#god this has been sitting as a WIP for so long

[oflights]

wip snip 8.1

thank you for the tag, @buhloodweeeave! your snip looks like so much fun!

my current wip is a fic called Travelling Together (based on that w.s. merwin poem, yes, i am who i am). the premise is this:

After the tadpoles are gone and everyone goes their separate ways, Astarion and Gale realize they can still hear each other’s thoughts. Probably because they’re soulmates.

and here's a snippet!

“Astarion?” Gale gasps out loud. “When did you learn Sending? I thought you lost the sending stone I gave you! Did you find—wait. I’m not Sending, but you’ve been responding to me; how is that possible? Did you discover a new kind of stone? A more advanced working of the spell? You must tell me all about it—” Gale! Astarion shouts in his head. Somehow just the sound of his name in Astarion’s distinct voice, angry as it is, sets Gale’s heart fluttering slightly, which is quite pathetic and embarrassing, actually. Ugh, stop—you’re thinking far too fast and too much, I can’t make heads or tails of it. Slow down, will you? Just—think. Quietly, slowly. “That’s not exactly my strong suit,” Gale says, and Astarion immediately counters you don’t have to talk. Just think. As if you’re Sending. “But I’m not Sending,” Gale says, and then he flinches because he feels like someone has just smacked an open palm over his face. He stares down at his hands, which haven’t moved, and looks around his kitchen again. It’s still empty, if warm and cozy, the morning sun dappled on his honey-colored floorboards and baskets of fruits and grains hanging from various hooks, humming with spells to stay fresh. There’s the wall of shelved preserves and drawers of ingredients, everything in its right place. A fire crackles in the hearth, ready to cook his breakfast, and a few birds land periodically on his windowsill, twittering merrily as if they know that Tara’s not about. But for those birds, it’s just Gale here, alone in his kitchen.      Did you feel that? Astarion asks in his head. Gale narrows his eyes at—at nothing. His still empty kitchen. He’s beginning to wonder if he might still be rather drunk. What about this? Invisible fingers pinch at Gale’s left nipple, sharp and sudden, with a familiar twist—“Ouch!” Gale yelps, clutching his hand over his chest. “That was—how did you—that was entirely inappropriate given the current state of our relationship—or lack thereof—” Gale Astarion cuts in mentally, even managing a long, mental sigh. Stop talking. You’re giving me a bloody headache. I woke up with a headache Gale thinks forcefully, lips pressed together in consternation. Did you give that to me? From your waking musings, I believe the headache is from the alcohol last night, you lightweight Astarion tells him. Gale feels his face go hot. So you heard—I mean, you can hear— I can hear your thoughts, darling; at least the ones that make sense. Some of them are too fast for me, especially when you’re talking—and gods, that makes so much sense. As his knees suddenly go a bit wobbly, Gale sits down hard in the nearest kitchen chair and stares despairingly, still at nothing. I don’t understand he thinks pointedly, beyond caring about the admission. He doesn’t even mind Astarion’s answering jab. Well, that must be a first.

tagging @ashamedbliss @junietuesday @hausofthestars @shallanigans and @koalamatcha to share snippets (with zero pressure!!)

[girlwithadragonheart]

Chapter 1 - The Demon of Vyrantium

This story will have spoilers from the game. Like entire quests. If you don’t want those don’t read this. You have been warned.

Rook x Lucanis

Summary: The gods strike at D’Meta’s Crossing. Neve suggests hiring the Antivan Crows and the most respected mage killer out there, turns out he has problems of his own.

Word Count: 8.9k

Warnings: graphic violence, mentions of slavery, cursing, let me know if I missed something it's so long I lost track

A/N: I told you I’d take more creative liberties with the next one didn’t I ;3

Prologue DATV Masterlist Chapter 2(WIP)

I sat across from Neve and Harding at the circle table in the lighthouse to go over next steps.

“So. We stopped the ritual,” Neve said.

“And Varric paid the price,” Harding answered.

“Hey. Varric made his choice to go talk with Solas. He knew the risks. We all did,” I said.

“And now Solas is… gone. And we’re here, wherever here is—besides in the Fade,” Harding thought.

“Solas called it the lighthouse,” I told them.

“He did?” Neve questioned. “When?”

“While I was out cold. He showed up in my dream, and he’s really mad that we stopped his ritual.”

“Good,” Harding said smugly.

“He’s also trapped in some kind of prison in the Face. Not happy about that either,” I explained.

“You’re sure that wasn’t just a dream? It’s a reasonable reaction,” Neve said.

“Solas can speak with people in their dreams. Even kill them,” Harding told her.

“I’m safe on that front. I bled a little when I got knocked out. Enough that he can gripe at me, but not enough that he can make my head explode.”

“So Solas is using blood magic. Like any normal mage would to play with your mind,” Neve replied.

“But he’s not a normal mage. Like I told you, he’s an elven god,” Harding said.

“Putting together a nice ritual doesn’t make him a god,” she shot back.

“The gods of my people were incredibly powerful,” I interrupted their squabbling. “I don’t mean they were powerful like a skilled mage. I mean they destroyed entire cities. They shattered mountains. So no, they might not literally be gods, but they’re a lot worse than whatever you’re thinking.”

“Alright. Well, we’ve stopped the ritual, and there doesn’t seem to be an immediate danger. For now. You’re certain Solas can’t use blood magic to affect your mind?” Neve asked.

“I’m certain that if he could he already would have, but I’m still pissed at him as ever. I’m not certain of anything else, but we’re not out of danger,” I said.

“What do you mean?” Harding asked.

“Solas had two of the other elven gods imprisoned. When he got trapped, they escaped.”

“So those things we saw come out of the fade when the ritual went wild… those are…” Neve’s voice faded.

“Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain. Two of the ancient elven gods that Solas rebelled against. Solas warned me about them being evil, which is pretty rich coming from the guy who just tried to tear down the Veil,” I said.

“You don’t believe him?” Neve questioned.

“No, that’s the problem. I do believe him. He said they were horrific tyrants.”

“Tyrants so powerful elven history remembers them as gods,” Harding added.

“Solas says Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain drew on the blight for power and became corrupted. That was when he imprisoned them.”

“So instead of one… god… running around, we have two. And they’re not just powerful, they’re blighted,” Neve scowled.

“We need to get out there and stop them,” Harding said firmly.

“Just like that? Without Varric? And you’re still getting back on your feet,” Neve looked over at her.

“I’m fine. We can’t just sit here and do nothing!”

“We need to investigate. Figure out what we’re dealing with before we rush in and make things worse,” Neve told her.

“And how many more people will get hurt—get killed—while we spend time investigating?”

I cut them both off. “If Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain are worse than Solas, we can’t go in blind. We need to know what they can do and what they want.”

“But we only have Solas’s word about all of this,” Harding said.

I shrugged. “Then let’s go investigate for ourselves. We find out what we’re dealing with, and then we take our shot.”

“Fine. The eluvian led us here instead of back to Minrathous.”

“Let’s hope it goes back to the ritual site,” Neve said. “Maybe we can find some clues at the scene of the crime.”

“All right, then. Let’s get back to the ritual site,” I said.

—------------------------------------

The second we stepped through the Eluvian, a group of Veil Jumpers were running at us for their lives. Some kind of old elven construct was chasing them, swinging a massive golden axe at their heads. One of them, a woman, was using her magic on a device in her hands, trying to stop the construct, but it didn’t look to be working.

One of them got knocked to the side against a boulder, groaning from the impact. An older dark skinned elf parried the swings of the mighty axe, giving the girl time to work. The construct swung past the elf, the blade going through the device in the girl’s hands. As the device broke, the construct shut down, falling limp.

Harding seemed to know the older elf and the girl. She addressed them as Strife and Irelin. She told us that she met them with Varric when they first started the hunt for Solas. Veil Jumpers, she said they were called, experts in ancient elven magic.

Strife told us millions of artifacts are being faulty and coming alive because of Solas’s ritual, pointing the finger at us because we were supposed to stop him.

I informed him that we did, in fact, stop him, but Solas was now trapped in the Fade and two of the Evanuris escaped. The Veil Jumpers knew the extent of the horrors the Evanuris caused centuries ago. 

“I was really hoping Solas was lying about all of this,” I told them.

Strife frowned. “The god of lies, but some things are sacrosanct, even to him. He might be a bastard, but he’s a damned sight better than the Evanuris.”

I snorted. “No kidding.”

They still had dozens of Veil Jumpers unaccounted for, but Irelin said if we could find Bellara Lutare it would be a massive assist. Apparently, she was the best there is at working with the ancient elven artifacts. She was off looking for one before the ritual shook everything loose.

Harding told them we would go and get Bellara, but I told her to stay behind and help the Veil Jumpers because they needed her. Definitely not because she was still injured and way too stubborn to see sense.

—--------------------------------------

“Protocol is to wait at least a week before sending anyone to look for me, I’ve only been gone for three days,” she said, twisting her hips back and forth in place like a child being scolded.

“Well, things have taken a turn for the worse, I’m afraid,” I told her. “Our gods are back and they’re trying to take over the world.”

“Our gods… I need a moment,” she said.

“Take all the time you need. It won’t help, unfortunately, I’ve known for days and it still hasn’t quite sunk in yet,” I replied.

“That is quite a predicament.” She sighed, looking around. “All right, but I need your help first, I’m on to something big here.”

“Just tell me what you need,” I smiled.

“We’ll take what we can get,” Neve told her.

As it turned out, Ancient Elven ruins could be tricky. Barriers and old mechanical devices that were rare in these times. Luckily, it was pretty straightforward to figure out and Bellara was a great help finding our way through the ruins. Whatever work she had done with elven ruins and artifacts would definitely come in handy.

It was all fine and dandy when we found what we were looking for, except for the ogre that decided to pay us a visit and try to wreck our shit.

A lot of its attacks I could parry or at least redirect. Some I could only dodge, and I spent most of the fight doing so, shooting firebolts in between its attacks.

It finally fell, and I sheathed my dagger, fighting to regain my breath. 

Bellara found what she was looking for, the “Nadas Dirthalen” or the eighth archive or the archive spirit. Pick whichever you want to describe it, it was an artifact crafted with the knowledge of the gods and it could give us information we might need. If she could fix the crystal, that is.

We headed back to the Veil Jumper camp and they told us one of the towns they work closely with had gone dark. A place called D’Meta’s Crossing. With everything going on, it likely wasn’t a coincidence. Harding rejoined the three of us and we boarded a boat to go check it out.

—----------------------------------

D’Meta’s Crossing was on the far side of the lake. It was bleak when we approached on the water. 

“This isn’t right,” Bellara said. “The dock usually has people bringing goods to market, bartering and shouting… It’s always busy.”

“Stay sharp,” I said as I climbed out of the boat.

The main entrance to town was barricaded. Clearly not to keep anything out. We moved to the side, seeing a smaller barricade. I pulled myself over it, eyes going wide as I dropped down. The place reeked, and there was blight everywhere. These masses, they looked like rotting tumors, not the decay or stagnation of the normal blight, this was alive.

