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unequivocallyreid · 20 hours

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Why Didn’t You Tell Me?

it has been SO long... i was suffering from serious writers block but it think i'm finally out of it :)

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: Spencer Reid used to be your best friend, but things changed. How long can you pretend that you don't love him before it ruins you?

warnings: angst! (with a happy ending), smut (unprotected piv), character loss, mention of Maeve, very sad Spencer, mental health struggles, light choking, fighting, slight praise kink

wc: 8.8k 🤗

i’m very proud of this one! i hope you love it!

Every morning when you wake up, you feel a familiar and creeping sort of dread in the pit of your stomach.

Don’t get the wrong idea; you love your job. You love helping people and stopping horrible people from ruining any more lives, but the creeping feeling and desire to get out is always in the corner of your mind. Anyone working in this field would tell you that. There’s no absolute separation between you and the victims and their families. You take all of them home with you, and you just have to learn how to deal with that and not let it eat at you.

It doesn’t help that it’s an isolating job as well. The last time you were in a serious relationship was in college. Now, every date you have ends in disappointment. Not only do you lack interest in most of the men and women, but it couldn’t go anywhere even if you did. 75% of your time is spent in the office, on a jet, or hundreds of miles away from your home.

All of this contributes to the feeling, but the worst part of your job is Dr. Spencer Reid.

He’s secretive and dismissive and just about the most attractive person you’d ever seen. You honestly don’t know what is worse: his constant physical presence in your life or the fact that you can’t stop thinking about him no matter what you do. You’ve tried to get over it; you’ve buried yourself in work, lamented to your friends, and gone out on dates (all with guys that looked vaguely similar), but nothing has worked. All his worst traits grate your nerves and light you up at the same time.

The worst part of it all is that it wasn’t always like this. When you first joined the BAU nearly two years ago, you and Spencer got along well. You were friends, he talked to you about his life, he understood you, and you really severely fell for him. He became your best friend.

Everything changed around six months ago. Spencer started to develop migraines, and as those developed, he started distancing himself from you. He became snippy and closed off, he started hiding things from you, and he stopped talking to you about life outside of Quantico. It was like overnight, you became nothing to him, and you really didn’t understand. Everyone else on the team got the same old Spencer, but you went from his right-hand man to someone he only spoke to when it was necessary.

Maybe he didn’t deserve to be vilified. You know, realistically, he can and should be able to decide who he wants to be close to, but working with a man who unknowingly broke your heart was close to the hardest thing you’d ever done. So, you decided hating him was easier. The real emotions you feel toward him sit somewhere inside you, but they have been covered by manufactured distaste. Addressing the actual feeling would hurt too bad, so you pretend to hate the things you used to love.

Nothing, however, could have prepared you for the last case you worked on: helping Spencer save a girl he met about six months ago, a girl he loved. You tried to stay collected, you said nothing when Spencer assisted when he shouldn’t have, and goddamn, did you do everything in your power to find that girl. Maeve. She was perfect for Spencer, and you saw that immediately. Everyone did. The sight of him sobbing in front of her body is one that will never leave your mind.

Now, two weeks later, no one has heard from Reid. The only indication that he hasn’t abandoned his life altogether is the absence of the gift baskets on his doorstep that Pen leaves daily.

Nearly everyone has been to his apartment, but they are met with a closed door and have yet to receive a response. Everyone but you.

Penelope is the first to bring up your lack of appearance at the end of a long day of paperwork.

“Y/n, please, you just have to try. No one is getting anything from him.”

“I really don’t think my presence would do any good,” you pause for a moment, trying to collect the thoughts running through your head like a freight train. “Me and him haven’t been close in a long time, Pen.”

Before you can continue, she cuts in, “Everyone has tried, Y/n. Hell, I’ve even considered tracking down Gideon, and I really, really do not want to do that.”

She pauses for a moment before looking up at you with a pout on her face, “Please, Y/n, for me. I can’t bear the thought of him in there all alone, just wasting away in grief.”

For someone who claims not to be a profiler, Penelope knew exactly what to say to get you to agree. She’s the only person in your life who you told about how you felt, though you’re sure everyone else (aside from Spencer) knew: you’re shit at keeping secrets.

“Okay, okay, I’ll try.”

She nearly bursts with excitement, “Thank God-“

You cut her off before she can finish, “But I’m telling you, I’m not the person he wants to hear from right now. Don’t get your hopes up.”

“Yes, yes. I just want him to know we all want him to be okay.”

Before you can hurry out of the office to follow Pen’s instructions, she stops you and hands you a basket full of assorted snacks and fruits.

“Make sure he eats!”

The walk up to Spencer’s apartment is a hard one to take. The smell of his building hits you as soon as you step into the lobby. From there, everything rushes back at once. Memories of nights you spent watching reruns of Doctor Who or listening to him prattle off about whatever he last read assault you with every step. As you slowly make your way up, you start to question why you agreed to do this in the first place.

You feel a lot toward Reid. More than you should and less than you could. But all that care and feelings that are so close to love aren’t enough to make you forget why you’ve been trying to hate him for so long. He deserted you without an explanation and cut you off without a warning. You spent weeks (three months) crying over him like a love-struck teen. So, as much as you want to hold him and comfort him, you know it’ll hurt you to do so. Penelope sent you, with the whole team’s approval, you’re sure, to try to patch up a broken heart he got loving someone else. There’s a sickness in your gut, but it’s not enough to stop you from rapping your knuckles against his door.

“Spencer? It’s Y/n.”

There’s no response.

“I know you probably don’t want to hear from me right now, but I want to make sure you’re alright. Can you tell me you’re alright?”

Again, nothing.

You know he’s there. Despite your lack of communication, you know Spencer well enough to know that he would never leave his life behind entirely. That being said, your next few attempts at garnering a response are unsuccessful.

You decide to try one final time before just leaving the basket alone on his doorstep and texting Pen it was a bust.

“There’s a lot I don’t know about you now, and I won’t pretend to know what you’re feeling.”

You don’t exactly know where this is headed, but you continue on regardless.

“I know you’re in there, and I know you can hear me, and I know you’re hurting. You shouldn’t- I don’t want you to be alone right now, Spence. You can either unlock your door, or I can pick it, but I’m coming in one way or the other. You know I will.”

You wouldn’t, actually. It’s a last-ditch effort, and it’s met with the same silence you’ve heard on the other side for the past ten minutes. You’re about to turn to head back down the stairs when you hear the very faint sound of a deadbolt turning.

There’s no other sound or movement, and for a moment, you think you might’ve imagined the sound, but you try the handle anyway. It turns, and the door slides open. You take a step in.

“Spencer,” you call out to him.

You don’t see him at first in the mess of his apartment, but when you do, you feel a crack form in your heart.

Beyond the clutter of his entryway, you see his back on the couch. His frame looks smaller than you’ve ever seen it, and you can see his legs curled into his chest. You set down the gift basket by a collection of others on the entry table and walk over to him. Slowly, like you’re trying not to spook a lost dog, you creep in front of him.

His head is down, and his gaze stays trained on his knees.

You reach out your hand and lay it over his. He flinches but doesn’t pull away.

“Spence, I’m so glad you opened the door.”

You didn’t plan out what you would say, but ‘sorry’ feels redundant and useless.

You go on, “I’m here. I- I don’t know what to do or say, and I’m sorry that I don’t. I can get someone else for you. Just tell me what you need, and I’ll do it.”

You wait for him to say he wants Penelope or JJ, but it doesn’t come. Nothing comes. You start to move to get up, figuring you could clean up a bit and try to make him something to eat, then go, but he grasps your arm before you can.

He looks up at you, and his eyes hit you right in the gut. They’re bloodshot and sunken but still beautiful.

“Stay. Please. I just- I need to know I’m not dreaming. I keep thinking I’m dreaming.”

His voice is croaky from disuse and breaks at the end, but it’s so heartbreakingly earnest that you feel your breath catch. You move from your crouch and sit beside him on the couch; your hand is still in his.

You stay like that for a long time. His breathing is shakey and uneven, and every so often, his body shakes with what you can only assume are sobs. You stay pressed to his side the whole time, thumb rubbing back and forth over his hand.

Eventually, you speak again, “I’m gonna get you some food, Spence. You should eat.”

He says nothing back, but he does loosen his grip. You push yourself up from the coach with a promise you’ll be as fast as possible.

His kitchen is nearly empty, and you hope he’s been eating from the baskets. Still, you find enough to make noodles and butter, and you figure the carbs should help his energy some.

You return with the bowl. Spencer hasn’t moved, but his head follows you as you walk back over to him.

“It’s not fine dining.”

He studied you for a second, and you catch a glimpse of the old him in his eye.

“You did the same thing when I was sick on a case a year ago.”

You smile at his recollection.

“It helped you then.”

The rest of the night is spent mostly in silence. Occasionally, you tell him something to try to remind him that you’re there and that you won’t leave as long as he wants you there. Eventually, you get up from the couch again.

“Spencer, it’s too late to still be awake.”

He nods and still says nothing, but he is far more receptive than before. You reach your hand out to him to help him up from the couch, and he takes it.

He leads you to his room at a slow pace. His head stays down as you both take a seat on his bed, hands still interlocked. Being in his bedroom is odd for you. You’ve been to his apartment quite a few times before he disappeared from your life, but you never breached this space. It’s all very him. Almost surprisingly cozy, with books scattered around nearly everywhere there’s space.

You take in the moment for a beat before saying, “I’m gonna head home, Spencer, but please call me if you need anything at all. I’ll come back tomorrow.”

This makes his head snap up, and his eyes lock with yours.

“Please stay.”

That’s all he says, but every part of him is pleading with you. It’s not a good idea, and you know it. You’re the only person he’s seen in days, you aren’t close anymore, and you don’t particularly want to sleep on a couch tonight.

“Spencer, I don’t want to sleep in your living room tonight. I’ll come back.”

He pauses for a moment, “You can stay here with me. I don’t want to be alone.”

Your heart cracks again. There was a time when this was all you wanted. It’s still, deep down, all you want, just not like this. You know he doesn’t really want you there and he’s not himself. But you aren’t strong enough to say no, so you don’t.

He gets you clothes to wear, and you change in his bathroom. You come out and find him in his bed, laying with his back to you. You have no fucking idea what you’re doing, but you get into bed next to him anyways. There are a thousand thoughts racing through your head, but the prevailing one is how badly you want to touch him, to hold him, to make him forget, just for the night. You stay still, though, confined to the edge of the bed and start to count to drown out the noise.

Though, you can’t drown out his voice, saying, “Can- Could you hold me? I think that everything feels better when you touch me.”

Another crack. By the end of this, you know Spencer Reid is going to break your heart all over again.

When you wake up the next morning, Spencer is still asleep. You sneak out of his room and call Hotch. When he answers, you tell him Spencer has let you in, and you ask for time off to try to help. You can tell from his voice that he doesn’t think it’s a good idea, but he grants you it anyway.

Much of your day is spent like the night before. You stay next to Spencer, and you cook for him after leaving to pick up clothes and groceries. Then, you get him to shower and wash his hair. He sleeps with his head in your lap, and you feel like a fucking idiot at first, but as long as it’s helping him in some way, you let it happen.

That’s the thing: you don’t really know how to help him. You know he isn’t the type to talk about something until he is entirely ready, so all you can do is add something domestic and bright to his life while he grieves. It’s all you can think about in the moments of silence. Hell, you even read to him to try and get your mind off of it, but it barely helps.

The night is the same. You change in different rooms and slip into his bed at different times. You feel dirty for imagining what it would be like if the circumstances were different: if he wanted you like you have wanted him for the past two years. You hold him against you, and you pray for sign that you should be there.

The sign comes the following morning when Derek calls you.

“Y/n…”

You can hear his teasing tone over the phone.

“Hi, Derek.”

“What are you doing, mamas?”

You sigh, “What do you mean?”

You’re playing coy. You know he’s wondering why you’re at Spencer’s house, picking up the pieces, but you won’t be the one to bring it up.

“Why’d you ask Hotch for the week off, Y/n?”

Another sigh, “You know why, Derek. I just, I want to help him.”

“I know you do, Y/n, I know.”

He pauses for a moment, and you let the moment fill with silence.

“I know you care about him. We all care about him. But who is taking care of you?”

“I am. I can take care of him, and I can take care of me.”

“I know you can, but I don’t want you to get hurt, Y/n. Don’t let this be something that hurts you.”

“It won’t. I- You have to- Fuck, I’ll be fine. He’s not fine. I don’t care about me or any feelings that may get hurt right now. I’ll be fine.”

There’s another bear of silence, “Okay, Y/n. Just know you’re allowed to tap out.”

You try to think of anything else to say, but nothing comes, so you say your goodbyes.

You won’t need to tap out. You can take care of him and be good to him and ignore the other feelings you have. You can be good.

The call does make you think it’s time to push, to try harder, to help him get better. So, you approach him that day before bed, before he tucks himself into your arms and falls into a fretful sleep.

“Spencer?”

He takes a moment and then responds, “Yes?”

“You have to talk about it. I think that you need to talk about it. It doesn’t have to be to me but to someone.”

He’s quiet for a long time, and your breath is caught in your throat, waiting for him to say anything.

“I- I don’t want to,” his voice cracks while he says it.

“Spence, you can’t come back if you don’t. You can’t move forward if you don’t.”

“Maybe I don’t want to.”

A ringing echos in your ears.

“You don’t mean that. She- she would want you to keep going.”

Wrong thing to say.

“You don’t know anything about what she would want.”

He’s seething now, below the surface, but smoke has started to plume from his ears. Still, you don’t stop.

“Spencer, everyone knows that. No one would want you to put your life on hold.”

He speaks his next line through his teeth, “You don’t know anything, Y/n.”

You’ve never heard him sound so angry.

“Spencer-“

“No, just stop. You don’t know her. You don’t know me half as well as you think you do. You don’t know anything. I don’t even know why you’re here. I don’t want you here. You can't be what I need.”

The ringing in your ears is louder.

“Spencer, please. Just-“

“No!” His voice is raised now, bordering on a yell, “I don’t want you here. I want you out, Y/n.”

This has to be what shell shock feels like. The ringing, the tingle in your limbs, and the heat in your face. You don’t know how you are moving, but you are.

His voice is echoing in your head, or maybe he’s still talking, but you can’t tell either way. The only thing you can focus on is how Spencer sounded like he hates you and that Morgan was right about the hurt.

You spend the next day trying desperately to shut down the noise in your head. It doesn’t work. The day after is the same. And the days following that. You ignore calls when they come, you ignore the texts, but you can’t stop looking at your phone for a message from the man who fills your thoughts.

Spencer doesn’t call, obviously, and you have to sit with a pit in your stomach while you beg yourself to just get the fuck over it. Two years of reckoning with the severity of your love, months of watching him live happily without you, and it’s the three days you spent trying to help him feel incrementally better that floor you.

You feel like a dumb teenage girl with so much love and nothing to do with it. On top of everything, you feel selfish. Spencer lost the love of his life forever, and you’re nursing the worst heartbreak of your life because a boy will never want you and never has. Still, you send out prayers for him over and over. You hope you’ll see him in the BAU again, even if his eyes glaze over you. Hell, even if they look at you with hate the way they did two days ago. You just want him to function. You want him to be good and eventually be happy. You try to go to bed with soothing thoughts, but you end up with a mantra of his name.

You wake to your alarm and dress for work before you realize you aren’t actually supposed to go back yet. You never set a date to return. You wanted to be open as long as Spencer needed you. You’re supposed to be with him. You’re supposed to be helping and not tapping out. But you aren’t.

You have no reason not to return to the bullpen, so you do. You walk in and feel eyes on you. You wait for Morgan to call out to you, but he doesn’t, so you follow the feeling.

Your breath catches in your throat; it’s Spencer. He’s sitting at his desk, paperwork spread out, and he doesn’t look away from your gaze; he just holds it. His face is unreadable, and yours is definitely not, so you look away first. You don’t look up again until you reach Hotch’s office. You knock and hear him call out to come in.

“I’m back if that’s okay.”

He looks up at you, and you want to cry. You know he can read you. He has always been the best at it.

“Are you okay with that, Y/l/n?”

You lock eyes with him, “Yes, sir.”

It’s no use; he knows your tells and you aren’t being honest.

“Alright, conference room in five.”

