, you still feel the touch of Tashi all over you. But when your hand dips under the covers, something has changed. Because when you close your eyes, it’s not just Tashi you see. Instead, multiple people are fighting for dominance in your midnight fantasy:

You see Patrick’s licentious smirk.

You see Art’s coy smile. 

They’ve both invaded your mind, corrupted your thoughts that for a year had been so gloriously void of anything but Tashi.

And from that moment, you know part of you will always hate them. For so long, even knowing you can’t have her, all you’ve needed to sate yourself are thoughts of Tashi. But they’ve changed that.

You hate Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson because they’ve made you want more. You want….one of them. You don't know why and you also don’t know which one of them it is. 

But what is clear to you, is that a new itch has arisen within you, and it comes with panic, because unlike with Tashi, you’re certain there’s a possibility that one of them might actually want to scratch the itch for you.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

Had he known how furious you were going to be with him when you arrived, you doubted Art would have been so eager to invite you to have lunch with him in the cafeteria. 

Even when you slam your tray down and drop into the seat opposite him, he still looks happy to see you. He always did. It was infuriating.

“What are you playing at, Art?” You struggle to keep your volume down. You hadn’t wanted to yell at someone in a long time, but he had managed it.

Concern flashes in his eyes, but his lips press together in a way that tells you he knows exactly what you’re referring to. And yet he still asks:

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re fucking with Tashi’s head.”

“I would never do that.”

You scoff, stabbing the flimsy plastic fork into your salad. “Except you are, and I know that you’re doing it on purpose.”

Art pushes his own tray to the side and settles his elbow onto the table, resting his chin on his hand. “Yeah, how’d you figure?”

“Why else would you tell her that Patrick doesn’t love her?”

“Because I don’t think he does. Do you?”

You ignore his question, instead opting to pick up your apple and throw it at his head, hard. He catches it, that damnable little smile still on his face. 

“For fuck sake, Art!” You erupt. “She needs to keep her head on straight. Don’t upset her just because you want her for yourself!”

He tilts his head, blue eyes sparkling as he takes a large bite out of the apple. He chews for a bit before holding it back out to you, speaking through a mouthful:

 “You should have the rest of this, you haven’t been eating enough.”

“Fuck you!” You snatch it from his hand and shift in your seat, easily throwing it and landing it right in a nearby trashcan.

“Well that was a waste of perfectly good fruit.” Art licks some residue off his thumb and then leans across the table. 

You fail to snatch your wrist away before he grabs it. He’s gentle but firm, and as his thumb rubs along your pulse point, you feel the residual moisture from his own mouth he’d left behind, transferring to your skin.

“You don’t have to fight this hard to protect her,” Art presses. “She’s a grown woman.”

“She’s my best friend and I don’t want you to hurt her.” 

Art’s thumb stills, but he tugs your wrist a little closer. “Do you really think I could?” 

You scowl, pulling free of his hold. “You know, the way you and Patrick worship her isn’t the compliment that you both seem to think it is. You’re putting her up on a pedestal, practically deifying her, but she’s not invulnerable. She feels more strongly than anyone I’ve ever known and tennis is her life. If you get in her head and fuck up her game, It will break her and then I will break your fucking hands.”

This time when he’s smiles, it’s rife with fondness for you and it makes you want to punch him for the fluttering it causes in your stomach.

“You didn’t answer my question.” He says simply.

“What?”

“Do you think Patrick loves her?” Art repeats patiently. 

“Do you love her, Art?” 

“Can you please just answer my question?”

“I don’t know!” You throw your hands up in exasperation. “I’m not even sure I would know love if I saw it. All I do know, is that you both lust after her and definitely for each other too, even if you’ll never admit it. You’re all totally fucked.”

Art’s jaw clenches, the muscles ticking, but instead of irritation or anger at your outburst, his gaze softens. When he speaks, it is soft and achingly tender:

“You do know love. Because you love Tashi.” 

You let out an embittered laugh. “Of course I do. I tell her all the time.”

“But she doesn’t love you, not in the same way.”

You really didn’t know if he intended for that to sting, especially not with how gently he’d said it, but if he had, he’d failed. You came to accept that fact a long while ago, and while you would always want Tashi in some respect, it was not the all consuming desire it had been. The lust was gone. She was important to you. She was your best friend and you wanted to protect her. 

Unfortunately, the two men you wanted to protect her from, were the ones who had usurped her as objects of desire in your mind.

“Are you trying to find yourself a catchphrase before you go pro?” You sneer at Art. “I’m not sure how great that would look on a billboard for Adidas.”

“You deserve to be loved.” 

You had picked up your cup to take a drink of water, but upon hearing his words, you slam it down again and rise to your feet. He tracks your every move, as calm as ever.

 “I can’t talk to you right now, Art. You’re being cruel.”

You storm away from the table, only making it a few steps before you hear the scrape of his chair against the floor as he rushes to follow you.

 You’ve only just pushed open the door when he crowds up behind you. 

Art’s hand lands on your back as he guides you outside, his other hand rests on your arm and even after he turns you to face him, his touch remains.

 His hand is wrapped lightly around your arm, the other keeping you close- his palm pressed against your lower back. Anyone watching would think he was drawing you into an embrace. You almost shudder at the contact.

 Patrick has always been handsy, touching and caressing you under the guise of teasing, but Art has always moved around you as though you’ll disintegrate at the lightest touch. The way he’d held your wrist back in the dining hall and how he cradles you now, is the most he’s ever touched you.

 Your chest heaves as your flesh tingles.

Art’s head drops, his eyes on his own hand on your arm, as if he can’t understand why he’s holding you. His voice is strained:

“Patrick isn’t good for her.”

And just like that, you’re slammed mercilessly back down to earth. 

Art wasn’t touching you with tenderness or affection, you were just someone he was holding in place so that you had to hear him out. So you had to hear how much he wanted Tashi. 

“Oh, but I deserve to be thrown at him as a distraction so that you can have her?” You snap at him, more hurt than you’ll ever admit.

“You deserve whatever it is that you actually want.” 

Art sounds frustrated now, not at you…but perhaps at what he knows you won’t say. You do want Patrick. But you also want him. You had just never considered that he knew that.

But that’s not what you say. Instead you say–

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Do you want to know why he isn’t good for her?” Art presses, entirely unaffected by your fury.

“No, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

The hand on your back pulls you a little closer, one errant blonde curl falls down from his forehead and brushes your temple. His breath is hot against your cheek. 

“Patrick’s not good for her-“ Art begins, his tone becoming embittered. “Because he wants you. He always has.” 

You rip free from Art’s grip with such force that the friction of it burns, his fingerprints leaving red marks on your arm. “You are unbelievable!” 

“I’m not lying. You know I wouldn’t, not to you.”

“You will say anything to have her won’t you?” You laugh nastily. “What’s the plan, Art? Do you think that I’ll try and seduce Patrick away from her now, leaving a space open for you to swoop in?” 

“Ask me how I know.”

“No.” You spit back at him. 

But you don’t move. 

Your body waits for words that your mind doesn’t think it can handle hearing. Something feels so close to breaking and you can’t help but feel like it’s to do with whatever force binds the four of you together. 

Art steps forward, closing the distance again, he raises his hands and rests them on either side of your neck, his thumbs pressing onto where your pulse is ratcheting beneath your fragile skin. 

“I know he wants you, because the night after he won our match- when he won Tashi’s number- he told me that I should fuck you.”

“Art.” You warn, frustrated tears bringing horrible pressure behind your eyes.

A small group comes out of the dining hall and have to split down the middle, because neither of you move a muscle. Art’s hold tightens, like he’s trying to leave a permanent imprint behind without it hurting you. 

He whispers now. “Patrick told me to fuck you. And I know him. He said that because when he couldn't have you, it excited him to think that I would. That I'd tell him about sleeping with you.”

“That was such a long time ago.” You say shakily, coming completely unmoored.

But Art won’t let it go.

“He still looks at you the same way, and that’s not fair to Tashi. You want to protect her, right? Well what will it do her when she finally notices the way her boyfriend is constantly eye-fucking her best friend?”

You hit out against his chest with a closed fist. The shock more than the force makes him stagger back. 

“You are so fucked in the head! You and Patrick are both pathetic little leeches who want the same girl, but can’t cope with the way it’s made them realise that they also want each other. You know what? I actually think so much would be solved, if you and Patrick just fucked each other!”

You start to back away and Art darts forward, trying to grab you again, but you smack his hand away and turn your back.

“Leave me alone, Art! And leave me out of your shit!”

He calls out your name with ragged desperation, but he does not follow. And even though he’s truly made your skin crawl, something about that makes you even more furious. 

Why won’t he follow you? 

Why do you still want him to?

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You hadn’t spoken to any of them since your argument with Art. 

You couldn’t cope with the realisation that if any of them ever did feel any desire for you, it was only because they saw you as some sort of vessel through which they could access parts of the person that they truly wanted.  

You couldn’t even be said to exist in Tashi’s shadow anymore, you had simply been subsumed by it. Those two men, who you both despised and wanted desperately, would never see you, not really. To them, you were just part of her. But you would not let them ruin your friendship with Tashi. You just wouldn’t.

You knew when you arrived to watch her match that something wasn’t right. She was upset. You could see it in all the minutiae of her: in the way she took off her hoodie, in the way she picked up her racket. Something was really wrong. 

You walk through the stands until you come across Art. 

There are two free spaces to the right of him, so you sit down on the one furthest away, leaving a gap in the middle for Patrick to take up when he arrives. But then time passes and the match approaches and he still hasn’t materialised. 

You feel Art staring long before he makes his move. The air shifts as he shuffles over into the seat directly beside you.

“That seat is taken.” You intone harshly. Your eyes are fixed on Tashi as she prepares. 

“If it was, I wouldn’t have been able to sit in it.” 

“Sorry, I should have been clearer. I don’t want you anywhere near me, so I want Patrick to sit there instead of you.”

Your name is a tentative as he speaks it. “Will you please look at me? I can’t handle you not looking at me.”

Your gaze remains set on Tashi, she looks up and finds you in the crowd. The furious divot between her brow eases for a moment before her eyes snag on the way that Art is leaning into you. She turns her back on the entire crowd, but you know the gesture is meant for you alone. 

Fuck. What the hell had happened overnight? If it was Art’s meddling, you’d kill him. 

“The match is about to start.” You say coldly. 

 Art’s hand lands on your knee, but when you flinch, he immediately pulls it away. 

“I know I hurt you and I’m sorry. I- I need you to forgive me.”

You grit your teeth at his audacity. “Why do you need me to, Art?”

“Because I can’t stand the thought of you not being in my li-“

The match begins and Art never gets to finish his sentence. 

In fact, you don’t speak to him properly for almost a decade after that. Because Tashi gets hurt. Her sporting career ends in the blink of an eye and takes your friendship with it.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

Both you and Art had sprinted down onto the court, your heart breaking in your chest as you fell to your knees beside your best friend, tears gathering in her eyes as she whimpered in pain. 

What had hurt the most though, was the way Tashi had shoved your hand away when you had tried to comfort her.

“Don’t touch me!” She had barked on a ragged breath. “Get away from me. Get away!” 

The hatred had dripped from her words and landed on you like a corrosive liquid. And as it had burned down to the bone, you had looked at Art and the apologetic agony with which he’d regarded you—even as he’d cradled Tashi’s head in his hands—told you what he’d done.  

He’d not only told you about Patrick’s supposed lust for you, but he’d also told Tashi. He had told her that even after her now boyfriend had won her number, he’d apparently been thinking about fucking you. Art had also definitely shared his little insight that Patrick didn’t love her either, which you quickly worked out had contributed to his absence.

So Art got what he wanted: he finally had his hands on Tashi and he’d done it by carving you and Patrick away. 

Art Donaldson was an attentive, gentle, even needy man, but you had been so stupid to think that meant he couldn’t also be calculated and cruel. Because of course he was. What else could win the heart of Tashi Duncan but brutal passion? It was part of what she loved about tennis: the unforgiving force of hits that once you met them, somehow felt like affection.

When Patrick had tracked an injured Tashi down, still waiting to be taken to hospital, he had been ordered away by both her and Art.

You knew that because he’d just told you. It was the first thing he’d said to you when you’d let him into your room fifteen minutes earlier.

Now, you were both sitting on the scratchy carpet of your dorm, passing a bottle of vodka between the two of you. 

You felt bereft. Your body wracked with sympathetic pain for the grief in your mind. You’d lost Tashi today, you knew that. And the man that had caused it, was a man you’d spent years yearning for. 

Art hadn’t only taken Tashi from you, but he’d violently ripped himself away too.

“Art wasn’t lying.” Patrick grumbles after taking another hearty gulp of vodka. 

“Please, don’t.” You beg wearily, taking the vodka from his outstretched hand and pressing it to your lips. Not even the burn of the spirit going down your throat registers.

“I wanted- want, both of you. You and Tashi.” 

He isn’t drunk, only tipsy, but he’s getting there, and his words are sluggish, laced with fury. 

“Shut up, Patrick.”

You fall down onto your back, resting the vodka bottle on your stomach, holding it by the neck as you stare up at the ceiling. 

Patrick has been sitting opposite you, but he moves languidly forward, crawling up over your body. He braces one knee beside your hip as the other slots between your legs. 

You blink up at him as one of his hands rests beside your head and the other falls over your own where it still holds the vodka bottle. You let him take it from you, placing it beside your body before the hand then moves to rest on the other side of your head. 

You’re now trapped beneath him, his lithe body hovering just above yours.

When he leans in, his alcoholic breath almost sears your skin as his lips brushed the shell of your ear. 

“Sometimes, when we were fucking I would imagine that you were with us.” Patrick’s teeth nip at your ear. “I asked her once, you know, and she slapped me. Called me a pig. I think she was just mad because she liked having you to herself. You were such a devoted acolyte, kissing the ground she walked on—“

Fury bursts within you like a solar flare, red-hot and ruinous. He was talking about her in the past tense, as if she was dead to both of you already.

Art groans in pain when you knee him in the balls. You use the chance to shove him off you and he falls to the side, knocking the bottle of vodka over. 

As you stand up, you feel the alcohol seeping into the carpet at your feet. 

“You are a pig.” You hiss down at him.

 It’s your room, but you find yourself storming towards the door. 

You don’t get far before Patrick recovers, clambering to his feet and easily closing the distance with his long legs. 

You groan in frustration as he presses you into the door, one hand above your head and the other wrapping around your torso, his fingers dangerously close to brushing your breasts over your tank top. 

“If I’m a pig, why did you let me in?” He pressed his face into your neck and breathes you in.

 Some of the vodka has evidently soaked into his shirt, because the scent seizes you with the same violence with which he had. It’s a secondary intoxication. 

You words come out weakly, and you hate that it’s because you’re using so much energy fighting the urge to press back into him:

“I felt sorry for you.”

Patrick laughs. 

The smug bastard actually laughs right into your skin, the vibrations travelling all the way down to where your body has begun to ache the most. 

“Oh, sure.” He coos patronisingly. “It definitely wasn’t because you’ve wanted to fuck me for years.”

You should fight him, but you don’t want to. 

You should protest when the hand that he has pressed to the door moves to pull down one of the straps of your tank top. But you simply don’t want to.  You want him. 

Art had been right about both of you.

No sooner has the thin strip of fabric been removed from your shoulder, than Patrick is clamping his teeth down on the exposed flesh. You yelp in surprise, the pain a burst of sordid pleasure. 

Patrick laughs again, the hand he has pressed to your stomach pulling you flush against him. You can feel his need for you pressing into your backside, but in case you had somehow missed it, he bucks his hips up into you. 

You gasp and he laughs again, his tongue now running over the aggravated skin where his teeth have left a dent.

“We both know what this is.” He goads.

“And what is it?” You ask teasingly, your head now thrown back and resting against his chest. He groans into your neck as you grind yourself back onto him. 

“Inevitable.”

“Are you just doing this to get back at them?” You ask, not daring to speak their names. 

An angry grumble you can’t quite make sense of tears out of Patrick’s throat just before he is forcefully spinning you around. 

You get barely a glimpse of his feral smirk before he is easily picking you up again and throwing you over his shoulder. The slap he delivers to your ass is punishing and stings furiously as he practically throws you down onto the carpet.

The bed is right next to you, but the asshole apparently wants you on the scratchy carpet and with a wet patch where the vodka has soaked in.

“I’m doing this, because I have wanted to fuck you, from the moment I saw you dancing at that party.”

 You’ve barely got your breath back after being thrown about, when he is grabbing your calf and yanking you down so that you’re laying completely flat beneath him. 

“But you only ever pursued Tash-“ 

He cuts you off from saying her name by leaning down and pressing his mouth to your still clothed breast. His tongue swirls over the fabric, your nipple growing pert. 

When his knee presses up between your legs, parting them forcefully, your head falls back, strands of your hair wetted by the spilt alcohol. 

When Patrick bites down on your chest far too hard, your hand instinctively comes up to slap the side of his head.

 You’re so shocked by your own burst of violence that you go still at exactly the same time as Patrick, both of you breathing furiously. When he does peer up at you, his dark curls slick against his increasingly sweaty forehead, menace dances in his eyes. 

“Do that again.” 

You wish you could have feigned confusion or indignation for even a moment, but your blood is pumping to all the right places to urge you to make terrible, delightful decisions.

 Your second slap connects cleanly with his cheek, your palm tingling with the force as his head spins to the side. 

Your handprint is already a pink mark on his skin when he wraps his arms around your torso, lifting you up just enough so that he can pull your tank top off and throw it to the side. Your chest is left bare to him and he wastes no time before peppering kisses to your sternum, to your breasts and your neck, his arms still wrapped around you, his nails digging into your back. 

The throbbing ache between your legs becomes far too much to bear, so you curl your fingers into his hair and forcefully tug him away from your chest- a bead of saliva stretching between your flushed skin to his swollen lips. 

You lean your head forward, taking his bottom lip between your teeth and biting, pulling at it until he groans pathetically. You let him go, beyond pleased when you don’t have to tell him what you want next. 

You don’t want to wait any longer. You haven’t slept with anyone since you met him and Art. 

Art.

 Is it wrong that as Patrick pushes your back into the carpet and pulls down your sweatpants and underwear in one clean tug, that you close your eyes and briefly imagine that it’s Art instead?

You might have found an answer if you had more time, but when you open your eyes, Patrick is over you, his shorts and boxers already discarded alongside your clothes. His shirt is still on, but neither of you have the patience for the second or so it would take to get it off him. 

Patrick smirks down at you before pressing two of his fingers into your mouth, you open gladly, your eyes locked onto each other as he swirls them around. When he’s satisfied, he pulls his fingers out, and then licks his own hand, mixing himself with you. 

He swipes his wet hand over your already slick core a few times before he’s pressing himself inside of you. Your arms curl around his neck as you wrap your legs around his waist. 

“Fuck.” He groans, his tongue licking up the side of your neck as his hips begin to move. 