There were cysts that popped like blisters when fired at or hit with anything and exploded. The second I stepped foot in this place I felt I needed a shower.

We moved further in, sticking close together. There was a villager standing by a home completely taken over with the blight.

His face was drained of all color and his eyes were black. “What happened here?”

He stared at me. Well, through me. “Keep them inside. Listen to the mayor.”

My brows furrowed. I waved a hand in front of his face. Unresponsive. “What’s controlling them? Blood magic? The blight?”

We moved deeper in. The town square was even worse for wear. There were bodies everywhere taken over by the blight-cysts. We continued on, keeping an eye out for survivors. There was no one that the blight hadn’t taken over, either their bodies or their minds.

We came to a part of town blocked off by a wall of the blight. A bright red bulb pulsated at the center of it. I shuddered, taking a couple steps back and blasting cold from my fingers to minimize the explosiveness.We had gotten through it, but only a narrow passageway. Squeezing between a corridor of the blight was not on the top of my bucket list.

I would desperately need a bath after this.

We came to the other side and a giant mass of the blight stood in the center. At the center of it looked like a person was being held there.

“Mihlva!” Bellara gasped, running over to one of the bodies.

“One of your fellow Veil Jumpers?” I asked, watching the blight tendrils wrap around them and pull them away. I moved to the mass at the center. The man in it was moving. “Bellara!”

She looked over. “Jahel! He’s alive!”

“Bellara?” The man groaned.

“We’re going to help you… we’ll get you down, Jahel,” Bellara said.

A tendril snaked around his neck. “No… listen. The gods… the gods have returned. I saw… them. I heard their voices.”

“The gods did this?” Bellara questioned, panic evident in her voice.

“A blood ritual,” he said. “To release the blight. The villagers… they said they needed power… Bellara… be careful…” That tendril looped around his neck twice over, caressing his lips as he spoke before tightening around his throat.

His body was strangled, blood spilled to the cobbled streets, the blight pooling at our feet. The ground shook, and I heard someone shout for help.

We ran through the remains of the village, shooting down the blight we could along the way. Coming through an archway of it, we came out to the other side of the village. A man was wrapped in barbed fleshy pink tentacles, a writhing mass of the blight.

“Help me! Hurry!” He yelled, panicked.

The ground shook and a dragon shot up into the sky, screeching as it landed, crushing debris underfoot.

“No! Please!” The man yelled as the writhing mass drew tighter around him. I looked between him and the dragon, feeling my chest tighten. I stepped forward, putting two fingers to my lips to produce a loud whistle.

It took a step toward me, and I stared it down as embers floated from its mouth. After a moment, as though fighting a command, I watched it back off and fly into the horizon, roaring as it went.

I took a breath, approaching the man in the mass. 

“I know you,” Bellara said. “You’re the mayor of this town.”

“The village… the people… are they…?”

“Blighted. Dead. All of them,” Harding said.

“You gave them to the gods, didn’t you? Didn’t you?” Bellara spat.

The mayor sobbed. “They were in my head… infecting my thoughts. They made me do it… Please, help me!”

“Deep breaths… Tell me what happened,” I said gently. If it really was blood magic he may not have been acting completely of his own will.

“I tried to protect people. You have to believe me. The gods told me to lure the Veil Jumpers to the center of town. The others were to be rounded up and kept safe. They would be the first to witness the glory of Ghilan’nain’s new creation… She showed me gold. So much gold…”

“So you brought the Veil Jumpers to the middle of town…” I said.

“For a blood sacrifice!” Bellara cut me off.

“Because the gods needed power,” Neve concluded.

“Did you know what the gods would do?” I questioned him.

“The Veil Jumpers… they were just strangers. I thought if they were taken first, everyone else might be spared.”

“So you did know!” Bellara yelled.

“The gods exploited his greed and fear,” Neve said.

“I’m supposed to feel sorry for him? I say we leave him right here,” Bellara said.

“But I’ll die. The blight’s everywhere. What if the dragon comes back?” He panicked. “I understand what they do now. I won’t be tempted again! I swear!”

“Rook?” Harding asked.”

I sighed. “Let’s get him out of there.”

“What? This entire village is dead because of him.” Bellara argued.

“I know.”

“Then why spare him?”

“We don’t kill people. Not like this. We’re not murderers. We’re not like the gods. We are better than them,” I explained. “If we leave him to be a source of their power we’re no better than he is.”

“Thank you… I think,” he said.

“I didn’t ask for your gratitude,” I snapped.

“Then if I may offer some advice: steel yourself. I felt their power, the promises they made. It’s irresistible.”

“Then try harder next time. Don’t make me regret saving you,” I said firmly.

“Yes, of course. But you should be worried about the rest of the world. Or this will be our future.”

—---------------------------------

We made our way back to the Veil Jumper camp. We were speaking with them when an old friend of the Inquisition, Morrigan, made an appearance. She told us to find Solas’s ritual dagger and that the eluvian at the lighthouse should go anywhere there is an existing eluvian. Bellara offered to come with us to fix it.

I just wished Varric was here to give better advice. He was always stronger at speeches than I was. Doing this without him to guide me felt wrong.

Neve, Harding, and I made our way back to the ritual site. After a wild goose chase after a darkspawn that stole the dagger, and watching Harding get possessed by some kind of new strange dwarf magic—which doesn’t exist, mind you—I was ready for a nap.

We came back to the Lighthouse and talked about Harding’s new abilities. I encouraged her to explore them but be wary. It wasn’t like any magic I’d seen before, and dwarves didn’t have any connection to the Fade, so it was completely new territory.

I went up the stairs, seeing a new area branched next to the hall leading to the infirmary. I could hear Varric snoring from here. At least I knew he was still alive.

I headed down that hall, pushing the door open to see an aquarium of sorts. There was a bookshelf to the right and a wardrobe to the left. In the center of the room was a chaise lounge with a bookcase behind it.

I saw my pack sitting in front of that bookshelf. Neve or Harding must’ve brought my pack in here. It made sense, it was a better place to sleep than the infirmary. I suppose I could spare a few moments to unpack my things.

I pulled Varric’s shaving mirror out, placing it on the bookshelf behind where I would be sleeping. Varric and his life lessons. I asked him how we were supposed to stop Solas, and he gave me the mirror.

“Take a long hard look in it, kid. It’ll always show the face of a hero who can get it done,” he said.

I don’t know if I see a hero’s face, but it’s a face that has seen a lot. Got a few new scars. Some that show up in a mirror, some that don’t. But Varric believed in me then, and he believes in me now. I can do this.

I moved to the small armoire on the right side of the room, placing an elven scroll down. A peddler gave it to me after I saved his caravan from bandits. He said the scroll went back to even before Tevinter. Said that elves had a rich history, “even more than the rest of us.”

Too many humans look down on us, even though elves were here first. It was nice to have someone see how much our people have done. I just wish I could’ve been a part of it.

On the opposite side from the mirror, I put my broken chains. I helped a lot of Minrathous slaves escape to freedom the night I met Varric, including my mother. Freed only to be killed in the chaos. Another time Varric had shown up for me. I remembered his hand on my shoulder as I wept over her.

“Come on, kid. It’s time to go. I’m sorry.”

Then the magisters cracked down in retaliation, and the Shadow Dragons decided I was too much trouble to keep around. We could have taken a stand and dared the magisters to come after us. At least people are free because of what I did.

I sighed, brushing my fingers over the cold metal before going to sit in the chaise lounge. Carefully, I laid back, letting my eyes drift shut. I was wound tight despite my exhaustion. I don’t know how long it took me to actually fall asleep.

I woke in the Fade, Solas’s voice already penetrating my thoughts. “Back so soon. It must have been worse than I thought.”

“Hello, Dread Wolf.”

“Ah, but perhaps I am mistaken. You may be here to correct me, to tell me that my concerns were unfounded. I am, after all, remembered as the god of lies, treachery, and rebellion.”

Haunted, hopeless, hurting… a voice nagged at the back of my head. No, not nagged. Soothed. 

“So you’re gonna be insufferable about it. See, this is the reason nobody likes you,” I told him.

“I led a rebellion for centuries that culminated the creation of the Veil and the destruction of the elven empire.”

“Okay, this is among the reasons nobody likes you,” I corrected.

“My information was accurate. Now you realize that the danger is real.”

“I need to know what the gods are planning,” I said plainly.

“You are asking for knowledge no mortal in this world is privy to,” he replied. “If I am to share it with you, I need to know what makes you the right person to lead the fight against Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain.”

“Well, for starters, I’m the only one here,” I said, throwing my arms out and looking around the desolate prison. “And I stopped you, didn’t I?”

“You disrupted the ritual.”

“Yeah, I did. Even though I’m nowhere near as powerful as you. Even though I’m just a slave.”

His brow furrowed, and I saw him blink as the only hint of surprise. “You were a slave?”

“Yeah. Varric said you hated slavery. I suppose that’s one thing we can agree on.”

He only nodded. “Your plan is to tell me how powerful you aren’t?”

“I met Varric when he asked the Shadow Dragons for help with freeing an old friend from Venatori slavers. The Shadow Dragons had a safe plan that wasn’t going to work, and Varric wasn’t the only one with something to lose if we failed.”

“So you and Varric led an armed rebellion and dealt a devastating blow to the Venatori,” he finished for me.

“You did your research,” I said, looking him up and down.

“I would’ve been a fool not to. You and Varric were pursuing me for the better part of a year. I needed to learn who was hunting me.”

“Then you obviously also know that powerful opposition doesn’t frighten me. I find a way to get the job done, whatever it takes.”

“I suppose I was not so different when I started.”

“No,” a voice said, inches from me and lightyears away all at once. “You were not different. You are not different.” The voice of a friend.

“Cole.” Now, I did see the Dread Wolf’s surprise evident in his expression. “How did you…”

“You are trapped,” he said. “She is hopeless, haunted, hurting, just like before. Escaped one master just to be fighting another. You are not different,” Cole said, looking up at Solas. “Hello, Solas.”

“Hello Compassion,” Solas dipped his head in greeting. “It has been an age.”

“You left the Inquisition to free us, but it didn’t work. Instead you freed them. The Evanuris.”

“Someone got in my way,” Solas leveled a condescending glare at me from his high horse—or at least his slightly higher piece-of-floating-rock.

“People were dying. I heard their screams,” Cole said. “The Veil needs to stay.”

“Oookay, this is all fine and good, but what are you doing here, Cole?” I asked, turning to him. “I thought I’d seen the last of you when Dorian freed me?”

“I felt the Veil weaken, and I knew. I knew it was Solas behind it, I always knew, even when he didn’t want me to, even when he hid it from everyone else. I went back to that place where it’s still weakest, and I felt your despair. I followed it here.”

“The gods need two things to reclaim their dominance of the world,” Solas interrupted, clearly growing bored. “First, the blight. What exists in this world is a bare fragment of its power. The rest is imprisoned… until they release it.”

“What would they need to do to free the blight, and how do we stop them from doing it?” I asked.

“They will need to pierce the Veil to reach the blight’s prison. My lyrium dagger is one of the few artifacts capable of doing so.”