Whatever he sees in your face, he ignores and takes you at your word, but there’s a warning in his tone. He knows when to let things go and when to push. More than that, though, he knows you’d never let something like this affect your work.

The first case back is in Maryland, and the one after is in Austin, and the next is in Philadelphia with The Replicator. The job takes you all over the country, and the cases blend together. You don’t speak to Spencer through all of it. You’re never partnered, never work together, you sit on opposite ends of the jet. You don’t even speak at Strauss’ funeral. It’s radio silent, and everyone notices it, but no one brings it up.

In that time, you allow yourself to slip away slightly. You don’t go out with the team, you see Pen at nearly half frequency, and basically, the only time you speak is on cases. It’s stupid and melodramatic, but you call it healing. Derek tries to reason with you, JJ sticks to you a bit more than usual, and Penelope calls you virtually whenever she can, but their efforts are mostly in vain. This is your way of protecting yourself. You feel like you have to isolate in order to improve, and you know, given time, you will come back to yourself.

Penelope’s insistence that you go to her Day of the Dead celebration breaks your distance.

“Y/n, please come. I know you aren’t going out, but you have to. I know you have people to honor, and I need you there.”

You sigh, “Whose going, Pen?”

“The team, which you are a part of, so you must be there.”

“I don’t think I can do that. I promise you I will celebrate with you. I’ll help you set up, just please don’t make me go.”

Penelope pauses, but the glint in her eye keys you into the fact that she is not interested in giving up.

“We miss you, Y/n. Everyone loves you and misses you. You’ve been living this stupid, isolated life, and it’s time for you to come back. You are not this person. I refuse to believe it. You’re coming, and that’s final.”

Maybe you don’t have the energy to argue, or maybe you know she’s right, but you agree to go.

The thought of seeing him makes your heart race, and the clock you keep glancing at makes it worse. Just a few more hours before you're trapped in a confined space (Pen’s beautiful home) with a man you haven’t spoken to in weeks.

You busy yourself with preparing. Lights are hung, food is made, and you make a trip to the store while Pen sets up her remembrance table. When everything is said and done, you can’t help but feel this is the most beautiful thing you’ve been a part of in a long time.

The first knock comes at 7:30 exactly, and it’s Hotch and Rossi. They are followed closely by Blake, then Derek and JJ. By 7:00, the atmosphere is light and loving, and you feel a bit of your anxiety let up as the minutes go by without Reid. But, eventually, the knock comes, of course it does, and you move into a corner as Spencer walks in. You feel a shift in energy, though you doubt it’s palpable for anyone else. Rossi is the first to make his way over to you, and his presence comforts you nearly immediately.

“How you doing, kid?” His voice is soft like he’s speaking to a scared rabbit.

“I’m better,” you say, and it’s about as honest as you can get. As much as you’d like to think he knows nothing about what’s gone on, you’re smarter than that. He’s the best profiler on the team, and he’s always known when someone was off with you. Even so, you are better than you were, even if you aren’t quite good, and you know he believes you.

There’s some idle conversation between you before he asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not tonight. I don’t know when, but I will. Eventually, I will.”

It’s good enough for him, and you move on easily, which surprises you.

Right before Pen gathers you all to present your photos, he says, “Sometimes we think we’ve seen the whole picture, but we miss a big part. People do things because they don’t want to be hurt, but those things hurt them more. Just, be open.”

You don’t quite understand what he means, but you hope you will.

Penelope presents the first picture, which shows her parents. JJ honors her sister, Derek, his dad, Hotch Haley, and Rossi, Hernandez; then it’s your turn. You place down a photo of your best friend. You hadn’t talked much about her, but you think of her daily. She passed a few years before you joined the BAU.

“I was lucky to have someone that hurt that much to lose.”

That’s all you say, but it’s enough for you, and it would be enough for her.

Spencer is last. He places down a picture of Tesla and a picture of Maeve. Your heart is heavy for everyone.

The night dwindles from there. Hotch and Rossi say their goodbyes, and Rossi gives you a knowing look as he leaves. You just smile. You stay for a few minutes after, but eventually, you move to leave as well.

You make it down Garcia’s porch before you feel a hand grab your arm. You turn, and it’s Spencer’s face you see.

“Would you- Do you think you could come over? Do you think we could talk?”

The feeling you have walking up to Spencer's apartment is similar to what you felt the last time. You’re incredibly anxious, but at least you know you’ll be let in this time.

The drive over was silent. Spencer had taken the metro to Penelope’s, so he rode with you. It wasn’t necessarily awkward. There was just an understanding that the car wasn’t the place to begin your conversation.

Now, as Spencer unlocked his door, it’s one of those rare moments you felt starved for words, and you know it’s because you’re scared you’ll say the wrong thing and face the same reaction that you did the last time you were in his home.

He leads you to his living room and motions for you to sit, and you do. The two of you are on opposite ends of his couch while you wait for him to say something.

His first words are airy and light, “Thank you for letting me talk to you.”

You look at him but remain silent, waiting for him to go on. All you can think about is why he wants to speak to you at all. The last time you spoke, he made it incredibly clear he did not want you in his life or around him at all.

Before you can think about it more and let your anger and sadness build, he speaks again, “I feel really stupid right now. I kind of feel stupid whenever I’m around you recently.”

He pauses momentarily before going on, “I’m so, so sorry, Y/n. About the last time we spoke. I’ve been thinking about it pretty constantly for the past few weeks.”

You open your mouth, unsure of what exactly to say, but you can’t get there before he’s off again.

“I’m not sure how to talk to you anymore. I don’t think I’ve known how to for a long time. I just, I need you to know how sorry I am for speaking to you like that.”

He takes a shakey breath but keeps going, “That wasn’t me, and that isn’t how I feel. I’m just unbelievably sorry, Y/n.”

He stops there, and you work to collect your thoughts.

“I know. A part of me knows, at least, that you didn’t mean it. I just wanted to be there for you, and hearing that made me- I just- I think it made me hate myself for wanting to be there.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m unbelievably sorry.”

“You didn’t talk to me for months, Spencer. I just don’t understand. I don’t understand why you let me in in the first place. I thought you hated me.”

He’s silent for a long minute.

“I never hated you, Y/n. I just stopped knowing how to act around you, and then I met Maeve. I fell so deep into it that I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. I- And I just started to feel like you didn’t want me to speak to you, so I didn’t. But, when you came here, after everything, I guess I just felt like you were the only person who would get it. You never, no one on the team ever treated me or talked to me how you did. I just wanted that.”

Tears had begun to well in your eyes now. A part of you gets what he means, at least about letting you in, but the other part is so confused as to why he stopped being comfortable around you.

“I don’t understand, Spencer. Why did you stop knowing how to be around me?”

There’s desperation in your voice that makes you sound like a stranger to yourself. Maybe you’re a stranger to everyone right now.

“I uh, I don’t really know.”

“That's not fair, Spence.”

You’re crying now. Just a little bit, but you can feel the wetness on your cheeks. You can see that you are by the look on his face. He looks broken, and you know it's a reflection of your own image.

You wipe your face, “Thank you for apologizing, Spencer. I just, there are parts of this all that I don’t understand, and if you can't explain them to me, I don’t think I ever will.”

“Y/n-,” he calls out your name like a prayer.

“It’s okay, Spence. You don’t have to say anything more. We talked, and things will go back to how they were eventually.”

“I’m so sorry, Y/n.”

You smile sadly as you get up to leave.

“I am, too, for what it's worth. For whatever I did to make things change in the first place.”

You leave it at that, and it takes everything in you not to look back as you leave his apartment.

Things do get easier after that. Not completely. You still love him, and it hurts, but it helps to know he doesn’t hate you. He talks to you some, cordial things, and you do the same. You're sure your teammates still sense something is off, but this works for you. Right now, it works. Getting over him, not loving him anymore, is going to take work, but eventually, you know that you won’t hurt anymore.

Shortly after you and him talked, you started going back out with your friends. Spencer joined periodically, but that was normal. Bars were never really his scene.

Tonight, everyone gathers at your local pub. Your last case was particularly grueling, and you all need a way to blow off some steam. It's fun, and you feel good, even with Spencer sitting across from you. You feel proud of yourself for getting to this point.

JJ and Penelope feed you drinks to try and get you to dance, and you let them. Tonight feels as good of a night as any to ‘get back out there’ as Pen says. So, you do. You dance with them, and you ward off the other cops and agents around you who try to pull you away from your group. You aren’t interested in that. Right now, you're just having an appropriate amount of fun for a woman 15 feet from her boss.

Time goes by quickly, and by the time you get back to the table, you, Derek, Penelope, and JJ remain. He tells you that Hotch, Rossi, Reid, and Alex left a few minutes before. The conversation between you flows for a while, up until the drinks loosen Penelope up enough to bring up what you were pretty sure the team designated a no-no topic.

“Y/n, you have to talk about it.”

You’re still laughing as something Derek said when you reply, “What?”

“You know what. You and Boy-Genius. What on Earth happened? You went from ice-cold to semi-friendly. None of us saw it coming.”

“Babygirl-,” Derek tries to stop her, but you cut him off.

“No, it’s okay. I have to talk about it at some point, and I think right now is the only time I’ll be tipsy enough to let you get it out of me.”

You're still laughing slightly, but the pit that's lived in your stomach for the past few months starts to rear its head.

“After your Day of the Dead party, he asked to talk to me. I went to his place, and he apologized. I don’t really understand what he said or what he meant, but I can’t be sad about him forever.”

Pen perks up a bit at that, “I knew that party would bring good things!”

You giggle a bit at her outburst, but then JJ asks, “What did he say?”

The faces around you all tune in at that. You know they don’t see this as gossip. They care about you both too much to trivialize it like that.

“He just said that he stopped knowing how to act around me, and he didn’t know why, but then he met Maeve, and I guess it didn’t matter so much after that. He was my best friend, and then he was nothing.”

JJ shares a glance with Derek and then speaks, “Oh, Y/n.”

“What?”

After a beat, Derek says, “He didn’t just not know how to act around you.”

Now you're confused, “What do you mean? I talked to him, that's what he said. He didn’t know why. I mean, he knows everything and didn’t know why he didn’t want to be around me anymore. How fucking stupid is that.”

You laugh again, but it does come off as genuine in the slightest.

“Y/n, he probably doesn’t really know why. At least not fully. For someone as smart as he is, the kid can be really stupid.”

“Stop being cryptic.”

Derek sighs but goes on, “Pretty girl, pretty boy was in love with you. Probably still is. He just didn’t think you’d ever feel the same.”

“No. That's not true.”

You look at the others around you, but their faces are serious.

“He loved Maeve. He loves Maeve. That, that doesn’t make any sense.”

It's JJ’s turn to talk now.

“He definitely did love Maeve, no one is denying that, but we all saw how he was around you. His whole relationship with her was safe. He couldn’t be hurt by her rejection every day because he had no way of seeing her. With you, he could.”

Your mind is moving a mile a minute, “Did he tell you guys this?”

Penelope puts her hand over yours and says, “He didn’t have to, love. We all say the way he looked at you and acted around you. The way he talked about you. That boy was head over heels.”

“Guys, I appreciate whatever you’re trying to do, but this isn’t real. Spencer doesn’t- this is not real.”

“Y/n, pause. Think about the way he acted around you, the things he said. Think about how Reid is.”

You hear what Derek said, but it all sounds faint like someone stuffed your ears with cotton while you weren't paying attention. All you can focus on are the different scenes running through your head, the scenes of your life with Spencer in it. How he memorized your coffee order and brought it for you every day, how he never shied away from your touch despite his aversion to contact, how he consistently went out of his way to protect you on the field. At his house after everything, the way he clung to you and wanted to be held. How he said in his own words, “You can't be what I need”; not “you aren’t,” but “you can’t.”

Your whole world is crashing down in this bar, and you can’t do anything to stop it.

“Y/n?”

JJ’s voice snaps you out of your spiral.

“Just go talk to him.”

You nod mutely, and you get up.

Everything in the last ten months of your life has led you to the exact spot you were when everything blew up in the first place: Spencer’s door.

This time, you aren't too worried about him not letting you in. If anything, it's the opposite. Him opening this door could open a hundred others, and you don’t quite know if you are ready for any of them. You sit there and sit there and sit there, trying to work up the courage to knock, though you aren’t sure it's there to begin with. Right as you're about to walk away and decide you’ll come back another day, his door swings open.

“Y/n?”

His face is lit up with shock, and you notice his hand that is not on the door is holding his pistol.

“What are you doing here?”

You don’t answer, “Why did you open the door?”

He sets his piece down on the entry table before responding, “I heard footsteps in the hall and saw they stopped here. I was anxious. 50.3% of home invasions happen between 8:00 pm and 7:00 am.” He cuts himself off there, “Y/n, why are you here?”

You didn’t pay attention to anything he said. All you could think about was the way his lips were moving and the way his eyes locked onto yours as he talked.

“Do you love me?”

That is not what you wanted to say.

His lips fall open as he takes in a sharp breath, “What?”

“Or I guess did you love me? Before everything? Because Derek and JJ and Pen, they all said that you loved me, and now I can’t think about anything else, Spencer.”

He doesn’t speak, but you don't really give him a chance to.

“I just, I know I sound crazy right now, but I feel fucking crazy. I keep going over everything in my head, and I have been, for the past year I have been, but now it’s all different. It's all different because they said that you loved me, but you didn’t think I’d feel the same way.”

Here, you do pause, but he still doesn’t say anything, so you go on before you can stop yourself.

“Because if that's true, Spencer, it's just- I did. I do. And if it's not, then please just tell me so I can stop feeling this way.”

He sounds resigned when he says, “Y/n,” and you feel like you know what that means.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I'm doing this. You don’t have to say anything. Actually, please don’t say anything. I don't think I can hear it. Just pretend I never-”

He cuts off your ramble, “Y/n, stop.”

You draw your eyes from the floor, look up at him, and find something in his gaze you have never seen before. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you, and it takes everything you have not to look away. His hand raises to cup your jaw, and your skin lights on fire. Before you can process what he’s doing, you feel his lips press against yours, and something clicks. At first, his touch is light, like he’s giving you the chance to pull away. But, when he grasps that you won’t, he presses himself to you harder, and all you can think about is how nothing has ever felt so right.

His lips move against yours, and you don’t know how you're managing to reciprocate because it feels like everything in your body has gone fuzzy. The kiss is by no means long, but it feels like it lasts forever, and by the time he pulls away, you’re breathless.

His forehead stays connected to yours, and he whispers, “I do, Y/n, love you. I have.”

You don’t feel the tears on your cheeks until he’s wiping them away.

“Oh, Y/n.”

“Did you know? That you did? Is that why…”

You trail off, hoping he’ll pick up on what you're asking, and he does.

“I didn’t at first, or I didn’t realize I was falling in love with you until it happened. I got scared, so I ran. I just never thought that you could feel the same or that I was hurting you. I didn’t realize that. I just thought I was doing what was best for us. I felt guilty for being in love with my best friend.”

“And Maeve?”

“I loved Maeve. I’ll always have love for her. I was trying to move on, and I thought I could eventually be with her and be around you without it hurting. I wish I would have told you this before.”

“You’re telling me now. That's enough.”

This time, it's you who pushes your lips to meet his. Your arms snake around his neck, and his fall to your waist. You follow when he pulls you into his apartment and closes the door. There is still pain on both sides, but you can feel it dissipating as you cling to each other. You’re just two broken people who have finally found a way to each other.

This kiss is different, hungrier. Neither of you pulls away for longer than a few seconds as you navigate your way from his entryway to his couch. Every touch is desperate like you're searching for something you never knew existed until now. His hands pull you closer and closer until he's pulling you on top of him, and each of your legs rests on opposite sides of his hips.

Your lips break from his for a moment, “What do you want, Spence?”

His reply is instant, “You.”

From there, things move faster. Your hands unbutton his shirt and push it from his shoulders while he undoes your pants. There are moments of awkwardness that come with exploring another for the first time, but it feels good. His hands trace over your hips and push further until you're left on top of him in only your underwear and bra. He takes you in like you are something to be marveled at, and you know your eyes reflect the same adoration.

You raise yourself off of him and work to get him in the same state of undress as you, and when you position yourself on top of him, you feel his length press against your center. The two thin layers of fabric do little to hinder the intensity as you rock into him. He lets out quiet moans at the action as his lips trace down your neck and over your collarbone.