“Patrick.” You plead, your fingers digging into the nape of his neck. 

He knows what you want, nipping at your neck before he is driving into you with bruising force. 

In that moment, as you’re joined in the way you’ve wanted since the moment you’ve set eyes on him, you realise thar Tashi isn’t the only person that can make you feel real. 

As Patrick drives into you–his lips and teeth leaving marks on your flesh that will be wine-dark by morning, and the horrible fabric beneath you leaving carpet burn on your back– you finally know more than tennis can make you feel alive. 

The sex is forceful and punishing, but fuelled by a genuine passion. Nothing but your intermingled breaths and the sound of your joined bodies fills the room. 

If the two of you hadn’t been so lost to your pleasure, you might have heard Art knocking on your door. But you didn’t. 

He did however hear the two of you, so he walked away. 

You wouldn’t speak to him or Tashi again for over ten years.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You weren’t in New Rochelle to compete. You didn’t need to. You were on the top of your game, ranked the third best female player in the world. 

No, you were in New York because despite your better judgement-- and the many years that had passed since you’d last seen him--when Patrick Zweig had called you, you’d answered. 

You hadn’t heard his voice since you had told him that for your own sanity, you couldn’t see him anymore.

For the two years you had been together after Tashi had banished you both from her life, you had let Patrick consume you. And you had never played tennis so poorly in your life. 

You hated what that said about you, that you had willingly discarded someone you had genuinely cared for to improve your ability to hit a ball. But hitting that ball was what kept you alive, not him. 

Not only that, it hadn’t taken you long to realise that you didn’t love Patrick enough to let him affect your career.

And yet when he had called, you’d answered. And when he’d told you that Art Donaldson had entered the Challenger as a wildcard, you both knew that you would come. 

From the moment you had booked the flight, to the first step you’d taken into the hotel, you had lied to yourself that you were only coming for the closure that you hadn’t received as a twenty year old. 

But when you stepped into the hotel lobby and saw Tashi disappearing into the nearby elevator, your self-deception shattered. 

You were here because still, after all the time that had passed, you ached for the way that you had felt when she had been in your life. You missed her. And you had missed Art. 

It was a sickening truth of your life, that while no one had fucked with your head or upset you as much as Art had ended up doing, no one else had ever been so attentive to you either. 

Art had watched you—watched out for you—even when you weren’t playing tennis. In fact, in moments of utter stillness, when you had been doing nothing even remotely remarkable, was when you had always caught him staring. He never shied away, or broke his gaze when he was caught, he’d just smiled as if he wanted you to know he would never feel shame for being found looking at you. 

And that had not changed.

You have been sitting at the hotel bar for ten minutes, feeling sorry for yourself and nursing the same glass of gin and tonic, when you feel someone looking at you. 

You turn your head cautiously, your shoulders sagging as your eyes meet Art’s. He’s sitting on one of the small leather couches tucked into the far corner of the darkened room. 

It had been an inevitability, but things would have been so much easier if you never came across him. 

You know you shouldn’t move- part of you had come for closure and you could get that just by watching him compete tomorrow, so you don’t need to talk to him. 

But then Art tilts his head and smiles at you like no time has passed and pats his hand on the unoccupied space beside him on the couch. 

You get down off the barstool.

 As you approach, he watches unflinchingly.

The last time you had heard Art’s voice, was when Tashi had suffered her injury and he’d been permitted to stay by her side when she had ordered you away.

And yet even after so much time, when he greets you with a quiet ‘hello’, the pathetic girl who had pined after him returns.

You don’t respond as you come to a stop right in front of him, the tips of your heels right against the toes of his shoes, but you make no move to sit down. 

It’s of course not the first time you’ve seen him since college, or been at the same event, or even in the same room- you’re both highly successful tennis players, you couldn’t help but overlap sometimes. But neither of you have ever allowed yourselves to get close, or to even speak. 

It has been over ten years of your eyes connecting through crowds and across rooms that felt much larger than they were, simply because there was distance between the two of you within them. 

Art sits forward, his forearms resting on his knees. He’s fiddling with his wedding ring and you can’t bear to look at the familiar way his fingers carry out the gesture. 

When he looks up at you, it's so open and wanting that you almost turn right back around. But then you hear his voice again.

“Can I ask you to sit with me?” 

“I don’t know Art, can you?” 

He smiles, sighing softly as he runs his hand through his hair. It’s short- much shorter than the curls he’d had at college. You like it. It suits him. 

You shift on your feet, crossing your arms across your chest to cover up your nerves. Perhaps you can protect yourself if you look like you’re closed off from him and from…whatever this interaction is about to be. 

Art doesn’t say anything else, but he surprises you by rising to his feet. You stagger back, but his hand reaches out and lands on your side to steady.

His touch lingers for a moment too long, but he does eventually pull it away.

 But he’s still close, too close.

Your hands have fallen to your sides, so it is too easy for Art to reach out and brush his fingers against yours. He doesn’t intertwine them, but he’s doing enough to let you know that it’s what he wants to do. 

He whispers your name. “Will you please sit with me?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Art.” 

“When have you ever known me to have one of those?” 

You smile ruefully, but take a step back. His hand chases you, his fingers brushing against yours again as he tries to take your hand. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve known anything about you.” You say, hating how sad it sounds. 

You should be angry at least. His meddling and his desire for Tashi is what ripped you all apart. And he has her now. They have a daughter together.

He doesn't get to ask you for anything, not even if it’s just to sit with him. 

You can’t trust yourself to sit next to him. 

“You do know me. Time can’t change that.” He insists, quietly but firmly. 

You scoff nastily. “I knew Art Donaldson when he was in college. The world famous tennis player who does AD campaigns for sports cars with his wife, is a stranger to me.” 

“Yeah.” Art laughs darkly. “He’s a stranger to me too.” 

You frown at him, growing angry. He seems exhausted and down-trodden. He’s clearly hurting and you hate that you know that—you hate that you‘d been able to tell that even from across the bar—because it means that he’s right: you do still know him. 

“It’s late, Art. You should get some rest. Big day tomorrow.”

You turn away from him and while he doesn’t reach for you this time, he does call out. You keep you back to him as he asks his question. 

“Who do you want to win, me or Patrick?” 

“Tennis can’t decide a victor between the two of you, Art. It’s never been able to.”

When you walk to the elevator, you feel a physical strain as you stop yourself from looking back at him.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You were right, tennis couldn’t decide on a winner: it was as fickle and incomprehensible as the human heart. Which was fitting, seeing as Tashi had always described tennis as a relationship. 

You had sat only two places away from her during Patrick and Art’s match, and you know she had seen you. But there had been no reaction, her face had been impassive and set on the court, her eyes hidden behind a large pair of sunglasses. 

Now, the match was long over and a result had been given. And yet there hadn’t been a victory for anyone. Just like you knew there wouldn’t be.

Something had happened on that court between the two men, some silent, inexplicable exchange that had altered the very fabric of them.

This time, when Art knocks on your door, not only do you hear it, but you answer. 

You feel almost shocked when you pull open the door to reveal him, dressed in a grey t-shirt and flannel pyjama trousers. You’re surprised at the sight as if you hadn’t known he was coming- as if you hadn’t readily offered up your room number when he had messaged and asked for it.

You’re also somehow certain that Patrick had given him your number, but you didn’t want to dwell on what sort of exchange had led to him handing it over.

Without a word, you step away from the door, self-consciously tightening the cord that holds the silk robe around your body. You stop and face the windows.

The curtains are drawn, by you stare forward as though the whole skyline is on display to you. 

The door to your room clicks shut.

You hear Art take off his shoes before his feet are padding towards you. 

When his arms wrap around your waist, you close your eyes and savour the sensation. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, so you lift a hand and rest it on the side of his head. 

“I want to retire at the end of this year.” He says and you can feel his exhaustion in the slow breaths that coast over your neck. 

“So retire.” You answer softly, your eyes still on the curtains. “You’re tired.”

You know you don’t need to clarify. Thanks to the grateful press of his lips against your neck, you know he understands what you mean. 

Art is weary of all that he has to be when he’s playing tennis; he’s tired of the effort it takes to play the sport for not just him, but for Tashi too. His wife has been living vicariously through him. He’s been living for two people, taking the strain of two professional athletes combined. 

You know there had never been any point in competing with Art or Patrick, because Tashi would always love tennis the most. 

A shiver wracks your body as Art’s hand reaches for the bow that’s keeping your otherwise bare body concealed from him.

 “Can I?” His request is whined into your hair as he presses his face into the back of your head. 

Instead of answering verbally, you nudge his hand away and untie the robe yourself. Then, you take hold of both of his wrists and guide his hands onto your skin. You let out a sigh of relief when Art finally touches you the way you want him to. 

Your hands are still on him as his fingers move to cup your breasts, but he is the one guiding his movements now. He squeezes, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. 

“Art.” You rasp, pressing back into him wantonly. 

“Can I have you?” He asks, pressing open mouthed, hot kisses to your neck as he palms your breasts. “Please, let me have you.” 

“Stop fucking asking me and just do it.” 

You feel him grin against your neck just before he backs away, pulling back your robe and tugging it from your body.

The fabric has barely had time to pool at your feet when he’s grabbing you by the hips, his fingers digging in as he turns you. 

When Art’s lips finally claim yours, you moan unashamedly. His kiss is gentle but assured, you struggle for breath as he refuses to release you. Then, his hands are cupping your ass and he’s lifting you up. 

With his lips still moving hungrily against yours, Art settles you onto the edge of the bed. When he draws back, your lips chase after him and he smiles, grasping your face in his hands and giving you one more brief but searing kiss before he’s dropping to the ground.

 His hands press into your knees, forcing them apart as he begins to kiss and lick up your inner thighs. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows, watching where his mouth ravenously meets your flesh, tracing his path as he works his way closer to where you want him most.

When he reaches the top of your thigh, Art peers up at you through his long eyelashes, already looking drunk on you as he presses another kiss to your burning skin. 

“Lay back.” He instructs gently. 

But you’re too transfixed to listen- too desperate to see the moment his lips land on your core to look away.

He smiles at the realisation, delighting in your shudder as his tongue darts out and licks a line up your centre. 

“Oh my- fuck!” Your head falls back, already lost in the feeling of his mouth's devoted ministrations. 

As Art pleasures you, one of his hands skates up your stomach and gently presses down, asking rather than forcing you to lay back. This time you oblige, your eyes closed as your hands fist in the sheets. 

“You deserve so much more than I can give you.” 

You smile to yourself. Only Art could grovel as he gives so much pleasure.

Tightness begins to coil in your lower belly, but the moment he adds a teasing finger to his tongue’s movements, you realise you can’t wait. 

“Art- stop.” You gasp out, sitting up and resting your hands on his head. 

He halts immediately but doesn’t remove himself from between your legs. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, his hands rubbing soothingly along your thighs. 

“It’s not enough.” You say, tugging on his hair, trying to get him to come to you. “I need you.” 

Art doesn’t have to be asked twice, but he also doesn’t rush. He presses one last kiss to your now very sensitive folds before he’s climbing over you. 

You shuffle back, settling yourself onto the middle of the bed and even as Art takes off his clothes, he watches you. It’s as if he’s afraid that you’ll disappear if he so much as blinks. 

Now completely naked, he lays himself over you, his arms braced beside your head. He positions himself so carefully thar it’s almost as though he’s trying to fit himself to the shape of you- every divot and curve perfectly aligned sp that you’ll be fused together forever. 

As Art sweeps hair out from your face, his blue eyes bore down into you with an adoring intensity. 

You smile up at him and he rewards you by cradling your face in his hands, he lowers his head, his nose brushing yours as he gently takes your lower lip between his teeth.

Only when you understand what he wants and you open your mouth, does he kiss you again, his tongue delving in deeply.

As he seeks to consume you, your hands run down his back, squeezing his sides with your thighs. 

Art’s still kissing you as one of your hands reaches the curve of his arse, you dig your nails in and he jolts, his mouth moving away from yours and travelling down your neck. 

Tentatively, you move one hand around and down between his legs and when your hand wraps around him, he falters, his kisses stopping. 

“Is this alright?” 

Art moves again, licking the sweat slick expanse of skin between your breasts.

“Anything you do will be alright.” He assures, his lips brushing a nipple and making your back arch. 

“Do you want to have sex, Art?” You ask, barely restraining yourself.

His breaths are hot against your sensitive breasts when he answers. “Please.”

It is a joint effort as he slides inside of you. You gasp, arms wrapping around his neck as he presses kisses into yours.

Art groans as he begins to move achingly slowly, his hips rolling over yours with precision. 

You're happy like that for a few minutes, both of you revelling in your closeness after years subjected to absent desire for one another. But eventually, you want more.

You yearn for more force and luckily as you buck up into him, Art gets the message.

 As one of his hands moves behind your head, cradling it so that he can keep kissing you, the other wraps around your thigh, and pulls your leg higher over his hip, allowing himself to get even deeper. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He says in-between sloppy kisses, moving rapidly as you moan and whine. “You’ve always been so beautiful.”

Even with him inside you, making you feel more desired than anyone ever has, your mind drifts to that first night you had met him. The first night you had met Patrick. 

“You stared at Tashi.” You say.

You aren’t accusatory or upset, if anything the acknowledgement if it turns you on more. All four of you have always had a desire for the other, and it feels powerful to finally acknowledge it.

“-That night on the beach, you couldn't take your eyes off her. Neither of you could.” 

“I wanted you.” Art asserts with a particularly powerful thrust. “I- I wanted you so badly, but you went home.”

You nod, pulling him in for another kiss as you meet his thrusts. 

You understand his thinking. You’d often wondered how things might have changed had you not gone home early that night. If you’d stayed on the beach and then gone to their hotel room along with Tashi. 

Entirely content with just moving as one, you both fall silent and somehow Art curls over you even more tightly, like he wants his whole body to hide yours from the world. 

After you’ve both found your release he takes you into the shower and cleans himself off of your sensitive skin, each swipe of the washcloth accompanied by a kiss.

It ends up being time wasted though, because when you return to the bed, he takes you twice more.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You wake up with Art’s head resting on your bare chest. He’s laying on his side, one arm stretched out on the pillow above your head and his other hand resting on your hip. 

You’re sore in the most pleasant of ways as you sit up. You try to move slowly but Art stirs anyway, his head turning to press open mouthed kisses to your sternum. 

You rest your hand on his cheek, meaning to guide him away, but he moves so that he can kiss the palm of your hand instead. 

It’s only when you sigh into his touch, his eyes still closed as his other hand delves between your legs, that you realise why you had woken up int he first place. 

Someone was knocking on your door. 

And then you hear her voice. 

Tashi is calling out your name, sounding almost panicked.

 “Please, open the door, I know you’re in there.”

This time when you push Patrick away, he obliges, but far less quickly than you would have liked.

 In the time it takes for you to throw on your silk robe and gather up all of his clothes from the floor, he has barely got himself to stand up. He’s naked and blinking sleepily at you. 

When you shove the bundle of his clothes into his arms, he rushes to press a passionate kiss to your lips, holding the back of your head with his free hand.

You aren’t sure you want to know whether he’s truly still half asleep and genuinely hasn’t realised what is happening, or if he just doesn’t care that his wife is outside the door.

Flushed but furious at his casual demeanour, you push Art into the bathroom and close the door, just as Tashi knocks again.

 The repeated request for you to come to the door tumbles from her lips like a prayer.

You brace your hand against the door as you draw in a fortifying breath and smooth out your hair. You swear you can feel her through the door. 

The moment you open the door, Tashi is bursting in and closing it behind her. You step back, waiting for her to make the first move, for her to shout of attack or go charging into the bathroom. But she does none of those things. 

Instead, Tashi pulls you into a crushing hug. You go still, shocked but healed by it at the same time.

She pulls back, taking your face in her hands.

 “You’re a phenomenal tennis player.” Tashi says it rapturously. 

If you weren’t burning up at the feel of her hands on you, you might have laughed at how ridiculously perfect it was that those were her first words to you after over a decade. 

Tashi communicated and connected through tennis. She loved through tennis.

All you can muster is a very sincere: “Thank you.”

Tashi brushes your hair out of your face, tucking a stray piece behind your ear. You find your hands lifting, resting atop hers where they hold your cheeks.

“You need to let me coach you.” Tashi demands almost possessively.

“I have a coach.”

“They’re not me.”

“No, they’re not.”

And just like that, you were snared again. 

You had gone years without any of them, and with one word, you had allowed all three of them back into your life.

 Only this time, you know it might actually kill you if any of them leave. And perhaps it would kill them too. 

Only time would tell.

[makelemonade]

The Tsaritsa is the archon of love, so when she notices and feels that the love lives of her Harbingers aren’t going too well, she has to interfere.

female reader, hurt/comfort, the harbingers are all friends; Pierro and Capitano. - pt2

Pierro

Being the Tsaritsa’s righthand and her first Harbinger was a stressful job. He was hardly at her side despite being her righthand but the moment she needed something done, the first person she’ll go to is him.

The Tsaritsa also hardly shows her face in public, so if there is any event she ever plans for the Fatui, whether it be a gala, ball or anything- she’ll make Pierro go to talk, even though SHE’S the one who hosted it.

Well, sometimes she’s there, lurking. No one actually knows it’s her since she chooses to stay hidden.

She decides to hold an eventful masquerade ball one night to celebrate the success of her Harbinhers. It’s one that she of course probably won’t even be going to and Pierro must go on her behalf.

Despite being his lover of many years, aka HIS WIFE, he has never once let you come to one of these and just says you’ll be bored out of your mind.

But a MASQUERADE BALL?! HELD BY THE QUEEN?! You had to go. This was your dream.

You begged for DAYS and he was so sick of it that he was forced to say yes.

Only for him to completely leave your side the moment you get there. At first, you thought that maybe it was just because he had a job to do, but throughout the night, he did not even spare you one glance.

You were standing off to the side, downing your 5th glass of champagne you’ve been stealing from the trays.

You felt upset, honestly. This was your first ever ball with him, one that you prepared for in terms of elegance and manners. You even made your own dress! It was ABSOLUTELY GORGEOUS and it matched your mask and yet he didn’t even say anything.

You watched as he spoke to the Harbingers and important figures in Snezhnaya; they all laughed, smiled and showed off their guests, lovers or whoever they brought and you were practically discarded.

He acted like he had no lover tonight, and It made you wonder if his coworkers even knew he had a wife. Did he ever talk about you? Do they ever wonder why you’re never at the events? Do they even know your name?!

You struggled to listen in to their conversation, only being able to hear if one of them spoke loudly or the room went somewhat quieter.

You heard one speak a bit loud; the mayor of Snezhnaya.

“My Jester, I’ve never once seen you attend these with a guest. Why is that?”

The next voice was quiet, but you knew your husbands voice.

“I simply don’t have anyone to bring.”

You almost dropped your 6th glass of champagne, and if you did drop it, it would’ve broken just like your heart just did.

Married for YEARS yet they don’t even know who you are.