“We’ve already recovered it from the ritual site.”

“Excellent,” I could’ve sworn he almost looked proud, but I doubted the smug bastard was capable. “Then they will have to make their own. That will give you time. The second is followers. They have called themselves gods, and what is a god without worshipers to sing their praises?”

“I’m not gonna bend a knee to blighted murdering monsters just because their ears are pointed like mine. I don’t think many other elves are going to either.”

“Agreed. Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain care little for the elves. They will find worshipers among those hungry for power. Tyrants and bullies. The cruel and corrupt, who fear their own vulnerability and seize any chance to feel strong. If you hunt them, they will lead you to Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain.”

I laughed without humor. “You want me to pick fights with tyrants and bullies? Sounds fun.”

“I gave no orders. All I can offer are suggestions.”

“I’m on it. What else?”

“The Vi’Revas, the Lighthouse eluvian, can take you anywhere, if you master its secrets. Have you done so?”

“Not yet, but we’ve got one of the Veil Jumpers working on it. She’ll get it sorted, and we’ll see how it goes.”

“Yes. I suppose we will. And when you speak with Varric, please tell him that I… regret what happened.”

Cole put his hand on my arm, and the world spun for a moment before I opened my eyes. We were in a grove, the stars above us, trees towering around us.

“Woah.” I put a hand to my head. “Where are we?”

“The Fade.”

“Right…” I took a seat in the grass with a sigh.

Cole crouched down, fingers fidgeting with the blades of grass. “You feel heavy again. Like before.”

“Varric picked me up to help him, but I disrupted the ritual, Varric got hurt, and the gods escaped. That doesn’t much feel like helping.”

“Varric used to help me. He wanted me to understand things, I think.”

“I don’t know how to lead, Cole. I’m barely used to being in charge of my life.”

“You’re already leading,” he said simply. His head bowed, and he glanced back behind him, as though listening for something. “They need you, it’s time to wake up.”

I gasped sitting upright, my chest heaving and my palms sweaty. I hadn’t seen Cole in years. Not since I was a slave. Not since I was at my lowest in life. Shit…

I needed to talk to Varric. I wiped my hands on my pants, standing with a huff. Having Solas in my head might prove to be more hindrance than help if he wouldn’t let me sleep in peace.

I made my way out, rubbing out the kink in my neck, hoping he might be awake. If not, I would let at least one of us get some restful sleep.

I approached him, sitting on the end of the bed, legs crossed opposite where he was sitting up against a pillow.

“So Solas told the truth about the gods,” he said as I sat down.

“You heard? It’s bad, Varric,” I shook my head. “If you’d seen D’Meta’s Crossing…”

“The team needs to act fast… and it can’t do that with me leading from a bed,” he said. “You’ve gotta take point on this.”

My chest tightened. “I can’t do what you do. I’ve barely been holding it together in the short time you’ve been out.”

He shook his head. “You don’t need to do what I do. You just need to get it done. Rook, when I put this team together, what did I look for? A detective to find the Dread Wolf and a scout to get us the lay of the land. Exactly the people he’d expect me to recruit. Disciplined. Predictable. And then there’s you. Remember when we first met, kid?”

“Of course I do.”

“You risked your neck to bring down an entire slavery ring. Pretty much by yourself,” he grinned.

“I had help.”

“Sure. I got winded about five minutes in. You did most of the work. Ticked off a bunch of Minrathous big shots, but… You’ve got a knack, kid.”

I hugged my knees to my chest. “A knack for what? Almost dying?”

“Exactly. You’ve got a knack for finding a way through the wildest shit I’ve ever seen. With a plan that no one expects. You can do this,” he said with a softness in his eyes I’d only ever really seen when it was just us. The protective kind. “And don’t worry. I’ll still be here to talk if you need me.”

“There is something… D’Meta’s Crossing was awful. While we were there, we found one survivor—the mayor.”

“You took him back to the Veil Jumpers,” he said. Harding must’ve filled him in.

“Not everyone was happy about my decision…” I told him. “We’re just starting out and I’m already losing their trust.”

Varric sat up a little straighter. “The key to earning the team’s trust isn’t to only make decisions everyone agrees with. It’s showing the team that they can tell you whatever’s on their mind, even if they think you’re full of crap, and know you’ll listen. It’s showing them that you’re capable of making the hard decisions, even if they don’t agree.”

“When I took over at the ritual site, I had to make a call on who came with me to knock over that statue. It was the first decision I made leading this team, and Harding got hurt because of it.”

“You made a decision with the best information you had. Sometimes you do that, and people end up hurt. Or worse,” he said simply.

“What would you have done?” I asked.

“What would I have done? Probably gotten myself killed and failed to stop the ritual if you hadn’t stepped in,” he laughed. “A good leader isn’t someone who never makes mistakes: It’s someone who admits when they make one. That’s how you earn their trust.”

“Did Neve tell you about me talking to Solas in the Fade?” I asked.

“I had some good arguments with Chuckles back in the day. I can’t imagine being stuck with him in my head. But how are you feeling about it?” He asked.

“Your old friend is kind of an asshole, Varric.”

He chuckled. “I’d love to be a fly on the wall while the two of you get into it. Solas fought a rebellion against Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain. He didn’t want to be a god. But he’s also a lot older and more powerful than any of us. He looks at us like we’re toddlers.”

“So how do I deal with him?”

“Act like you’re as smart as he is, and he’ll be insufferable. Show him you respect his age and experience, and he’ll remind you he’s just a man. Honestly, pick whichever of those pisses you off less,” he grinned.

“He also asked me to tell you that he regrets what happened. Hurting you, I mean,” I told him, letting my knees fall back to either side.

“Chuckles is sentimental. He could burn the world down, and the thing that would make him cry is a single flower with blackened petals.”

“He seems the type. Cole visited me. I know last time I told you about him you said he was with the Inquisition. He came to my dream with Solas too, and he looked almost… regretful, if you could even call it that.”

“Well, shit. How’s he doing? What was he doing?” Varric asked, shifting slightly.

“Apparently, he sensed my despair when he was checking out the ritual site because of how thin the Veil is there. He followed it back to me.” I sighed, standing and brushing myself off, whatever invisible dust there was. “I’ll let you rest.”

“You’re gonna be fine, Rook. Hey, one last thing before you go,” he said. “I’ve been racking my brain thinking of contacts who might help us with these gods.”

“You got any ideas?” 

“Nothing. But being a leader isn’t about having all the answers yourself: It’s about knowing who does. Neve has connections to a whole world that Harding and I barely know. A world you barely got the chance to learn. Might be worth talking to her.”

“Will do. Thanks, Varric,” I offered him a smile. One of the few I was sure I would be able to give in the coming days.

“Any time, kid.”

I closed the door behind me so he could rest as I made my way out to Neve’s floating office. She told me we needed to hire the Antivan Crows, but specifically their most feared mage killer. The Demon of Vyrantium. I had heard of his work, and most of us in the wards and servants’ quarters revered his assassinations of our masters. They had given us plenty of reasons to side with the trained killer over them.

Neve said she set up a meeting with their bosses. Next, she said that we needed to take a trip back home. The Shadow Dragons of course made sense to take out the gods in the capital city of Tevinter where blood magic was strongest. We had done so much work against it and the Venatori, but I was a bit worried about seeing them again after the stunt I pulled. We trained to be the best at countering evil magic, it was time we proved it. Hopefully together this time and not just me and Varric.

The Antivan Crows seemed our best bet to start off. I wasn’t ready to go back to Minrathous yet. Not after everything.

Neve and I made our way down to the Vi’Revas, the eluvian, where Bellara was working. We watched her tinker with it for a moment before it lit up, showing the path to what Morrigan called The Crossroads. A spirit appeared beside it in tattered blue robes. Though I tensed instinctively, I felt nothing malicious from it.

“The wolf’s fang. You carry it now. Old paths. A new journey. Through there. I will wait,” he gestured to the eluvian before fading away.

When we entered, the spirit introduced itself as the caretaker who goes where they are needed. The Crossroads was a beautiful place in the fade. Paths branched out, the caretaker guiding us in a levitating boat to each island of Eluvians. This place was slowly becoming tainted, though. I could feel the blood magic and blight like invisible eyes or a forgotten touch. It caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end.

We made it to the eluvian leading to Treviso after killing some Venatori trying to take over the crossroads. Neve and I glanced at each other before stepping through. Treviso… One of the finest cities in Antiva, or so I’d been told. It was now under occupation by the Antaam. Hopefully our contact would still be able to meet us.

Neve and I made our way to the coordinates given to us, seeing a petit woman leaning against the railing of the bridge. She looked over as we approached.

“Welcome to Antiva. You must be Rook. Follow me,” she said, running off, leaving me to follow in her wake.

“And you’re Andarateia Cantori. Of the Crows?” I asked.

“Teia, please. Come, my associate Viago is gathering the others.”

We ran through the streets of Treviso, through the market and up the lattice on the side of a building. From there, we ziplined to a casino, the headquarters of the Crows.

“Welcome to the Cantori Diamond,” Teia said as we went up the stairs to the right.

As soon as I entered, I felt as though I was going to be interrogated, stripped of my valuables and tossed to the streets, if the expression of the woman eyeing me and the cane in her hand were anything to say for it.

Teia took up her spot on the left, a man with a very well groomed mustache to the right of her, followed by the older woman in the throne, and on her other side a younger man who looked way too charming for anyone’s good.

The man next to Teia spoke. “You’re the client?”

“This is Rook,” Teia said with a smile. “Did you want a drink? I promise not to let Viago near it.” It struck me how pretty she was. And the man next to her.

“Viago de Riva. Fifth Talon,” he introduced. “And this is Caterina Dellamorte. First Talon of the Crows.” He gestured to the woman in the throne.

“An honor. And you are?” I asked, glancing at the man beside her.

“Illario Dellamorte. Her grandson. What brings you here?” He asked.

“Right,” I took a breath. “My target is a pair of elven gods—or that’s what they call themselves. They’re ancient blighted mages. My detective says you have a man who brought blood mages and Venatori to their knees.”

“Lucanis,” Caterina said. “My grandson. They called him “the Demon of Vyrantium.” He was the one who did those jobs.”

“Sounds like there’s more to it,” I said carefully, tilting my head.

“Lucanis Dellamorte is dead. He was killed a year ago, now,” Viago said solemnly.

“What I say doesn’t leave this room,” Caterina said slowly. “The body our people brought back was not my grandson. It was dressed in his clothing, but it had been altered with blood magic to have his face.”

“My cousin is still alive?” Illario questioned. “And you didn’t think to tell me?” Something was off about Illario. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I knew that I would rather have dealings with Teia and Viago more than him in the future if we had any at all.

“His ship was attacked,” Viago interrupted my thoughts. “We knew someone sold him out… so you kept your suspicions to yourself.”

“But you’ve brought it up now. Why?” I asked, looking back to the First Talon.