His breath ghosts over you and makes you shiver when he asks, “Can I touch you?”

“Please.”

His hand moves between the two of you, and his fingers find your clit easily, rubbing circles over the fabric of your panties. You pant his name against his lips at the action. You feel like your whole body is lit up, and under any other circumstance, you'd feel embarrassed at how worked up you are, but you can’t seem to care.

After a few moments, he lifts you up and carries you to his bedroom. From there, he positions you below him on the bed, removing your remaining clothes in the same motion. The new setup lets you grip him, and he feels big in your hand. His fingers resume their previous assault before dipping down into you. You cry out at the feeling of him inside you, slowly pushing in and out, finding a spot that makes your legs start to shake. He’s relentless in his pursuit and all you can muster up the energy to say is his name.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/n.”

It's somewhere between a whimper and a whisper, but the sound of his voice causes you to clench around his fingers.

He picks up on this, of course he does, and quickens his pace as he coos at you.

“So pretty like this. I’m so lucky.”

You’re embarrassingly close already, so when he moves his thumb over your clit to rub circles as he fucks into you with his fingers, you come undone almost instantly with a warning and cry of his name. He works you through your orgasm, all while whispering praise in your ear. Once you come down from your high, you start to push his boxers down his legs, but he stops you before you can fully.

“We don’t have to do anything more, Y/n. I liked just making you feel good.”

“I want more. I want to feel you if you want that too.”

“Of course I do. I just don’t want you to regret anything.”

“I couldn’t regret this, Spencer. I love you. I want all of you.”

It's the first time you’ve actually said those three words to him, and it feels so fucking good to say.

“I love you, too. God, so much.”

With that, he positions himself back on top of you, running his fingers over your slit gently before gripping himself.

“Do you have a condom?”

“I might somewhere, but I have an IUD, and I’m clean. I can try to find one if you’re more comfortable with that?”

“IUDs have a failure rate of around .05% and are largely considered the most effective form of birth control, so uh, as long as you're okay with it, I am.”

You smile to yourself at his statistic but nod, “I want to feel you, Spencer.”

He returns your smile before rubbing his length over your entrance a few times and slowly pushing himself into you just slightly. He teases you, or maybe himself, for a moment before fully entering you. You push your hips up to meet his, and feeling him in his entirety makes your jaw fall open. He’s big, and you feel unbelievably full.

He waits a moment for you to adjust before he starts to develop a rhythm. His hands are everywhere, but his eyes are focused solely on your face like he doesn’t want to miss a moment of your reaction to him inside of you. To be fair, you are probably putting on a good show. Every movement he makes hits you in exactly the right spot, and you don’t think you could be louder if you tried. You can feel the leg he’s not holding up against his shoulder shake against the bed. Your first orgasm has made way for your second to be incredibly close.

“Spencer, please.”

You’re crying out, desperate for a little more to push you over the edge.

“What do you need, baby?” His voice is tight like he’s not far himself, and it sounds better than anything you’ve ever heard.

“Harder. Please, harder.”

He takes your direction immediately, rubbing circles on your clit with one hand while he thrusts into you with a bruising force. He’s fucking you like he wants you to remember the feeling long after he stops, and you know that you will. Everything about it is overwhelming: his smell, his pace, his eyes. You are covered in him, and he is covered in you.

After a moment, the hand he had on your stomach trails up to grasp lightly at your throat, and you fall into feeling. You can’t warn him that you're about to come before you do. The feeling is white hot. Bigger than your first, and the fact that you're coming on him sends you into overdrive. You can feel his hips falter for a moment, but you're lost in a daze, crying out his name.

He pumps into you a few more times before he follows suit. He pulls out, and you feel stripes of his come paint your cunt and lower stomach as he finishes with a moan of your name.

He falls next to you on the bed, and it takes you both a few moments to collect yourselves and catch your breath.

Once you do, the only thing you can think to say is, “I love you.”

It feels like those are the only words circling around in your head at the moment. Some mixture of his name and that declaration. While you know you each said it before, that your profession was the exigence of the sex you just had, it feels uniquely vulnerable to say now. It’s like the moment you just had together could have changed things or made him realize that he doesn’t actually love you after all.

That shoe doesn’t drop, though. Instead, you hear the three words echoed back to you by a man who, 6 hours ago, you thought would never, ever say them.

You turn to face him, and the love on his face feels like it could knock you out. He’s looking at you and smiling in a way you haven't seen in a long time.

“Will you let me clean you up?”

You know that part of the reason he’s asking has something to do with the likelihood of bacteria growth or something like that, but you think it's mainly that he wants to take care of you. Him wetting a rag and running it over you feels intimate in a different way, in an excruciatingly gentle way. Personal in a way that makes you feel like nothing between you could ever be wrong again, and maybe that's naive to think, but you feel hopeful regardless.

Once he finishes, he takes his space back next to you in the bed. This time, he pulls you into his arms, and it's different than it was all those months ago. This time, you know that he won’t push you away and that you won't hurt yourself by being next to him. This time, you just tuck yourself into him, and you let him whisper sweet nothings into your ear as you begin to drift off. This time, it feels like peace.

The following day, you wake up to Spencer still next to you, looking incredibly soft in the early morning light. You search for a moment to find your phone in the piles of clothes and are greeted with a text from Pen.

How did it go????

You smile before turning your phone off and climbing back into bed next to the man you love. It couldn’t have gone better.

all done! yay!!!

i hope you guys love it!! i’m not 100% happy with the ending but i’ve been writing this for so long and just needed to be done.

this is my first time writing angst on here and my longest fic, so PLEASE tell me what you think! all (nice) feedback is welcome and i love to hear from you guys!! :)

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #fic rec #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfiction #fanfiction #friends to lovers #friends to enemies to lovers #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fic rec

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withthewindinherfootsteps · 3 days

Text

Clarification: the point of MDZS isn't to distrust every rumour you hear. Some of the rumours in the prologue turn out to be right! The Jiang clan did take Wei Wuxian off the streets! Wei Wuxian did destroy (half of) the Yin Hufu before he died (and did ‘destroy the weapon’ in the sense it couldn’t be used anymore, because it required two halves to work)! He was one of the most promising cultivators and found success at a young age! He did die!

The point is thinking critically about the information you receive. Don't believe something because it suits what you want to think of someone, or because everyone else is agreeing with it. Believe it because there's strong evidence for it. Lan Wangji puts it best:

Lan WangJi slowly shook his head, “One should not comment without understanding the whole picture.” - Chapter 30, EXR translation

With Wei WuXian expanding on the reasoning (same chapter):

Just like you, I don’t understand the whole picture, so I’m not going to comment either. You’re right. Before knowing all of the turns and twists, causes and effects, nobody should presume anything about anything.

(And for context, this attitude is proven right! The conversation is about whether Xiao Xingchen performed lingchi on (severely tortured) Chang Ping, and there end up being so many unexpected twists and turns in his story that any judgement made without evidence would have been impossible to get right*. Wei Wuxian only makes his guess – that Xue Yang did it to take revenge for Xiao Xingchen, in his twisted way – after he has the relevant information of the Yi City quartet's story. And, seeing the nerves he hit, it seems to be correct.)

In fact, that's something we ourselves have to do throughout the course of the novel – weighing up what we know of Wei Wuxian's past deeds with what we see of his personality and actions in the present day. Those who still blindly trust the rumours up until the Second Siege are shown how unwise that is by being proven wrong... but that's not because having any opinion that happens to agree with a rumour, no matter the amount of evidence, is automatically wrong. As I mentioned, some of the rumours are correct! It's because how Wei Wuxian acted in the present day – ie the concrete evidence we have – didn't match up.

Blindly distrusting rumours is exactly the same as blindly trusting them.

---

*Without making a random, lucky guess. And since that would have no proof behind it, and a greater chance of being wrong... well, I think we can all afree that random unbased guesses aren't the way to solve mysteries.

#mdzs meta #theme: critical thinking #my meta #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #魔道祖师 #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #gdc #and rumour accuracy can probably be judged by how consistent the rumour remains over how many people from different backgrounds say it?#if everyone agrees on the specifics of many aspects of something that is NOT enough to prove the rumour! you still have to match up the-#-evidence. but it's more likely to be reliable than trusting 'wwx killed 3000 cultivators at nightless city' when 'he killed 5000' is right #-next to it (and vice versa too – that doesn't mean the 5000 figure is right either)#one of a pair of contradicting rumours could still turn out to be right of course! but you *need to find evidence first*

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ckret2 · 2 days

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What's your stance on Ford as a person? Honestly, I believe that for thr majority of canon he is a bad person. But I believe he grew. Still not great though XD

(Love him anyways obvs)

I disagree entirely! I think he's equally as good a person as any of the other main cast.*

*Except Mabel, who, as we all know, is always right about everything.**

(**This is a lighthearted joke. For the love of god, I don't want Mabel discourse in my inbox.)

His biggest sins in the show:

After telling his brother that he was thinking about changing their shared life plans, and then discovering that his brother had gone to the high school that night for no good reason and gone to the science fair for no good reason and messed around near Ford's science project for no good reason and broke it and didn't tell Ford about it... Ford believed Stan did it intentionally and held a grudge for it. You know what, it WOULD be pretty damn hard to believe it was an accident.

Hilariously ill-equipped to cope with Fiddleford's mental health. A guy who responds to "I have anxiety" with "have you tried yoga, it helps me" isn't a bad person, he's clueless. "Character cheerfully enacts a bad idea while a loved one in the background goes NO PLEASE DON'T DO THAT" describes half the episodes of Gravity Falls.

Was successfully manipulated by a professional manipulator into believing his best friend wished him ill. Man, what a terrible person Ford is for being manipulated by a manipulator and saying cruel things to somebody he'd been genuinely convinced was trying to harm him.

??? Didn't say thanks to a guy he was still mad at after the guy fixed a problem he himself had caused. This is a solitary example of stubborn bad etiquette, jesus christ. There's half a dozen different reasons why it makes perfect sense Ford wasn't in the right mindset to feel grateful, this is not something worth indicting his entire character over.

He had high ambitions, which everyone seems to lambast him for, but high ambitions that wouldn't have required doing anybody harm! (Until the professional manipulator started manipulating him into harming the people around him, but we are going to demonstrate some reading comprehension and not blame Ford's underlying morality as a person for things he never would've done if not for Bill's bullying, con artistry, and outright lies.) Like, what is it that he wanted to do with his life? Use his talents to get rich and famous? Shit, that's exactly what Stan wanted to do with his life. It's what Dipper fantasizes about doing with his life. Even Mabel, who thinks about her long-term future the least, dreams big with her art & performances and is already making big money off cheap-ass commissions. What terrible people they all are, for—let me check my notes here—uhhh... unrealistically fantasizing about achieving success in life by doing the things they're good at.

When their dad accuses Stan of lying as a child, Ford puts his entire summer on the line to defend Stan even though he knows Stan is a habitual liar and has no reason to believe Stan is telling the truth this time.

When his new college roommate he barely even knows gets laughed at for proposing an outlandish scientific theory, his first emotion is outrage at this injustice and he drops everything to convince his already-despondent roommate that he was right and help him prove it beyond a shadow of a doubt.

When he moves to a new town, he tries again and again to befriend his new neighbors, and fails not because he's rude or a jerk, but because he's awkward as hell, tells terrible jokes, and sucks at identifying phoenixes.

When Fiddleford gets hurt around him, he cares about it, feels guilty about putting him in that position, doesn't want it to happen again, and tries his best to help even though he's bad at helping.

When he gets kidnapped by a weird holiday folklore creature, he concludes without even thinking about it that he's now in charge of protecting and rescuing the kidnapped kids. Yeah, then he immediately starts hollering at the folklore creature for trying to impose his religious beliefs on Ford and the kids—but like, Ford was right tho, he just had bad timing.

When he discovers that the Northwest family committed atrocities against their poorer neighbors a century ago, his first instinct is to march up to their house, find the first Northwest he can locate, and give them a piece of his mind for it. Like, this won't even FIX anything. He's just THAT OUTRAGED over the injustice.

When he sees what he thinks is a fortune telling fraud conning the people, he attempts to debunk her because he's mad to see someone cheating other people with lies—and when he can't debunk her, he just leaves her alone rather than harass her about it. Typically, if assholes think somebody's doing something wrong but don't have any proof of it and fail to get proof when they look, they decide they're right anyway and keep giving that person shit. Ford doesn't give her shit. That's the opposite of an asshole move.

When he discovers his Portal To Knowledge (And Fame & Fortune) is actually a Portal To Doom (But Still Possibly Fame & Fortune, Maybe Even Godly Power), he isn't tempted for a second to keep working on it anyway. There is no moment where Bill manages to tempt him. No matter what Bill offers, no matter how long Bill offers, never, at ANY point, does Ford have a SECOND of "but what if I did make a deal with the devil?" the way so many heroes in similar situations often do.

You ever notice that? So often moral moments in the show are presented as choices the characters make. Will or won't Dipper give Bill a "puppet" in exchange for knowledge. Will or won't Stan fight a pterodactyl to protect Mabel's pig. Will or won't Mabel hand Bipper the journal. Ford is never given a "will or won't he" moment over Bill's threats, offers of friendship, or offers of infinite power—he steamrolls straight past them without a second of consideration—because, to him, the selfish, cowardly, easy choice ISN'T EVEN AN OPTION. He doesn't even SEE it as making a choice because the possibility of doing the wrong thing is invisible. A character who wavers first before turning Bill down would look more noble for "overcoming" temptation—it's harder to notice just how much stronger Ford's moral compass must be to not even feel temptation in the first place.

Greed and pride never tempt him to join Bill's side. Exhaustion, despair, and fear never tempt him to give up. He bears up under weeks, possibly months of extreme sleep deprivation, physical torture, psychological torture, emotional torture, threats of death, threats of brainwashing, threats to his family. He doesn't hold up so that he can pat himself on the back for being a hero—if that was all it was he would've gone "screw it, this isn't worth it and nobody would know I'm the one who gave up" a week in—he does it because he simply knows it must be done and because he's so isolated (half because of Bill's influence!) that he believes he's the one who must do it, all alone.

Thinking he has to do it by himself isn't egotism or pride; it's helplessness. He thinks no one else stands a chance. He thinks he's alone.

And, when he discovers his Portal To Knowledge is a Portal To Doom, he immediately feels guilty. No trying to deny the situation to protect his ego. No shuffling the blame off to someone else. No "maybe the apocalypse could have a silver lining!" No locking the door and trying to ignore the problem. He blames himself for being fooled—he IMMEDIATELY takes full responsibility for his actions—and he CONTINUES to take responsibility FOR THE NEXT THIRTY YEARS.

He takes more responsibility than is even warranted—he treats himself like he's an idiot for believing in an APPARENT GOD who's been practicing manipulating humans for thousands of years and who had never given Ford reason to believe the portal was anything but what Bill said it was. He beats himself up to no end every single time his past with Bill comes up. He even keeps beating himself up thirty years later when he's shoving warning notes to future readers in Bill's evil unkillable book!

When he falls into the multiverse, he dedicates his entire life NOT to finding a way to rescue himself, but to finding a way to permanently stop the CHAOS GOD who's still at the threshold of destroying Ford's world and countless others. He makes himself a hated criminal in the process, just to stop Bill. He's ready to spend the rest of his life trying to protect a world he doesn't think he'll ever see again. He does it because, as he sees it, somebody has to stand in between the children and the obnoxious folklore cryptid menacing them, and he's the only adult in this damn cave with the skills and knowledge for the job.

When he gets home, he doesn't tell his family about Bill and his quest because he's afraid that doing so will get them involved and endanger them too—and because he's too deeply ashamed of himself and his mistakes to stand the thought of his family knowing about the horrible things he's done (AGAIN, WHILE BEING MANIPULATED BY THE GOD OF MANIPULATION).

He loves his great-niece and great-nephew the second he lays eyes on them; he nevertheless tries to steer away from them to keep them safe from Bill; and yet he caves to the very first temptation to emotionally bond with his great-nephew he gets, because in spite of his noble "keep them safe" intentions, he wants so so badly to be close to his family.

As pissed as he still is at Stan and even though neither of them can look at each other without hissing like cats, he still makes an attempt to start bridging their divide by inviting him to play DD&MD.