You waited for another waiter to walk by and slammed your glass down onto the tray, deciding you couldn’t stay in this ballroom anymore.

Walking around, you found doors that led out to a balcony and was thankful there was no one on it as you rushed to it.

The doors weren’t open wide so no one would see you out on there, thankfully. You took off your mask, letting your tears flow as you quietly sobbed, ignoring the cold hitting any bare skin.

On these nights, the Tsaritsa always seemed to calm down the weather. There was no harsh snow or rain, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t still cold- if anything, this was almost warm.

You leaned against the railing, your hot tears melting through any remaining snow left on it.

Shivering, you couldn’t go back inside- your mascara was probably smudged by now and you didn’t want to look at your husband.

You were thinking of ways to try to leave the ball without your husband noticing but in full honesty, he probably didn’t even notice you were gone right now.

You didn’t even hear the clacks of high heels until you felt something drape over your shoulders and you almost yelped out of surprise.

It was a coat; a long, fluffy one at that. You looked to your side to see you’d been joined by another woman.

Her skin was as pale as the snow, her hair long, flowy and honestly you could’ve sworn it was glowing. Her eyes were as sharp as ice yet as soft as snow.

Her dress was white, with laces of icy blue and sapphires adorned; the same with her mask.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone hide out on a balcony during any of these.” She almost laughed, “Too cold.”

You wondered how she wasn’t cold; she’d given you her jacket, and her arms were bare yet she seemed perfectly fine as she leaned across the railing.

She even dared to jump up on it, sitting down as if there wasn’t a huge risk she could fall off with one gust of strong wind.

That made you noticed there were no harsh winds tonight.

“What’s wrong, dear?” She asked, ever so softly as she took in the sight of your tears.

“Just my husband,” you scoffed, moving a hand up to wipe them. You didn’t know why you were exposing this to a complete stranger yet there was just something about her that seemed like it was right to do so.

She hummed, then chuckled. “Love; such a beautiful yet painful feeling. Glad I’ve had my fair share with it.”

“You’ve been in love before?” You asked, genuinely interested in this random woman’s life.

“Many, many times.” She leaned back a bit, holding onto the railing as she looked up to the sky with a sad smile, watching the northern lights dance.

“Which makes it necessary that I must help people in love.” She looked back down to you, “if you so wish to speak.”

You sighed, wrapping the coat around you closer as you shivered. “I’ve been married to my husband for years, yet it feels like nothing. He has a stressful job- he works for her majesty, so I never ever complain about his absence. Yet tonight, he completely disregarded the fact of my existence and, even his own coworkers don’t know I exist! He won’t introduce me! Am I truly his wife if he can’t even act as my husband?!” You just groaned, looking up at the lights just as she did before.

She took in your words, nodding at every angry or frustrated rant within. After a minute, she spoke.

“Have you ever thought he doesn’t introduce you because of his coworkers?”

You looked down, turning to her confused yet encouraging her to continue, intruiged.

“The Harbingers…as loyal as they may be, some are rather dangerous, reckless and if I dare say myself, absolutely weird.”

You cackled. There was no way this random lady was dissing THE TSARITSA’S HARINGERS. “Do you truly have no fear?!”

She just laughed as well, hopping off the railing to now stand beside you. “I speak the truth. Maybe take that into consideration; perhaps, even though he is the first harbinger and can definitely take on all of them if any dared to touch you-“

You broke out into laughter again.

“-maybe think it’s to protect you from them. His actions tonight are not to be forgotten, and I assure you that soon he will realize his wrong and all will be will.”

You took in her words, looking back up to the sky. Well, she wasn’t wrong; he was the first harbinger, and even though he is insanely powerful, that didn’t mean the others weren’t.

Maybe he was trying to protect you, but that didn’t defend his actions.

You turned to thank the woman, but was met with nothing. She was gone- you didn’t even hear her leave!

Then that reminded you- how the hell did she know he was the first harbinger?! You only mentioned she worked for him.

You still had her coat and you walked towards the doors to head back inside, hoping to find her but she was nowhere near.

You just sighed, choosing to sit on the bench at the side of the balcony. Wrapping the coat around you.

It was large, insanely large- the type of coat that would honestly fit the size of your husband….

You took a closer look at the coat, only to notice the Fatui emblem.

Who the hell was this woman?!

~~

“And then I told that stupid fennec green-haired bastard- OH MY ARCHONS!” Dottore stopped his story when he noticed the sudden presence of his archon and every other harbinger within the circle yelped.

“This is a first.” Capitano muttered, no one knowing if he was surprised or not under that mask.

They all tried to bow but she out her hands out. “Nono! No one knows I’m here other than you all so do not make a scene!” She whisper-yelled and they all immediately straightened themselves.

“Pierro,” She turned to him,

“Yes, your majesty?” He bowed his head,

“May we take a walk?” She asked, putting her arm out.

He nodded, wrapping his arm around hers. “Continue your story, dottore.” She called before she and the first harbinger walked around the ballroom.

“Your wife looks gorgeous tonight.” She said once they were out of earshot.

He looked at her with shock. “How did you-?”

“Pierro,” she sighed, coming to a halt. “You have been at my side for 500 years. You are my best friend but I am also your Archon; nothing gets past me, and as the God of Love it is my duty to tell you that your wife is heartbroken at your actions tonight and i’d advise for you to speak to her!”

During this; she somehow pushed him all the way to the doors and at her final words, she pushed him out onto the balcony, the warmth of the ballroom now gone.

He looked around and found your tear-stained face on the bench and he sighed, sitting beside you.

“You look adorable in that,” He laughed at HIS coat on you.

“Would you like to meet my coworkers, darling? I don’t want you to put this gorgeous dress to waste.”

Capitano

The fourth harbinger hardly ever talks. At meetings, he speaks a total of four words. There are very few Harbingers he will speak too and the only ones he actually talks to more than anyone else is Pierro, Dottore and Signora.

Just because you are his wife does not mean this excludes you.

The Tsaritsa had put both you and him down for an arranged marriage just a few months ago. Her reasoning- told through Pierro- being that Capitano seriously needs someone in his life and she’d rather it be someone who talks a lot- aka you.

You never met the Tsaritsa, but you worked for the Harbingers as a secretary so even before your arranged marriage you’ve had your fair share with all of them.

The Tsaritsa HOPED that maybe at meetings and gatherings capitano would finally talk more after marrying you and yet he remained as quiet as usual according to Pierro and she was gonna lose her shit.

Now, in the privacy of your home with him, he is more comfortable with you than the others. He’s shown you his face, but in truth the only reason being because he doesn’t want to sleep with it on and you literally sleep with him so…

He talks a bit more; he says good morning, good afternoon, good night..

Yeah…

At first you were fine with it; it was better than when you were just his secretary and he’d leave work on your desk with a note saying “have done by today. thanks :)”

It was cute you wouldn’t lie. you just wished he showed that little emotion on the note in real life.

It was nice having someone to constantly talk to and yap to; he always listened in with such focus, and would nod to show he was listening and interested.

But after doing that for months it just gets so tiring to the point it’s just depressing.

You may be married to him now but that didn’t mean your job was gone, so you were still at work with him. Sometimes it would be in his office or in someone else’s if they need help.

One day, at work on your break, you found all the Harbingers into the lounge.

“Y/N!” Childe laughed. “Our favourite- come sit with us!”

You shook your head. “I couldn’t impose, my lord. I was just taking my break.”

“Nonsense,” Signora waved her hand, shaking her head. “Take your break with us.”

Choosing to sit with all of them, you noticed Capitano wasn’t there- as per usual.

As you sat with them and they talked about their lives and missions, they’d ask you a few questions about Capitano. At first, it was simple questions about your marriage thay were deemed common sense which you’d answer yes to, but then it went into questions about him, which is when it got humiliating.

They’d ask about where he was from, what did he like to do in his pastime, why does he hardly talk, what’s his favourite food, drink, how does he like his tea, what are his next missions-

All you could not answer, and instead of you, his own wife answering, Pierro did.

You excused yourself when you realized that was absolutely humiliating. How could you, his wife of several months- close to a year now!- not know anything about him yet his BOSS, knew everything?!

When you left, Pierro noticed everything at that moment, and decided he NEEDED to bring this up with the Archon of Love, but let’s be real.

She already knew, and was trying to figure out ways to fix this; “We need Pantalone and Childe for this. They’re handsome, touchy, flirty and perfect.”

The next day, you’re confused when Pantalone and Childe are suddenly bothering you with everything; Yes, usually they’re asking you to help with paperwork but today was different…

It started in the morning when Childe came up to you asking you to spar with him. He’s only ever asked once, and he literally almost killed you that time. You were strong, but you had no vision and he was a literal harbinger.

He promised he’d go easy, and the sparring session lasted for about 30 minutes. By the end of it, you were completely sweaty and your hair was a mess- he apologized and offered to take you out for lunch

You accepted but decided to at least go put your stuff in your husbands office before you left.

Capitano is a little confused when you walk in absolutely drenched of sweat but just decides you’ll probably talk about it tonight when you’re both laying in bed and continues to work on a few papers.

“Apologies,” You let out a breathy laugh, putting down any bags you brought to work that morning. “I just finished sparring with Childe, and he’s taking me out for lunch. I’ll be back later.”

He doesn’t say anything and you just sigh, already knowing not to expect anything.

From the top of the castle, Pierro and The Tsaritsa watch as you and Childe run away from the castle, clutching onto your coats for dear life from the harsh, cold wind.

“So, what’s the plan here?” He asked, “Pardon my forwardness but I truly am confused.”

She just grinned. “Well, first I asked that Childe were to spar with her and take her out to lunch, which I truly hope makes Capitano the slightest bit jealous. Then upon her return, Pantalone will magically return from the gardens with a rose and give it to her and she’ll go back to her office and tell Capitano about her day and he’ll realize and get jealous and fuck her.”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I did not need to know that last part. And if that doesn’t work?”

“A god always has another plan.”

You and Childe are at lunch for about 2 hours; really it would’ve been shorter but you and Childe were BOTH insane talkers so naturally you were there for a long time.

Returning to the castle, Pantalone was seen emerging from the gardens holding a few roses and Childe, for some reason, took that as his queue to wish you his goodbyes and hurry away.

“Good afternoon, Lord Pantalone.” You bowed and he just chuckled.

“No need for pleasantries, Y/N. Here,” He handed you a rose and your eyes were full of surprise as you took it.

You became rather flustered, beginning to stutter. “O-oh, thank you! It’s beautiful.”

“Just for a beautiful girl like you.” He winked and you giggled.

“I’ll be off to give these to Signora. Have a lovely day, Y/N.” He smiled before making his way down the hall, and in seconds he was gone.

You stared down at the rose, feeling giddy. You’d never even received flowers- not even when you got married! Your wedding day wasn’t really even a wedding, instead Pierro officially declaring for you two to be wed and well, that was it.

You practically skipped back to your office, ready to tell your husband all about your day.

~~

“So this morning I got here and the MOMENT I did Childe magically found me and asked me if I wanted to spar! and I was like hesitant because the last time we sparred he like literally almost killed me but he promised he’d go easy on me and he sortaaaa didn’t so he decided he’d take me out to lunch and we were there for like 2 hours just talking and he was so king enough to pay for both! then we got back and Pantalone gave me a rose and he did so with such a sweet compliment! Isn’t that sweet?”

Your husband was not phased by your sudden burst and continued to work, just nodding at everything every few seconds.

“That’s nice.” He murmured, continuing to work- seriously what the hell was he working on for so long?!

You frowned, expecting a little bit more, but at this point it was stupid to expect something from him that now you were a little angry but mostly sad.

You glanced at the rose you had put down in a vase within the room and sighed. “Do you really not care? Are you seriously not jealous?”

His movements paused.

“Like, a man literally just took me out to lunch for 2 hours and practically spent the first half of the day with me, and then another man gives me a rose and tells me I’m as beautiful as it is and you don’t say anything?! I know this is just an arranged marriage but- but I would’ve thought that…maybe you loved me as much as I love you.”

You waited for him to say something, expecting just anything, but that’s the thing with expecting-

You’re met with nothing.

Sighing, you bowed down to him. “My…apologies for overlooking this marriage…my lord. I’ll return to work.” You grimaced acknowledging him so formally, but maybe that was for the best.

You turned around, rushing out of the room before he could say anything, but mostly so he wouldn’t see your tears threatening to pour out.

When the door closed behind you, you let the tears fall as you ran through the dark halls of the castle, trying to find anywhere to hide in.

You made your way to the lounge, happy it was empty as you took a seat on the comfy couch, dragging a hand down your face while also wiping your tears.

Archons, how would you even return home to him tonight? It would be absolutely awkward to have to lay in bed beside him after that outburst.

For the first time, you dreaded having to return home. You loved the warmth he brought whenever you two lay beside each other, and it was even better when he held you.

That made you cry more- how could someone as distant as him, be so soft towards you and hold you when he doesn’t even love you?!

“You know when I heard you and Capitano were getting married I was like- no way.”

You jumped at the sudden voice and somehow, you hadn’t even noticed Signora was sitting beside you and you yelped as you quickly stood up, bowing down.

“M-my lady! I’m so sorry I was just lea-“

“You’re not going anywhere.” She shook her head, patting her hand down on the seat you were just on.

You sighed, realizing you genuinely couldn’t disobey her and sat beside her. You took in her words, “you weren’t the only one; everyone else was shocked.”

“Do you ever think the Tsaritsa was wrong in her choice?” she asked.

You frowned. “In full honesty, I trust her majesty, but maybe this was something she didn’t look into with all her might. It just…doesn’t seem to be working out.”

Signora leaned back into the couch, deciding to get comfy and you took that as a sign to do the same. “Have I ever told you about my lover?”

You shook your head.

“God, 500 years ago. A bit more, actually. He was handsome, amazing, annoying- he honestly reminded me a bit of Capitano. Sure he talked a bit more but I was the talker in our relationship. However, then the cataclysm happened and…look at me now.”

You frowned, looking at her sadly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She smiled sadly, “No matter how much they don’t talk or how much they don’t seem to focus on you or anything, take into consideration that they’re willing to be there. It’s difficult, to find love especially in so many circumstances, but love is everywhere. I see it with you two, and I know. I know you two can make it.”

You glanced down at her lap to find a rose.

You looked back up at her. “What should I do?”

“Force him to talk.” She laughed. “A man as big as him also has a big heart. Seriously, cry In front of him and he’ll become puddy and do everything for you. He made a child cry once and he almost cried.”

You both broke out into fits of giggles, you trying to imagine that and her remembering it.

“Thank you.” You smiled at her, “Permission to-“

“Just go,” She waved her hand, rolling her eyes. “You don’t need my permission.”

With one final smile, you quickly got up, rushing to make your way back to his office and force him to talk.

Emerging from behind a wall was the Tsaritsa, who stood behind her friend. “How was it?”

“They’re so fucking.” Signora grinned.

~~

You opened the door to his office, but was met with him standing right in front of it, hand hovering in the air.

You practiced what you were going to say to him, but now having him standing right in front of you- literally towering over you- you had no idea what to say.

However, he out his hands up to his helmet, forcing it off and just throwing it to the side and you were met with his glossy eyes.

“I’m sorry,” He sniffed, moving his fingers up to rub at his eyes. “I love your rambles- archons I live for them. Every morning when I wake up, I can’t wait to to hear you talk about what your so excited for throughout the day and at night, I can’t wait to hear how your day was. I love you, my dear. I know I don’t…express it much, but I do. So much.”

Tears started to well up in your eyes once again. “Cap…”

“I’ll prove it to you.” He breathed out, a hand making its way to cup your cheek to wipe away a falling rear before he leaned down, connecting his lips with yours so passionately, but most importantly, it was full of love.

He deepened the kiss, pushing his tongue in and you let out a whimper as your knees buckled, and he was quick to wrap an arm around your waist, holding you up right before he decided to just pick you up and you yelped, breaking the kiss as he carried you over to his desk, pushing everything off and ignoring the sound of the vase with the rose breaking- instead he smiled at it.

Down the hall, Pantalone, Childe, Pierro, Signora and the Tsaritsa were all grinning.

“They are one hundred percent fucking.” Childe laughed as they all high-fived each other- expect Pierro, who just walked away with a sigh.

[leaawrites]

Ask me again

Liam Gallagher x fem!reader

Summary: every new years he asks her for a kiss and every new years she denies him, until she doesn't.

Warnings: language, drinking, drunk noel,

Wordcount: 1.7k

Masterlist

Liam has always been a flirt. Growing up with the Gallagher brothers she became familiar with Noel’s quiet, sarcastic manner and Liam’s loud, flirty one. Going to school with him, she got the full experience of the ‘Liam Gallagher charm’ experience, watching from the sidelines as he leaned against a locker next to some bird, smiling at her like she wouldn’t be forgotten in a week.

It always made her chest ache, not just because all he did was use them, but also because she never got to experience first hand. She never got to stand so close to his hovering body, almost standing beneath him, feeling his breath on her face, receiving a cheeky grin at whatever she said and not just when he found it funny. She never wanted to be only used by him, but sometimes she thought she’d prefer that over simply being his ‘best friend’.

It wasn’t like he never tried it, on New Years, he’d normally catch her eye at the bar shortly before midnight, yelling her way with a grin his way. “Am I gonna get a kiss tonight?”

He tried it every year and every year she laughed it off, shaking her head at his antics and flipping off before going back to nursing her drink or talking to whoever was sitting next to her. It wasn’t like he was serious about it, she couldn’t imagine that.

This year, it was the same, a tradition almost.

The door to the little bar they were celebrating in opened, making Liam’s eyes snap up to the person entering. ‘Please, let it be her,’ he thought as he straightened his back to see the person lost in the crowd. He decided, if she declined him once more he would leave it be forever. No more trying anymore, no more flirting. If she wanted nothing from him, he’d get over her. Fly over her head in the plane he already booked tickets for, just in case.

Celebrating new years in her home country made it more complicated to simply go home after this. Staying at her parents house with her, in the same room, made it difficult to ignore her if this went horribly wrong. So, he made sure to have an escape plan.

It was bulletproof, he thought.

“Hey, love,” he greeted her, pushing past people to get to her side. Grinning at her like he’d just won the lottery. Not yet, he thought.

“Hey, Liam,” she greeted him back, smiling at him softly. In the same way that made his knees weak and his heart beat faster. He couldn’t believe she smiled at him like that and still couldn’t feel anything for him beyond friendship. She had to feel something, right?

She knew what was coming, it were the same seven words as every year.

“Am I gonna get a kiss tonight?”

And he’d receive the same answer every year.

A slight chuckle, a nervous glance down and a soft, “Keep on dreaming, Gallagher.”

She thought her answer was what made him laugh after his question, the realisation that she played the same game as him. Not the embarrassment he felt after every time he asked or the realisation that she didn’t want him the same way he wanted her. It was his final sign tonight, the last time he would’ve tried.

With a slight nod and a forced smile he said, “Cheers.” Lifting up his hand in surrender before disappearing into the crowd again. Leaving her speechless.