“I’ve had eyes on the Venatori ever since they took my grandson from me. They were hunting your Dread Wolf. And what you did to his ritual threw them into disarray. They made mistakes. And now I have a location. The Ossuary. Where the Demon of Vyrantium is kept. Find this Ossuary. Free Lucanis. You’ll have your god-killer. And I’ll have my grandson.”

Something about the way she presented him twisted my gut. Like that was all he was, a weapon to be used and discarded. Even not having met him, the thought didn’t sit right with me. I knew what it was like to be seen only for what you could do for other people, and that was not a feeling I wanted for anyone else.

I wondered though, how a mage killer captured by the Venatori would feel about two Tevinter mages freeing him.

Illario led us to our lift to the Ossuary. I was almost relieved when he didn’t get in the boat with us. Surprisingly, he was the only Crow I had met so far that had major stab-you-in-the-back vibes.

We were boated out to the middle of the sea, the Crow mage with us parting the waters below us to grant us passage to the underwater prison. When we got there, bodies littered the sand, bloodstains running red. We passed over two dozen bodies as we made our way through the prison.

It seemed to have been some ancient elven ruins before being repurposed. It was a wonder it still functioned. If the wards on this place ever broke…

I didn’t want to think about what could’ve happened when the gods got released. I was more relieved I didn’t have to be the one fending off all the guards. We came to a Venatori barrier with three crystals connected to it that I beamed fire at before the barrier fell. A large corridor led down a set of stairs where a group of Venatori gathered.

“We don’t have to fight. We’re just here for Lucanis Dellamorte.” The mage in the center slammed his staff into the ground, the wisps of red blood magic gathering around its tip. “Get ready,” I said to Neve, who braced for a fight.

“Razikale, Dragon of Mystery. Lusacan, Dragon of Night. Hear your faithful call—”

A man in blue leathers flipped down from seemingly out of thin air, black and purple glowing wings sprouted from his back as he fell. He grappled the mage, pulling him as he spun so that the Venatori next to him stabbed straight through his comrade’s gut. He ducked as another sword came at him, kicking the Venatori in the gut. The cultist flew backward, impaling on one of the ice spikes surrounding us.

The man sprinted at the other two, a dagger in one hand and a rapier in the other. In a flash that was barely visible, he spun, slitting both of their throats before turning and putting his sword through the final cultist’s back.

He stood with his back turned to us, chest heaving. My eyes were wide. “I’m guessing you’re the reason we’re here,” I said carefully.

His wings flapped and dissipated as he turned back toward us. “Who are you? Who sent you?” He asked, the thick accent of Antiva coming through in his voice.

Something about his presence was calm, assured, even though he just murdered six people before my eyes. It drew me in, and I wasn’t sure I would have the strength to back out.

“My name’s Rook. Caterina sent me.”

“Caterina…” He looked at the ground. “But… you’re not a Crow.” He put his hands on his hips.

“I’m breaking you out of here,” I told him. “But… you’re not just you. Care to introduce me to your friend?”

“Rook. He’s possessed by a demon,” Neve said carefully.

“It’s complicated,” Lucanis said with a slight shrug.

“Caterina promised us a mage killer if we could get you out of here,” I told him.

“I can still work,” he assured me.

“Good,” I smiled. “Cause I’m pretty sure more Venatori are on their way. We have to get moving.”

“They have a vial of my blood. They can use it to control me. I cannot leave it in their hands. And… I had a contract when I was captured. One of my targets is here. Calivan. Crows don’t break contracts,” Lucanis said.

“All right, we’ll help. But in return, I need help killing some things,” I told him.

“I’ll owe you,” he said slowly.

“I’m sure we’ll owe each other before this is all over. Let’s go.”

We made our way back through the prison, coming to a huge gap that none of us would be able to jump across.

“What are you—Fine. He says he can help. There is something in the Fade close enough to grab onto.”

I watched Lucanis’s wings come out, energy flowing from his hands and a large piece of floating cobblestone came into being. “All of that… came from the Fade?”

“I’m as surprised as you,” Lucanis said honestly.

Eventually, we came to a room protected by at least six of the Venatori’s crystals powering the barrier. Behind it, was a massive garnished vial of blood. “Yeah, they can’t do anything subtle, can they?” I asked, aiming a beam of flames at it, making it explode on impact.

Through a close-by archway, there was a lift. We took it and it led to an audience chamber, a mage standing in the middle of it.

As we approached, Calivan did as all villains do, and started giving a long-winded speech. Something something, Zara said it would be ironic, he’s already the Demon of Vyrantium, now it’s just more literal. Lucanis smirked at me, glancing sidelong as Calivan went on his tangent, and I found myself smiling back. Something something she always leaves him to clean up the mess.

Maybe he should’ve picked someone better to follow.

I put my hands together, feeling the energy build between them as I loosed a death ray of fire and lightning right at his face. That’ll shut him up, surely.

Lucanis blinked at me as Calivan fell to his knees. “Sorry,” I said impulsively. “I know that was your contract. He was getting on my nerves.”

“Don’t be. Imagine how I feel,” Lucanis said, the corners of his lips twitching up. He spat on Calivan’s body. “The Crows send their regards.”

I glanced down at the ashen body, and when I looked up again I saw a purple version of Lucanis standing right beside him, and I blinked.

“The contract is done,” Lucanis said.

“Smells like blood. Ashes. Not done. Not yet,” The purple man said. From what I was sensing, this was his demon. Though he was closer to a spirit, not quite monstrous yet. I opted to ignore him for now. Not drawing attention to it was likely safer at least for the moment.

Lucanis just stared at him blankly. “Lucanis? Are you alright?” I asked.

“Careful, they know. We’re not right.”

“You cannot see him. I wondered,” he said, putting his hands on his hips.

“We clearly have things to discuss. Somewhere else,” I told him.

“Agreed. I think… it’s time I got some air.”

—--------------------------------------------

Back at the Cantori Diamond we found Teia and Viago looking at Illario who was leaned over against the table, breathing heavily. The two of them turned around and Teia’s face went whiter than I thought possible.

“Maker…” She said.

“Lucanis?” Viago’s eyes were wide.

Lucanis looked around at them. “What happened here?” He questioned.

Illario’s fist hit the table, and I flinched instinctively. “A message,” he snarled. “From Zara Renata. I can’t believe it. You’re home.” Illario put a hand on Lucanis’s shoulder.

“Zara… Her people got this close?” Lucanis asked.

“The woman who runs the prison?” I guessed.

“The Venatori witch who captured me,” he answered.

“Revenge for the breakout, maybe,” I said.

“Where’s Caterina?” Lucanis asked, eyes darting around at the three of them frantically.

“She’s…” Teia’s voice broke, and her head bowed with an impossible weight on her shoulders.

Viago came up behind her, hands on her shoulders comfortingly. “The Venatori got her in the confusion.”

“I got one of you back, only to lose the other,” Illario said, sounding devastated. I wanted to feel bad for him, but something still felt off.

“Lucanis…” I said softly. “I’m so sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say.

“I need to work,” he said, shifting on his feet.

“Are you sure?” Teia asked. “You should take some time.”

“I don’t need time—I need a target,” he said darkly.

“You just got here, and already you want to leave again?” Illario questioned. How he didn’t understand was beyond me.

“Caterina gave me a contract. I’m not breaking the last deal she ever made. And I owe Rook. Once that’s done… I’ll come home,” he told them.

“I’ll return him in one piece,” I promised.

“Thank you,” Illario smiled at me. “Cousin. When you find Zara, I want—I need—to be there.”

Viago shook his head. “We’re under attack. Antaam on one side and now Venatori on the other? Forget revenge, we need you—”

“No, Viago,” Teia interrupted. “Zara came for us here. In my house. She took Caterina from my house. You find her and cut her heart out, Lucanis. Vi and I will hold down the fort.”

“I’ll give her your regards, Teia,” Lucanis said.

“For Caterina,” she looked around at all of us.

—--------------------------------------

“They’re the same thing. Mostly. Well, kind of,” Bellara said as I walked in.

“Except one will manipulate you. Or kill you. Or both,” Neve replied.

“But how do you get rid of them?” Lucanis leaned against the fireplace, one hand braced against it, the other on his hip.

“What’s everyone talking about?” I asked.

“Spite,” Lucanis looked back over his shoulder at me.

“The demon in Lucanis,” Neve said. “When a person gets possessed—the demon usually takes control.”

“And they turn into a monster. The spirit just… molds them. However they want,” Bellara added.

“I’ve heard of abominations being cured by killing the demon in the Fade. That’s not a sure bet, though,” Neve thought.

“Well, there’s one way. But it’s well… we’d have to, um…”

“You’d have to kill me,” Lucanis finished.

“That can’t be the only solution. Can’t we… reason with Spite, maybe? Persuade him to leave?” I asked.

“Talk doesn’t work on Spite,” Lucanis said.

“She won’t hurt you. How sweet,” Spite crooned, the ghost of his form next to me. He vanished and appeared in front of Lucanis. “I want to talk to her!” Lucanis kept his gaze on me, no doubt seeing my eyes track the demon.

“Before we do, well, that. Let’s think this through some more. There has to be a solution,” Bellara said. I braced my hands against their chairs, leaning over them slightly.

“I have people in Minrathous I can ask, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up,” Neve said.

“All right. So, what’s next?” I asked.

“Let me talk to them! I want. To talk. To Rook!” Spite swung, punching Lucanis in the nose. Blood spattered, and Lucanis winced, his hand going to his nose.

Bellara and Neve stood. “Lucanis!” Bellara cried.

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine,” he said, putting his arm out.

“He’s done this before? Enough that you just… shrug it off?” I questioned, leveling a glare at the aspect of Spite next to him.

“He’d do this in the Ossuary. The Fade does whatever a spirit wants. Real walls and chains, not so much. Just… give me a minute. He’ll get bored once everyone leaves.”

I leveled him with a stare that said I would absolutely not be leaving even as Bellara and Neve got up and left. Neve shot me a glance that said ‘be careful’, but I just nodded to her.

He put his hand back up against the fireplace and stared into the flames as I walked around the table, sliding up to sit on the edge of it.

“I thought you couldn’t see him. At the Ossuary…”

“I didn’t want him to know I could see him. That was the last thing we needed there,” I told him.

“You can hear him too?” He asked, looking back at me with furrowed brows.

“When I can see him or when he’s showing through you, yes,” I answered honestly.

“But the others, they can’t. Why is that?” He asked, looking at me curiously, if not a bit suspiciously.

I shrugged. “I’ve always had a connection to the Fade. In worse times I was in such turmoil a spirit of Compassion appeared in my dreams or pulled me out of reality if things got bad. And now that connection is stronger than ever. Some of my blood is circulating around in the Fade from when we interrupted Solas’s ritual. That’s how he visits me in my sleep.”

“I am sorry,” he said. “I can’t stand him, I didn’t want him to be a problem for you too.” I just shook my head. “I would kill for a decent cup of coffee right now.”

“Have you? For coffee, I mean,” I grinned.

I saw the corner of his lip twitch up. “Not today. You’ve got questions. You might as well ask them.”

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, watching him. “You’re the best mage killer in the Antivan Crows. So how’d the Venatori catch you?”