When the apocalypse happens, he immediately puts his life on the line to try to kill Bill.

And when he's captured, isn't fazed for a second by Bill's offers or threats... until his family is threatened. The exact thing he'd been trying to avoid & prevent from the very start.

And when he's reunited with Fiddleford, his immediate reaction is to point out that Fiddleford's well within his rights to hate him—which isn't a new revelation, it's not like Ford had to do any soul-searching to reach this conclusion, he'd concluded that 30 years ago the instant he realized Bill had played him and that he'd been lied to about Fiddleford.

And then he tries to kill Bill again.

And then he's ready to sacrifice his own life to kill Bill—and the only reason he doesn't is because he has a metal plate preventing him from making the sacrifice... but, Stan doesn't have a plate. If Ford hadn't had the metal plate, he would have gladly done the exact same thing Stan did—and he would have thought it was right for him and only him to make that sacrifice, because it's VERY clear he feels (and has felt from the start) that this is all his fault and he's obligated to fix it.

Over and over and over, these are Ford's two defining character traits: getting so pissed off at injustice that his common sense shuts off and he goes into terminator mode until he's righted this wrong as best he can, even when he can't actually do anything about it; and feeling like he's Atlas, weighed down with the full responsibility of fixing everything he's done wrong and made to believe that, for everyone else's sake, he has to do it all alone. Even when doing so puts himself in harm's way, even when he has to put his entire life on hold for it, even if it might cost him his life. Scrape off his awkward social skills, his loneliness, his nerdiness, his endless curiosity, his zealous love of the strange, his starry ambitions, his yearning for recognition and success—scrape his personality down to the bone and that's what you're left with. A man who believes in defending the exploited so strongly that it makes him a little stupid.

I'm gonna go out on a limb and assume that you probably don't think Stan's fundamentally a bad person, and that you probably think that isn't even worth questioning. Stan's made a whole career out of swindling people, conning them out of as much money as he possibly can, stealing, lying, committing a long list of goofily-named crimes, and attempting douchy pick-up artistry on women; and to cap it all off, he held the safety of the entire universe hostage to demand a goddamn "thank you." Don't send me any "But he had reasons—" "But it was only to—" I don't need it, I don't want the essay, I'm not arguing that Stan's a bad guy, it's fine.

But. You can look at Stan's moments of cruelty and unkindness, his uncharitable thoughts, his character flaws, and think, "that doesn't define him. He's more than his cruelest moments and worst mistakes. He's imperfect, but he cares so much and his heart's in the right place, and beneath all the flaws his core is good."

And if you can't do the same for Ford, it's not because he's a worse person. It's because we got two seasons with Stan and five and a half episodes with Ford—and while we saw Stan yearning to fish with the kids or encouraging Mabel to whoop Pacifica's butt at minigolf or crying over a black and white period drama or punching zombies to save his family, we only saw Ford at the worst moments in his life and under the stress of a prolonged apocalyptic crisis—and, it so happens, all the moments he was pissed at the guy we spent two seasons learning to love.

Ford's got moments of cruelty and unkindness, uncharitable thoughts, and character flaws. But, at his core, he's a good person, and he always has been, and he still is.

#anonymous #ask #gravity falls #grunkle ford #ford pines #(note to self: when you see an ask that makes you go 'god i don't wanna get into this; i'll type something quick & punchy and move on'—)#(—do NOT start typing something 'quick & punchy' when your adhd meds are wearing off.)#(they WILL last just long enough for you to snap into a hyperfocus but not long enough for you to have the power to stop typing.)#(i'm thirsty.)#meta

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meo-eiru · 2 days

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begging u to introduce some of those fine gentlemen fr

especially if they’re doms bc. im a whore

Ok so for the ones who have lore

This one is Ro. He's basically this all powerful dragon who travels from kingdom to kingdom and spends a few weeks at a castle there to his liking. He's technically not allowed to do that but the nobles can't say anything to him since he could just wipe their country off the map if he feels like it. He finds the mc on the street as a homeless orphan and thinks she has potential as a mage so he decides to spend a few more years in that country and raise her to his liking.

On a matter of scariness I'd say he's actually more scary than Micah. Not only is he more powerful, he's also easier to anger, and you don't know what he might do when he's angry. Also unlike Micah who was aware of his affection for you right from the get go, Ro thinks of you more as a rare gem he owns and by the time he realizes his true feelings it's too late.

This is one of the stories I'd like to turn into a full webcomic one day.

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

Next we have these 3, well there's a 4th one but I couldn't find a drawing of him. Basically a reverse harem story about 4 ancient mages and a girl who seems to weirdly attract them. I'd say the blue haired one is definitely the poster boy but the drawing is quite old and I actually changed his design a bit, I think it was too busy.

I'm gonna be honest, this is a fanservice story. You know how there are always shows with female characters wearing impossibly revealing stuff to literal fights? I thought, hey how about I do the same but with men.

We have 4 mages, the mage of light, the mage of dark, the mage of mind and the mage of emotions.

Again a story I want to turn into a webcomic one day

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

This guy is the literal personification of Love. He was made out of love, he lives through love and IS Love.

He is the beautiful type of love, he is the innocent type of love, he is the dark type of love. The love that will suffocate you, the love that will make you wish you never experienced it, the love that'll bring you to tears from it's kindness.

He knows you yearn for love, a love you can be sure could never die off, a love that will follow you even if you no longer want it.

Even if you can't love him anymore he will continue suffocating you until you become completely his.

This is a story I want to turn into a visual novel in the future.

The other characters have lore too but I don't want this post to get too long, I think it should be enough to talk about these for now

#asks #artists on tumblr #digital art #male yandere #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n #male yandere x reader #sketch #doodle

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nephilimbrute · 1 day

Text

ok since you guys don't know anything about my agent 8's personality, i'm doing a huge infodump on them. enjoy

Agent 8; they/them, nonbinary — 24 as of current time, in a relationship with Agent 4 and Captain 3

they're pretty, but also one of the worst people you'll meet. everyone who met them has had something terrible happen to them, basically a bad omen...yet they still think they're a saint! 8 is very narcissistic, but also very self-critical. they think they can be the only one to do something, that they're the best at it...but they know this is wrong, so they hate themself for it

they think they're a very fragile and innocent being, like a deer. they want to live a calm and steady life, no excessively loud or overwhelming sounds and music, just them and their close ones. they enjoy writing poetry and creating art to the likes of vincent van gogh, but also impressionism in general. they have a very bad memory now, so they want to capture the present time as best as they can if it ever gets worse. often times, 8 thinks about any big events that are coming up in the near future (concerts, festivals, etc.). they don't like to think about the future outside of these things (was team present if that wasn't obvious)

they used to be full of emotion, expressing and voicing their thoughts well. but slowly over time, they've became numb to most things to prevent themself from being embarassed by...sadness. they think being upset is embarassing, and are easily annoyed by gloomy people. they have such little sympathy, but it still exists. they are capable of love! it's not hard to crack through their shell, nor do they even have one. 8 themself is aware of how they've changed over the years, and they want to go back to how they used to be; loving, sympathetic, mindful of others. they do feel very sorry for the change in their personality, but the partial sanitization that was done to them makes it difficult to revert to their old self

8 feels like they're putting up a front when they want to be nice, and, they can be compassionate and apologetic sometimes. they deeply wish for anyone who recognized them pre-octo expansion to forgive them, even if they did nothing wrong

because of the whole octo expansion situation, 8 has developed truman syndrome, paranoia, and heavily dislikes anything involving a smart AI or robotics. this is one of the reasons why marina pisses them off so badly. to 8, they think that they've caused no harm, and every mistake they've done was not entirely their fault. they make a lot of people uncomfortable in some way without touching anyone or saying anything. despite all that, they respect people's personal space a lot!..other than pearl and marina, who they used to watch sleep before being kicked out

now, onto their relationships. 8 is doing fine with agent 4, he's nice to them so they like him... but so is cap3, yet 8 might be one of the worst things that ever happened to her. cap3 really wants some alone time and hates being stared at, and 8 does the exact opposite of that. they don't touch her at her request, but they Will stare at her whenever she's doing anything, at any given time. they don't process in their mind that they want to make her uncomfortable, they just sort of...do?

^ i only limited this to a bit so i won't delve Too deep and go off topic. you can ask about that if you want

i guess you could say they have some kind of parental issues? i don't know, they can't remember who their biological parents are anyways. they have a strong attachment to marina though, can't decide if they wanna be her or want her to adopt them. kind of "eh" with pearl, still respects him nonetheless

congratulations! if you've read until the end, here's a human 8 doodle :3

#splatoon #agent 8 #splatagents

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xiaominghao · 2 days

Text

Prettiest eyes in the universe

Genre: fluff.

Pairing: Vernon x fem!reader.

Warnings: none.

"Can we buy some marshmallows?" you suddenly askedas you walked toward the store checkout.

"Right, you don't have any..." Vernon whispered to himself, looking at the shopping list you wrote before going out. "Sure."

When you reached the candy aisle, you grabbed two bags of different brands, unsure which one to take, so you brought both to the register where Vernon was waiting patiently.

"Tell me, which one do you prefer?" You placed both bags at shoulder height, he stared at you but said nothing. "... Then?"

"Yeah?" Vernon tilted his head slightly, blinking fast a couple times.

"Please, help me" you smiled awkwardly, behind you was a person waiting for their turn and didn't seem to be friendly.

"Whatever you want, princess" He replied with a shrug.

You sighed and left one bag in the cart to return the other to its place, then you went to the register to help with the bags.

On the way back to home, you were walking down a nearby alley and there was a beautiful fluffy cat resting in a planter.

"Hey, is our little neighbor" you said with joy and leaned to the cat, who stood up to greet you with a meow. "Do you think his owner knows he sneaks out to sleep here?"

You turned to Vernon waiting for his response, to tell one of his out-of-context jokes, but he just stood there, gazing at you fondly. As you smiled, you both resumed the way to home.

After putting away the groceries to its place, you took a shower and changed into comfortable clothes, thinking about wath you should cook for dinner.

"Yesterday we had spicy food, what about hotcackes?" you asked while tying your hair.

Hearing no response, you turned around, only to find him sitting on the bed looking at you with a big smile on his lips. You sighed deeply.

"Hansol, you've been too quiet all this time" you said with some concern, looking at him with tender gaze. "Do you wanna tell me something?"

Vernon stood up from the bed and walked towards you, he remained silent for a while, then he cleared his throat.

"Recently, I've been thinking..." Vernon made a small pause and gave you a warm smile. "My princess has the prettiest brown eyes in this universe"

You felt your cheeks starting to burn as you bursted out in laughter, covering your face with both hands. He liked to do it, saying those kind of things out of blue; for you it may seems like a game of his, but for him is the perfect excuse to make you smile.

Watching you that happy is all he needs to have the perfect day.

You caught your breath, drying the small tears in the corner of your eyes, and then you took his face in your hands like the most precious thing that ever existed.

"C'mon, Hansol" you said softly, looking him straight in the eyes "You have the prettiest brown eyes in this universe"

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cloudzoro · 2 days

Text

Kink Discovery 3 | One Piece ♡

This is part three, part one is here and part two is here

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

individual reaction/headcanon scenarios on kink discovery with op characters!

one piece masterlist

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

genre: smut (minors dni)

characters: mihawk, perona, reiju, shanks, smoker

cw: fem!reader, unprotected sex, all other warning are kinks which are outlined in the post already

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Mihawk - Cockwarming

It was your idea. A stupid idea. You didn't think Mihawk would take you seriously when you issued him a challenge. You had asked him to a competition of resolve. You're sat on his cock, and whoever gives in first loses. You may have underestimated your husband's competitiveness and self-restraint.

Your husband takes the opportunity to admire you perched on his lap, completely undressed. He's more than aware of the way your pussy is pulsing around his cock, you're desperate for him to move, but he won't. He won't give in; he's having far too much fun observing your reactions. You're practically shaking above him, your lip caught between your teeth as you try your best to stop your face from expressing your true feelings.

“You can't hide from me, Darling,” he says, reaching up to pull your lip from your teeth before you bite it off. His stare is intense, as always, as he gazes into your eyes. “I quite like this game you've come up with. I get to watch your beautiful eyes fill with desperation.”

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Perona - Bondage

Perona has always been a little bit of a freak and has always encouraged you to explore your kinks with her.

When you hand her a rope and a book on shibari and other types of bondage, she's not sure what to think. When she next gets you alone, she delicately ties your wrists to your ankles and turns you over onto our back. She holds a vibrator to your clit as she kisses up and down your legs, outlining the rope with lipstick. Your restraints block every twitch of pleasure, and there's nothing to hold onto as the vibrations get more intense.

Perona watches, intrigued and impossibly wet, as you're forced to feel the full intensity of the pleasure without anything to ground you. Your arms twitch and move, your moans fill the castle walls, and your legs attempt to clamp shut around her hand. She is mesmerised by your body. She never expected to enjoy seeing you helpless like this, but there's something about the way you writhe in pleasure that has her feeling like a monster leaning in to catch its prey.

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Reiju - Face Sitting

Reiju loves eating pussy; it's her favourite meal of the day. She's always wanted to try face-sitting, but you've been too nervous. You're always fretting about hurting her or just not making her feel good. Though she's been very clear that eating out is not a selfless act on her part, she derives almost as much pleasure from it as you do.

It takes a lot of sweet talk and irresistible touches, but she finally reassures you that it's going to be fine, and you agree. As soon as your pussy makes contact with her face and she gets a taste of you on her tongue, it's over for her. She is addicted, and she doesn't want to give oral any other way. Her firm grip makes it so you don't even have the option to hover. She's not satisfied until she has the steady weight of your body on top of her.

Her tongue laps at your walls as your clit bumps her nose. adding to the stimulation. You couldn't get any closer to her if you tried. She can't get enough of your taste. She is more than happy to let your thighs squish her as she gets her fill.

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Shanks - Breeding

Shanks already had a kid before dating you. He never really thought much about having another one. It had never crossed his mind that he could have one with you. Your relationship was perfect as it was. He never thought about any possible changes.

That is until one day when you bring up the idea of a mini-you running around. It's like a switch flips in his brain, and it's all he can focus on. He pushes your legs up to your chest, holding you in place as he bullies his cock into you. He's dead set on filling you up as much as possible. You already have one fat load inside you and dribbling from your hole.

“You can take another load, can't you, baby?” he says, adjusting himself above you so he can hit a better angle. “gotta make sure it sticks”, He growls, burying his head in your neck as he cums for a second time. He whispers absolute filth in your ear as he empties himself inside you.

Shanks leaves zero possibility that his cum hasn't taken. He can practically smell that it's going to work and it makes him feel feral. He needs to fuck you raw as much as possible until you get a positive result from a doctor.

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Smoker - Marking

You're such a pretty girl. Smoker insists that every guy who so much as glances at you is thinking about railing you six ways to Sunday, and it disgusts him. His irrational jealousy is calling, screaming, for him to do something that lets all these low lives know you're taken. Let them know he's wrapped around your finger and there's no room for anyone else.

After a long, hard day at work, Smoker likes to unwind by fucking your brains out. He pins you down, kisses every inch of skin he can possibly kiss while he stretches you out on his cock. His scent is all over you; trails of saliva glisten on your skin, but it's not enough. He needs something that won't wash away in the shower, something more permanent. That's when he feels the urge clawing at his teeth.

He leans forward, clamping his teeth over your shoulder. His cock twitches at the way you moan for him. He sucks your skin into his mouth, leaving a mark on your skin as a warning to anyone who may see it. He continues, leaving hickies and indents of his teeth in a pattern that makes it clear you are seen to. Seeing you bearing his marks makes him cum embarrassingly fast. Though when he's done, he stays sheathed inside you so he can admire his work before he shows it off to the rest of the world.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

i hope you enjoyed reading! so sorry for my inactivity recently :(

tag list: @bloodfixnd @sexysapphicshopowner @beachaddict48 @lem-hhn

#one piece smut #one piece x reader #fem!reader #shanks x reader smut #shanks x reader #shanks smut #mihawk x reader #mihawk smut #reiju x reader #reiju smut #perona x reader #perona smut #op x reader #op smut #smoker x reader #smoker smut

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always-just-red · 22 hours

Text

A/N: So I threatened a while back to write MC arresting Sylus since he literally won’t shut up about it. Thought this would be a silly fic but it ended up an angst-driven exploration of how his time with MC is probably finite and ill-fated?? Anyway Sylus is too soft for this, I’m sorryyyy (Sy I love you! I would never do this to you! ‘Didn’t it come from your imagination, though?’ Ssshhhh you don’t know what you’re saying!! 🥰)

To Remain Silent

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: Sylus has told you to arrest him one too many times...