What has just happened?

There was no laugh coming from deep down his chest like normally, no invitation to do a shot together either. Just that and a kind of disappointment in his eyes that she’d never seen before. It made her heart ache, her chest tightened in fear. What had she done?

The ring of the bell over the door brought her back to her senses, a large hand touching her shoulder, bringing her body into a side hug made her blink back to reality. Noel was already pissed drunk, laughing at nothing in particular but his pure existence as he greeted her. Talking about something that had happened before she arrived.

“Has Liam already asked you?” he asked, seeming more excited about her answer than the new year that would be starting soon. Twenty minutes, she read from the clock over the bar. “Probably chickened out, didn’t he? Got too scared to be rejected once more. I must say, the way you keep on denying giving him a chance, it’s fun to watch though as his brother, it’s kinda sad how long he’s been trying to get you to kiss him? I mean, every year for six years now, that’s crazy. He really never gives up, eh? Our Liam. What a fucker.”

“What?” she tried making sense of his gibberish talking, though nothing besides the words, ‘got too scared to be rejected once more’ and ‘he really never gives up’ stuck in her head. “What are you saying? Liam’s just doing this for banter, nothing more.”

“Banter?” Noel looked almost offended at her wording. “That boy’s proper in love with you. If it was just banter, he wouldn’t be at the airport right now, would he?”

“What?” More questions formed in her head.

“Fleeing the country to flee the heartbreak, a heartthrob isn’t he?” Rolling his eyes in amusement he didn’t notice the realisation dawning on her face, her eyes growing wide and her mouth opening slightly as if she wanted to say something but it was all stuck in her throat. Because he wasn’t the one she had to say it to, wrong brother.

Noel didn’t notice her distress until she jumped out of her seat and dashed past him, out of the bar and down the street. Running down the street she tried to catch a taxi to take her to him.

Liam was sat in a waiting room, waiting to board his plane in thirty minutes and finally let go of all this. Sitting with his head in his hands, going over what could’ve happened if he wasn’t so dumb to try again. He could be sat at the bar instead, pint in front of him, surrounded by friends and her. She’d still be there. Now, he had nothing of it anymore.

Standing up, he went outside once more, into the busy halls of the airport. Searching for the nearest phone available, he grabbed the last cents in his pocket he still had from her as an exchange to get a pint at the same bar a few days ago. He hadn’t given it back yet, wanting to take it as a souvenir of the trip. Pushing the little pieces of copper into the slot, he dialled a number he knew all too well.

“Hello, mum.”

Talking with his mum always calmed his mind, she just knew the answer to everything.

“Some people just aren’t meant for more than what we know than as,” she said shortly before she had to hang up.

Some people aren’t meant to be more, but he prayed that she wouldn’t be one of them. He really wanted her to be more. No matter what it’d take, he always thought she’d be more.

“Liam!”

Snapping his head to another direction from where he heard his name being called, he was brought back to reality. His plane boarded in twenty minutes. Midnight was in five. He’d be left alone once more, his lips left untouched by hers.

“Liam!”

The second time his name was shouted he saw her. The girl he wanted to run from was running towards him, out of breath like she hadn’t got to catch a break since he left the pub. Not slowing down the closer she got, she crashed into his chest, arms wrapped around his neck, breathing heavily into the crook of his neck.

“You idiot,” she mumbled against his skin, making his heart sink. His arms hesitated before they wrapped around her waist. “You fucking idiot, why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Tell you what?” he asked confused, trying to pull back from her but she wouldn’t let him go.

“I had to find out through Noel. You never said anything, you just asked if you got a kiss. You fucking idiot,” she kept on rambling, not catching a break even now to consider his question. Pulling back from him she saw the fear running through his mind.

“Well, I never wanted more.” It was a lie. They both knew it was a lie and when she shook her head at his answer, he knew that she knew too.

“But what if I didn’t?” she asked.

“Didn’t want what?” This was it, he was sure of it. This was the end of it all.

“What if I didn’t just want a kiss? What if I wanted more?” she let out, hesitating a bit.

“Well, do you want more?” he asked, not quite catching onto what she was trying to say.

“Yes, god, Liam. I want way more than just one kiss. I’ve been in love with you for ages, I never wanted just a new years kiss, that’s why I always brushed it off,” she confessed, biting her lip to hold back the tears forming in her eyes.

“I want more too,” he said, a heavy weight lifting from his chest. “I want way more.”

Before he could lean in and capture her lips like he’d dreamed about so many nights, she pushed his chest back, making his brows furrow in confusion.

“Ask me again,” she said.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked with a roll of his eyes, but for her he would even do the most embarrassing thing.

“Only for new years?”

“No.” he shook his head. “Every day and every night and every hour in between.”

“I like the sound of that,” she said, smiling up at him.

“Good.”

Without another word he pulled her closer, their chest flushed together. Lips moving in sync and the fireworks going off. It was perfect.

Some people weren’t meant to be more, but they were. They finally were more.

“You’re not gonna take the flight back home tonight, Gallagher.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

[marinettesaltprompts]

I don't really have an official prompt with this post, but I have had this idea for a while involving Adrien losing his ring because Ladybug doesn't think he's a good holder. It doesn't matter what is the reason, all that matters is that Ladybug never learns who Chat Noir actually is when she comes for the ring.

At first Adrien is both angry and upset about the situation, but eventually he manages to heal from it. He's eventually able to get over losing Plagg and finds himself having more free time without having to deal with akumas or patrols. He's able to connect with others again due to the lack of a secret identity, including Kagami (whom he previously messed up with due to said secrets).

On the flip side however, Ladybug can't find anyone to wear the Black Cat Miraculous for more than a few battles. Outside of those who simply didn't have the combat experience needed to use a miraculous, the few that Ladybug was able to last on the battlefield eventually quit, either because they couldn't handle Ladybug's "strategies" or because they had gotten traumatised after one of Hawkmoth's akuma effectively killed them.

However, despite all her failures, she never once attempts to find or get in contact with whoever was Chat Noir. Despite everything she has gone through, he was obviously still a bad choice!

Eventually, another Hawkmoth attack leaves Ladybug without anyone willing or capable to use the ring of the Black Cat, so when the next akuma appears, she tries a gamble.

Adrien is running away from the akuma battle with Kagami when Ladybug lands in front of them both. Adrien is calm (though inwardly still hurt), when Ladybug gives Kagami the Dragon Miraculous, but any calm he has is shattered when Ladybug turns to him, carrying an all too familiar miraculous.

Apparently Ladybug wants Adrien to be the next Cat Hero. Who would've thunk it?

To Ladybug (and Kagami's) shock, Adrien refuses the ring outright. At first Ladybug tries to butter him up with the opportunity to use the power to help others as well as save his friends, but Adrien still refuses. Eventually, whatever composure Ladybug has vanishes, as she all but begs Adrien to take the ring and help, to the point even Kagami is semi-helping, wondering why Adrien doesn't fight given his own physical skills.

Eventually, the akuma approaches their location, and Ladybug is all but screaming for Adrien to take the ring.

Adrien: I don't care! There's other people who would be more than happy to have superpowers! Go after them instead.

Ladybug (half crying): I-I don't have anyone else! (Adrien and Kagami are shocked at learning this) I've already tried finding other people to wield the Cat Miraculous and none of them worked out. E-either they couldn't handle the miraculous or they couldn't work as a partner. You've already shown that you are strong as a fighter and I don't have anyone else to ask! You are literally the last person I can ask that to take the ring so please take it!

Adrien: ... always the last person you want to talk to? Right Ladybug?

Ladybug is confused by this statement, but then lets it pass when he see's Adrien nod and takes the box. However, that smile fades when Adrien speaks again.

Adrien: ... just to be clear, I'm only doing this once, and that's because the akuma is close by. Once we are done here, don't ask me to come back again.

Adrien opens the box to find Plagg coming out of the box. Ladybug attempts to explain the power to him, but he doesn't listen, merely putting on the ring.

Plagg: Don't suppose this is a reunion?

Adrien: Not for long. Sorry.

Plagg: I figured. Bridge is too burnt huh?

Adrien sighs, then transforms.

He could have chosen another outfit or an alias, but Adrien is too fed up to care anymore. In this moment, the only thing he wants to do is show Ladybug WHY he's angry, and why he doesn't want the ring.

Kagami and (especially) Ladybug both can only stare in shock as Adrien transforms, as a million thoughts rush through their minds and both girls finally realise why Adrien didn't want the ring back.

In Adrien's place stands none other than Chat Noir.

And he's not smiling.

"...Well, you got what you wanted. Lets save the city then. One last time, right partner?

(That's all for now, please let me know if you want this prompt continued. Happy new year.)

[gabessquishytum]

So I just thought about a Dreamling Avatar The Last Airbender AU. Dream was born in a highranking fire nation family (maybe even the royal family) and lived a fairly normal if secluded life, and of course he's been trained to perfection when it comes to firebending. Only, on his 16th birthday it turns out he's also the Avatar.

Dream is not a fan of that. He already feels useless despite his status in the fire nation and now he's the one who's supposed to bring the world balance? He can't even balance his own feelings. Even the greatest Avatars could never bring peace to the world for more than a few years (at best a few decades) in a row, how is he supposed to do that? But he knows he has no choice and so he goes on his journey to learn the other elements. And while he learns the elements to perfection as well, his journey just proves what he already knew: He's a mess and unfit to bring balance to anyone.

As he learned air bending, he fell in love with his teacher - the nun Nada. Unfortunately, while she loved him back, she decided to remain a nun and to follow her duties to her people rather than running away with Dream. Dream was so upset about it that he unintentionally burned her and left the temple in shame, not even checking if she was okay in his haste to get away. He's still ashamed of what he did back then and hasn't visited an air temple since.

He promised himself that the same would not happen again - and yet, as he went to the water tribe to study his next element, he fell head over heels in love again. This time with the daughter of the chief, Calliope. Their relationship started so well, too - both of them understood each other, knowing what it was like to grow up protected and secluded, as well as with many (annoying) siblings. They even discover a shared love for creating ice sculptures, sometimes spending their entire time together just one-upping each other in who can make the prettiest one of all. Dream is so certain of his love that he even carves a betrothel necklace for Calliope, who gladly accepts it. However, seeing this, her father and sisters give her a stern talking to, warning her that she shouldn't go through with it, maybe even having heared what Dream did to poor Nada and fearing that he might do the same to her. Calliope is disappointed by her family's lack of support, and even considers just running away with Dream anyway. But in the end, her loyalty will always be to her family and her tribe and so she hands the necklace back to Dream.

Dream, utterly heartbroken, done with this world, and continuing simply because he knows he has to (and what else is there to do, anyway?), goes to the earth kingdom to learn his final element. He's so tired of his heartache. In an effort to prevent the inevitable, he decides to look for a teacher who's all alone. A man. With no daughters or sisters or cousins or whoever else to fall in love with. Someone who will teach Dream to bend earth as quickly as possible so he can finally be done with this, go back home, and wait for the world to (hopefully never) call for his help.

Luckily, he stumbles across Hob. Hob is an amazing earth bender, if not a formally trained one, and he spends his life wandering all across the world on his own. He uses his bending for banditry to get by and otherwise just wants to see the world. He doesn't really have a goal, though originally he just wanted to get as far away as possible from the woman (Eleanor) who broke his heart. It's really a miracle Dream found him at all.

Despite earth not being his naturally opposing element, it's the one Dream struggles the most with. He supposes it's because of the needed mindset. Earthbenders are known to be proud, and Dream feels he has no reason to be. To bend earth you have to face the element, and while Dream doesn't exactly run away, it's less in a I'm standing my grounds against it way and more in a I don't care if I get smothered to death by this boulder way. Hob knows that this is not a good attitude to have while bending earth (or any other element, he suspects), so he forced Dream to take a break from learning the elements and tries to teach him how to enjoy life instead. He manages to fascinate Dream with all his stories, to get him to look at the world (if not yet humanity) with awe, and Dream even opens up about some of his trauma, trusting that Hob will be there for him.

And one day, as Dream watches his earth bending master train, shirtless and sweating, his hair in a messy bun, Dream realizes he's in love. And he's scared. This is not good. He's done this before, twice even, and this is going to be a catastrophy. Damn it, he chose Hob specifically to prevent this! Why can't he ever be normal?

He spirals so hard that he accidentily enters the Avatar state for the first time in his life. He feels endless power flowing through him, uncontrolled, and he has only one throught: He can't hurt Hob. He needs to get away.

In his condition, this thought is all he needs to basically catapult himself away, flying through the air at an incredible speed, looking for somewhere to hide. He lands on top of a mountain, at the entrance of a cave and collapses. By the time he wakes up again, and remembers what happened, he decides it's not worth it to get up again. He's only gonna hurt someone or get hurt himself anyway. And so he remains, lying on the entry to that cave, not even properly shielded against wind or rain, just staying in the fetal position for days. And that's how Hob finds him.

This is such a great idea, and I love the way you've described each of Dream’s experiences in his training!!! I could really visualise each one. I am also going to link the art you made for it here, because it's magnificent and I am low-key obsessed with Earthbender Hob!!!!

I love the idea of Hob laboriously climbing the mountain in search of Dream, utterly relieved to finally find him. He scoops Dream up and hugs him so tight, and Dream is so exhausted and emotionally drained he just sinks into it and whimpers. He's ashamed of himself for being so weak. But Hob doesn't see it as weakness, not at all. He's just so incredibly, deeply relieved. He promises Dream that everything will be okay. He also tells Dream that he loves him. He has absolutely no idea if Dream loves him back (Hob is not the most observant Earthbender in the world). He just wants Dream to know that he IS loved. He'll gladly carry Dream down the mountain and take care of him until he feels better. Hob thought that he'd be happy to be alone for the rest of his life, but it's not true - he wants to be with Dream. As friends or allies or something more, whatever he can get. He wants to be with his forever.

It's a miracle that Dream doesn't go into the Avatar state all over again. Fortunately he's too drained and tired to do anything but wrap his arms around Hob’s shoulders. He has no idea what the future might hold, but the knowledge that he can have Hob forever... that makes it all a little easier to deal with. He suddenly feels quite willing to save the world. Because suddenly, the world really does feel worth saving.

[strniohoeee]

chris founding out reader faked an orgasm w/ him and asking her why she didn't tell him

Feigned

Pairing: Chris Sturniolo X Female Reader

Synopsis: Y/N has been so stressed and anxious lately that she can’t focus on having an orgasm. When she runs to her best friend for advice there’s some listening ears….👥

Warnings⚠️: Mentions of sex

Song for the imagine: Hold Tight- Justin Bieber

Sex with Chris was always amazing, I mean it was INSANE. He could either tear my shit up, or be so loving and focused on my pleasure

But lately I haven’t been able to orgasm with Chris, and it wasn’t anything pertaining to him….or was it?

I was struggling badly to cum, I was wet and I enjoyed the sex, but I simply could not focus to allow myself to cum.

The past 3 times we’ve had sex I faked my orgasm, and I felt so bad that I couldn’t tell Chris. I truly didn’t want to hurt his feelings, or make him feel incompetent. This was my own problem.

Lately I had been so stressed with work, and creating content, and helping Chris and his brothers. I know that sex is supposed to help with stress, but my mind was always racing a million miles a minute. My thoughts were racing so much I couldn’t even relax to have an orgasm

I was alone at the triplets house. I finally had a day off, and they were filming, so I decided to spend the day truly relaxing

My best friend from back home had FaceTimed me, and I decided to seek advice from her

“Sophia I’m not sure what’s going on, but like I can’t cum” I told her

“Alone or with Chris?” She asked me

“With Chris. Like the sex is so amazing, but I can not cum for the life of me” I told her frowning a little bit

“Are you relaxed and in the zone when y’all fuck?” She asked bluntly

“I thought I was, I mean I’ve been so stressed with everything that I knew sex would help relieve it, but my brain is always on go I can’t even relax to orgasm” I told her

“You should try meditating before you guys have sex. Relax all your muscles and your brain, so you can enjoy it” she told me

“Yeah that’s true! I tried to shower and decompress, and watch some tv before him and I would have sex” I told her

“Yeah that’s not enough. You have to truly unwind, you’re so anxious your brain can’t focus on orgasming because it’s focusing on 30 different things at once” she said

“God you’re right. I feel so bad I’ve been faking it” I said to her

“How many times did you fake?” She asked me

“The last 3 times” I told her

“3 times? I think you should-“ all of a sudden she stopped talking and her eyes grew wide, I looked at my reflection in the camera and saw Chris standing behind me…SHIT

“I’ll call you later” she said before immediately hanging up on me

“Heyyy baby….when did you get in?” I asked closing my laptop screen

“About 2 minutes ago” he responded with no facial expressions

“Oh….” I said just looking at him

“The last 3 times huh? When were you going to tell me” he asked

“Listen it’s not you it’s me, and I didn’t want to hurt you” I told him

“You wouldn’t hurt me….it hurts actually that you kept this from me. I could’ve helped you” he said

“I’m sorry baby, I just have been so stressed and anxious that I couldn’t bring myself to focus on cumming” I told him

“Did you not enjoy the sex?” He asked

“No! I loved the sex it’s amazing. Its literally my brain just focusing on too many things at once” I said to him

“You should’ve told me, I would’ve helped you. We could’ve meditated together or done something else that would’ve relaxed you, and put you in the mood” he said

“You’re right, and I’m sorry. We should try tonight…meditating and then having sex” I said biting my lip

“You know I’m always down for sex pretty lady” he said licking his lips before leaning in to kiss me

The End

Hope yall liked this one🤭, and whoever requested this I also hope you liked it🖤🖤

-J💅🏽

[godwick]

°•°•° dark!rhysand x reader

•°•°• rhysand always gets what he wants. sometimes, it takes longer than others. after finding something of yours, he gets the perfect opportunity to make you his

You never lost your journal. The leather-bound brown notebook was tucked under your pillow, under your arm, or under a loose floorboard in the servant's quarters of Hewn City. That morning, you put it safely under the floors at the base of your small bed. It had every horrible thing you'd done, every ill-thought, and worst of all, how much you hated Prince Rhysand. As his personal servant, you knew more than you should about him. You criticized him, his friends, his sexual escapades with males, females, lesser fae, and High Fae alike.

Hewn City was not kind. Even less so for the servants. Born into it, there was never any chance for you to do anything else with your life. From the time you could walk, it was decided that you would take over for your mother once she decided to step down. She'd had you in her later years, far past the point expected for females to carry. Her own father had put her in a life of debt, and she was expected to work it off. She wouldn't have children until it was dead and gone. She wouldn't put that kind of strain on you.

But, shit happens.

Now, here you were, standing over the open floorboard, the space empty. Your fingers clenched into a fist, nails digging into your skin. You thought you should just leave while you can. High Lord Rhen would take it as an act of treason. For writing those things about his son, he'd surely take a finger. Maybe even your tongue. Whoever had it wouldn't hesitate to turn it in.