“Someone set me up,” he said simply. “I had a contract for Calivan. In the Ossuary. I took a ship from Treviso to Minrathous. They were waiting for me. Knew which ship and when it would arrive. I don’t know how they convinced the Crows I was dead, but I woke up in the Ossuary with Zara gloating about it.”

“Blood magic.” I could tell him that at least. One thing I had the answer to. “Caterina said they had dressed the body in your clothes and altered it with blood magic to look like your face too. I can’t even imagine… I know she… “volunteered” you to work with us. Are you okay with that?” I asked sincerely.

“When the First Talon of the Crows gives you a job, you do it. Especially if she’s your grandmother. But, there’s plenty of reason for me to work with you beyond that, Rook,” he said.

“Such as?” I tilted my head, kicking my feet under the table.

“I owe you a debt, for one. And after a year in that hole, maybe I’m looking forward to stabbing a god or two in the back,” he answered.

“Two!” Spite hissed.

“The Crossroads can be dicey, but the Lighthouse is safe. Oh, and if you see a spirit around called the Caretaker, they’re friendly,” I smiled.

“After the Ossuary, that will be a pleasant change,” he said with a grin. After a moment’s silence, he put his hands on his hips. “You haven’t asked anything about Spite.”

“Based on what I’ve seen, I’d say he picked the right name.”

“He’s stronger when I sleep. So… I try not to do it much. No one was in the Ossuary by choice. Not even the demons. We both did what we had to, to get out of there,” he told me.

“I admire you,” I told him. “What you’ve been through would break most people.”

“I would not give Zara the satisfaction,” he smirked.

“I understand. Still, you must be a very courageous man,” I smiled.

“A very stubborn one, perhaps. But, that’s… kind of you to say. Leave Spite to me. If he’s trapped in this world, he has a good reason to fight for it. For now, I must honor our contract. Gods, magic, politics…” he hummed, the rumble in his chest trying to drag me toward him. “Things are going to get very bloody.”

I gave him one last smile as he turned back toward the fire. “If you’re stubborn, I’d say Zara picked the right demon. If I remember right, Spite is a demon of Determination,” I smirked, looking back at him.

His brows were raised. “Perhaps it was the only thing she got right. She was nothing if not fond of irony.”

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

A/N: Please give me your thoughts on this. I missed Cole and he was so important to me in Inquisition I wanted him to have a role in this story too, however minor. Also the back and forth with Solas gets me every time XD

Let me know if you want to be on a tag list! <3

Have a good day lovelies!

[hexcia]

guys with a thousand year long conflict

[myymi]

trick or treat *blinks at you*

👁️

you flipped a treat !!

His question is somewhat answered when the emeralds start rising again, this time taking the hedgehog’s unconscious body with them. The fox squeaked in alarm as his idol’s arm started to slip out of his grip. Tails stumbled onto his feet to try and match the height, but the emeralds kept rising until the little cub’s paw could no longer reach his hero's arm. “Please–” The kit sobbed, but didn’t do much to fight against the emeralds, “Please don’t— please don’t take him..”

[corfisers]

i really need to finish this one day

[oneprotagonistshort]

also a Dirk Gently WIP whenever just for kicks. from the ongoing Forces Unseen sequel

-

“Holy shit,” Todd said, hearing Dirk come in through the door he’d left propped open. “Did you know we can see the Washington Monument from here?”

Dirk joined him at the window and wrapped an arm around his middle from behind. He was suddenly feeling a bit clingy, like he was going to need to front load all the cuddles he could get, which was abjectly ridiculous. Todd had never shied away from that, if anything it was Dirk who’d been jumpy lately about tender little moments like this. Still, Dirk couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d be wanting more of this later but might not be able to get it. He hooked his chin over Todd’s shoulder and squinted out the window, not sure what Todd was referring to. 

“The bloke on the penny’s house?” he asked, not seeing it. “I don’t think he lives in DC anymore, Todd.”

“What?” Todd asked, pulling back a little to look at him before pointing at a large lit-up obelisk surrounded by illuminated American flags. “No, that. I’ve only ever seen it in movies, National Treasure didn’t prepare me for the real thing.”

“Ohhh,” Dirk said, comprehension dawning as he held Todd close to his front. “You mean the giant pencil statue.”

“The giant—Dirk, that’s the Washington Monument. As in George Washington? It doesn’t even look like a pencil.”

“Doesn’t look much like George Washington either,” Dirk mused, and whatever retort Todd had been about to fire back was interrupted by the sharp trill of Dirk’s phone. 

[aperrywilliams]

That Green Monster (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

------------------ 

Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader.

Summary: Your relationship with Spencer is fresh new, and some of his insecurities arise when someone new joins the team, making him react in a wrong way to you.

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: Fluff and Angst. And then fluff at the end (I don't even understand myself). Spencer lashes out. Spencer is insecure. Reader is mad. Both are so madly in love, though.

A/N: This one has been sitting as a WIP for way too long, so I decided to finish it today!

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A shot in the neck.

That's what it took for you and Spencer to - finally - get together. To confess you loved each other.

Everything happened while working a case in Texas. You had cornered a suspect who was hiding in a restaurant. You wanted to open a communication line with him, but out of nowhere, shots got fired. And one of them ended in your neck.

What happened next was a blur to everyone, especially to Spencer. He barely remembers Morgan pulling him back so that the paramedics could check on you.

The ambulance ride to the hospital and the hours of waiting for news were excruciating.

In Spencer's brain, only the thought that he might lose you forever without coming clean about his feelings for you.

You have been in a similar situation before, but this time, he thought you wouldn't make it.

It would be the loss of a friend and the loss of the love of his life.

If Spencer has to be honest, he realized he loved you after your first month working at the BAU. And with every passing day, the feeling only got stronger. But he was scared of saying anything, afraid of changing - or losing - the strong bond you guys already had.

So, he kept it to himself for years. For six years, to be exact.

But what he didn't know was you had fallen for him, too.

And how could you not? You both went through so many things over the years: Spencer's kidnapping, his Dilaudid problem, your family issues, the injuries, bad cases, unsubs attacks, hospital visits, and so on. With every bump in the way, you both were each other rock. Always together, no matter what.

The team affectionately called you Mulder and Scully, but in reverse roles, of course.

But even if, at some point, both of you realized what you had was much more than a friendship, neither of you did something about it.

Until you got shot in the neck.

In that uncomfortable waiting room chair, Spencer prayed, to whatever or whoever could listen, for a chance to make things right.

So when you woke up in your hospital bed hours later, the first thing you saw was Spencer's face.

He was by your side as always. But this time, he had something to tell you. Spencer didn't have the chance, though, because before he could say anything, three words blurted out from your lips: 'I love you.'

Between happy tears, you both spent hours talking and coming to the conclusion you were both idiots in love.

You didn't say anything to the team, but you all knew they knew, so it became unspoken knowledge after you were released from the hospital.

-------

With you home due to your neck injury and JJ on maternity leave, Hotch decided that some help would be better than putting more pressure on the remaining team members.

That's why he borrowed an agent from Sex Crimes.

Spencer had already told you that there was a new agent, but he hadn't developed this information in detail.

You knew him on your first day back, a month after you got shot.

Once you exited the elevator on the sixth, you headed through the bullpen glass doors. When you pushed them open, you didn't realize that someone was going in the opposite direction, and you almost hit the guy in the face with one of the doors.

"Oh, my God. I'm sorry!" you exclaimed when you realized what almost happened.

The man shook his head in dismissal. "No, no. Don't be. Nothing happened."

"But I almost hit you with a glass door," you pointed. The guy didn't seem phased by it, though.

"I'm okay, really," he insisted, flashing you a smile. You hadn't picked much of his appearance, to be honest, but the guy was easy on the eyes. Another thing that caught your attention was you had never seen him before.

"Do I know you?" You asked with curiosity.

"I don't think so. I'm Agent Dodds. Jake Dodds," he introduced himself, extending his hand. You've heard that last name before. You told him yours, shaking his hand.

"Really? You are a BAU member, right? I'm the backup agent Hotchner brought to the team," he explained, and then it clicked. He was the new guy.

Jake Dodds was young, fresh and motivated. After his first year in Sex Crimes, he already has a lot of accomplishments to show off. And, of course, he was doing his best to impress Hotch and the team.

Coming to the office bright and early and being the last to leave gave Dodds a chance to engage with the cases and the team members - you included. Due to your neck injury, you were mostly on desk duty, so you had enough time to help Jake with paperwork and all the questions he might have about past cases. And Dodds had many.

In the weeks that followed, he has spent a lot of time by your side, working with you when the team wasn't out of town.

It was part of your nature to be forthcoming and willing to teach others. And having worked at the BAU for almost six years, you felt like you could teach one thing or two.

Spencer loves that from you; it's one of the many things that made him fall in love with you. But for some reason, Jake's closeness to you started to bother him.

Spencer knew it was irrational and without foundation. Still, in the past weeks since Dodds joined, with each laugh from you when Jake cracked a joke, every time you sat together at the office a little too close, or every day you decided to have lunch with Jake rather than him, Spencer's jealousy only got stronger. It didn't help the team's comments about you and Jake.

'Dodds looks hooked by her'; 'The newbie definitely is flirting with her'; 'Really handsome view she has over there.'

Spencer could only bite his tongue. He could easily assume that the team was only messing with the situation, but the green monster growing inside didn't let him think clearly.

Spencer knew you, and you would never do something to hurt him, so why did he feel that uneasiness inside of him?

Maybe the fact you were in the early stages of your relationship made Spencer insecure. It was all new and fresh; he was happy with you, but although you both have known each other for years, he was inexperienced in the love department. Being friends was one thing, but being a couple was different.

So instead of talking to you—which he knew was the right thing to do—Spencer did what he usually does when he feels overwhelmed: he shuts people out.

And you did notice, of course.

Something was troubling him, you knew that, but every time you brought up the topic, he dodged it. You didn't look much into it at first because you knew Spencer would talk to you eventually when he felt ready. Or you assumed he would.

But the days went by, and Spencer still hadn't told you why he had been so distant, so you decided to confront him.

You both were watching a movie at your place, but you noticed Spencer wasn't paying attention to the TV. After an internal debate about whether it was a good idea to bring this up, you tested the waters.

"Spencer, are you okay?" you asked him, genuine concern lacing your voice.

The question hung in the air enough to make you think he might not hear you.

"Spencer?" you tried again, swearing you heard him huff even if he tried to be subtle.

"I'm okay, just tired," he hastened to dismiss, not looking at you.

So he heard you, but you had to call his name again to get an answer. Something is definitely wrong.

Contemplating your options, you chose to end the 'patiently wait until he comes to you' strategy. You were his girlfriend now. Why he couldn't trust you enough to tell you what's going on?

"Okay. This bullshit needs to stop now. You have been weird for too many days to tell me now you are okay and just tired. I know something happened and need you to tell me what it is," you demanded.

Shifting uncomfortably in his spot, Spencer had an inner debate about coming clean to you. He didn't want to admit how much Jake's closeness to you was bothering him. Spencer didn't want you to think about him as the possessive and clingy boyfriend who can't see his girlfriend near other guys.