Genre: Emotional rollercoaster honestly? Some angst, some comfort (and a lil spice for flavour)

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, vaguely established relationship, gets a little steamy at the end (mostly kissing tbh), artistic licence applied liberally since this would be WAY too risky for MC to actually attempt 😭😭

| Word count: 2.7k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Sylus knows this isn’t real.

You watch him through the glass of his cell, and the subtle tint to it lets you know that he can’t watch you back. He’s sat on the single bench inside, leaning against the far wall, his long legs stretched out before him. His hands are cuffed— tucked away behind his back— but he still looks comfortable. More than comfortable: at ease. At home. Bored.

“You think I can’t feel those pretty little eyes of yours on me?” he mutters, head back, eyes closed. “I’m at your mercy, kitten. Are you really only going to look?”

You tap a button on the glass. “You should start taking this seriously.”

He smiles at the sound of your voice, but his eyes don’t open; there’s still nothing to see. “I’m taking it very seriously, sweetie.”

“I don’t think you are.”

The smile turns even more smug: a confession, all by itself. He sits up and leans forward, like someone who’s found a change of conversation to be interesting. His eyes open— managing to find you, somehow, and— can he see you? No. It’s an educated guess, he’s just selling it with confidence.

Leisurely, he rises from his seat and saunters over to the glass. “Let me see you,” he orders, then bargains: “Please? This is so very—” he toes the division— “one-sided.”

You can’t look him in the eyes, can you? This is hard enough without the windows to your soul baring your heart and your mind to him, like they always do. You should have worn those sunglasses he bought you for that undercover assignment. This is what they’re for, right? Hiding.

With a circular swipe of your finger, the glass before you clears and Sylus meets your gaze.

“Hi,” he teases.

You fold your arms across your chest. “Hey.”

“This is quite some effort you’ve gone to, kitten. And all for me, no less.”

“What effort?” you dismiss plainly. “You practically slapped those handcuffs on yourself.”

It’s not an exaggeration: from the cuffs to the ride here, not a single stage of his arrest has been resisted. The closest he’s gotten to a lack of cooperation was when you’d first restrained and dragged him from his study, where he’d been inclined to point out that the bedroom was the other way.

“Well, I didn’t want to cause a fuss,” he smirks. One of his hands is brought forward, and his handcuffs now hang uselessly from a finger. “Tell me,” he says, letting them swing as he holds your gaze, “what am I to expect now I’ve been so masterfully captured?”

You glance at the restraints, unmoved. “That isn’t for me to decide.”

A door behind you slides open, and— right on time— an altogether more impressive presence joins you before the cell. Sylus glances her up and down as the click of her heeled boots come to a stop; he has never met your captain, but he knows her face.

“You really cashed in all your favours, didn’t you, sweetie?” he observes. He turns to address the woman beside you: “We haven’t been introduced. I’m—”

“I know who you are,” Jenna interrupts, her tone as incorruptible as yours.

Sylus’s arm lifts, resting on the glass above you so he can tower over you, despite the partition. “Is that right?” he purrs absent-mindedly, dropping his head so he can speak into your ear. “Sweetie… I thought you could keep a secret.”

He’s goading you into your usual game, but the stakes don’t interest you. “You were wrong.”

You’re at your own table, dealing your own cards. Does he want to play? You think he might. His lips are curving at the delicious prospect of a challenge. You’ve given him a taste of it. He wants more.

Jenna is studying her clipboard, acting oblivious. She senses the impasse. Asks Sylus: “Do you know why you’re here?”

He huffs impatiently. “Enlighten me.”

“Sylus,” you scold.

Red eyes widen a fraction.

You see it.

Good.

…

Sylus thinks this might be real.

You said his name. His real name: the one with sharp, bloody strings attached. The one on all the posters. The one in your precious Association’s archives, linked to stacks of files and crime scene photos, most of which he isn’t even responsible for.

Sylus. You said: Sylus.

It was worthy of a grand reveal— the sort of plot twist that delivered the suspense of so many thrillers— but here you are, speaking it like it’s nothing. Not a slip of the tongue; not a mistake. And it’s different here. He’s not your Sylus. He’s theirs.

Their murderer. Their monster. Their convenient little scapegoat for everything dark and unholy.

The captain is reading him a list, reeling off every crime— each alleged sin. As if he needs a reminder. As if all the time in the world could ever let him forget. “Needless to say, Mr Sylus,” she summarises, “due to the nature of these crimes, you may prove exempt from our standard procedures. A case like this is… unprecedented. Onychinus has much to answer for. You have much to answer for.”

Sylus hasn’t really been listening; it’s all senseless bureaucracy. “You have the wrong man,” he says, because whatever you’re doing— whatever stunt this is— a confession is sure to derail it. You know that, don’t you? You must be counting on it: holding that guilty breath of yours and hoping he’s smart enough to not be Sylus.

You don’t look worried in the slightest. You must have an awful lot of faith in him.

He studies you, waiting for a small, deliberate smile or a moment of weakness. Give him a sign, don’t give him a sign— it doesn’t matter; he’ll find one. His intentions must be clearer than yours, because you step up to the glass to face him.

Do it, your silence says, even though the rest of you is illegible. You want to look? Look.

His eye could light like a crimson fire— could burn the truth out of you— but it won’t. It’s a promise he made what feels like a lifetime ago, not long after you’d met: Your thoughts and desires are yours to give, not his to take.

Even here. Even now. He’s a man of his word, after all.

Impressed? You smile faintly, but there’s no warmth to it. “Captain,” you speak, your eyes not leaving his, “can you give us a minute? Please?”

“Of course,” the woman answers with a nod.

Sylus does not see her go. He hears it: the retreating rhythm of her shoes. He feels it: it’s just the two of you, alone again. Well, the two of you and that ‘hidden’ camera in the far corner of the room. “Whatever game this is,” he grins good-naturedly, his teeth gritted, “it stops. Now.”

“It’s not a game, Sylus. I told you to take this seriously.”

“What are you doing?” he snaps, and that good-natured grin didn’t last very long.

Your hands land on your hips. “My job.” When he scoffs, you continue: “Did you really think this would end any other way? After everything you’ve done?”

He laughs and it’s deeply sardonic. He’s no saint— to try to convince you he was would be a crime worthy of punishments far worse than this. But you know him. You know the line and what stands on each side of it: everything he’s done, yes, and everything he’s been made to take the fall for.

You wouldn’t do this to him. Would you? “You want to play pretend? Fine,” he hisses. He wants to wrap his Evol around that godforsaken camera and annihilate it. “You caught the big, bad boss of Onychinus— congratulations, sweetie. Sure. Let’s say that’s who I am. A man like that has power, right? So what’s to keep him— me— from escaping? Right now?”

“You’re not going to leave, Sylus. Wanna know why?”

He’s sure you’re going to tell him, and you do:

“Because you’re all talk. All smoke and mirrors. You want to go? Go. But there’s not a single person in this building who wouldn’t give their life to bring you back. Someone will catch up to you eventually, and what then?”

“I’ll have a lot of fun, I imagine.”

“You’ll do nothing,” you correct. “Because those people out there? They’re my friends. My family. You hurt them? You hurt me. Make all the threats you want, Sylus— we both know the truth.”

He towers over you, still, but it’s hard not to shrink at your next words:

“You don’t have it in you.”

Your eyes are sharp: whetted with resentment. Sylus is your reflection— your worthy opponent, always— but he just can’t look at you like that.

There’s a quiet hiss as you slide a finger over the cell’s control panel. White, neon light carves through the glass partition: two vertical lines that bleed upwards, either side of him, before bending to meet each-other. The glass between them shimmers, then fades.

Sylus stands on the precipice of the doorway, cool air crawling past him. He stares up at the camera, then down at you. Your arms have folded again as you watch him— a narrative of apathy.

“How about it, Sylus?” you ask bitterly. “Still think you can outrun fate?”

“No.” Not since it started wearing your face. Fate is you, putting a bullet in his heart, and him, waking up so you can do it over and over again. Maybe this is real. Maybe it isn’t. “What do you want from me?” he entreats softly, because you’ll get it— either way.

“Isn’t it obvious?” you sneer, and your hand shoots out, grasping a fistful of his shirt. You use it to drag him out of the cell, closer, lower, so that his face is mere inches from yours.

“No,” he repeats. “Say it.”

Your eyes burn like pyres: so dangerous, so beautiful, so suited to being the death of him. “I want you—” you begin, as they flit briefly to his lips— “to tell me…”

“What?”

“How you cheat at kitty cards.”

Oh. Oh.

You’re going to be insufferable about this, aren’t you?

Sure enough, you drop his shirt and burst into laughter— irrepressibly you again. The fire in your eyes has simmered down into something warm, safe, and comfortable, and— gods— you’re even crying. You’re doubled over, holding your stomach as though it hurts. You lift a hand to wipe your wet cheek. “Your face,” you get out between gasps, “oh, your face!”

Yours is not the only laughter, but it’s the only laughter Sylus hears.

“We so got you, Skye!” Tara’s vaguely familiar voice resounds from an intercom.

There’s some confusing static with it— more tittering voices— and Sylus suspects he’s found himself the star of your colleagues’ after-work entertainment. He puts his hands on his hips as he looks up at the camera. “Is the whole office—”

“Yeah,” you manage, wiping away another tear. “Figured it would be good for morale. Good practice, too.”

“Practice?”

“Mmhmm,” you confirm with a hum. You’ve apparently gotten a handle on the hilarity of the situation, because you approach him with something close to composure. Meditatively, you smooth down the fabric of his shirt. Straighten his collar. “For when we catch the real Sylus one day.”

He captures your wrists; that’s a lot of tenderness for someone who just tried to give him a heart attack. Maybe he’s a little too rough, because you pout at him in a way that makes him instantly soften his grip.

“You ok, Skye?” you enquire with an ironic smile and an adorable tilt of your head.

His thumbs are feathering over your pulse points, and slowly, he leans in to deliver a message, just for you: “If I say no, will you make it up to me?”

…

Sylus knows this is real.

His mouth is on yours and it’s relentless, desperate; you made him wait for it. How long has he been wanting to trap you against the nearest wall, just like this, so he can kiss you until he forgets just how cold you can be?

He’s been very patient. He didn’t roll his eyes or utter a word of complaint when you’d dragged him to join your colleagues for dinner. It was your victory party, your ‘I made you look like an idiot’ party, but he was his usual, charming self, and your friends all adored him for it. They’d spun him the tale of his ‘arrest’— the planning, the preparation, and your lightbulb moment:

“Hey, guys, have you ever thought about how Skye kinda looks like Sylus?”

Only he could understand how wickedly clever it was. His eyes had sought yours as he listened, lazy, content, and so obviously biding his time. You’d smiled at him. He’d smiled back.

And he’d stayed smiling, even after the party was over and you’d had to walk a slightly-tipsy Tara home. She’d refused a taxi, insisted Sylus escort her— oh, and you could come, too! He’d lent her his arm: humoured every squeeze and chuckled at each remark about the size of it. You’d had to swat her away, in the end.

“I’m just teasing, y’know?” she’d giggled as the three of you arrived at her front door. “Skye knows I’m just teasing. You’re such a sweetheart, Skye. Imagine! You— the leader of Onychinus!”

She’d laughed, much too loud for such a quiet street, and with a less-than-subtle wink, left the two of you alone. Which is how you’d ended up here, in an alley around the back of her building, because it was Sylus’s turn to drag you somewhere.

His attentions have moved lower; there’s a subtle clink as his fingers find the clasp of your shirt collar and he peels it back, exposing your neck. His lips leave yours, trailing down, down— past the line of your jaw and over the soft, vulnerable column of your throat. You gasp as he brushes over a sensitive spot, and you could swear you feel him smile.

He’s always been passionate, but this is a different fire, fuelled by something you can’t ignore, no matter how much you want to:

Relief.

“Sy,” you murmur breathlessly, your hand in his hair, tugging gently. “Sy, stop.”

“Mmm?” he acquiesces, voice sinfully low as the cold evening air takes his place kissing your neck. His eyes shine like blood spilt in the dead of night— lingering on you. He looks drunk.

You lift a hand to cup his face and run your thumb over his cheek. “I’ll never let anything happen to you, Sylus. You know that, right?”

Those dark eyes find clarity with your words, full of apprehension for just how naive you can be. The future will turn on you just as quickly as a wild animal someone boasts about having tamed, and aren’t you foolish, thinking you can control something like that?

Besides, that’s his job.

“I know,” he says like he’s supposed to— ever the martyr, following the script. He goes to nuzzle into you again, but your hand is still tight in his hair and he groans as you use it to pull him back.

“I mean it,” you reassert, forcing him to look at you. You don’t care that it’s ridiculous. You don’t care that fate is so hot on your heels that you have to keep running. You’re tired. He’s even more tired.

Isn’t it nice to stop and catch your breath?

Pretend you have time: His gaze is full of faith and oh, the world is going to enjoy punishing the two of you. “I know,” he insists, because this is the second time you’ve fooled him tonight. You feel his hand on your face and you let him kiss you— again, then again— so achingly slow, so arrogant.

The world can wait; he wants to punish you first.

“Do you really want to know—” he distracts as he finds that sensitive spot on your neck again— “how I cheat at kitty cards?”

The pad of his finger is chasing the path of his mouth; it tickles. You whine: “Tell me later, Sy.”

“Ok,” he breathes against you.

Later. There’ll be a later.

Won’t there?

#🖋rach is actually writing #sylus x reader #sylus #love and deepspace #lads sylus #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #qin che #sylus x mc #sylus x you #lads x reader #lads #lnds #l&ds

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kayhi808 · 1 day

Note

ik you probs have so many asks about first crush but you write so well and i love the story.

imagine a kid at school notices Abby never is picked up by her dad so they ask her about it but it makes abby sad and she doesn’t want to go to school anymore. i mean like crying about it. eventually reader and bucky find out why she’s so fussy as of late and then bucky picks her up from school the next day and she has the biggest smile on her face and almost trips running into his arms

ty if you write it and even if you don’t :))))

Thank you so much for this "Ask"! I switched it a little to make Abby get bullied by the kid in her class and she's very upset. Our poor baby.

At daycare today, they are making Father's Day crafts. Abby understands that her Daddy is in heaven and not with her anymore, but she still enjoys doing the crafts and still wants to participate and the teachers whole-heartedly support that.

The little boy sitting beside Abby snatches a blue crayon out of her hand. "Hey! You can'ts do that."

"I need it for my card."

"Buts I needs it too. I not finish," Abby frowns.

Sneering at her, "You don't need it. You don't even have a Daddy."

She gasps & leans away from the boy, "I do has a Daddy!"

"No you don't. He doesn't pick you up."

"You are mean. Just cos he no pick me ups, it not mean I don't has one."

The little girl sitting on the other side of the table chimes in, "He NEVER picks her up. It's only her Mommy."

"My Daddy is in heaven. He cannot picks me up."

The kids laugh, "He ran away to heaven to get away from you. He don't love you."

"He loves me!" Abby stands with her clenched fists propped on her hips, tears tracking down her cheeks. "Don't say that. That's bad."

"Daddies don't leave if they love you," the boy taunts her. Abby starts to sob. "He doesn't love you because you're stupid! And stinky!"

Abby pulls back her fist & punches the little boy in the head. Her aim was off, never having punched anyone before, but her second & third punch lands on target. The other kids start screaming and crying, and the teachers have to break the toddlers apart.

******

You get a call from the daycare asking you to come down & pick Abby up. You leave immediately all the while in a panic. Ms. Grace said Abby attacked a boy. That does not sound like Abby. Something terrible must have happened. Sitting on the Metro, terrible thoughts run through your brain.

You finally get to the daycare and you see Abby sitting by herself at her desk, the rest of the class outside playing. Her eyes are red & puffy and her face is blotchy from crying. "Abigail? Ms. Grace?" Abby looks up at the sound of your voice and starts to cry. It's not they type of crying you're used to. It breaks your heart. Its not a tantrum. Its not her being fussy. "Baby?"