Oddly, you felt numb. For now, there was shock, the full scope hadn't hit you. You thought you were clever. You thought no one would find it.

That calm feeling didn't last long. Not when he started reading in a low, mocking voice. Ice practically filled your heart. He found it. Maybe this was the worst outcome of all. "He thinks we all don't laugh at him, that even though we may be beneath him, we will never have to live with his shame and disgrace–"

You cut him off with a whimper, whirling around finally to stop him. He leaned against your wall, sleeves rolled up his arms. His hair had been messy, alcohol wafting off him. His purple eyes tracked you, a predator looking at its prey moments before it strikes. When he did, you knew it would land. Gods, you didn't think you would survive it.

He snapped the journal closed, holding it above his head. Against all rhyme or reason, you lunged for it, body pressed against his as you clawed for it. With ease, he has the two of you swapped, hand on your throat with your back against the wall. You blinked, gasping, as you wondered if he had winnowed or if he was simply that quick.

His wings appeared, spreading wide. The tips just barely missed the walls of your room. It efficiently cut you off from the rest of the room. Light didn't peek above his shadows. It was like Rhysand has suctioned all the light and warmth from around the two of you.

He was furious.

You held your chin higher. So be it. Those words you wrote were true. Maybe if Rhysand were a better male, you would've been able to tell him what you thought. If he were a better male, then maybe he never would've been snooping in his private servant's room.

Rhysand could be good when he wanted.

He could be even crueler when he felt like it.

"Be done with it," You said finally.

His lips pulled upward, his smirk sending chills down your spine. "I'm not going to kill you, darling. Rather, I'm going to make you regret every fucking letter you wrote. Be in my room tonight at midnight," His wings flared once more before they vanished entirely.

He laughed, grin pulled wider like he'd gotten the best idea. "Don't be late. Hell, maybe you should. What's one more thing I get to punish you for?"

[sopaprimordialy]

Hey boppers! Inspired by @almosthonest's post, I decided to make my own Warriors OC and share how they got initiated! I hope you guys enjoy it and feel inspired to do it as well :3

————————w————————

Burn Bright, Hilda Hurricane!

Pablo did not expect to make his mom so fucking angry.

Actually, everything about this was a consequence of a huge miscalculation, since he wasn't expecting to see her at all that day. He reflected on his own bad luck as he ran through the dark streets, already far from home, with nothing more than a worn backpack, makeup smeared with tears and a knot in his chest.

Throughout his ridiculously short 17 years of existence, Pablo has always struggled with one thing or another. Being born in an immigrants family trying to find his place culturally — neither fully being his family's nationality, neither fully American — was hard enough; when he realized that there was something wrong with himself that made him attracted to the neighborhood boys instead of the girls, he went through yet another identity crisis, which turned into a very well-kept secret.

After the first time he stole his mother’s makeup and clothes during a particularly inspired night, everything went downhill and he simply stopped caring so much.

He stopped caring about the glares and the comments, because in order to feel bad, one must feel alive above all things; if he only felt alive doing what he did, what's the point in feeling bad? Was it wrong for him to exist?

In his honest opinion, no, it was not. Still, his family was a completely different subject, as the bonds of blood are meant to be different from those forged out in the forest of steel and concrete. His mother was always very strict and stressed, it was almost comical how she passed herself off as a perfect portrait of the "Latina mother" stereotype, but she was not only that: she could also be loving and caring. Pablo always knew that, despite everything, he would always have his mother by his side.

This trust, or rather, hope, made the pain of betrayal by the one who was supposed to love him most even more painful.

He took a turn into a quiet alley, looking both sides before letting himself slide on the wall to sit on the ground. He was shaky, breathing heavily and dirty. Gods, he hated feeling like that, powerless and weak.

Pablo wiped his face with the back of his hand as best he could. Where was he, anyway? Running aimlessly, he had reached an unfamiliar part of the city. He imagined he was somewhere north.

His thoughts were interrupted by a small commotion on the street next to the alley he had pathetically ducked into. Voices were shouting things, but overlapping voices are hard to understand and he was not in the best frame of mind to deal with it, so his sorrow quickly turned into misdirected anger. He was about to stand up and tell whoever was shouting to go fuck themselves, when a speeding figure hit him head on.

The boy screamed and fell back to the ground, his fall cushioned by the backpack full of clothes he had packed in his rush to leave his family's house. He opened his eyes to see a bit of skin, a neck, perhaps? And a bunch of brown hair, covering his vision. The person above him quickly moved to stand up again.

"Get your ass up! Police's comin'!" She said. Her voice was unsteady from running for too long, but she was also practically shaking from exhilaration.

"T-the what? Who are you?! Why the fuck you have skates on?" Pablo jumped, now standing much more alert. He didn't do anything wrong, but he knew he didn't need to have actually done something to have the police up his ass.

"No time to explain!" The girl, who couldn't be much older than him, quickly skated to the end of the alley. He hesitated a few more times, looking toward the street, until he heard the more distinguishable voices shouting unkind insults and ordering the girl to turn herself in. Pablo swallowed hard and followed her.

"There's a wall here!" He stumbled, standing next to her and facing a brick wall.

"I can see that." She answered nonchalantly. Next to the two of them, there was a dumpster, which was exactly what she used as support to climb the wall. Pablo watched in awe as the girl used the front part of the four-wheel skates as a support to keep herself stable. Now on her tiptoes, she jumped and grabbed the edge of the wall.

"A little help would be good!" The girl said through gritted teeth, and that was his clue to climb the dumpster as well and push her up by the waist. When she managed to sit, one leg on each side, she stretched out her hand to help him up.

They proceeded to fall rather ungracefully on the other side. Luckily, it was a small vacant lot with tall grass, which cushioned their fall. They sit there in silence until they heard the police officers approaching, cursing some more, and finally giving up: in their opinion, the girl wasn't worth the effort of jumping over the wall.

"So..." Pablo was first to speak as they caught their breath. "Who are you?"

"Name's Yaya. And you..." She could finally take a better look at him. She made a face instantly. "You look terrible."

"Haha. Thanks. I'm Pablo, if you care."

"Well, now I do. What horrible accident happened to you? Your boyfriend broke up with you or somethin'?" That was not a nice thing to say, but Yaya couldn't resist to mess with him a bit. Pablo frowned, immediately taking note of the fact she instantly knew he couldn't possibly have a girlfriend.

Instead of snapping back, he decided to tell the truth. He was to tired to play this game Yaya was playing. "My mom kicked me out."

"Ah- uh..." She wrung her hands uncomfortably, then put one to his shoulder, now sounding much more empathetic. "That sucks. Tell me more."

"Well, as you can see, I'm not the perfect example of a son. I was supposed to go to this club tonight with my friend, even stole my older sister's ID to get in, but my mother caught me with her make up on. She wasn't supposed to be home so soon tonight but... guess I'm just really unlucky." He hugged his knees, hiding his face a little to keep the tears from coming, then continued.

"I don't even know where this club is anyway... my friend was supposed to pick me up, but I guess she's not going, 'cause my mom will likely tell her I ran away or somethin'. In other words, estoy jodido."

"Ah, hablas español" Yaya said, apparently ignoring the tragic account. Well, she wasn't actually ignoring it, just didn't know what to say. "Where you from?"

"Hm. My family's half Mexican, half Brazilian. I was born here." He was taken aback by the sudden change of subject, but didn't complain. Yaya stood up.

"Which club were you going?"

"Uh... somewhere called 'Hurricanes Club'. I have no idea how the place is" He stood up as well, watching his new weird friend smile.

"Well, honey, I happen to know."

"Wait, really?" a small spark of hope made her face light up, and Yaya's smile grew even wider.

"Come with me."

——w——

It turns out, this place was apparently owned by a gang, The House Of Hurricane, which Yaya was a part of. Pablo wasn’t all that surprised to hear this; it explained the reason for the unique clothes and the police chase, which she seemed to have a lot of experience with. They talked about it on the way, and she told him that all the gang members were drag queens, artists! After a night of misfortune, Pablo couldn’t believe his luck.

The club wasn’t that far from where they were, so it didn’t take them long to get there. Yaya skated gracefully to the side of the building, avoiding the crowded main entrance, and simply nodded to the security guard who stood at the foot of the metal stairs. Despite being on skates, she climbed up faster than Pablo.

They entered through the door at the top and found themselves in a large room, full of chairs, poufs and sofas, as well as dressing tables. It was a sort of dressing room for several people, and in fact, there was as much movement up there as below, where the loud music and party noises came from. Yaya guided him through the hustle and bustle of drag queens and makeup artists until she found who she was looking for.

A drag queen not much older than them, but definitely more imposing, was frantically giving orders. Pablo correctly guessed that this must be the Hurricanes' warlord.

"Élan!" Yaya called, trying to make her voice rise above the commotion around her.

"What- Yaya! Where the fuck have you been?" The queen immediately turned towards the two and placed her hands on the hips, a reproving look on her face. "I already told you I don't like your little escapes, girl, I won't tolerate it-"

"Élan, stop that!" She embarrassedly hissed. "I don't need a babysitter, I can manage on my own! Besides, I have something more important." She quickly added when the leader opened her mouth to say something back.

It was only then that she noticed Pablo's presence there; she raised an eyebrow. "And who are you?"

"I-I'm Pablo, ma'am, and I want to be a part of your crew because I don't have somewhere to drop dead and honestly you're my only hope I don't know what to-" He began to yap nervously, but Élan stopped him.

"Shush! Look, we're in a busy night and one of my performers called in sick a couple of minutes ago. I trust Yaya's judgement, so if you can prove you have what it takes, go ahead!" Élan snapped her fingers, catching the attention of a makeup artist. "Please, fix her up, dear." He promptly nodded and moved closer to Pablo, who jumped a bit, putting his hands up.

"Pera aí, espera, hold up! Just like that? Do you just want me to go there and, I don't know, pull up a show??"

Yaya smiled and gently pushed him back towards the makeup artist. "That's exactly what she wants, hermana."

"As I said, we're busy. Get used to the rhythm here." Élan wrote something in a piece of paper at the same time they talked, demonstrating what she just said. Suddenly, she looked back at Pablo. "What you said your name was again?"

"Pablo?"

"No, nonono. That won't do. You can't walk there and be introduced as Pablo, girl! Pick a new one."

Actually, I can. He thought as he was practically dragged away from Élan and Yaya by the makeup artist. It would be unusual, of course, but nothing necessarily stopped him... except pride. If it was time to be reborn into a new life, he needed a new name.

A few minutes later — seriously, an absurdly short amount of minutes— she was practically a different person. Her makeup highlighted her most elegant features, her blue dress contrasted with her long orange braids, which had been put there by a hairdresser (who had appeared out of nowhere), like water and fire. Looking at herself in the mirror, she felt alive.

She came back to where Élan frantically worked, now being helped by Yaya. When she looked at her, Yaya almost screamed.

"Holy shit, you look beautiful!"

"I gotta admit, you have the looks, girl. But do you have the groove?" Élan added, raising an eyebrow. "What's your name?" She repeated the question, in a tone that sounded much more like a test. This time, the answer came without hesitation.

"Hilda."

"Oh? Beautiful name, but don't you feel there's somethin' lacking there, dear?" Élan asked, tilting her head to the side curiously. Indeed, only Hilda didn't seem like a full stage name, and it wasn't.

"Hilda Huracán" Hilda Hurricane. Élan let out a loud laugh, and Hilda smiled at her.

"You got the nerves! Get your ass down on stage and surprise me, or you won't be gettin' that last name. Burn bright, Hilda Hurricane!"

————————w————————

oh, hello again! Don't mind me, I just have to drop these here-

Picrew used: https://picrew.me/ja/image_maker/1469769

(also I clearly have no idea how clubs and etc work. Normally I'd research and double check everything but I just wanted to write without much compromise so... yeah sorry KASKASK)

[romantichoneypie]

i am a huge sucker for very wholesome sister relationships 🥺 what are your headcanons for how Lilith and Anazareth treat each other? Do they fight a lot or do they get along, etc etc?

Headcanons for the sisters

Warnings:Absolutely nothing,maybe a little fluff and healthy relationship between sisters,to make these headcanons I thought about me and my sister

Having a sister:

Anazareth At first she didn't like the phallus of getting a sister at first sight, but then she started to like having someone to count on.

The two began to be taught over the years the art of witchcraft with their mothers, who taught absolutely everything, magic, spells, curses, potions and rituals.

When they were younger, they both liked to play, play tricks on each other with small spells or light curses, such as not being able to find something they wanted.

Anazareth has done many things unintentionally when she was younger to her sister, sometimes she wanted to really test the curses and ended up doing it with Lilith.

The two loved to go out at night to see the moon or climb on the roof of their house.

They always told each other everything, almost everything, when something was not said the other always found out.

When Lilith lost her sight, Anazareth was really very worried about her sister and simply wanted to kill the person who did it.

Let's say that even though Anazareth didn't like Lilith's father, the two got together and well... They killed whoever hurt the young witch.

Anazareth made a point of taking care of her sister's scars with herbs and potions, she felt bad for not being able to protect her younger half-sister.

If before Anazareth had something against the half-sister, it changed at that moment.

If the two girls fought when they were younger, their mother simply made the two stay together in the room without being able to leave until they resolved their differences.

Both follow the Wiccan religion, they are not bad people because in the Wiccan religion everything you do comes back to you three times, they just practice the worship of the gods.

Coexistence:

The two have a good relationship as sisters, they love to gossip and dress well.

The two usually take each other's clothes which can lead to problems if not warned or the clothes are with some regularity and if it is an outfit that the other likes, definitely both will get angry.

The two work together so they are almost always together, working and living in the same apartment.

The two are not used to really fighting, sometimes they just want to annoy each other.

Anazareth is very protective of her younger sister.

Both like to do rituals during the full moon to strengthen themselves.

The rituals are even stronger during the blood moon, they often bathe in cascades and perform rituals to female goddesses such as Aphrodite and the mother of Wiccan culture.

I think they must have a necklace or tattoo with the triple moon represents the three faces of the goddess: Maiden, Mother, Crone which are directly related to the phases of the waxing, full and waning moon. (random trivia, these three goddesses are also in Game of Thrones as part of faith seven)

Regarding love relationships, Anazareth is more closed and hasn't really dated one in a while, and is afraid of her younger sister getting hurt by relationships.

Lilith is quieter but would be happy to see her sister with anyone, it makes her excited and she would treat the person well, I think Lilith is quiet about what she feels but there must be someone.

Division of tasks:

I think Lilith likes to be more organized and usually cares more about cleaning their apartment than anazareth.

Anazareth is a little lazier in this sense because she doesn't see much sense in always having everything clean.

During the morning she wakes up first is always anazareth and she has to make breakfast always.

Lilith doesn't feel much desire to wake up in the morning and only wakes up when the alarm goes off or when anazareth calls her.

Their day is a bit of a routine, Anazareth works in the business from the two in the morning until mid-afternoon.

Lilith makes potions during the afternoon after eating her breakfast, i.e. meat, preferably with blood.

After making potions, Lilith cleans the cauldron that is always used and then cleans up the little mess that anazareth makes to make breakfast.

To really tidy up the house there always has to be music, Lilith who has to motivate anazareth to tidy things up.

For some reason Anazareth is always wearing a white dress dirty with blood, because she does rituals, it doesn't matter to Anazareth but she likes to bathe when she is sweating.

I think that in terms of hygiene they are both very clean and love to be well dressed.

What do they like?:

They like to do rituals together, in honor of gods and especially goddesses.

I think the favorite goddess of the Greek Culture of Lilith is Artemis,Artemis is the goddess of the hunt and is also regarded as the protector of women and children.

Anazareth's favorite goddess is Athena, because Athena represents wisdom,skilled and I also have a strong connection with war.

They mainly like to observe the sky at night and see the stars, they both like to see the stars and I think they have a telescope for that.

They like to choose dresses together and bem anazareth always criticizes his sister for always using the same color palette.

They would adopt some pet, I think anazareth would have an owl or a crow and Lilith definitely a cat.

They would have skincare nights at least once a week.

Sometimes they braid each other's cords or do hairstyles.

[umbracirrus]

(Somewhat late!) WIP Wednesday 💛

I mean. It's still Wednesday in some places across the world, right? It counts-

I wasn't sure what I'd be posting as a WIP this week if at all, because I really haven't done much, but I managed to get something written in a flash of inspiration this morning. Whether that inspiration continues after a day of work, well, that is to be seen.......

Tagged yesterday by @hircines-hunter @skyrim-forever @friend-of-giants and @sylvienerevarine

---------

Balgruuf was silent as he held his clasped hands in front of his face, elbows on a table and brow furrowed. This lounge was not his location of choice when it came to discussions of trade and supplies between holds, but circumstances dictated otherwise. This wasn’t just about trade. This was also about maintaining the precarious neutrality that Whiterun was barely just clasping onto, about protecting the Dragonborn – protecting Elyse – from those trying to exploit her for what she was.

Word had already arrived that the Jarl of Winterhold was in the city, mostly in the form of a gaunt-looking Elyse who had barely just managed to leave the stables as Korir had arrived. Irileth and Commander Caius had been sent to greet him and escort him up to Dragonsreach away from the usual bustle of the city. He was simply waiting now, for those doors to open and his counterpart to walk in.

It was hoped that the two of them could discuss matters of supplies for Winterhold first, without any distraction. Once that was handled, he would then bring up Elyse and call her in to join them, in the hopes that a civilised discussion about her relation to him and being the Dragonborn could be held. But this was Korir he was thinking about... And Korir was known to try and grasp any opportunity for power, to elevate the public opinions of him being a ‘lesser’ Jarl, even if, on paper, they were equals.

After another few moments of sitting around, deep in thought, the door let out a creak as it was pushed open. He straightened his back, eyes fixed upon whoever had entered, just to feel his lips curl into a frown when he realised that it wasn’t Korir, but instead a member of the kitchen staff with a platter of drinks and food.

“My Jarl, the steward requested that refreshments be brought up to the room whilst your guest takes his belongings to his room.”

“Ah.” He relaxed somewhat at the statement. “Thank you. Pass along my thanks to Proventus also.”

The staff member nodded, and quickly left after placing the tray down. He could always trust Proventus to come up with ways to try and smooth things over, even if sometimes his worries are unfounded.

It wasn’t too much longer before the door opened once more, not long after he had poured himself some tea in fact, this time with Korir trailed by Irileth. He could already tell that Irileth was exasperated, with the way that her lips were starting to curl downward on her otherwise straight face. And Korir, well... He certainly didn’t look happy.

“Korir... I trust that it has already been said, but thank you for coming to Whiter-“

A scoff escaped his fellow Jarl as he took a seat across the table. “Let’s just skip the niceties, Balgruuf...”

[julemmaes]

hit my ears as such an awful sound

I meant to post this months ago when I wrote it but I forgot, this is not my usual stuff (I mean it's still angsty as fuck, simply not my usual fandom). Hope you enjoy it anyway!!