He wasn't like that, right?

"You are imagining things. I'm perfectly fine," Spencer deadpanned, eyes returning to the TV.

Your mouth went slack. Were you imagining things? Was he thinking you were stupid?

"So I'm imagining things, uh? It's not you being defensive right now, isn't it?"

"No." He gave you a curt answer that meant precisely the opposite of what he was implying.

You wanted to give him a chance to open with you, but Spencer wasn't engaging.

It seemed easier to talk about what was happening to each other when you were only friends. Why is it so hard now you are a couple? You couldn't understand, and your patience was running short.

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" you called him out in frustration. "Who do you think I am? A random person who hasn't known you for fucking six years?"

Spencer internally flinched. He saw the confusion and anger mixed in your eyes, and he felt the urge to hug you tight, telling you he was being an irrational jealous asshole. But Spencer didn't bring himself to do it, and instead, he tried to play cool and detached.

"I already told you. Everything is wonderful, at least for me. Not for you?" Spencer asked casually.

You narrowed your eyes at him. He looked calm and collected, but you could feel he was anything but.

"Okay. I'll bite the bullet. So the distance between us in the past weeks doesn't bother you as it bothers me," you concluded.

Spencer let out a bitter chuckle.

"Funny you're bothered by that. You have seemed very busy in the past weeks," Spencer mumbled.

A slip that didn't go unnoticed by you.

"Very busy?" you echoed his words. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Spencer shrugged, unamused.

"Exactly what it is. You have been very busy at the BAU lately. I only have been giving you space."

You squinted your eyes, raking your brain to understand Spencer's meaning. For your mandatory desk duty, you have spent more time in the office than in the field, but besides that, what has been different?

And then it clicked on you. Jake Dodds.

Sure, you've been very willing to teach him things and help him with his work, but that only explains Spencer's annoyance if there is another reason.

"Is this about Dodds? Are you jealous of Jake?" you questioned in disbelief.

Spencer's face paled. You had caught him.

After your deduction, he should have told the truth, but Spencer is stubborn enough not to give in, especially if that meant recognizing something he felt embarrassed of.

"W- what?! No! Where did you get that? I'm not jealous or remotely close to that," Spencer rebutted defensively.

Oh, he was definitively jealous. At the realization, you let out a giggle, eyes softening at your boyfriend. For you, there is no guy he should be worried about- not for Jake or any other person. Your heart is his, and you know there is nobody in this world you want to be with more than Spencer.

But Spencer's face deflated. You were laughing at him, and he felt even worse.

"Spencer, there is no reason for you to be -"

You couldn't even finish your sentence when Spencer cut you off, standing from the couch.

"I already told you! Am I not speaking English to you?"

His face was red, but not by embarrassment anymore. Now, it was a kind of contained rage.

Stunned by his reaction, it took you a few seconds to say anything.

"I - I'm just trying to understand what's going on. Don't be rude," you chimed.

Spencer let out a humorless chuckle.

"Rude, did you say? Am I rude because I disagree with you? Is that? Or am I rude because this doesn't have to do with you?"

"Excuse me? When did this turn into a problem related to me?"

You stood to mirror his stature so as not to look vulnerable.

"I don't know, you tell me. Are you disappointed because not everything or anyone in this world is revolving around you?"

Spencer's voice was cold and sarcastic, something you had seen in him before but never directed toward you. He was outrightly saying you were self-centered.

"Spencer -" you tried to warn him to back off, but Spencer didn't stop.

"No. I get it. You like the attention. But, I'm sorry, I'm not in the mood to indulge your childish self. Maybe the young and funny Agent Dodds could help you with that. But not me."

A dead silence settled in the room. If a needle had fallen on the floor, it would have made a noticeable noise.

You couldn't believe that man was your boyfriend—the man who was telling you such hurtful words.

Spencer saw how your features morphed from confused to hurt and then to offense, and with a twist in his guts, he knew he had fucked up.

"Are you done?"

Your tone was flat and collected, even if, on the inside, there was a storm of feelings. Spencer was deflated and looking for the right words to apologize.

"Hey, look, I'm -"

"I asked if you were done." You questioned harshly this time, and Spencer only gave you a shy nod.

"Okay, now get out!"

Your command was only followed by your actions as you walked to your entrance to open the door.

With horror, Spencer tried to sputter words to change your mind.

"I'm sorry. I - I didn't - Please, don't do this."

"I said, get out! I don't want you here!"

You emphasized your words, gesturing to the open door.

"Baby, I wasn't - I didn't mean what-" Spencer tried again, but you had made up your mind and didn't want to hear him.

"I don't fucking care! You had your time to explain yourself, and I don't want to hear anything else from you."

Spencer knew that nothing he could say at that moment would help his cause, so like a dog with the tail between his legs, he slowly made the walk of shame towards your door, but not before looking at you and begging for forgiveness with his eyes. It was a useless thing because you didn't even look at him back. Once he was out of your sight, you slammed the door shut, and your facade crumbled.

Tears started to fall freely, in a combination of pain and frustration.

It's needless to say, you couldn't sleep that night.

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

Spencer looked distracted and visibly sad.

Morgan knew something had happened to him, even if the man had denied the fact for the past two days. And Morgan was sure it was something related to you. It looked like Spencer would combust from guilt whenever his eyes landed on you. Morgan's suspicion turned to be right the moment you caught Spencer's gaze, and you purposely averted it.

"Okay, pretty boy, what did you do?" Morgan questioned Spencer when he caught him pouring coffee in the kitchenette.

"What? Me? Nothing!" Spencer defended himself, but the crack in his voice did nothing to help his cause.

"So she's not talking to you just because?"

Spencer shrugged, leaving the pot over the counter.

Was he being so obvious? If Spencer wanted to maintain the facade that 'nothing is wrong here,' he was failing miserably.

Morgan scoffed, grabbing a mug to pour some coffee for himself.

"Come on, Reid. There must be something. Since yesterday morning, you look like a kicked puppy, and she seems visibly upset, and you're both always attached to the hip."

Dangerous territory, Spencer thought. But at this point, his regret was more powerful than keeping your relationship private.

"She is mad at me," the man recognized. It was a 'vague' recognition, but it was something.

Morgan seemed not surprised, though.

"No shit, Sherlock. The question is why, pretty boy," Derek prodded.

Spencer sighed deeply. How could he express what really happened without telling the whole truth?

Morgan saw the struggle in Spencer's eyes.

"I know you are both hurting by whatever happened. Maybe talking would help you clear your head and think about how to fix it."

Spencer took in Morgan's words. Some advice could help, he decided.

"We fought. I mean, we argued two nights ago, and she kicked me out. And now she is not talking to me, and I don't- I want to apologize, but I don't know how."

Spencer winced, just remembering your fight.

Derek looked at him incredulously.

"She kicked you out? What in the world did you do so she reacted like that?"

The actual question was 'what he said' because, strictly speaking, he didn't do anything besides let his mouth run on its own accord.

He regretted every word he said to you the second they left his mouth, but the damage was done, and you were fed up enough to listen to his apologies, so you yelled at him to let you alone. He didn't blame you. But he was feeling miserable, and it showed.

Spencer told Morgan exactly what happened—word by word.

"Jesus, Reid. I didn't peg you like the jealous type," Morgan acknowledged. Spencer shook his head.

"It's not like that. I mean, I know she loves me..."

"But?"

Spencer sighed. "What if - what if she realizes there are better men than me? That I am not enough for a romantic relationship?"

Morgan's eyebrows knit together. Spencer's face was pure panic, only thinking about the possibility.

"And Dodds would be better than you? You know he's like a kid, right?" Morgan pointed.

"Yeah. A young man with a lot of confidence that makes her smile and has her undivided attention. He's smart and qualified for this job like any of us. I'm not better than him. And I can perfectly be disposable in comparison."

That was the thing. Spencer felt insecure about you finding someone better than him.

Morgan looked at him empathetically.

"Man, I think you are looking too much into it. I don't think you should feel threatened in your relationship with her. And I guess she thinks the same and feels hurt for you thinking that."

Spencer nodded. "That's why I know I fucked up. I hurt her for my insecurities. It's all my fault," he lamented.

"You need to talk to her," Morgan advised, and Spencer whined.

"How? She hasn't spared me a glance in two days!"

"You're a genius, Spencer. And above all, how long have you known her? Five years? Think of something."

"Five years, eleven months, three weeks, and four days," Spencer corrected without hesitation.

"That's exactly what I'm talking about. You'll figure it out."

Spencer sighed deeply as Morgan patted his shoulder before leaving the kitchenette. Derek was right; they should talk. Spencer just had to figure out how to make that happen.

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

That night you were sulking at your apartment, laying on the couch and watching some crap on the TV, when three knocks alerted you.

You weren't expecting anyone, and you didn't think Spencer could be outside your door. You were clear in telling him you didn't want to talk to him when he cornered you in the breaking room this afternoon.

But if you knew something about Spencer Reid, it was that he could be stubborn as fuck. So when you looked by the peephole and saw him standing there, you only closed your eyes and sighed.

Spencer knocked again. "I know you are there. And I know you don't want to talk to me. But please, let me do the talk. Please, at least listen to the things I need to say."

"You already said enough," you spat from your spot on the other side of the door. Spencer gulped hard. He said enough hurtful things to you to kick his ass, but he was determined to gain your forgiveness somehow.

"I can't stress enough how sorry I am for that. But I need you to know that I didn't mean any of it." Spencer paused, and when he didn't hear you say anything, he continued. "I'm an asshole, and I would understand if you want to break up and never see me again. I mean, well - it - it would be kind of difficult not to see each other because we work together, but you know what I mean. Or maybe not, I don't know. Jesus, what the fuck am I saying?" Spencer chastised himself, trying to control his nerves.

You could hear him struggling, so you decided to spare him a panic attack in the middle of the hallway. You opened your door and saw him still trying to sputter what he wanted to say.

"If this is your way to apologize, you are doing a terrible job." Your voice was not angry but tired. Because if he had had two tortuous days of you not talking to him, you haven't done it any better, overthinking about your fight over and over again.

Spencer's glassy, pleading eyes found yours.

"I know. It seems it's another thing I suck at," he admitted fidgeting with his hands. "Would you, uh. Would you let me try again? Apologize. That is."

It's true you were still mad with him, but you really wanted to understand why he reacted the way he did that night and said all the things he said. You know him too well to ignore that something else beyond mere jealousy clearly triggered his outburst.

Without saying a word, you gestured for him to get into the apartment. Spencer was quick to comply before you changed your mind.

You both took seats on opposite sides of the couch, eyes overly interested in your living room rug. After some minutes of silence and knowing he needed to say something, Spencer cleared his throat.

"I guess I'm going to start with the beginning," he prefaced, keeping his hands in his lap as you turned to contemplate him in silence. "Uh - you know it took me time to come clean with my feelings for you. A lot of time, almost six years," he chuckled nervously. You nodded, not wanting to interrupt him, fearing to get him more anxious.