You gather her up in your arms and she starts to settle, sticking her thumb in her mouth. Turning to her teacher, "I'm sorry to have to call you in like this, but we do not condone this type of behavior. No matter what the reason."

"I understand that, but what happened? You said Abigail hit a little boy. She would never do that. This is completely out of character for her. Something happened."

"Comments were made about Abby not having a father. We don't condone bullying either. The boy and his parents have been spoken to as well. We think its best that they both be sent home for the rest of the day. They are welcomed back tomorrow, but for today, it's best that you take her home." Tilting her head to catch Abby's attention, "I hope you feel better & we can start fresh tomorrow, Abby."

"Tank you, Ms Grace" she mumbles around her thumb.

******

Its a quiet walk home. Abby hasn't said a word, just rested her head on your shoulder. You change her out of school clothes & wash her face. All the while your baby is silent which is not like your daughter at all.

you grab some juice and a bowl of grapes & sit her in her booster seat at the table. She quietly eats her snack & you brush her hair off her forehead. "You want to tell me what happened at school?" Abby shakes her head & chews on her grape. "Ms. Grace said you punched a boy. That is very very bad, Abigail. You know that."

Abby puts down the grape she was eating & large tears spill down her cheeks, "Is dat why Daddy leave me? Cos, I'm a bad girl?"

You feel sucker punched to the gut. All the air feels like it left your body. Softly, "What?"

"Justin say..." her lips pucker into a frown and she covers her eyes with her hands & cries. "Daddy don't love me, so he ran away to heaven."

If you could punt that little motherfucker into traffic, you would! You wish Abby punched him harder!

You snatch Abby out of her booster and hug her to you. "That is an absolute lie! That's the biggest lie in the whole world. Your Daddy loved you so much." Her little body wracked with sobs. Ooooh, if you could get you hands on Justin & his parents, you'd annihilate all of them! You rub little circles on her back to calm her down & yourself down as well. You're filled with rage. "You know what? Punching people is never good, but I understand now. Justin said some very mean & hurtful things and you didn't know what to do. We need to work harder to make the right choices when we get upset, ok? But I understand and Mama isn't mad at you."

"I loves you, Mama."

"And I love you, my baby. So so much."

*******

After not responding to a bunch of text & missed calls from Bucky, he shows up at the apartment to check up on you both. You just put Abby down for her nap, when he finds you a crying mess and does his best to console you, but again its hard to calm someone down when you're filled with rage as well.

Abby was happy to see Bucky there when she woke up. She was extra snuggly with the both of you. Instead of a dance party after dinner, the 3 of your curled up together on the couch watching "The Secret Life of Pets." The Kevin Hart bunny always makes Abby giggle.

Bucky offers to watch Abby while you took a shower before bed. Abby sits next to Bucky but curled around his arm. Her favorite spot to be. "You had a rough day today." Bucky rubs small circles on her back copying what you do to Abby to settle her.

Pulling her thumb out of her mouth, "It was no good."

Sighing, "Yeah, rough days are no good."

"Bucky?"

"Yes?"

"You know what Justin say?" sitting up to face him.

"No, what did he say?"

"That my Daddy leave to heaven cos he don't love me & I'm stinky & stupid." Abby's lip quivers & Bucky quickly starts sniffing her & tickling her to make her giggle.

"You don't smell stinky! You smell like flowers."

"Oh! Das cos Mama put pretty spray on me," smiling up at Bucky.

"And you are the smartest girl I know."

"My mama is smart."

"But she's a grown up. You're still the smartest girl I know. And let me tell you something, I don't know your Daddy, but I know for a fact that he loved you so much. You are also the most lovable girl I know, too. He'd never run away from you. Never ever. He would fight tooth & nail to stay with you if he could."

"Yea?" Bucky nods. She thinks about it for a bit. "Tank you." She's silent for a while longer. "What he said," she places her hand on her chest, "hurt me in my heart."

Bucky wraps his arm around Abby pulling her closer, "I know, I'm sorry, baby."

"But you know what?"

Bucky lets out a chuckle, "What?"

Abby looks behind her for her Mama, "I punched-ed him."

Bucky looks at her shocked, "No!"

"I dids. I missed the first time & only hit him in his head." She touches her forehead, "But I hit him 2 more time," holding up 2 fingers, "in his mouth." Bucky doesn't know what to say. He wants to laugh but he knows he shouldn't. He shouldn't cheer her on, but he wants to.

He ends up laughing, "Abigail Rose!" Abby joins in with her cackle. Bucky pulls her close & kisses her forehead, "That's my girl."

******

The next morning, Abby doesn't want to go back to daycare. "Abby, you need to go back. Ms. Grace is hoping to see you, remember?"

"Please Mama, let me stays with yous."

"I'm sorry, baby, no. I have to go to work and you have to go to school." You pick her up and she starts to cry. You make it out to your stoop to find Bucky and Steve all suited up. Bucky who normally wears long sleeves and gloves in public is wearing a black T-shirt, showing off his arm. Steve has his shield strapped to his back "Seriously!?"

"Bucky! Uncle Steve!" She wiggles so you let her down and she runs to them. "What doing?"

"Hey, Abs! Thought we'd walk you to school today."

"And I want to see who this Justin punk is."

"Bucccky." You give him a warning tone.

Bucky picks Abby up and she asks, "Punk? What is punk?"

"Punk. You know, like someone who is no good. Like your Uncle."

She gasps and covers his mouth with her hands, "My Uncle not punk! Don't say that."

"Thank you, Abs!" She smiles at Steve. "Maybe Bucky and I can be put on the list so we can pick you up from daycare sometimes."

"Mama! Uncle Steve wants to be on pick up list. He says so!"

Rolling your your eyes, "Well, if he says so."

"C'mon, Doll. Since her Daddy isn't able to, she got an Avenger and Ex-Hydra Assassin who can."

They get to the playground and all eyes are on them. Two Avengers just walked in. Bucky hands Abby over to Steve. "So, who is this Justin kid?" Bucky is giving his Winter Soldier glare.

"O'er dere by the slide. He had the big forehead." Bucky can't keep his glare in place and ends up laughing, just thinking about his girl punching that kid in the forehead.

"That's enough. Behave or none of you will be added to the list." You walk into the schoolroom followed by the 2 sweetest men who'd do anything for your baby girl.

@waywardhunter95 @wintrsoldrluvr @rebeccapineapple @ordelixx @onceithough @thezombieprostitute @ilovetaquitosmmmm @julvrs @unaxv @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @winterslove1917 @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @mrsnikstan @hisredheadedgoddess28 @itsteambarnes @otterlycanadian @purplecolordeer @samsgirl93 @buckitostan @blackbirdwitch22 @littleredwolf @mcucatlady @silas-aeiou @hzdhrtss @florie1 @thecubanator2 @enchantedbarnes @selella @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @cjand10 @pancake-05 @ozwriterchick @crazyunsexycool

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers #abigail rose

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solxamber · 3 days

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Dragon's Favourite Sacrifice – Trey Clover x reader

Trey finds himself volunteering to be the human sacrifice to you in place of his siblings. What he didn't expect was to become your housekeeper instead of being eaten.

Crossposted from my ao3!

The village doesn’t know how to react when Trey volunteers as a sacrifice. He’s fully prepared for the worst, thinking back on all the horror stories the elders tell about the dragon god—the terrifying, ancient being that can destroy their village with one swipe of a claw. At least, that’s what everyone says.

But it had to be done. The village is on the brink of disaster and their last hope was the dragon god that lived in the mountains. The villagers began to proclaim that this was happening because they forgot to send a sacrifice in recent years. And when the current sacrifice chosen turned out to be one of his younger siblings, Trey had no choice but to volunteer himself.

As he approaches the temple, though, Trey wonders why the place looks like it hasn't been touched in years. Not exactly what you’d expect from a wrathful deity.

Maybe they just don't care about keeping things tidy before eating their next victim?

The inside of the temple is surprisingly cozy, but he doesn't have time to think about it. You, the ancient dragon, make your entrance—or rather, you wander in, yawning, and blink at him like you've just woken up from a really long nap.

“Hey… uh, are you the dragon god?” Trey asks, clutching the bundle of supplies he'd brought along.

You stretch, wings fluttering lazily behind you, before giving him a confused look. "Who else would I be? The village’s lost pet?"

Trey blinks. This is not what he was expecting. He was ready for a quick, brutal end. Maybe some fire and brimstone. Not... this.

“Right.” He clears his throat. “I’m Trey, from the village. They sent me as the sacrifice.”

You squint at him like he's just told you the most ridiculous thing you've ever heard. "Sacrifice? They still do that? I haven’t asked for a sacrifice in… decades. I was actually happy to not have my nap interrupted by scared humans. I was going to help with the crisis anyway."

Now it’s Trey's turn to stare. “You… don’t want the sacrifice?”

"Nope." You shrug, completely nonchalant. "You can go back to the village if you want. Or, if you're looking for a change of scenery, the village on the other side of the mountain is kinda nice."

Trey lets out a small sigh, but it’s not exactly relief. “I… can’t. If I go back, they'll think the offering was rejected. My siblings could suffer for it."

You pause, then nod thoughtfully. "Ah, yeah, human politics." You click your tongue. "I hate when that happens. Well, just so you know, the past sacrifices? Yeah, they all ended up in the village on the other side of the mountain."

Trey’s jaw drops. "Wait… what?"

"Yeah." You nod sagely. "They all thought the same thing—'Oh no, the dragon’s gonna eat me'—but I just sent them over there.”

He blinks at you again, trying to absorb all of this information. "So… you don’t actually…?"

"Eat people?" you finish for him, giving him a strange look. "No. That’s gross. Why would I do that?"

Trey's lips twitch upward. A beat of silence passes before Trey clears his throat again. "Mind if I stay, then? I can cook, clean, and—"

You give him a sideways glance, and your eyes light up. "Wait. You cook?"

"Yeah," Trey says, still trying to grasp that he’s negotiating his survival with a dragon.

A slow grin spreads across your face. "Well then, you’re hired. Welcome to dragon duty."

Trey’s not sure whether to laugh or cry at how anticlimactic this has all turned out. He’d prepared himself for noble sacrifice, but instead, he’s somehow signed up for dragon housekeeping duty. With a deep breath, he puts on a smile. "So, uh, what do you want for dinner?"

From that moment on, life with you is… surprisingly comfortable. Trey, ever practical, makes himself useful.

He handles things with the same calm practicality he’d use back in the village, except now, there’s a giant, sometimes snarky dragon looming over him as he goes about his tasks.

He spends his days cooking, tending to the temple’s neglected gardens, and even baking pastries—though you still don’t believe him when he says there’s no oyster sauce in his sweets.

“You’re pulling my tail,” you mutter, eyeing the perfectly innocent-looking cake Trey’s set out in front of you. “I can taste something weird in it.”

Trey just smiles. “Oyster sauce. Definitely.”

You huff, giving up on trying to figure him out, and focus on enjoying your meals and new company instead.

One evening, after a particularly good dinner (with no discernible oyster flavor, much to your disappointment), you glance at Trey lounging by the fireplace. He's been here for a while now, and you find that you're quite enjoying his company. In fact, you're enjoying it a little too much.

"So, you’re not as terrifying as the stories make you out to be," Trey comments one day, setting down a plate of food.

You snort, flipping lazily on your side. "Thanks, I guess. Humans are always so dramatic."

"And the drought?" Trey asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Taken care of," you reply with a smug smile. "Already brought in the rains.”

He nods and settles down next to you, holding a book from the library that you never bothered to visit.

Well, it's now or never. “So,” you begin, almost casually, “I’ve decided.”

“Decided what?” Trey looks up from the book he’s reading.

“That you’ll be my mate.”

He nearly drops the book. “Your... what?”

“My mate.” You stretch your wings, trying to look as imposing as possible—though you’re pretty sure Trey isn’t intimidated by you anymore. “You’re the first human who actually stuck around. And you can cook. That’s mate material.”

Trey is, understandably, at a loss for words. “…You’re serious?”

“Completely.” You flash him that grin again, all teeth and playful confidence. “Unless you’ve got a better offer somewhere else?”

Trey pinches the bridge of his nose, but the smile tugging at his lips betrays him. “No, I think I’ll stick around.”

And just like that, Trey Clover—the supposed human sacrifice—finds himself the mate of a centuries-old dragon. Maybe this wasn’t the fate he expected, but all things considered… it could be worse.

At least the dragon likes his cooking.

Masterlist

#Trey clover x reader #trey x reader #trey clover #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #trey x you #trey clover x you

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links-in-time · 1 day

Text

A Problem Shared

This fic was inspired by this brilliant short comic by @mirensiart. Go check out their work it's awesome.

“Anyone else see that Wizrobe cast a spell on us during battle?” Asked four.

“Nothing happened though,” Wild shrugged, holding up a hand to count his fingers. “I feel fine.”

“Could it be a slow acting spell?” Time mused. “Stay alert to any changes.”

“Hmm, I don't recognise this magic,” Hyrule uttered, mostly to himself.

“Great!” Legend exclaimed, hands on his hips, scowl across his face. “A surprise spell, that's great! With our luck the spell will randomly make us explode or something.”

As the veteran continued to speculate, a fly appeared in Wind's vision. It wafted lazily about, buzzing irritatingly.

“Heh, we're not going to explode Vet,” Sky chuckled softly, finding the image alarmingly funny.

“You don't know that!” Legend bellowed in response.

At that moment the fly had the audacity to land on Wind's cheek. In retaliation, Wind slapped his hand to his face, squishing the bug with a satisfying clap.

“Ow!”

“What was that?!”

“Ouch!”

“What the fuck?!”

“Oww.”

“Sailor!”

“Agh!”

“What's going on?!”

Wind stared around at his companions. Each was rubbing their own cheek, as though they had all been slapped across the face.

“Wait… you all felt that too? Oops, sorry.” Wind shrugged, very confused and beginning to turn his suspicions onto the fly smashed into his palm.

“Yeah”

“Unfortunately.”

“Yup!”

“Yes!”

“Yeeah”

“Yes…”

They all replied at once.

Wars let out a long pained sigh as he rubbed his freshly raw cheek.

“So… a spell that shares pain huh…” he grumbled.

He and Twilight caught each other's eye and the same sickening thought passed between them.

“We are so dead.”

***

The first few hours passed by without much incident. Though each of the Link's found themselves a little short of breath after their hike up a steep valley. As they stopped to make camp, they all sighed a collective breath of relief to have a long rest. Even Wind and Wild, who would usually have bounded up the trail like mountain goats. Meanwhile Sky tried his best not to look too guilty.

Nothing of note happened during their evening meal either. Though Wild feared he might actually spontaneously combust from how many times the others told him to be careful with his knives, as he chopped vegetables for stew.

“Ooh hot!” Sky hissed, as he swallowed a mouthful of broth before blowing on it.

“Ouch!”

The exclamation rang around the ring of heroes, each experiencing the same sting of pain to their tongues. Waterskins and canteens were quickly reached for, to extinguish the burning in their mouths.

“Sky, can you please not burn off all our taste buds?” Legend asked, turning a wry look on his brother.

“Sorry, I wasn't thinking,” Sky pailed, taking extra care with his next mouthful.

“It's alright Sky, besides, the Captain doesn't have any sense of taste anyway!” Time smirked, before shoving a spoonful of stew into his mouth.

“Hey, take that back!” Warriors demanded, playfully slapping Time across the shoulder.

He regretted it instantly of course, when the same mild shock struck his own shoulder.

“Wars?” The others grumbled.

“Let's just try to refrain from any horse play, alright?” Twilight suggested, carefully inching away from Hyrule and Wild on either side of him. “We've gotten pretty familiar with each other on this journey. We can easily hurt each other without really trying.”

“And what's the bet that all of our pain tolerances are different?” Legend remarked, staring down into his stew.

He eyed the rings adoring each of his fingers. Legend struggled to remember the last time he had taken any of them off. Though he had given the healing ring to Rulie to borrow briefly.

Most granted him some kind of power or protection. However, there was one in particular which he knew he couldn't live without. The Vet swallowed a lump of carrot as he wondered how things would fair in the morning. Maybe if he tried to be the last one out of bed, it wouldn't be so bad.