Buck has a panic attack after lifting Eddie up and having flashbacks to the worst day of his life

ao3

word count: 6,304

Buck has never let himself dream this far. 

He has fantasised about kissing his best friend on more occasions than he cares to admit, and he has thought about Eddie in even more passionate circumstances, where he definitely should have just focused on his now-ex boyfriend. Because the physical aspects of it all are easy for him. Daydreaming about making out and having sex has always been something that Buck doesn’t necessarily associate with Eddie alone. His ADHD-related hypersexuality makes it a common occurrence for him to imagine himself having sex with whoever he found attractive. But this is different. 

Allowing himself to hope for something so peaceful, so quiet, soothing even… no, he hasn’t let himself dream that far.

Early Sunday mornings in their bed were a prospect he never allowed himself to think about, not even in a million years.

Well, not really theirs yet, but Buck refuses to call it anything else when he’s spent the past month and half sleeping in it, without missing a single night when they are off work. He has tried going back to his loft on multiple occasions, but Eddie has essentially begged him to stay every time. At this point, Buck is just waiting for Eddie and Chris to ask him to move in officially. 

He woke up some time ago, when Eddie reached over his body carefully, trying not to touch him to turn off the alarm he’d forgotten to disable. He’d just turned on his side, sliding his arm around Eddie’s waist and burrowing his face in his chest before he could get up. 

“Morning,” Eddie had said into his hair, putting his lips to his birthmark and staying there for a moment longer than necessary. Buck had mumbled something back, tightening his hold on his boyfriend. 

Eddie had just sighed and sagged in his embrace, starting to run his fingers through Buck’s curls. They haven’t moved a single muscle since and Buck is willing to die in this position if it means he leaves this world listening to Eddie’s heart beating against his cheek. 

So, this is what Buck really can’t wrap his head around. Being free to love Eddie openly and being loved by Eddie. 

And the thing is, it isn’t weird. Or awkward, or anything someone might think their years of friendship would make this new relationship like. It is easy, natural. Buck used the word instinctive to describe it to Maddie when she asked him how they were faring. 

Because loving Eddie is like breathing. Buck doesn't need to think about it. He isn’t questioning his every action—like he’d always done in his past relationships—for fear of being judged, or being left behind. Eddie makes it easy for him. And he really hopes he makes it easy for Eddie. 

Buck shrugs in the hug, his shoulder starting to tickle and his arm going numb, but he regrets it immediately when Eddie lets go of him and moves to his side of the bed again, sitting up. He reaches out for Eddie, stroking his back, sliding his hand beneath his shirt to keep touching him.

“You want breakfast?” Eddie asks him over his shoulder, rubbing his eyes with both hands. Buck looks up at him and nods in his pillow, smiling fondly at his sleepy head and rough voice. He isn’t new to this version of Eddie. They slept together plenty even before they got into a relationship, but again, this is different. 

Buck starfishes on the bed, pulling his muscles in a big stretch, and groaning out loud.

“Should I go wake Chris up?” He asks while getting up.

“Pretty sure you woke the whole neighbourhood just now with that,” Eddie snorts, making his way to the bathroom.  

“Funny,” he deadpans, putting on a dirty pair of sweatpants he finds on the floor. He doesn’t particularly care if it is Eddie’s or his, it doesn’t matter anyway.

He goes to Chris’s bedroom and knocks on the door, waits a bit and when he gets no answer, he slowly opens it. The kid is sprawled on his bed with his neck bent in a position that can’t be comfortable, so Buck chuckles softly and walks to him, lifting his head to reposition it and gently stroking his hair off his face. Chris only grimaces in his sleep.

“Chris, buddy, we’re about to have breakfast. Join us?” he whispers.

Chris groans, turning to the other side. “I’ll be there in five.” 

Buck squeezes his shoulder and leaves, leaving the door ajar. 

Eddie is still in the bathroom, and he can hear the shower going, so he starts pulling out eggs and bacon, and the leftover batter for pancakes from the day before. He puts on some music, keeping the volume low, and gets himself to work.

He is flipping the bacon when Chris comes through the door and sits at the table, dropping his head on the surface with a loud thud. Buck chuckles and turns back to the stove.

“How late did you stay up to play video games with your friends?” He asks.

“You don’t wanna know,” comes Chris’s muffled answer.

“Okay,” Buck smiles knowingly, shaking his head. He isn’t gonna reprimand him for playing a little longer than what he is allowed to on school days. Weekends exist for a reason, and Buck has stayed up late with Chris himself on more than one occasion. “Can you help me set the table?”

Christopher grumbles, but still gets up and does as asked. 

Buck is just putting down the third stack of pancakes when Eddie walks in the kitchen. He isn’t wearing a shirt, only a pair of baggy pyjama pants, and he is drying his hair with a towel, splashing water all over the floor.

“Hey!” Buck points the spatula at him, a silly smile on his lips, “I mopped the floors yesterday, go squish your fur somewhere else, you dog!” 

Eddie looks up at him with glee in his eyes, lifting his hands in the air, “I’m done, I’m done.”

He doesn’t break eye contact as he drags the towel down his chest and Buck shakes his head, putting the eggs plate down, pretending he isn’t affected by his half naked boyfriend.

Chris doesn't wait a second before serving himself.

“Sit down,” Buck says, a smile still plastered to his face. He really can’t be mad at his partner when he is looking that good. 

Eddie walks around the table and cups his jaw, pulling him down enough to place a light kiss on his lips and Buck is happy. His hands instantly go to Eddie’s waist, meeting warm, smooth skin. He is carefree and without a worry in the whole world as Eddie whispers, “Yes sir.” 

They sit next to each other, their thighs flush together, their hands intertwined over the tablecloth, their love on display for anyone present. 

And he is even happier when, while talking about how Celtic people in Ireland used to carve turnips and lighting them with embers before pumpkin carving was a thing, Eddie puts his hand on Buck’s neck, brushing his thumb on his nape, tangling his fingers in his hair.

“Can I go to Denny’s today?” Chris asks as they’re washing dishes. 

Buck looks at Eddie and finds him already looking his way. He lifts a shoulder, they don’t really have any set plans, Buck actually only wants to rot in bed for a day, enjoying the company of his family. And his leg has been acting up all week, so a little rest would be nice. 

Eddie nods then, turning to Chris. “Fine, but let me call Hen first, okay? I wanna make sure you’re not crashing their weekend.” 

“We’re 15, you know. We can take care of ourselves.”  

Eddie leans against the sink, crossing his arms over his chest. Nodding, he says, “I guess you’re driving yourself to Denny’s house then, since you’re so grown up now.” 

Chris mutters something under his breath and Buck smiles.

He loves them. 

“I didn’t say that, I only meant that–” Buck can’t hear him anymore as he moves to his room.

While he finishes tidying up the kitchen, Eddie calls their friends and once plans are made, Chris goes to get ready, ranting out loud about how good the new video game that has just come out is. 

Eddie is leaning on his son’s bedroom door frame, now wearing a shirt, listening attentively to every word Christopher says. Buck feels a rush of fondness wash over him at the sight. He knows Eddie has always been like this, even before what had happened the year before, but he also can’t help but notice the extra effort he is putting in spending more time with Christopher. His kid leaving for Texas for months had hit him—them—pretty hard. 

Eddie isn’t risking him leaving again, even if Buck doesn’t think there is any chance at this point. 

As he passes them to go get ready himself, he brushes a hand down Eddie’s arm, who in turn puts his hand on Buck’s, making him stop. Buck kisses his shoulder, then his temple, and Eddie spins, looking for something more. Chris pretends to vomit as he exits his room to go to the living room.  

They both laugh in their kiss, knowing perfectly well how not bothered he is by their public displays of affection. Chris has actually told Buck he loves how happy his dad seems to be since they got together, and Buck has cried about it in the shower later that day. Because Chris is right, Eddie does seem happier than ever lately.

And Buck isn’t gonna lie and make it as if he doesn’t know he has a huge hand in it, but he also isn’t going to take all the credit. The stars had finally aligned for Eddie at some point and the universe had screamed with all its might in his direction, and Eddie had listened and taken a huge leap of faith. 

He is tying his shoes when Eddie walks into their room. “We’ll wait for you in the car.”

“Kay, but I’m driving.” 

“No, I’m driving.” 

Buck looks up confused, shaking his head. “Why?” 

It isn’t that Buck doesn’t like Eddie’s driving, he just really, really likes being the one behind the wheel.

“‘Cause you’ve been favouring your left leg all morning, and I saw you during our last shift, limping like a sniper’s nightmare. I’d rather you didn’t put more strain on it than necessary.” 

Buck leans back on his hands, curling his lips. He tries to reign in his body’s reaction to the word sniper, really forcing his mind to stay clear of that memory. A shiver still runs down his spine, and Buck clocks in Eddie’s reaction to it, a subtle shift in his expression, but he pays it no heed.

They stare at each other for a few beats, daring each other to say more.

“Why don’t I just stay back, closed up in the house, maybe with my leg propped on a couple of pillows, too? Oh, and you should also pull out my crutches while you’re at it.” He regrets it the moment the words leave his mouth.

Eddie sighs, rubbing his freshly shaved jaw. He looks at Buck for a few seconds more before diverting his eyes to the window.

“I’m still not letting you drive.” 

Buck knows it’s not that serious and that he could easily let this go by letting Eddie drive and be done with it, but it pisses him off that the accident is still affecting his life after all these years. It is a daily reminder of his supposed fuck ups during that period of their lives and he doesn’t need it. He wants to have more control over his body and he talked about it in therapy, with Bobby and Eddie too—the way he sometimes feels like he is broken parts of a whole just badly glued back together. He doesn’t like the feeling. He doesn’t like the fact that it is so obvious that his boyfriend is calling him out on it. 

He nods tersely, leaning down to tie his other shoe. 

Buck really doesn’t wanna fight over this again, and they have. Plenty of times. 

He can still see Eddie’s boots on the doorway and he sees the way he moves one step forward before sighing again, resigned, and leaves for the car. 

The drive over to the Wilsons is silent for the most part, with Chris asking if he can sleep over at Denny’s. Eddie replies with an easy and short, “Next time.”

Their way back is tense and filled with unspoken apologies, but both Buck and Eddie find it hard to immediately get the words out to justify themselves. Every time they bicker—because this is not an actual fight, is it—Buck feels the sense of impending doom over them, as if he universally fucked up even more by standing up for what he believes are the right reasons. 

He hates feeling like he can’t trust his own brain and Eddie is normally the last person to make him feel like it, but today is not his best day. 

They’ve just pulled up to the house when Eddie stops him from getting out of the car with a hand on his leg. He squeezes his thigh until Buck looks at him and then Eddie is apologising for being too direct earlier, for assuming his pain level was too high for him to drive. 

The truth is, Buck has overdone it during their last shift, and he is feeling like shit. And everything Eddie is saying is just making him feel more guilty.

He ends up apologising as well, trying to explain for the thousandth time why he reacted the way he did. And Eddie listens as if he hasn’t heard this same exact statement every single time. He knows Buck needs to go over the same stuff over again for it to truly stick sometimes.

They both know any other couple would brush the squabble away, let it die down and then pretend it never happened, but Buck isn’t like that and it would rot right under his skin and it would taint their every interaction until it became something way bigger than it is supposed to.

At the end of the day, Buck is glad to have someone next to him that understands his needs and limits to this extent, even when he isn’t willing to see what they are.

The rest of the morning is spent doing house chores with short breaks here and there whenever one of the two can’t keep his hands off the other. 

They are laying on the couch together right before lunch when Eddie apologises again.

“I’m sorry, Buck, I…” 

Buck closes his eyes, breathing through his nose and Eddie’s smell washes over him like a blanket. He wonders how long until their scents merge into one and, when getting into bed, he’ll smell their softener and not Eddie immediately. When he’ll have to really work to catch his boyfriend’s scent between all the others. Or how long until he can no longer smell anything when he enters this house because it’ll be his smell too. 

When he reopens his eyes, Eddie is already looking at him, like most of the time these days.

“I already told you it’s okay,” Buck whispers, fingertips skimming Eddie’s eyebrows.

He is laying on his back, with Eddie sprawled over him, their legs knotted together beneath a blanket. 

“I know, but you told me so many times how much you hate it when people tell you what you should or shouldn’t do and I–I did just that.” 

Buck leans his head back, looking at the ceiling. He has said that multiple times, and Eddie has done just that, but it is also true that, “I tend to neglect myself, though. Don’t I?” He says with dreariness. “So yeah, you were wrong in doing it the way you did, but you were right in your assumption that I was not doing good. So, everything’s fine and I accept your apology. Now can you stop?” 

Eddie snorts and nods against his chest. He lays down better, his face in the crook of Buck’s neck and his arm around his waist. With the low sound from whatever show they are watching, plus the comforting exhales of Eddie’s breathing, Buck falls asleep.

When he wakes up again, he is alone on the couch. The sun is low on the horizon and the golden hour is showering the living room in warm colours. 

His groggy brain keeps him down for a bit longer as he adjusts to being awake and he is considering closing his eyes again just for a moment when he hears Eddie curse in the kitchen. 

“Stupid, stupid, stupid, why?” 

Buck wonders if Eddie knows he is shit at whispering.

He slowly gets up and stumbles to the kitchen, running a hand down his face as he yawns. 

“Baby, what–” 

Eddie screams, and throws something right at him. Buck stops right in his tracks, catching the unidentified vegetable flying at light speed towards him, stunned. 

Once Eddie realises its just him, he sighs in relief, leaning on the counter with both hands and hanging his head. 

Buck looks down at the onion in his hands, then up at his boyfriend. “Did you really just throw an onion at me?” 

“You scared the living shit out of me,” Eddie breathes, still not looking at him.

“Clearly,” he laughs. 

And then he notices the bouquet of flowers on the table, right next to the pasta and sauce. 

He points at the beautiful arrangement, an eyebrow raising. “What are those for?” 

Eddie curses again and snatches the flowers away, hiding them behind his back. A few blue-sky petals fall to the floor.

“Nothing,” he says, avoidant. “What are you talking about?” 

Buck smirks, licking his bottom lip and crossing his arms over his chest. With a hip propped against the chair, he studies his boyfriend, who is starting to blush a deep crimson. 

“Really?” 

Eddie takes a deep breath, nodding his head left and right. 

“Eddie,” Buck incites. 

“You were sleeping. And I was bored. And I didn’t want to wake you up. So I just went to get groceries,” he starts, finally looking him in the eyes. “And I saw these and I… I thought they were beautiful and I wanted to get them for you, but I started overthinking.”

Buck’s heart swells in his chest, but frowns at the doubt etched in Eddie’s expression. 

“About what?”

“It’s stupid, really,” Eddie says, looking a lot like a lost puppy in dire need of help. Buck must give him a reassuring nod of some sorts, because he continues without any word. “When I was with my exes, the rules were easy. I knew what I could do and should do to make them feel appreciated and cared for, I guess.”

Buck gestures for him to go on.

Eddie looks pained now, like he doesn’t want to admit what he is about to say. He puts the flowers back down. “I started thinking about whether I should get you flowers because we’re two men. And I never got flowers from my exes, either, but I really wanted to get you some and I didn’t know if that was allowed.” 

Buck wants to hold him for all the wrongs they did him. For the way they scarred him with the idea of love. So he walks around the table and slides his arms around his shoulders, leaning in to leave a soft peck on his lips. Their noses brush as Eddie lets go of a tense breath.

“I know it’s stupid.” 

“It’s not, baby. It’s a lifelong list of misguided beliefs you’re trying to fight here,” he taps a finger on Eddie’s temple, “give yourself some credit.”

Eddie smiles sadly, tilting his head to Buck’s hand, seeking his touch.

“Well, I don’t know if this helps in any way, but,” Buck whispers against his cheek, brushing another kiss there. “I’m proud of you for getting them anyway.” 

“Yeah, well,” Eddie clears his throat. 

Buck leans back, glancing at him, and for a second he wonders if his boyfriend stole the bouquet.

Eddie’s eyes dart all over his face before he looks away. “I’m not giving them to you, still.”

“Why?” He asks, confused as ever.

“‘Cause I remember that article you read to me a couple of weeks ago? About apology gifts and how bad they can be for relationships, and how it could lead to misunderstandings and similar. And this wasn’t an apology gift, but I still don’t want you to think it could be and—”

Buck's heart explodes at the words, at the emotions swirling in Eddie’s eyes. At the genuine worry, Buck would think Eddie could try and buy out his forgiveness. As if that isn’t a given. 

And he can’t hold back. He kisses him roughly, his hands going to his hair and gripping tightly. 

Eddie’s answering groan makes Buck’s knees buckle a little. His clutch tightens on Eddie as an immediate response and he opens his lips to welcome the kiss. Deeper, Buck tries to draw forward, but Eddie stands his ground so they don’t move, just smash their faces together, eliciting happy and bright laughs. And fuck, does he love him so much.

They slow the kiss to an unhurried pace that pricks at Buck’s need with dangerous charge. He wants more. Needs more. He needs Eddie’s hands all over his body. He needs him closer than ever.

He can feel Eddie’s muscles strain under his touch as his boyfriend moves against his body, hungry for the same thing. 

“Let’s move this,” Buck says in between kisses, ”to the” another kiss, “bedroom.” Kiss.

Eddie shifts his attention to Buck’s jaw and when he starts nipping at the unshaven stubble there, Buck breaks away from the kiss. He places a hand on Eddie’s chest, feeling his wild heart. 

He smiles at Buck, his lips shiny with their kiss, and he completely forgets about his plans. 

His hand rubs the exposed skin of Eddie’s neck, tracing his pulse point like a steadying exercise. Their breathing merge, both ragged with desire.

“Eddie,” Buck begs, stepping forward, pressing his boyfriend’s body against the counter. 

Their mouths clash again, their arousal tangible in the room. Buck just needs a fucking second to regroup his thoughts and then he’s gonna lead them to a bed. A couch. A shower. Anywhere but the room where they eat.

Buck stops when he feels Eddie’s lips curl into a smile, breaking the kiss definitely. 

“The bedroom,” Eddie reminds him. His hand slips under his shirt, his nails dragging down his abs, eliciting goosebumps, his fingers slipping into Buck’s waistband as Eddie pulls at it. Buck’s chest collapses with arousal. He can’t take his eyes off Eddie.

Not thinking about it for a second more, Buck bends down and circles Eddie’s legs with his arms. His deep chuckle distracts Buck only enough for them to reach the hallway. He lifted him up with little to no effort, not really even noticing what he was doing. The way he was holding his boyfriend’s body. But his brain clearly isn’t wired the same way. His body isn’t either, if the slicing pain that goes through his leg is of any indication.

The weight of Eddie’s body on his right shoulder suddenly registers in his head. The way it dangles over him like—

Something wet splashes on his face and he tastes blood before anything else. The copper tang of it makes him halt. It makes him drop Eddie. Buck doesn’t notice the way he finds his footing again, his mind won’t let him focus on that.