"The thing is- I have been in love with you for so long and creating scenarios of us in my mind that - that now I know it is real, I don't - It's still difficult to grasp the idea we are together, you know?"

As Spencer raked his hair, collecting his thoughts, you couldn't help but remember all the things you both went through until you decided to tell the truth to each other. Six years is a long time. But you wanted to believe it has been worth it.

"I'm not used to a life where I get to be happy; when I think I am, things crush down, and I lose everything. It's a rule: good things don't last in my life."

You know how difficult it has been for Spencer to accept that he is not cursed or anything like that—a very difficult task, knowing the things he has been through.

"So my mind began to be haunted by the idea that it was a matter of time before you realized you could do better than me, and I'm only worth it as a friend."

His words made you recall the times you both discussed your love life in the past and all the doubts weighing on Spencer's shoulders. After those conversations, you always swore to make him feel loved and appreciated.

"And then you came back to work, and Dodds was there. I created this whole scenario, telling myself that you would be better with someone like him."

Spencer paused to gauge your reaction. You were openly listening to him, taking in every word.

"I know it's unfair to you. I - I betrayed your trust by mulling those ideas and saying all those hurtful things I truly don't believe. I'm so sorry; I don't have a defense other than my incompetence in dealing with my insecurities," Spencer concluded, letting a deep sigh escape from his lips and averting your gaze. He looked embarrassed and vulnerable, and it hurts you to acknowledge how small he feels about himself. You reached your hand tentatively, touching his forearm, and Spencer's eyes drifted back to you.

"Spencer, you have to know there is no one in this world who I love so deeply as I love you. No man could compare to you. No matter how young or confident or whatever difference you can name. You are the most thorough, caring, and selfless person I know, and I love you so fucking much it hurts," you gave his arm a gentle squeeze to emphasize your point. Spencer's cheeks flushed a bit. He still needs to get used to your compliments.

"What I still don't get is why you didn't tell me. Don't you trust me enough to talk to me about how you feel?"

Spencer hastened to reply, taking your hand in his. "No! It's not that! I do trust you with my life!"

"Then why didn't you tell me the truth at the beginning?"

"I - I don't know. I thought you would see me as the shitty boyfriend who can't see his partner near another man. It's as if I wanted to control you. And that's far from what I want," Spencer explained, scooting by your side as his grip on your hand tightened. "It was my problem, not yours. You did nothing to make this happen. I'm the one who must have to fix it." You shook your head.

"Baby, no. If it is something that upsets you, it is my problem, too. Spencer, we need to talk about those things and resolve them together."

Spencer's head hung low, taking in your words.

"But why? I am the insecure one, and you have done nothing more than show me how unfounded my fear is."

"Well, because you're still my best friend, and I care about you." Spencer's gaze met yours again. "It's the thing I first loved about us, you know? I love feeling safe with you and having the trust to talk about what is happening to us." With loving eyes, you brought his hand to your lips to kiss it.

"I want you to keep being my best friend, too," Spencer said with a hopeful smile. It was all you needed to hear.

"Then please don't forget that. You can always talk to me, and I promise to do the same, okay?" Spencer nodded at your words, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Okay. I promise," Spencer replied before wrapping you in a tight embrace. You melted in his arms, feeling his warmth and inhaling his scent, something you have been missing in the past two days.

"I love you," you mumbled into his chest. "So so much."

"I love you too. And I'm so sorry for my behavior two days ago," Spencer muttered in your hair.

You chuckled, slightly parting to look at him.

"Yeah, we have to work on taming that green monster, doctor. Otherwise, Hotch won't be able to bring anyone new to the team," you pointed, leaning to kiss his lips. Spencer smiled into the kiss.

"That means you forgive me?" he asked hopefully. You narrowed your eyes.

"Yes. But you still have to make it up to me," you teased, faking seriousness.

Spencer nodded eagerly nonetheless. "Whatever it takes."

"You could start making something to eat. I'm starving here after two days with a hole in my stomach," you rubbed your belly for emphasis.

"Yes, ma'am," Spencer smiled, standing and strolling quickly to the kitchen. He felt so relieved after coming clean with you that he swore not to make the same mistake again. That green monster fed by his insecurities dissipating as he thought how lucky he was to love and have you in his life.

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

Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger @khxna @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @dysphoricsanity @levi-of-starz @themoonchildwhofell @silver138 @lovelybaka @shinytinywhispers

[satoruxx]

PARACOSM OF THE GODS.

PAIRING: gojo satoru x f!reader, geto suguru x f!reader | 11.5k words

SUMMARY: ok here we go, canon au, angst, fluff, best friends being in love, stsg being whipped but unable to express it, reader is clueless as usual, timeskips, canon compliant deaths, bittersweet, longing, mutual pining, emotionally stunted teens, dad!gojo makes an appearance, hopefully that’s it i'm tired of typing

RHEYA'S NOTE: highkey lowkey stressed posting bc this has been sitting in my wips for 4 years now. i honestly didn't have to add much to it i basically just proofread. but yeah when you maladaptive daydream and create a plot where you're a character in jjk and you're also in love with gojo and geto this is what happens. a little sad to let this go but it's time !! plus i can add more parts later. but anyways pls lmk what you think, i'm super curious to know <33

i. the unknown

satoru's first impression of you is anything but kind.  

his words come casually, free into the wind without care, and they aren't meant for you to hear. instead, they fall only to suguru's ears, evoking a deep chuckle and a slight shake of his head. his bangs swish a little with the movement, but satoru is too busy eyeing you over the frame of his shades to notice. 

you're lucky to have not heard it, because the intent with which it was said would have probably made your brow tick with frustration. he says it without a thought, as if he hasn't the slightest bit of interest in you as hints of arrogance fill his tone. 

"who's the rookie?" 

satoru and suguru sit outside against the patio railings of the classroom they had chosen for the day. it overlooks the grounds of the school, where they have a clear view of who approaches the main entrance. suguru absentmindedly clicks his lighter—shoko had gone to get another pack of cigarettes. 

it is from this higher point that they have a clear view of you. you're so obviously new to this, satoru thinks as he watches how you awkwardly stand in front of yaga sensei. 

he already wants to label you as a side character. it's mean, he realizes—cruel even, but he can barely bring himself to care. 

"yaga sensei mentioned that there'd be a new student joining us this week," suguru says, fingering the bangs hanging in front of his eyes. they roam over you with only slight interest before uttering your full name, just as his teacher had said it.

satoru repeats it with a hum. "not a big name or anything. a small-sized family of sorcerers i think." he shrugs carelessly. "but honestly i never really paid attention to all those stupid clan and jujutsu family lessons." 

suguru only responds with a good-natured chuckle, tearing his eyes away from the scene to look at his friend. "no shit." 

the two sit in quiet silence, watching yaga's lips move in structured, emotionless greetings as he shakes your hand. satoru is especially focused on the hunching of your shoulders and the way your eyes nervously dart around. 

suguru is the first to interrupt the peace. 

"maybe she's strong?" 

"are you kidding?" satoru scoffs as he stands up straight, shoving his fists into his pockets. he turns his nose up slightly. "that's not the attitude of someone who's confident in their abilities." 

ii. routine 

"can i ask you guys a question?" 

a cool breeze tickles your skin, goosebumps rising in its wake, and you suppress a shiver. the smell of the air tells you winter is fast approaching. 

"you just did," satoru hums, his snowy hair splayed out against stems of green grass. suguru's chuckle reverberates deep in his chest, and you have to push back an exasperated smile. 

"another one then," you press, leaning over satoru's face to force yourself into his view. his blue eyes pierce through yours over the dark-rimmed frames of his glasses, and even after seeing them so many times, they still feel as dominating as the first. he hums again, and you take that as your cue. 

"what did you first think of me when we met all those months ago?" 

satoru sits up quickly, and you can already feel your shoulders dropping when you catch a glimpse of the teasing smirk on his lips. he shifts so that he's directly facing you, leaning close so that the two of you are barely a palm's distance from one another. 

"thought you were an annoying little rookie~" he sings and you immediately shove at his shoulder.

"'m not a rookie anymore," you huff, and satoru laughs joyously. suguru only grins, his eyes darting between the two of you happily. satoru moves himself into a proper sitting position, digging his long fingers into your bag of chips and popping one into his mouth. you swat at his hand, even though you don't mean it, because though you complain about gojo satoru all the time, you would give him the whole world if you could. 

you and satoru take turns reaching into the bag. you wonder if the sound of crunching disturbs suguru. he's not asleep—he's just doing that thing where he keeps his eyes closed and escapes to his own land of tranquility. you'd like to give him as much peace as you can, so you stay quiet. satoru does too, but you think that's just because you aren't talking to him. 

the quiet is nice when you're with them. sometimes silence makes you feel alone—paranoid. it feels like there is some impending doom hovering over your shoulder, and all you can do is wait for it to come. but with them it is different. you know that any danger in the quiet will be caught by the two of them. maybe that's why it's so easy to let your guard down around them. you trust that they won't let you die.  

"i thought you were weak," satoru pipes up after a few minutes of silence. "you didn't seem like you were confident in your abilities, and that's a sign of weakness." 

after spending so much time with satoru and suguru, the word weak has permeated almost every one of your conversations. later you learned how much more significant it was for them to label someone as strong. you chase after the word—crave it.

"and turns out that wasn't true." suguru adds with a smile, his head leaning back against the trunk of the tree. his eyes are still closed serenely and you wonder if he can feel the way you're gazing at him. 

"yeah and now you act like some big hotshot," satoru grumbles, as though he doesn't want to admit to his old mistake, but you can hear his smile. it annoys you, the way his once degrading little nickname has now somewhat turned into a term of endearment. you would rather die than admit that you like hearing him say it. 

"well, I'm glad that i was able to prove you both wrong."

the conversation ends there. 

shoko returns a few minutes later, tossing you a can of soda and suguru a pack of cigarettes. as soon as she sits down in her spot under the tree you're forcing your head into her lap and kicking your feet onto satoru's legs. you ignore his complaints, because you know that in just a little bit he'll quiet down and his hand will rest over your ankle, fingers soft but firm. they'll occasionally drum some rhythmic tune, or draw nonsensical patterns against your skin.

shoko's fingers thread through your hair, just like they always do, and you know that in a few minutes you'll doze off in her lap, just like you always do. it's clockwork, this thing that you have with them. they make the days keep going—time doesn't stop for you. 

a part of you wishes you could freeze time at that moment. 

but you can't. 

iii. halcyon

"hey suguru?"

"hm?"

"how come you always do your hair the same way?"

suguru glances up from his book. he's seated at your desk, and for a minute, the breeze pushes your curtains so that they block your view of him. satoru groans lightly from your left, turning on his side to snuggle deeper into your pillow, and slumber overtakes him once more. him and shoko remain quiet, faces free of worry as they dream in a land that is so unlike the real world you live in.

"what do you mean?" suguru asks in response to your question. he has an amused smile on his face as he places his book on your desk, though his thumb and pointer finger keep his page.

"well…" you suddenly feel stupid for asking, but he's looking at you so intently now. "you have such nice hair. you could style it in so many different ways."