“Let's just get some rest and hope this spell wears off by morning,” Time suggested.

“Agreed,” Wars chimed in.

The boys finished their meals and tucked themselves into their bed rolls, a safe distance away from each other. Previously on more than one occasion, someone had woken from a night terror and attacked the closest body. No one wanted an incident like that while they were trying to get some sleep.

***

“You feel any change this morning?” Four asked Twilight, as he staggered over to where the older hero was perched on a log on last watch.

“Don't think so, but then we didn't feel any different after the spell hit anyway. I don't reckon we'd know if it wore off without trying it out.”

“Hmm, you first!” Four chuckled.

“Yaww! Morning,” Sky yawned, as he sat up and stretched.

He smiled as he caught sight of his brothers.

“Anyone else awake yet?” He asked, rubbing the crust from his eyes.

“Not yet, but…” Twilight began, but he was cut off, as a surge of pain stabbed through what felt like his entire body.

Four dropped to his knees, his arms wrapped around his torso.

“Ahh!” Sky breathed, leaning forwards as the wave of aches washed over him.

“What the heck?!” Warriors exclaimed in a sleepy angry voice.

He rolled onto his side and out of his blankets as he squeezed his eyes shut. The others were all making similar cries and moans as they were rudely awoken by whatever had inflicted this all-encompassing pain upon them.

“Sorry everyone.” They heard Wild say sheepishly.

He carefully stretched his neck and limbs before getting to his feet and stumbling towards the fire.

“It's the scar tissue, it gets stiff in the mornings. Especially if it's chilly like it was last night,” he explained.

“I know what that kind of ache feels like,” Wars sighed, “this isn't that Wild. This is something else.”

“It’s me,” Legend muttered.

Sitting cross legged on his bed roll with his head hanging, the others struggled to see the veterans face.

“What do you mean it's you?” Hyrule frowned, slowly getting up and wincing against the pain. Had Legend somehow managed to hide an injury from them?

“The pain, it's something I've had for a long time. This ring helps, but first thing in the morning is always the worst.”

Legend held up his hand for the others to see. Though he wore so many rings he could have been referring to any of them. He swept his fingers through his fluffy fringe to brush it off his face, before dropping his hand in his lap.

“How, how long have you been dealing with this Lege?” Hyrule asked hesitantly.

Legend was aware that Hyrule had been inching steadily closer. Any moment he expected his successor’s hands to start glowing. He needed to put his mind to rest quickly. Well, as much as he could.

“A long time, Rulie. And before you start, I've tried every healing remedy under the sun. Even magic ones, so your healing magic won't help. I'm sorry, but it just won't.”

“Legend,” Sky sighed, finally out of his blankets and sitting close to the embers of the fire.

“I don't want your pity, any of you,” Legend hissed, turning his gaze around the group. “And you'd all say the same if it was the other way around. It'll be tolerable in half an hour or so.”

“We've broken camp in less time than that before,” Four sighed, plonking himself on the ground beside Sky.

“Does that mean every morning we've got on the road, you've secretly been dealing with this pain?” Wind asked.

Legend thought the kid looked like he was dealing with his and Wild's morning aches worst of all. Even his voice sounded strained as he stumbled towards where Time sat on his bedroll.

“I just,” Legend sighed. “It can't be helped, so I just get on with things, same as the rest of you.”

“We'll wait until everyone feels well enough to move.” Time decided, pulling Wind against his side as the sailor sat down beside him.

“Fine, but this better not become a regular thing. I can deal with my own curses the same as everyone else!” Legend insisted, fixing Time with an intense stare.

“Curse?” Wild asked, suddenly even more concerned.

“Figure of speech Champ,” Legend winked at him.

***

If Warriors was less combative towards the Veteran from that moment on, no one mentioned it. If Hyrule felt more inclined to stick close to his predecessor, Legend didn't mind it. The others tried not to think about their brother's many aches and pains earned from years of adventuring. Not to mention the fact that the guy hadn't even hit twenty yet.

Time sighed as they walked along the woodland trail and considered his own lot. He was the oldest, sure, but not by a lot. The others had made wild guesses about his age, but in truth he believed himself to be in his mid thirties. Time couldn't be sure of course, he'd never known when his birthday was. But Malon thought they were the same age and that was good enough for him.

Time and many battles had given the man his own share of aches and sore joints. Though not bad enough apparently to debilitate the whole group. He thought about how poor Wind had still struggled to get moving, even after the rest seemed to have recovered. Twilight had given the kid a piggyback ride until he felt steady enough to walk on his own.

Legend drew the sailor into a one armed hug and muttered an apology. But Time heard Wind insist that Legend had nothing to be sorry for. He expressed just how impressed he was that the veteran hero still got up every morning and got on with his job, the same as the rest of them. Legend didn't respond, but as Time glanced over his shoulder he caught the tips of Legend's ears turning pink.

***

The Lynel literally walked into them. Whether it had been laying in wait for them, or just happened upon a group of heroes in the wild, no one cared to ask.

“No heroics!” Warriors shouted almost immediately.

As swords and other weapons were drawn, a million memories flashed through his mind. All those times one of them had stepped in front of another to save them from a blow. That wasn't going to work today. They didn't know if it was solely pain that was being transferred yet. If wounds could also be shared between them, they were going to have bigger problems than the Lionel.

“He's right,” Time barked. “Keep your guard up and stay out of each other's way. We don't need any friendly fire or hits taken for each other. Understood?”

Everyone nodded and the Lynel charged. It went straight for Sky, perhaps the billowing of his cloak caught its attention. The young knight stood his ground, Master Sword held firmly in his grasp ready to strike. He glanced quickly left and right to make sure no one was nearby, then tried to remember the move Wild had shown him.

Sky waited until the Lynel was only a few feet away before stepping to the side and swinging his sword diagonally. He slashed the Lionel across its chest, leaving a deep gash in the flesh. It skidded to a halt a few meters behind Sky, letting out a furious roar which scattered a nearby flock of birds.

Unfortunately, the Lynel turned and swung its arm straight into Twilight, who had been trying to sneak up on it. The beast's forearm hit Twilight across the chest, sending a ripple across the group. Four and Hyrule both staggered backwards, while Wind was almost knocked off his feet.

“Argh, sorry!” Twilight grunted, but the others weren't listening.

The pain receded quickly and Wild prepared to line up a shot on the Lynel.

“Watch out, it's…!” Wars began to shout.

An instant later the Lynel opened its fanged jaws and let forth a bout of flame. The boys scattered, rolling or dodging out of the way to avoid being singed.

“Ahh!” Legend cried.

“Lege!” Hyrule winced through gritted teeth as he bit back Legend's pain.

“I'm alright. Just my leg,” Legend replied, quickly glancing at the fresh burn across his right leg.

“Yeah, we know,” Sky grunted.

“Wild, can you take a shot?” Time barked.

“Not at this close range. It moves too fast. I'm gonna get some distance, can you guys draw it to me?” Wild asked, already turning and sprinting off through the trees.

“I guess we'll have to try,” Time huffed under his breath. “Boys, draw the beast to Wild!”

The others nodded in understanding and hurried to help however they could. With one painfully burned leg each, they struggled to maneuver. Legend got the Lynel’s attention by blasting it once with his fire rod.

“Hey, over here!” Twilight bellowed, launching his boomerang at the beast.

The gale boomerang struck the monster in the back of the head, driving it into a tree with a blast of wind for good measure.

“No!” Wind shouted from the opposite direction. “Here!”

He let off a piercing whistle which cut through the air. The Lynel snapped its head around to stare at the young sailor. It narrowed its eyes and pawed a hoof at the ground. Huffing loudly through its nose.

“Sailor, run, now!” Warriors ordered calmly.

Wind had time to glance once at Warriors, and back at the Lynel before it lowered its torso and charged. Wind turned on the spot and sprinted full pelt after Wild.

“Catch me if you can, you bastard!” Wild shrieked over his shoulder

Before Time or Warriors could shout ‘language’, Wind was off. Brambles and branches snatched at his heels and his clothes, but Wind shook them off. He could feel the Lynel’s hoof-beats rumbling through the ground behind him. He couldn't slow down or he was going to die.

“Hylia please let Wild be out here somewhere!” Wind uttered, grunting as he fought his body to keep on running.

As though in answer to his prayer, Wind saw a hint of blue among the trees up ahead. He grinned when the visage of his brother came into view, standing in the middle of the path directly in front of him. Wind knew what he had to do, and he trusted Wild not to kill him in the process.

“You wanted him, now you got him!” Wind cheered at Wild, who answered his call with a smug little smirk.

Just as Wind was within a few meters of Wild and his outstretched sword, Wind dropped. He skidded forwards on his knees and slid on the damp grass right past Wild. Overhead, Wind heard Wild shift his stance ever so slightly as the Lynel thundered towards them.

Wild waited. And waited some more. He waited until the Lynel was mere feet away. Until he could smell the sweat on its flanks, and the brimstone on its breath. The Lynel swung its blade. Wild launched himself into the air. The forest spun in a blur. He was vaguely aware of the blue smudge of Wind somewhere nearby, but he had to keep his attention focused on his enemy.

The blade in Wild's hand moved as an extension of his arm. The Lynel lifted its head to roar at just the right moment. Wild smiled in the fraction of a second it took him to slice his blade across the monster’s artery.

***

“You're in pain Rulie, it's fine honestly. Don't strain yourself.” Legend insisted.

Hyrule gave him a deadpan look, his hands glowing and glittering with healing magic.

“Legend, I'm in pain because your leg is burnt, you idiot. If I don't heal you we'll all feel it for hours. Not to mention your wound could get infected.” Hyrule insisted, as he pushed Legend back down to the ground, a little more forcefully this time.

“Please just let him heal you, Lege. I don't know about the rest of you, but between the hit Twilight took and Legend's burned leg, I'm not feeling too good.” Four grumbled.

He was still rubbing his chest and sitting in an ungainly pose on the ground. Twilight could have sworn the smithy’s eyes flashed with a hint of ruby red for a moment. The pain in his own leg was akin to more of an annoying itch, but clearly it was having a stronger effect on the others.

At that moment Wind and Wild pushed through the brush nearby and rejoined the grouo. The tired and withdrawn expression on the Sailor’s face drove away the last of Legend's resistance. He let out a long drawn out sigh before he stopped trying to get up. Legend nodded once at Hyrule, then crossed his arms and waited.

While Hyrule set about fixing his predecessor's leg, Time gave Wind and Wild a look over. His gaze fixed on the scuffed knees of their youngest hero.

After digging around in his bag, Time pulled out two potions. He offered one to Wind who only grumbled briefly before taking it and sipping at the crimson potion. Time offered the other bottle to Twilight. Ordinarily Twi wouldn't waste one of their potions on something so trivial as a punch to the chest. However, given that it wasn't only his own pain he needed to heal, Twilight assented.

“Well, that could have gone worse,” Warriors sighed.

***

“Okay, I think we've found a counter spell,” Legend announced over dinner that evening.

He and Four had been scouring each other's spell books for over an hour. At last they happened upon a spell which seemed to meet their requirements.

“It's a fairly simple counter spell, but it has an element of a separation spell too,” Four added.

“Any side effects?” Time asked, pausing as he lifted a spoonful of soup to his lips.

“It's not a very helpful spellbook. It's pretty old and I can only decipher the most important parts,” Four admitted.

Legend nodded and decided to ignore the flash of violet in his brother's eyes. He'd been surprisingly focused during their search, almost gleeful to get his nose stuck in a pile of books. Four was often found reading of an evening, but this task seemed to have awoken the true bookworm in him.

“I say we put it to a vote. It's likely the spell will wear off eventually, but with our luck we could sustain another serious injury before then. All those in favor of trying the counter spell, raise a hand.” Warriors decided, already holding up his own hand as he looked around at the others.

In quick succession the rest of the Chain raised their hands, some holding spoons, into the air. Twilight and Time were the only two to hesitate. They shared a gaze and Twilight shrugged. After that they both lifted their hands and Time nodded to the Captain.

“Alright, we'll give it a try. Is there anything you need for the spell Legend?” Time asked.

“Um, I'm gonna need a hair from each of you tied into a knot,” Legend replied, squinting at the book for confirmation. “Hyrule, I might need your help too. In case my magic reserves aren't enough to cast it.”

“You can count on me,” Hyrule nodded.

With a fistful of hairs in various shades of blond, Legend and Hyrule stood beside the campfire. Legend held the spell book in his other hand and practiced the spell for the fiftieth time that evening. Hyrule's hand lay gently on Legend's shoulder, the comforting warmth of his hand emanating through his clothes. Hyrule was always warm.

“Okay, I'm ready,” Legend said quietly, drawing the attention of the rest of the group gathered around the fire.

The boys sitting in the flickering light of the fire drew in a collective breath. Legend began to read aloud from the ancient script of the spell book. Although no one understood the language, Legend spoke as though it were his second tongue. Perhaps all that practice had paid off.

As the spell came to an end, Legend's fist holding the hairs began to glow. His knuckles grew white and Time noticed Hyrule bracing himself behind his predecessor. This was clearly taking a lot out of their vet, and he hoped it wouldn't cause him any problems afterwards.

Speaking the final word, Legend opened his fist and let the hairs fall into the fire. The rest of the boys watched with bated breath, as the little strands of gold and bronze drifted down and disappeared.

Legend breathed a long sigh of relief and snapped the spellbook shut. The moment he did so he began to stumble backwards. Hyrule seemed ready for this however, and caught his brother easily in his arms.

“You okay Lege?” He asked softly.

“I'm good, just real tired,” he huffed breathlessly, his face a little paler than usual.

While Hyrule helped Legend to stumble over to his bedroll, the others stared around at each other.

“Did it work?” Asked Sky.

“How do we tell?” Warriors questioned.

“I could cut my self real quick?” Wild suggested.

“No!” Time and Twilight barked in unison.

Wild shrank back, his previously confident smile fading in an instant.

“No one's going to hurt themselves on purpose,” Time insisted.

“So what, are we just going to wait until someone does get injured and see if we feel something?” Asked Four, sounding irked. “That's not very scientific.”

“Scien-what?” Sky mumbled, looking confused.

“Don't worry feathers, it's a future thing!” Wild chuckled. “Come guys I really don't mind. Besides, if Rulie is feeling okay he can heal me right away anyhow.”

Wild stared around at the others as Hyrule returned from tucking Legend into his blankets. The spell had almost drained the veteran and within a few moments of laying down in his warm bedroll he had drifted off to sleep.

“How's Lege?” Asked Warriors, nodding to the small lump beneath the blankets.

“Sleeping, that spell used up most of his magic. A good night's rest and a potion in the morning and he'll be right as rain.”

“What do you think, Rulie?” Wild cut in. “Wanna test whether the spell worked with me?”

“You want to hurt yourself don't you?” Hyrule sighed.

“Let me get this straight for you. I don't want to hurt myself, I want to help everyone else!” Wild insisted.

While Wild was trying to explain himself and Time and Twilight continued to insist that this was not going to happen, Wind and Four happened to catch each other's eye.

“You thinking what I'm thinking?” Four whispered.

Wind nodded. Four gave the sailor a knowing smirk as the pair of them shook out their left hands.

SLAP

All eyes snapped around to see the two smallest heroes rubbing their cheeks.

“What the hell are you two playing at?” Time bulked, staring at the two boys with disbelief.

“What?!” Four exclaimed, nursing the steadily growing red mark upon his face. “We needed to test the spell, but we didn't need a serious injury to do it.”

“The real question is did anyone else feel it?” Wind pointed out.

“I'm guessing since we're the only ones rubbing our faces that the answer is obvious,” Four remarked.

He gazed around with violet eyes, searching for any hint of pain or discomfort from the others.

“I didn't feel anything,” said Wars.

“Me neither,” added Sky.

“It seems the spell worked then,” Time sighed. “Well, I'll have to congratulate Legend when he wakes up. And well done to you too Four for finding the right spell.”

“I'm just glad it's over.”

“Maybe we can learn something from it though.” Warriors mused. “We have become a bit too reliant on potions and Hyrule's healing abilities. I for one know I've let my guard forms slip, perhaps I should come up with a training regimen for everyone?”