He takes a step back, bringing his hands to his face and looking down at his fingers. Nothing. There’s nothing on his hands, they’re clean. But he can still taste it. Blood. 

Eddie’s?

“Eddie,” Buck’s voice comes out strangled. Oh my god, he’s having a heart attack. He grabs his chest, feeling the prick of his fingers as they pinch his skin. He puts his fist to the wall, but his legs give out under him and he falls to the floor, his hands planting in front of him. Eddie’s hands are on his shoulders, he’s touching Buck, he sees it, but he can’t feel it. What he feels is the gravel on his palms and the thundering roar of an explosion, accompanied by the hot sisterly bite of the flames on his back. 

He lifts his head frantically, turning his head back to see where the fire is, his instincts kicking in, but there’s no fire, there’s no explosion. He looks back at the love of his life and his heart is racing, beating out of his chest. 

Maybe it’s the fear in his eyes, the pure, undiluted terror in Eddie’s stare as he looks for the threat in Buck’s. Or maybe it’s what he says next that sends Buck spiralling. 

“Are you hurt?” 

Fuck.

Fuck.

He hears gunshots. 

Fuck. 

His eyes are burning and his teeth feel like they’re about to fall out. They’re sand in his mouth. 

And the realisation falls on him like an unstable wall of bricks. He’s under that truck again, his body pinned to the ground. 

Not a heart attack then. 

“Buck, what is it? Is it your leg?” Eddie is asking him, his eyes moving up and down his body assessing for injury. “Do I need to call 9-1-1?”

Buck sees him on the black road. He sees Eddie’s head falling into a puddle of his own blood. He hears Eddie’s scream as he pulls him under the truck.

He closes his eyes, pushes his fists into his eye sockets and falls back against the wall, shaking his head. Eddie is in front of him in an instant, cradling his face in his hands, brushing his cheekbones.

“Talk to me, what’s going on?” Eddie sounds desperate, his hard gaze holding Buck’s. He’s wrestling to gain focus, to keep the panic at bay. 

He feels like he's dying.

He knows what’s going on. He’s had these before.

He simply didn’t think he was going to have one so far from that day. 

“Evan."

The name shocks him into the present.

The person who says it with such strong emotion, with such love. Eddie is tethering him to reality. Nobody in his life had ever used that name with such fondness, apart from Maddie.

Eddie.

He gains a split second of clarity.

“I’m having—” It feels like swallowing wet cotton as he tries to get the words out. “—I’m having a panic attack.”

Eddie seems taken aback by that information, but moves immediately to get up. Buck has no idea where he’s going until he comes back with a bottle of something brownish in his hand. He drops down in front of him again and puts a hand on Buck’s knee.

“Here. Sniff this.” Eddie orders him, uncapping the bottle and placing it under his nose. Buck takes a deep breath. “Can you smell that?”

He shakes his head, tightening his fists at his sides. “Not one bit.”

“Okay,” Eddie says, visibly distressed now, looking around the hallway as if the solution will suddenly appear at their front door. “Okay. Baby? I’m here. Everything’s gonna be fine.” 

And Buck likes the reassurance, he needs it. But it looks like Eddie also does, and he wishes he could do more to ease the dread in his expression.

Eddie gets up again, and Buck feels his eyes water. Fucking hell. He reaches out his hand and Eddie swerves back to him, taking hold of it and squeezing his fingers tight, locking eyes with him. He’s just a blurred silhouette of his love right now. 

“I’m coming back. I need to get ice, Buck. I need to help you.” 

He knows it. He understands what’s going on and where he is. Rationally, he knows they’re safe. Rationally, he knows there’s no sniper. But his mind’s playing tricks on him. And he’s scared. 

“Buck…” 

He lets go of Eddie and his boyfriend doesn’t wait a second before rushing to the kitchen and coming back with the necessary. Buck blinks as his chest seizes his lungs in a vice grip. He blinks again and Eddie’s on the floor as he’s trying to break in the packages, but Buck needs to touch him so he gets hold of his hand one more time and now he’s not letting go. Eddie looks at him and the world seems a little bit brighter, a little less heavy, so Buck takes a sudden breath in. 

“Like that, but slower now. Can you do that for me?” Eddie nods as he asks, placing one of the ice packs on his chest. Buck gasps and jerks abruptly, hitting the back of his head against the wall. Eddie grimaces and follows, closing in his space, their knees knocking as he puts a hand on Buck’s nape, massaging the pain away. “I know it’s cold. I’m glad you can feel it.”

He gives a tentative smile and breathes through his nose.

“I’m gonna put another on your neck, okay?”

Buck nods, his sight fogging with tears.

Because Eddie is alive. He’s not been shot. He’s sitting in front of him.

The piercing cold of the ice being positioned on his neck settles him some more and he’s able to gulp down more air. Less crazed now, he feels and hears and sees everything around him. 

Buck bends his head and brings a hand to Eddie’s one on his chest, over the ice pack.

He feels Eddie’s fingers trembling. 

And then he hears his torn breathing.

He looks up at Eddie and he’s surprised to see his eyes framed with tears. 

He can’t help but bring his hand to Eddie’s cheek.

“Are you okay?” Buck asks.

Eddie nods firmly, before shaking his head, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know you’re in the middle of a panic attack, I just…” 

They stare at each other, both taking a deep breath. Reminding the other that they're fine, they're alive.

“I just thought you’d hurt your leg while lifting me up. I’m okay, I’m just high on adrenaline now.”

Buck calms down a bit at that and nods. “I understand. I’m sorry.”

Eddie shakes his head again. “Don’t apologise.” 

“Then you don’t either.” 

They glare with tough eyes and then smile between tears. 

“We’re so messy.” Buck chuckles, sniffing.

“I like messy,” Eddie replies, swiping his thumb over the side of his neck.  

Buck closes his eyes, breathing deeply in through his nostrils and exhaling through his mouth.

They keep reassuring each other everything's fine, things are slowly subduing and going back to normalcy in between a caress and an “ I love you. ”

They fall quiet for a while, the silence is deafening for minutes before the fateful question.

“What happened there, Buck?” Eddie asks, his voice barely audible, looking for his gaze. Buck licks his lips. They’re so dry. “One moment you were King Konging me to the bedroom and the next you were dropping me on the floor.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Buck winces.

“No apologies, I told you,” Eddie reprimands him. He shifts the ice on his heart, pushing gently. “I’m just trying to understand what triggered you.”

And Buck really doesn’t want to say it. He doesn’t want to put this on Eddie. Eddie doesn’t need it.

“Buck.”

“It was your weight,” Buck concedes, without quite enough guts to face him while he confesses. “I–I know you don't remember anything about that day. I know you don't and I'm so glad. Fuck, I really am.”

Eddie seems even more at a loss. 

“My- my weight?” 

“The day you were shot. I was the one who got you in the truck.”

Understanding breaks through Eddie's confusion and it's like Buck physically hit him, because he falls back on his ass, his hands sliding down Buck's body, but still touching, still feeling.

Eddie gapes, his mouth forming words that won't come out, and Buck feels the cold clutch of guilt taking his heart. 

He opens his mouth, hesitant to go on. 

“I wish I didn't remember either,” he admits, anguish clogging his throat. Something flashes over Eddie's features and for the first time ever since they've become best friends, Buck can't pinpoint what it is. “I wish I could forget. But I remember every single moment of that day. I remember every second where I thought I was gonna lose you.”

Eddie finally takes the ice packs off his clammy skin and inches closer, taking hold of both his hands. He stares at Buck for what feels like an eternity, racked with pain, before launching himself at him and hugging him. 

Buck breathes out in relief, closing his eyes, burrowing his face in the crook of Eddie’s neck. This is it. This is home for Buck. Nowhere else. 

“I’m here. I’m alive.”

Eddie brings a hand to the back of Buck’s head and pushes him closer, as if wanting to absorb him into him. Buck understands the feeling. He wishes he could live inside of him.

Not really healthy-relationship-without-codependent-decencies of them. But he’s not really in the mindset to judge right now.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie sobs, his chest shuddering sharply. “I’m sorry, I wish I could take it from you.”

Buck shakes his head, holding on tighter than ever, clawing at his shirt.

“We said no apologies,” he whispers. He passes a hand down Eddie’s back, caressing his boyfriend, reminding himself that he’s unharmed. He’s not bleeding out in his arms. They’re in their house and everything’s fine.

Everything is fine. 

“You have your own burden to carry. I was serious when I said I’m glad you don’t remember. I would never want you to take it from me.” Buck wouldn’t wish this nightmare on his worst enemy, but he keeps that last tad bit for himself. It wouldn’t help Eddie in any way, knowing how much it still haunts Buck.

There's a pregnant pause, and he still can't single out what seems off with his boyfriend. That is, apart from whatever is going down right now.

“Will you,” Eddie tries speaking, clearing his throat when his voice comes out scratchy, “will you tell me about it?” 

It's Buck's turn to hesitate and Eddie must feel it, because he’s quick to reassure him it’s not necessary, that the question was stupid, that he doesn’t need it in the first place. They’re still holding onto each other. 

“I will,” Buck concedes, his words muffled against Eddie’s neck, “but not today.”

“Can I do anything to help you right now?” 

Buck thinks about it, and he squeezes his arms around Eddie.

“Will you lay on top of me? Like, with your whole body.” He feels his cheeks warm and he chastises himself for feeling embarrassment in front of his best friend. “It’s- I read that having something weighted on your chest might help relieve anxiety. I think it’s called pressure therapy? Or something like that.”

“You’re telling me you’ve been using me this entire time as your very own weighted blanket?” Eddie chuckles lightly, but Buck hears the twinge of concern in the sound, anyway. When he parts from the hug, he’s studying Buck’s face with intent. 

Buck goes on, “I know that the pressure of it puts your autonomic nervous system into “rest” mode, slowing your heart rate or breathing. It can provide an overall sense of calm. It… it also helps with ADHD. It usually does.” His face warms up even more at this tiny truth he admits. “We can try.”

There’s such adoration in Eddie’s eyes that Buck feels like crying all over again.

“Are you sure that won’t trigger another attack?” 

Buck shakes his head, his eyes fleeting to the bathroom door. “I think I just need to feel you… to feel your heartbeat.” He tilts his chin down, running a hand through his curls, mumbling in his shirt, “Sorry, that was cheesy as fuck.”

Eddie swipes his thumb over his jaw, angling his head just right to kiss him softly.

“I like cheesy. I love you.” 

Buck smiles, but he couldn’t be more serious when he says, “I love you, too.”

He shifts forward, catching Eddie’s lips in his again, deepening the kiss. He tastes like sugar. 

They get up slowly, Buck carefully paying attention to not lean too much on his fucked up leg. Eddie takes hold of his hands again, squeezing and releasing a couple of times when he notices them shaking. He brings them to his mouth and kisses each knuckle with love.

They walk to their room in silence and Buck lies on his back on the soft mattress, ever so casually. He feels like he’s carrying around a ton of lead, it hangs heavy from his head. It roots him to the floor.  

It’s not even a second later that the comfortable and familiar weight of Eddie’s body comes on top of him. It doesn’t prompt any immediate uneasy memory, so when he takes a deep breath and Eddie settles over him and lets himself go, Buck welcomes it. He wraps his arms around his reason for breathing and he lets himself be loved.

“Are you okay?” 

The words barely a whisper over his screaming mind, but the sound still breaks through the chaos.

“I’m gonna be.”

Because he has Eddie.

And it feels fine. 

It feels good.

He doesn’t feel like dying.

So he doesn’t. He lives. 

He tries for the heart beating against his.

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated!!

[jqmalikhsgib]

too sweet

one

eddie covers his eyes as he walks out of his apartment complex in new york. the paparazzi blinds him with the flashes of their cameras as they ask him a bunch of questions. Eddie’s simply ignores them before getting into the back seat of his car as his driver takes off.

he pulls out his cell phone to call his manager. they were on their way to pick up the younger, curly haired boy.

“henderson, be outside when we pull up! i don’t want to be late. i got shit to do man.”

“yeah, what’s that? hang out with yn all day?”

he could almost hear the boy smirking. “none of your business. just be outside.” eddie ends the call before sighing.

he opens up his messages before smiling. yn had texted him a cute little photo of her holding the plush pillow he’d bought her last week. she looked adorable as always.

it’s been six amazing months with her. he fell for her so hard and fast, like no other. before dating yn, eddie had been sleeping with whoever wanted to get into the rockstars pants. he lived the rockstar dream forreal. sex, drugs, and rock and roll. his friends were either dating or married by now. eddie thought he was still to young to settle down. he’s had only been twenty-nine after all. but on his thirtieth birthday, when most of his friends from high school had canceled coming to his party, he’d been alone with strangers or some celebrities he barely even knew.

he looked around and felt alone. when he saw yn his heart skipped a beat—or maybe it was the cocaine he’d consumed just ten minutes before—and he felt alive again. at first he ignored his heart beating out of his chest and the butterflies in in stomach. he’d thought he’d just fuck her, tell her to leave his apartment the next morning, and be labeled as an asshole once more by another artist who assumed they’d start dating soon after.

yn was completely different. as soon as he approached her, she’d roll her eyes at him, call him a junkie loser, and went off to find her best friend who forced her into coming here. that made the metal head open his eyes. no woman has ever turned him down—at least not since high school—but here he was, being called out by the most beautiful woman he’d seen.

eddie had to know who was. finding out she’d been a famous rapper, he contacted her agent, got her information, and met her at an award show. when he saw her again she’d look amazing. during the after party, he walked over to her again and had to know what turned her off.

yn shrugs her shoulders and let him know she’s dated nothing but drunken, drug addicted, losers in her life and was done picking up the pieces for them. she wanted someone stable who could take care of her and visa versa. a healthier relationship where she didn’t have to babysit a man. eddie understood that. it wasn’t like he was addicted to drugs, he was addicted to partying, but he knew if he wanted a chance with yn he’d have to change.

so, he asked for a chance. she was very hesitant until she agreed three weeks later. since eddie has cleaned up his act. he stopped partying so much and started taking yn out instead. he’d take her to the fanciest restaurants, closing it down for the evening. but she wasn’t into that.

yn told him she’d be fine, perfect even, if someone would simply take her to any fast food restaurant and get the most fatty foods their were and cuddle on the couch while watching some sitcom. eddie provided her with just that. from that moment he fell for her. she wasn’t like these other hollywood superficial stuck up brats like he’d seen over the last eight years of being in the spotlight, no! she was just like him.

she grew up in texas. the neighborhood she was raised wasn’t exactly the greatest. she learned a lot from her mother but her father hadn’t been a good man and was arrested when she was just six years old. her mother died two years later in a car accident. she’d been raised by her grandmother from that moment on. eddie started to love her more and more as the time went by.

eddie had thought long and hard about asking her to move in with him. he knew they’d only been together for six months but he knows she’s it for him. all his life all he’s ever wanted love and support. he’d have it in his uncle for years, his friends, and even bought love once he became successful. but he’s never had something like this before. he wants to wake up next to her and go right back to bed the next night. eddie thought about the life they’d have together. one day he will marry her and maybe have a couple of babies running around. he knew it may seemed fast, but yn was the one. he made up his mind last night. he’s gonna ask her tonight after dinner and hope to god she says yes.

when eddie arrives to dustin’s penthouse he sees the younger boy kiss suzie before hopping in the backseat of the car next to eddie.

“hey dude!”

eddie had hired dustin to be his manager once the boy graduated high school in hawkins. dustin was someone who had amazing planning set skills, he’s organized, and unfortunately the kid was right—and very condescending about it—all the time! dustin was the perfect person to manage his schedule. on top of that he knew dustin. he would wasn’t like these hollywood elites who wanted nothing but half of your earnings for doing the bare minimum. he knew dustin wouldn’t screw him over.

“what’s on the agenda today, henderson?”

dustin grabs his folder and reads over eddie’s schedule. eddie didn’t have much planned today. he’d mostly just be doing a few meet and greets with fans, promoting corroded coffins third studio album coming out in june.

“after you’ll have the next two days to just relax. i was thinking maybe we could call up el to hang out. she’d been a little down since the break up.” dustin states.

eddie sighs.

he hated that eleven was going through this break up with mike. all those little rascals were like little siblings to him. though it felt like him and steve were more like co parents to them than anything, he loved them all unconditionally. still, he knew mike had been fighting his feelings for will for so long. it was only a matter of time before mike finally confessed to will how much he loved him. it couldn’t be easy though. with will being her step brother and both him and el still living with their parents, he knew mike would still be coming over. it sucked seeing them together, he’s certain. he remembers the same thing happening when nancy broke things off with jonathan to be with steve again.

he knew just like jonathan, el would move on and find someone for her.

“it depends how tonight goes for me.”

dustin frowns. “what’s happened tonight?”

“im gonna ask yn to move in with me.” eddie smiles hugely. dustin stares at him long and hard. he bites his bottom lip trying to keep whatever he thought to himself. eddie noticed and nudged him.

“what’s with this look, henderson?”

“it’s just—don’t you think you’re moving a little too fast? i mean you just barely said ‘i love you’ to this girl. are you sure you’re ready for this big of commitment? she hasn’t even met any of us yet.”

“yeah, so?”

“eddie, she hasn’t met wayne yet! that’s the most important person in your life. how could you be ready to move this girl in when you barely know her? im just saying, have you thought all this through?”

“dustin, you don’t get it man. ive never felt this way about anyone before. i love her and im ready to take this step. i thought it all through. every last bit of information, every pro, every con, everything man! if i wasn’t sure, one hundred percent, i wouldn’t be asking.”

dustin hums. “i just think she should meet your family first. in fact you should probably meet hers if it’s that serious.”

eddie thought about it before they pulled up to the center eddie was meeting with fans.

when eddie got home he sighs as he takes off his dirty clothes before hopping in the shower. he thought about what dustin said once more before getting out and ready for his date.

he knew how he felt for yn. he knew she was the one for him. he knew he wanted her here everyday, but dustin had a point.

wayne wasn’t just his uncle. he’d been the man that raised him when his mom ran off with some rich asshole and his dad got arrested for nearly killing someone. wayne was more of a father than his real dad. he was the most important person in his life along with the rest of the people from hawkins. they were his family. if he wanted yn to be apart of his life he’d have to introduce them at some point. eddie smiles as he texted everyone, letting them know he’s having a get together im hawkins soon and everyone better show up or he’d knock on their doors and force them onto the plane himself.

when he heard his door bell ring he got up and opened the door. there stood his beautiful girlfriend. yn smiles shyly as always before eddie kisses her cheek and allows her in.

“you look amazing, sweetheart. absolutely gorgeous as always.” eddie states.

“thanks, eds. you look handsome as always.”

“sorry im running a little late, babe. i had to sign a few autographs and take some photos.”

“yeah? how were the fans?”