With an enthusiastic smile plastered to his face, Warriors looked up to gauge the Chain's reaction to his suggestion. Not one face was smiling back at him. In fact, Four and Wild looked about ready to murder him.

“Alright Captain,” Time said coolly. “Let's start with how to defend against a horde of enemies. While you're unarmed!”

Without a seconds warning, Time lunged for Warriors. His larger frame pinned the younger hero to the ground, knocking the wind out of him. While some of the others began to roar with laughter, others got the idea. Wild was the first to join in, leaping with joy as he piled on top of Warriors. Adding to his discomfort by tickling his stomach where his shirt had ridden up.

“Oh please no!” Wars screeched, in a high pitch voice none of them had ever heard before.

As more of the boys moved to help Warriors with his training, Twilight hung back. He clutched his stomach as he roared with laughter. Managing to disguise the gentle rub of his stinging cheek as he leaned on his hand.

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kikidoesfanfic · 3 days

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Woof, I mean, hey

Written for the @strangerthingswritersguild demogorgon daily prompt 'puppy chow' (happy birthday @bobamews)

>On ao3<

"I'd keep an eye on that if I were you," Wayne says, gesturing at the bag of dog food Steve's carrying.

There's a stray that's taken up hiding under the Munson trailer, all round with a litter and such a sweetheart, Steve has been trying to befriend her enough to coax her inside for a bath for a few days now.

"Uncle Wayne, no!" Eddie whines, and now Steve's intrigued, Wayne's looking at Eddie with a positively shit eating grin, the two having a staredown neither seems willing to break.

"What am I keeping an eye out for exactly?" Steve asks.

"Well, back when Eddie first came to live with me,"

"Wayne please."

"There was this skittish little pup hangin' round the park, skinny as anythin' and nobody seemed to own it."

"I'll do the dishes for a month," Eddie says, and Wayne pauses, probably tempted because he hates doing the dishes, and with Steve cooking most nights both Munson men trade off on the chore. He must decide it's worth it though, because he continues.

"So, Eddie begged and begged, big sad cow eyes that I couldn't say no to." Wayne looks to Steve now, "of course I had to buy a little bag of the puppy chow, the kibble stuff."

Eddie, knowing Wayne is unmovable, dramatically flops face down onto the couch.

"But see, the scrawny thing wouldn't get close to eat the food when we were out there, even birds scared the little guy away. So Eddie-" Wayne says, starting to chuckle. "So Eddie thought-" he cuts himself off again with another laugh, Eddie groaning in protest, slightly muffled by the sofa cushion.

"Eddie thought if the pup saw him eatin' the food, he'd know it was safe, that he was safe."

"Aww Eddie, that's so cute!" Steve coos, dropping the bag beside the door to go over and kneel next to the couch.

"Yep, that's me, so cute." Eddie says quickly, head popping up to glare at his uncle. "And that's where the story ends, right Uncle Wayne."

"Sure," he acquiesces, and Eddie looks momentarily relieved until Wayne tacks on, "if you ignore the part where he decided they tasted pretty good as a snack and hid half the bag in his room for later."

"BETRAYAL," Eddie shouts, jumping up on the couch to point an accusatory finger at Wayne, "by my own flesh and blood!"

Steve, meanwhile, is laughing so hard he's bent double, he'd stood to make sure Eddie wouldn't fall off the couch when he yelled, but when Wayne's words processed... well.

"You kept eating it?" Steve wheezes, and Eddie turns to slap at his shoulder.

"No, go back, I'm cute remember! Wayne, look what you did!"

"I can get set some aside from the bag if you like, but I'm not kissing you if you have dog food breath." Wayne chuckles again.

"I changed my mind, pretty much immediately!"

"Yeah, but only 'cause-"

"NO. NOPE. TIME TO GO." Eddie yells, cutting Wayne off, jumping hastily from the couch and shoving at Steve to get him towards their room. "La la la la we can't hear you!"

"Only 'cause he felt guilty for stealing the dogs food" Wayne yells behind them, just as Eddie's about to slam the door.

"No," Eddie despairs, drawing out the word, thumping his head on the door frame a time or two before Steve can stop him. "You're the worst!" He turns and pouts, eyes big and imploring as he looks at Steve, "you can't tell anyone about this, the kids will never let me hear the end of it."

"Don't worry, your secret's safe with me Eds," he says with a fond smile. "Though, I don't think it's me you have to worry about, won't Wayne be home during Hellfire this week?" Eddie's face turns panicked, hurrying back down the hallway, leaving a giggling Steve behind.

"Hey Uncle Wayne, I ever tell you you're the best Uncle a guy could have?"

#kikidoesfanfic #my fic #stranger things #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #wayne munson #steve harrington/eddie munson #stranger things writers guild

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sanguineterrain · 14 hours

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a bloody vow | jason todd

Summary: After the racy encounter with your knight, you seem to lose all progress made in your relationship. You hardly talk, and you're lonelier than ever. But after a house break-in has you running to Jason for help, you're forced to face each other, blood and all.

Pairing: knight!Jason Todd x gn!reader

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings/tags: violence! Jason kills a man. reader and jason's house is broken into and the thief attacks the reader (but they're okay.) mentions of self-flagellation, religious guilt. reader feels very lonely without their big strong knight :( the eroticism of killing for another person. codependence. partial nudity. probably not the healthiest relationship but whatevs. Jason would do anything for them what more could you want?

the divider

Everything's changed since the morning that you found Jason with the whip.

He won't even eat with you anymore.

He accepts whatever you make and thanks you quietly, then eats his supper in the shed. He didn’t say much before—now you're lucky if you get more than a word from him.

He's also taken to punishing himself regularly. Jason does it far away, so he won't wake you. But you've seen his back and the welts peeking beneath his tunic and the spots of blood. You also see fresh injuries from his training, injuries that could be avoided if he was more careful. You've tried to offer him a salve to heal his back. He always refuses, flinching like a kicked dog if you get too close.

You fear that you'd pushed Jason too far that morning. You replay it in your mind, wondering what exactly had possessed you to act in such a vulgar manner. Exposing yourself to him like that after spying on him earlier—what were you thinking?

You weren't, is the truth. It seems all rational thought leaves your brain when you're around him.

It's truly like living with a ghost. Your feelings are jumbled, caught in a maelstrom of guilt and fear and desire. More than anything, you're unbearably lonely. You'd feared a harsh hand when you first were deposited into Jason's bed. You never imagined that there could be a worse fate than being wanted: being ignored.

So, it's been three weeks of this new routine. Jason has been disappearing at night to the pub. Not that he told you that—you know this because of the incessant gossip that flies around the market. It's not hard to decipher who the 'hulking knight' is when people stare at you.

You try not to think about what Jason gets up to. You really have no right to be angry if he finds someone to warm his bed. You're lucky he hasn't thrown you into the sea after your insolence.

Routine is all that keeps you sane. You do the washing and cooking without complaint. Jason still leaves you money to go to the market, and sometimes you save a couple of coins to buy books. You keep the books under a floorboard in your room. He never asks you for change.

You don't know if this routine will be enough, though. You wish Jason would just throw you out and be done with it. You're certainly not performing the duties that the king expected of you when he brought you here. Jason can hardly look at you, much less touch you.

You eat alone tonight. By the time you wash up and are ready for bed, it's late. Jason still isn't home.

Not unusual these days. You get into bed and blow out the candle. Maybe you won't wake in the morning. Then you'll both be free.

A crash jerks you out of slumber.

You're awake immediately, fumbling under your bed for the small dagger you'd secretly purchased when you first came.

Your first thought is that Jason came home drunk. But if he’s come home drunk in the past, you've never heard him, and it's always as quiet in the morning as it was the night before.

A chilling second thought hits you as the floor creaks outside your door.

Someone's broken in.

You quietly get to your feet, dagger in hand. If Jason were home, he would be here already, dealing with the problem. As it is, you're alone and completely vulnerable without your knight.

Your door splinters open. You stumble backwards.

"Wha' have we here?" A lantern shines in your face. "Look a' this. Pretty thing like you shouldn't be left alone."

You bolt for the front door.

“Oh, no no, you don’t.”

The intruder darts after you and stops you before you can open the door. He hauls you backwards and throws you against the dying fireplace. You land on your ribs and the wind is knocked out of you.

"Too big of a house for a little mouse like you,” the man says with a greasy sneer.

You turn and lunge at him. You catch him off guard enough to stab his shoulder with the dagger. He howls in pain and shoves you off. Your head hits the wall, and for a moment, you fear you’ll vomit. But you don’t, so you stand.

"You bitch!" he shouts. "I'll fuckin' kill ya for that!"

That's all the motivation you need to run.

You’re aching all over, head pounding. Your legs are cold, being that you're only in a nightgown. You might be bleeding. But you keep running.

You run all the way into town, which feels like miles at this time of night, bruised as you are. It’s easy to find the pub, and it doesn’t even occur to you that you’re not allowed inside. All that’s on your mind is Jason. Find Jason.

You pound your fists on the door of the pub, crying.

"Jason, Jason!" you shout. “Help me, please! Please!”

The door opens. You stumble in, almost tripping on the uneven wood. Men stare at you as you enter.

"Jason!" you yell.

A knight you don't recognize stares down at you, blocking your path. You stumble back, grabbing the wall for support.

"Out," he snarls.

"Please," you beg. "Please, I need my husb—"

He's shoved aside suddenly, ale sloshing over his mug. He growls in protest, but someone drags him away by the back of his tunic.

Relief floods you at the familiar face who takes his place. Jason.

He's obviously shocked to see you here, eyes roving over you. His shirt is unbuttoned, a thin fresh cut on his cheek. He says your name. Every inhibition you’ve felt over the last month disappears.

"What—"

You throw yourself into his arms, weeping. Jason catches you, cradling the back of your head. You're surrounded by him, the rest of the world blocked out. He smells like the strong yellow soap you make in large chunks because it’s cheaper than purchasing it at the market. He smells like the home you share.

"What is it? Where do you hurt?" he asks quietly, shielding you from all the pairs of eyes. He rubs your back, bent over you. You cling to his neck, shaking with the memory of tonight.

"A man b-broke in," you say, and Jason's grip tightens. "He said–he said he w-would...k-kill…"

You trail off. Jason pets you, breathing even on your neck.

You know that you hardly have any rights, that the men here would sooner see you die than step into danger for you. Perhaps that includes Jason too. Perhaps it's too late.

"I understand," Jason says into your ear. He doesn’t waver despite how you tremble. "It's alright. I won't let him hurt you again. I'm... I'm so sorry for leaving you alone."

He exhales, long and slow. You feel him begin to pull away. You panic, digging your nails into his arms. Jason quickly soothes you. He doesn’t chastise you for clawing him.

"It’s alright. I'm going to handle this, and then we'll go home," he says. "Roy."

A redheaded knight approaches. You slowly turn your head. He smiles gently at you.

"Your Highness," he says, bowing deeply, and you feel a little lighter.

"Roy's going to take you home while I handle the thief," Jason says. "I promise that I'll be fast, alright?"

"You promise you won't leave?" you ask. “You’ll come home right away?”

Jason takes your hand, stroking your knuckles. "I swear. May God strike me down if I don't return."

“Oi, man, get your little harlot out of—”

Jason stands, rising and towering over the angry drunk. He’s immediately cowed under Jason’s gaze.

“Watch your mouth,” Jason says, even and deadly. The man leaves in a huff.

"I'm sorry for causing trouble," you whisper, cheeks still wet.

"You haven't," is all he says, before leading you outside.

You have an audience, which is absolutely humiliating, but neither Jason nor Roy pays them any mind, so you don’t either.

Roy helps you onto his horse, and in the time that that takes, Jason is already headed back to the house by the time you and Roy start off. You realize then that you trust Jason. You've never met this Sir Roy in your life—Jason's never even mentioned having friends. But you trust that you will get home safely.

“Jason won’t let him get away,” Roy says. You believe him.

The ride is short. You don’t know if you’ll manage to go back to sleep without Jason there, but the least you can do is host Roy, perhaps. You’re bone-tired, but you ought to be hospitable, shouldn’t you?

But as you get closer to the cottage, you hear voices in the woods. Jason’s horse is out front. You dismount without Roy's help and take off running. He calls after you. You ignore him.

You don't go through the house, not ready to face the destruction your intruder left in his wake. Instead, you go around and follow the stream into the woods. The voices get louder. When you get to the clearing by the shed, you stop.

The lantern has been knocked onto its side, flames flickering. But you can very clearly make out Jason in the dark. His shadow cuts a frightening figure that dances across the trees. Moonlight flickers through the canopy, illuminating him and the other figure. Your attacker.

Your attacker, who’s discovering that he picked the wrong house to rob.

Jason's got him pressed against a tree. Blood drips from the man's head and face. You stay a few yards away, behind a tree. The bark dully bites into your hand. You’re torn on whether you should make yourself known or not. Stop this or not.

"You touched them," Jason says, and does something with his sword that draws out a strangled groan from the attacker. The metal shines with fresh blood.

"I am worse than you," he continues. "I lost sight of my duty. My reason for living. Everything I do is for the star-crossed beauty my king captured for me. It's all I can do to pay penance for my sins. And you come into my house and dare to lay a hand on what is mine?"

The breath leaves you in a punch. You're cold with sweat, but something tugs at your gut. Something frightening. Something that tells you to stay hidden.

"I am worse," Jason says. "Because a good man would show you mercy and let you be hanged for your crimes."

"That fuckin' bitch deserved it," the intruder spits.

Here, Jason loses his composure. Here, he twists his sword.

"I will tear you apart," he says, voice a snarl.

And Jason does exactly that. It's bloody and gory. You feel sick a few times. You can't see everything in the fractured light, but you can hear it all. Bones crack, the man screams, but Jason doesn't relent. He drives his sword deeper and deeper. Blood gurgles from the attacker's mouth.

You watch on, feeling quite like you had the day you saw Jason fucking his fist.

The body drops with a thud as Jason lets him go. You imagine a sword slick with blood. You imagine Jason covered in it.

The realization is dizzying. You are an executioner, and Jason is your axe.

You don't know what you're more horrified by: the fact that it took you this long to look away or that you don't mind the stench of fresh blood.

Jason takes two steps and picks up the lantern. He sees you. He stops.

"He's dead," you say dumbly.

Jason swallows, face otherwise blank. "You... you were not meant to see that."

"I didn't." But you did.

He knows you did.

"Roy should've taken you inside," Jason says.

You can't understand why shame draws the lines of his shoulders.

"I didn't want to go inside," you say. "Not without you."

Jason inhales sharply. Then he looks away. "I shouldn't have... I pray that you'll forgive me, but I understand if you don't."

Jason is covered in more than a little blood. Red spatters his cheek, though it looks black in the shadows.

He's slick with blood. You wonder if he'll bathe in the river. If you might help him.

You step forward. Jason is still. He watches you steadily as you approach.

You pull down the sleeve of your nightgown and reach for Jason's face. He flinches. You hush him.

"It's alright," you whisper.

He lets you touch his cheek. His eyelids flutter as you wipe the blood from his face. Then you hold his cheeks with both hands. Jason shudders.

"You can touch me," you say.

Immediately, Jason shakes his head, hands curling into fists at his side.

"No. I'm unclean. You shouldn’t touch me either, you’ll—you’re—”

"I don't mind." Your thumbs trace the contours of his face for a moment, feeling the hard line of his nose, the curve of his jaw, his full bottom lip. He lets you, eyes locked on yours.

Then, you pull up your nightgown, revealing your bare thighs, your underwear, your belly. Jason’s chest heaves. He immediately looks away. But you’re quick. You guide Jason's hand with your other hand. He stains your flesh with blood. You picture the sticky, bloody handprint he'll leave on your waist. That frightening feeling returns.

Jason's hand is hot on your skin. He exhales shakily.

"I'm sorry," he says again, cupping your waist. His fingers gently knead your skin as if he's testing if you're real. It tickles, but you don't move, fearing Jason will pull away at the slightest jerk.

"Don't sleep in the shed anymore," you say.

"Alright."

"Eat supper with me."

"Okay."

You draw Jason closer. Blood smears your clothed chest. His thighs warm your exposed legs. You will not let him punish himself in the morning. You will sleep on his chest if that’s what it takes. Only you are allowed to draw blood from him.

"Are you mine?" you ask.

Jason's answer is instant.

"Yes."

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