“amazing as always! they’re all excited about the album coming. one of them asked about you.”

yn blush. they’d been keeping their relationship a secret for awhile now. it wasn’t too much of a secret, really. they’d been seen going out to dinner, having lunch, walking hand and hand occasionally. it was out there, but neither of them confirmed nor denied the rumors. though they did recently had their fans go crazy. eddie had only been following corroded coffins official page for years. recently he followed yn. yn on the other hand hadn’t followed anyone until she followed eddie back. the internet is losing their shit over eddie and yn new found relationship. the two didn’t mind though. they loved their fans but they also loved a little chaos and drama more.

“yeah? what’d they say?”

“they said my girlfriend is the prettiest woman out there and asked if we’re ever gonna confirm we’re dating.” eddie wraps his arms around her waist.

“hmm, what did you say in response?”

“i just said thank you and took the photo.”

“not suspicious at all.”

“i don’t think so.” eddie said smugly.

yn kisses him passionately. eddie hums before pulling away while yn groans. “later. i wanna take my beautiful girl out, show the world she’s mine, then bring her back home and maybe dance to some cheesy ass song, yeah?”

“that sounds great, eds. come on! im starved.”

eddie chuckles before grabbing his keys as the couple leave his penthouse and head out to dinner.

um—do you guys like this? is it worth asking if you want to be on the taglist? i kind a just stopped asking and stopped adding people to any taglist because i thought maybe my stories weren’t that good.

im self doubting honestly. i even thought about quitting and deleting everything i wrote. idk anymore.

anyway, tell me how you feel. hope you like it, really.

[shadesofblades]

Follow-up question, if you dare! (In exchange I can offer a microwaveable beanbag full of lavender, which is great for the smell and relaxing your shoulders)

Now that your roster has their drink (or have rejected it), what kinds of small talk would they make with the buyer? Or how would they make sure they're never bothered by them again? Are they the type to make a friend there and then, or will they likely not stay in touch?

Dude that sounds so good? I need one of those fr ;-;

Oh boy ok, this one feels like it could be even longer than the initial question... *cracking fingers again* letsgoo

Aoki: Assuming he will continue the conversation even if he rejects the drink, he would let the other talk first. What did they want? Why were they interested in him? Was this pleasantry just to start a business interaction? Who are they? Do they want to hurt him or hire him? Aoki is an anxious mess who always assumes the worst of people. Other than that, if he sees that this person just wants to be friends, he'll just leave and not go to a bar for awhile- or at least not that one.

Baatu: Thanks! I like your hair! What’s your name? Where’re you from? What do you do? Baatu would be a boisterous joy with an everlasting smile on his face. New company = new friend, surely. He would definitely stay in contact with them after even just one meeting. Not a care in the world, this one.

Gaia: She’d ask the basics like their name, but she’s more of a listener than a talker. If Gaia found the other person interesting enough, she would ask a few more questions to get to know them. If they shared any hobbies like night clubbing, she’d chat about that and even invite them to party with her and her gf. Inviting someone means she’d try to stay in touch! But quite a few of her interactions at bars and such happen to be one and done, I imagine.

Li’tan: He’d chat with his new company for as long as they’ll have him! He’d be very curious about whoever was interested in him. There would be a good back and forth most likely, as he listens well and also would jump at the opportunity to talk about things he knows/likes. If allowed (and if nothing horrible happens), Li’tan would 1000% try to stay in contact with them. He’d even go out of his way to try to visit them, maybe a little too friendly.

Makar: Once again, probably the most normal of my roster. I wouldn’t say Makar is super charismatic or anything, but I think he’s relaxed enough that he comes off as cool, calm, and collected. Mature and thoughtful, intelligent. The conversation would feel perhaps like you’re catching up with an old buddy. Makar would try to keep the friendship, but he’s on the move and doesn’t stay in one place for very long.

Mitsuki: haha oh boy! I imagine the scene plays out with Mitsuki rejecting them. And if they are persistent or bothering them further, they would take that very drink and splash them in the face with it. “What did I tell you, vermin? You continue to disrupt my work. Leave now or pay for the very coin you’ll steal from my transaction!” Yea something like that probably.

Nacht: The armored figure sits and… stares? It is so very still, unnaturally so. Unnaturally for a living creature at least. But the conversation starts and they give nods and small gestures, all silent except for the sounds of armored plates moving. If they are impacted by this person, they will find them again.

Shunbai: Curious about his new company, he would ask for their name and origins. What circles did they find themselves in around these parts? Perhaps they could be a new connection or simply a new friend. Shunbai would love some new friends that know the ins and outs of Eorzea. Depending on location and time, he would try to stay in contact.

Tomiel: (Once again answering here, but he has his own blog @faithfulfallen .) Tom wouldn’t pry too deep into anything personal. He’d try to keep the conversation civil and as surface level as he could in protection for his own history and for a comfort for his company. If they recognized him from his time in Ishgard, then the conversation would change a bit and get more personal. Though he would still try to dance around specifics. If the company is kind, he would stay in touch. He’s very thoughtful and even if they stay as simple acquaintances, he would say hello every time he saw them.

Yumi: I think I mentioned this in the previous ask, but she would laugh and drink with them all night. She’d challenge them to a drinking contest, buy them both lots of snacks and food, and just have a good night! Honestly, not sure if she’d care about their name, but she’d probably take it from them. She will remember this face! (For better or for worse.)

Zylavor: Many pleasantries and polite exchanges. Maybe some flirtatious looks and giggles. Zylavor is kind of a tease, but he doesn’t fully mean anything by it. He doesn’t mind the one night stands, but doesn’t mind a simple conversation also. They might not care about keeping in contact with this person, but if they happen to keep showing up in their life, then it must be some kind of fate, right?

Zetoichi: The basics once more. What’s your name? Where are you from? What do you do? But paced pretty slowly. He isn’t one to lead a conversation unless the other is really struggling. Z has a lot of connections and knows a surprising amount of people, so this person might become someone like that to him. He is surprisingly charismatic, but he doesn’t really intend it. He’s just a mediator type.

Wow ok, this was in fact long. Thank you so much @upatreewithoutaharness !! I had a good time thinking about all these!! Now I wanna bring them to a bar in game and just see what happens ;-;

[spooksnett]

WHATS UR LENA ANALYSIS

OKAY OKAY OKAY SO THIS IS GONNA BE A LONG ONE CAUSE I HAVE A LOT TO SAY BUT PUTTING IT INTO WORDS IS DIFFICULT 😭

SPOILERS UNDER CUT

Lena has been working at the OIAR for a good while now. Probably not always in the manager position but she's been around for some time. Before Colin, before Alice. before Amelia and around when Klaus was there (Probably not the manager when Klaus was there but not important) and ofc (now confirmed by ep13) she knows what the OIAR does

The video that gets sent to Gwen has Lena's name titled in the transcript as 'Young Lena' which further proves my point. She's been there a long time. awesome okay.

Was she always this stone cold, very distant and strange woman? I don't think so! We hear real emotion and passion in her tone when she says to Klaus 'you know I do' when talking about something. She was 100% not in charge then and even now, she has higher ups. thats the only time we really hear passion behind her words. Episode 2 when Gwen overhears Lena talking to someone about 'expanding external operations'. she's discussing externals with someone else who doesn't work in the building. She's not chosing which externals get what etc

okay. I truly believe Lena is exactly what the OIAR ever wanted, she is perfect material. Thinking back to Sam's interview in the trailer she mentions how he seems to be a 'bright and socialable young man who works hard' and that she 'would have no need for him'. the OIAR only hires people who are at a rocky place in their lives. I think the same was present when Lena was hired. Lena is the last one standing in whoever her coworkers previously were. you have to remember the OIAR has been around a good while now dating back to Starkwall protection services in 2000 and the magnus insititue even earlier than that. Alice says she THINKS it was made in the 70's. Lena also says 'most people simply move on after 12 months or so' again, she's been there ages if she's seen people come and go like that

Her parallels with Gwen are the next thing I want to talk about. they are complete opposites but I think Lena was exactly the same as Gwen years back. she knows what it's like to work her way up in the OIAR and what 'climbing this particular ladder entails'. so she has climbed up the rankings, probabaly by doing similar things to what Gwen is doing as of now. She says Gwen isnt ready for it. she knows how much shes suffered from it. she's been through so much to get where she is now. her 'did you scream? you should, it can help with the more afronting aspects' is throwing it in our face. she used to (maybe still is) being face to face with these horrors. she knows what it was like. and back to what she says to Klaus, it really doesn't look like she's ever got a say in this, similar to Gwen now.

my main thing I've analysed over Lena is her psychological state. she isn't your typical serious, emotionless character. she's not that at all cause she CAN have some uniqueness to her words, when she chuckled slightly at Gwen etc etc

she isn't emotionless (or evil) but she is very very detached. She is so emotionally detached from everything. she's had to detach her thoughts and feelings over the years to cope. Alice always mentions how you need to not care in this job and just not pay attention, I think that same goes for Lena

she's perfect for the job because she's so good at 'not caring'. After so many years of experiencing this stuff she probably built up a sort of immunity to it to keep herself safe. and she doesn't seem to care anymore. she has no thoughts or passion behind anything she does or says. She's so numb to it all and she's sacrificed part of herself to probably survive this whole thing. the OIAR only wants people who doesn't care about what happens and just gets it done. Gwen was freaking out when talking about Mr bonzo and Lena was speaking as if it was an everyday occurrence. even if you have seen supernatural stuff before, you don't react like that. That is such a traumatic response way of speaking. Her accepting that this is just how it is, is not good at all. she's been through hell guys I'm telling you

she's also in the manager position but she doesn't seem to use her authority too much. she uses it a normal amount but nothing that you'd expect. it's strange?

small unrelated to the actual story thing:

but in the cast q&a whenever Lena is mentioned everyone always says either 'unknown' or 'she doesn't'

it really seems like she has no depth to her at all. she threw any defining traits she had out the window

My theory on Lena as a whole is that subconsciously she became exactly what the OIAR wanted and now she's too far gone. She wasn't always like this but after so many years it's basically routine for her now. she doesn't want to hurt people and 'manage' the externals as she put it but she either just doesn't care anymore, or is acutely aware of what happens if she doesn't do her job correctly. maybe both. she's been almost brainwashed into thinking this is normal for the OIAR

I really want to know why and when Lena joined the OIAR. how she became manager etc etc and I really hope I can piece things together over time. she means so much to me. I don't think she's this evil spooky boss, I think she's just so emotionally numb and detached that she just doesnt know what to do with herself anymore

LAST THING

When Gwen is talking about Mr Bonzo in Episode 9 Lena goes "Possibly, I don't watch television"

Gwen was specifically talking about how she watched Mr bonzo as a kid all the time. Nigels SOS was huuuggeee back then

Lena was either lying I suppose? (I don't see why she would) or genuinely she didn't even watch TV as a kid (Lena is older than Gwen but still SOS was around a while and even if Lena was in her teen years she'd still be aware of it on TV)

Did Lena really never watch TV in her childhood at all? that's concerning to say the least about her backstory! maybe she couldnt catch a break in her childhood either

ANYWAY YEAH I THINK IVE GOT MOST OF WHAT I WANTED TO SAY INTO WORDS. THANK YOU FOR READING IF YOU DID :D I MIGHT BE WRONG BUT THATS WHAT IVE GOT OFF THE LITTLE WE GET OF HER

I love lena kelley 🥰

[sscieloz]

Do you have any thoughts on the rest of the girls’ trailers?

i do!! they’re not exactly theories, though… just scenarios who could possibly match that vibe.

like, for winter:

- something like jennifer’s body, yk?

- small town, nothing ever happens, everyone hates their lives, always cloudy and rainy.

- everyone’s just eager to get out

- she’s the quiet kid, always walking with her gaze glued to the ground, not caring if she’s bumping into like half the students on her way to her locker.

- and she’s got that weird aura around her, too. perhaps it's the flannel jackets, or the way her hair is constantly disheveled, or the bags under her eyes… anyway, everyone’s always weary of her.

- And they’re right

- Idk if you know jinx, but just like her, winter’s always seeing stuff, too. Like you’ll always catch her muttering to herself or shaking her head as if to discharge all the ideas off. She always seems busy, too.

- whenever she’s asked something, she’ll simply stare at whoever’s asked and huff before getting back to whatever it is that she’s doing (which is usually writing aggressively in her worn out journal).

- Her mind’s always clouded with thoughts that bother her with their intensity, clogging her brain as they confront each other constantly. it leaves her restless, hyperactive. winter wishes she’d get a single moment of pure silence.

- she has plenty of hobbies (obsessions): like mangas, science, zombies… her bedroom is full of posters and miniatures. also, there are clothes and stuff everywhere. her mother has given up on telling her to tidy it up.

- she’s never around, either. winter’s mother. being a nurse in one of the 2 hospitals in town, she takes too many shifts for the sake of her health. Winter had told her to slow down countless times until she understood: her mother loved her job. It was what fullfilled her; being with her coworkers and helping others made her life meaningful.

- so winter let her be. seeing her at least a bit less miserable made the girl feel less like she ruined her mom’s life by being born when she was still so young; barely leaving high school.

- winter’s always biting her nails, moving her legs frantically or hitting her pen on the table.

- no one ever asks her to stop, though. no one has the guts to do so.

- the first time you properly talk to her is when you get assigned to a big project together. winter would usually do those projects by herself, but the new teacher insisted no one was left without a pair. the poor woman was new to the school and still so full of life and hopes...

- she was young and naive, clearly thinking she could help with whatever it was that was wrong with winter.

- she didn’t think you’d actually accept to work at her house, truth be told, specially since it was an unspoken rule to not be at least an arm’s length near her at all times. at least it was what it seemed like, at school.

- “have you guys ever actually taken a look at her?” you answered when your friends warned you about it, “she’s so tiny and frail. anyone could win her in a fight. she’s harmless, guys.” you all laughed, as your eyes were glued on hers, in the cafeteria. she was already staring, but you didn’t mind. you just smiled back, making her blush and look away.

- you found her house too cold and gloomy, even more than the city itself. it lacked light, and you shivered as you went up the stairs. the deep shade of red of the walls reminded you of blood, and you were relieved to see the ones in her bedroom were painted a different color; surprisingly, they were purple, which made you giggle.

- you two start working, and you’re not at all surprised to find out how smart she is. she talked effortlessly about the project, being patient to answer your questions as she explained what had to be done and what you’d be doing. the work was basically all done, and she’d gladly do it all by herself, but you insisted on helping. you just hated the idea of being useless, even if it was just in a stupid lesson. you two get the work done quickly, and winter found herself enjoying her evening: you were kind, and didn’t treat her as if she were the most despicable thing on earth like people would do, at school. your sweet smiles and calm nature made her relaxed, almost as if the voices in her mind finally agreed on something: how peaceful you were.

- she caught herself staring at you again, suddenly a little at ease.

- you got comfortable around her, too. which was why you had come to her again, days later you’d turned in the assignment.

- “would you help me, please? you’re like, super smart, and i don’t really want people to know i’m failing.” you asked her for some tutoring over that same class, and she reluctantly agreed to it.

- you stared going to her house everyday after classes and winter was growing fond of you, loving to have your full attention. you even took her to the local fun fair, which was one of the best nights she’d ever had since she could remember.

- you two were somewhat friends, even though your friends always would always send you weird looks once you started defending winter whenever they talked shit about her in your presence. she kept your secret—about the grades, and you were truly grateful for her help. you found her sweet, funny and very observant. which she was, indeed.

- in fact, winter was so observant she was the only one to notice the bruises on your arms and shoulders, even thought they were well hidden in the thick hoodies you never took off, not even inside.

- she didn’t say anything at first, thinking the things you did were none of her business. but as the days went by, and you were still trying to hide them, she started to wonder.

- “did you do those to yourself?” she asked, one day, while you were focused on doing a few exercises your fucking teacher had said were worth some extra points, ones you needed badly. her words, though carefully elaborated, made your eyes widen, as you shook your head furiously.

- “n-no, of course not.” you’d told her, toying with her hands as you decided wether or not to tell her. but it was just winter, right? there wasn’t anyone she couldn’t possibly tell, and she had kept your secret, once.

- with that in mind, you took a deep breath before explaining about how your uncle had been living with you, your siblings and your parents ever since he lost his job. all he does is spend the whole day drinking and watching tv, but sometimes, he gets frustrated with his own stupid ass and with the miserable life he has in this fateful city. in one of those days, he was specially mad, and threw you against the wall right after you had arrived home and stopped by the living room before going upstairs.

- you assure her it’s ok—he’s getting a job and moving out soon, but winter’s grip on her pencil was proof enough of her rage.

- she made you promise you’d tell her if it ever happened again. and, as much as she wanted to call the authorities immediately, you forced her to sit back down, begging her not to. you didn’t want to cause any trouble, specifically since he’d soon be gone, you reiterated.

- “yes, he’ll be gone.” was all she answered, her gazed fixed on your face. you shivered at her cold tone, but forced yourself to shrug it off.

- once you were gone, all winter could think about was your beautiful skin, all marked because of that fucker. this wasn’t how it was supposed to be: not to you, the dearest person she’d ever known. you were so sweet, empathic, and nonjudgmental… the thought of someone making you suffer was enough for her to nearly destroy her room, trowing things in the air to try to rub off the anger. however, it did nothing to ease her restless mind; the thoughts were back, now as loud screams in her head, agreeing on something for the first time: that winter had to make your uncle pay for hitting you.

- she forced herself back into her desk as she planned her future actions. it took her days, but she managed to finally come up with a perfect plan.

- winter waited patiently for you to leave home as she sneaked into your place, dragging her feet through the carpet. she took her time observing the fucker, hammer throbbing in her hands as she watched him get himself even more waisted, dropping a beer after the other.

- she finally decided to put her plans into action as he went into the guest room, probably to do one of the 2 things he knew: drink and sleep.

- her favorite part was tearing the door open, she thinks. to get rid of the wooden chips as she delighted herself with your uncle’s screams, pleading for mercy that wouldn’t be granted to him, not after what he had done. no... no one gets to hurt you and live.

- It’s what she kept repeating to him, ducking quickly to get his pleading hands off her as she saw his movements stop, slowly.

- she cleans up after that and, when morning comes, she offers you her condolences, as soon as she spots you, in class. your eyes are red and swollen and winter hates to be the reason of your sadness, but it was necessary, after all.

- you let yourself cry in her arms, hiccups leaving your chest as you get all the stress you self out of your system. winter tried to be as empathic as she could, patting your back as she assured you that you were all safe; no one would hurt you anymore— there was no reason to be sad or scared. you nod, clinging to her as the words get etched onto your brain.

- you only realize your uncle’s murder hadn’t been shared with people from outside your family circle weeks later. as if you’ve been woken up from a trance, you shift uncomfortably besides your friends as your eyes found hers, once again. your body trembled with fear as you refused to acknowledge all the patterns launched right into your face.

- immediately, winter smiled, with all the feigned innocence she’d been showing you all those months. it didn’t matter what you thought: you were safe, and you were hers. forever.

this is too messy sorry ^^ i wrote it in the middle of my lecture lol