"are you saying you don't like my hair the way it is?" he frowns.

"no no!" you scramble, shaking your head emphatically. quite the opposite actually you think he's so so attractive—how on earth did you screw this up so badly? "that's not it i just—"

he laughs, tilting his head fondly. "i'm just messing with you, hotshot."

you blanch, before crossing your arms with a huff. "asshole…"

he chuckles, before lifting a calloused hand up to finger the tie that holds his hair in a bun. he glances back at you, before a michevious smile settles on his face. he gives the tie one sharp tug, and the bun falls away. black hair drops, resting on his shoulders, and you stare at him—oddly parched. wind brushes through the open window, tickling your curtains, tickling his now open hair. you had seen his hair down before, of course. in the few seconds after a sparring session when the bun had gotten loose, or when too many strands escaped the tie and fell in front of his face (he always pushed them away with an agitated huff). but now he looks different—good, you realize. he looks good.

"how should i style it then, hotshot?"

his question shakes you out of your daze. you hum in contemplation. "i don't know."

he laughs quietly, as to not wake the other two. "didn't you just say there were so many ways to style it? enlighten me then," he teases, reaching over to grab a small scrap of paper from your desk. he slots it where his fingers are holding place, and then closes the book. he swivels in the chair to face you completely, rolling over so that he's right in front of you.

"well…" you start, biting your lip in thought. "a ponytail maybe?"

suguru bunches his hair into his fist, holding it up against his head. "and? how do i look?"

you grin, eyeing the new style with a stifled laugh. "fantastic."

he laughs again, louder this time, before dropping his hand.

"it looked good though!" you laugh and he rolls his eyes fondly.

"yeah yeah," he dismisses with a wave of his hand. he looks back at you, eyes tracing over your hair before he grins wide.

"i like yours."

you blink. "mine?"

"the way you did your hair today," he points to the half up-half down style you've thrown together. a dark blue ribbon holds the hair in place—satoru had said it matched nicely with your uniform. suguru's eyes gleam as he appraises it. "it's nice. it looks really pretty on you."

something in your chest feels like it fell off a cliff.

"oh—" you stumble, before smiling at him because that's all you can do when he makes you feel like this. "thanks suguru."

"do mine like that," he says quickly.

once again, you blink owlishly and all you can manage is a stupid "huh?"

"do my hair like that," he repeats, getting up from the chair to sit at your feet, back towards you. he crosses his legs and puts his hands in his lap, patiently waiting.

"you can't do it yourself?" you tease, scooting closer to the edge of the bed.

"i can," he replies and you can hear the easy smile in his voice. "but i want you to do it for me."

"okay then!" you laugh before gently parting sections of his hair out. and then you work in silence, putting more effort into his hair than you've ever done with your own.

iv. fragility

"lady riko does not have any relations. when she was young, her family was involved in an accident…since then, i've been her caretaker. so please let her at least spend time with her fr—" 

"—so that makes you her family then." 

suguru's words seem to stun kuroi, the weight of riko's situation finally making itself clear as her face crumbles. 

"…yes." 

you listen to the way her voice wobbles, and try to suppress the poisonous lump forming in your throat. 

"then we do everything we can to make her happy," you say solemnly, leaving no room for argument. suguru seems to agree and says nothing—some deeper part of you feels something more than thankful towards him. 

"you're awfully sensitive for a jujustu sorcerer, you know that?" satoru comments offhandedly. you turn to look at him, meeting his piercing gaze over dark rims. 

"maybe," you concur. "is that considered weak?" 

satoru seems to ponder his answer, before shrugging, a light smile on his face. "to some people, maybe." 

you manage to smile back, and he takes in the expression with an odd look on his face. "say what you want, satoru. but you agree with me, don't you?" 

he looks away, eyes gazing out to the distance where you know riko is currently in class with her friends, trying to live the life she wants, and something in them softens considerably. 

"we'll do things the way she wants us to." 

it's one sentence, said without a smile or laugh, but hearing it fall from satoru's lips makes you beam at him. 

that's just your kindness, isn't it, satoru?

your heart leaps when you notice the tips of his ears tinge with rouge. 

v. longing

riko's hand is warm against the coolness of your fingers. your body feels hyperaware of your surroundings, toes deep in hot sand and salty air sticking to your skin. for some odd reason, you can't seem to relax. unconsciously, you tighten your grip around the young girl's palm. she glances up at you, but when you look down at her, she's wearing the biggest smile you've ever seen. 

satoru's presence makes itself known behind you—his shadow looms over yours in the sand. "it'll be fine," he says.

you can't see his face, nor can you see suguru who stands at his side, but your shoulders drop slightly, and you find yourself smiling back at riko. 

"i'm getting in the water!" she squeals eagerly, before dragging a helpless kuroi with her. satoru laughs—a clear, pristine sound—and follows after her. you watch the three of them with a fond smile, something akin to content settling deep within you.  

"and what are you planning on doing?" suguru asks. you turn to look at him, watching the way his heavy eyes stay focused on you. 

"hmm," you quirk a brow mischievously. "build sandcastles with me?" 

suguru blinks owlishly before he breaks out into a good-natured laugh. 

"deal." he walks closer to the water's edge, where the sand is damper, and crouches down. he turns to look at you over his shoulder. "don't make me do all the work, hotshot." 

you stand there, taking him in—really taking him in. he's just as clear as the sky behind him, and the sun shining on his face makes his smile glow. you want him to continue smiling at you like that well into the future. the waves crash onto the shore, as though the ocean is chasing his radiance, and an overwhelming feeling of unfiltered affection swells in your chest. 

your feet carry you forward, and you think that they might always lead you back to him. 

the sun rises as time passes, and occasionally you spare a glance at satoru and riko, who are screaming as they splash water at one another. and then you catch a glimpse of kuroi, who stands with her feet in the water, a soft smile on her face. 

and in that moment, nothing can be ruined. 

"what's wrong?" suguru's voice calls out, and you tear your gaze away from the others to look back at him. he stands behind you with two strawberry ice cream cones in his hands. 

"nothing," you hum, a serene smile on your face. "everything's perfect."

his eyes trace your face, stopping to linger on your smile, and they soften. "it is, isn't it?" 

he turns to the ocean, watching satoru and riko, and his eyes sparkle. "i hope it stays like this always." 

"me too." 

he bends down to take his place at your side before he hands you a cone. you take it from him. suguru's eyes drift away from you to look down at his castle. 

"i think it looks great," he expresses, before taking a lick of his ice cream. 

you roll your eyes with a huff. "yeah, because you made it look so nice. you're unnecessarily good at this, suguru." 

he laughs, waving his hand dismissively. "no no, we did it together! and yours is nice too!" 

"maybe," you grin, looking at his castle. "but yours is extra pretty." 

he smiles back, before pointing at a small hole in his sand tower. "see this room? it's yours." 

"mine?" you chuckle.

"yeah, all yours," he hums softly. "this is my castle and you get your own room." 

"oh? and why's that?" 

suguru's gaze lingers on you, and his dark eyes soften considerably. "because you'll always have a place in my home." 

you stare at him, speechless—something hammers away at the inner crevices of your chest. 

"and this one—" he points to another hole a few inches away from the first. "—is my room." 

"well in that case, that room is mine too!" you declare.

"what?" he barks out a laugh. "how does that work?" 

"well…" you grin at him, the sun burning into your cheeks. "because my home is wherever you are!" 

suguru's cheeky smile fades and his eyes widen. he looks at you, mouth agape, and you're about to say something else before sticky coolness trickles down your wrist. 

"ack!" you hurry to wipe away the strawberry ice cream dripping down your skin and you completely miss the red that creeps up his neck and seeps into his ears. 

vi. ice bath

shoko's fingers are unbelievably soft. you're grateful that you were unconscious through most of her procedures on your battered body—you don't think you would've handled the pain too well. she's quiet as she works over the large wound that now covers almost half of your torso. the man with the scar on his lip had done quite the number on you, and you don't think you'll ever forget the searing ache of his blade slicing through your flesh. he had left you in a bloodied pile, isolated, and you hadn't seen what had happened to suguru after the man shot riko. you could only lay there, vision swimming as a bitter taste filled your mouth—a reminder of the life you failed to protect.

the pain had been the only thing you could focus on, until satoru was on his knees at your side and tightly gripping your shoulders. your hazy focus was drawn to his lips as he spewed curses and insults at you. 

"why didn't you run away, you little shit," he had shouted, a feral look in his eyes. there was something different about him—a change in his very being that you could see even in the throes of death. "shoko's coming, do you hear me? for fuck's sake, keep your eyes open, hotshot!" 

you swore you saw his eyes shine behind that look of uncontrolled anger. he had been talking a mile a minute and your focus had waned until you could only see his lips move, no sound reaching your ears.

you've never thought satoru looked more godly than he did at that moment.

suguru eventually found his way into your field of vision—knelt at satoru's side. his large hand had squeezed your limp fingers in a death grip. he was sweating, and his eyes were darting back and forth between your pale face and bloodied torso, something akin to guilt swimming in them. you wished that you had the strength in you to squeeze his hand in return. the last thing you remember seeing is his dark hair falling in front of his face as he turned to shout at whoever was approaching.

now you're awake. disoriented and bleary, but awake, and all you can look at is the way shoko's bangs fall over her furrowed brows. she's taken care of the bleeding, and now all that's left is a dull throbbing, reminding you of how close you had toed the line with death. you don't know this yet, but the scar will remain for the rest of your life, and that dull throbbing will be a permanent reminder of your narrow escape. 

shoko hasn't said a word since she noticed your eyelids flutter open. you want to ask her so many things. important things that cannot wait: 

where's satoru? how about suguru? i saw them both. satoru's alive, right? and suguru, too? the man—with the scar. where did he go? he said that satoru—riko….where is riko? and—and kuroi…i—i..couldn't save riko. when did you get here, shoko? and why am i the only one who's being taken care of by you? 

you want to ask her. but she's making a very odd expression as her hands ghost over your body. you've never seen it before, this odd quirking of her lips. her teeth sink into the bottom one, and she chews and bites and nibbles like it's some kind of nervous tell. 

"shoko?" 

it's all you can manage to say—all you dare. your voice is dry, shaky, and sounds almost foreign to your ears. you're going to ask more, at least one of those thousand questions you had asked in your head earlier, but you don't get to because she speaks before you. 

"shut up," she spits, and the wobble in her voice has you pinching your lips shut and feeling closer to death than you did before. 

vii. acid rain

the sound of clapping is deafening. you don't think you've ever heard a sound so horrid in your life before, and you feel as though your ears are bleeding heavily. you can faintly make out the conversation between satoru and suguru, your ears struggling to pick out the tones of their voices. 

"no…" you hear suguru say quietly. "it doesn't matter if I'm fine…"

you can feel satoru's eyes roam over your motionless body, watching the way you gaze out into the crowd impassively. 

"let's get out of here, guys."

your feet carry you numbly, and you aren't aware of anything except the way riko's arm is swinging in front of you lifelessly. there are no mirrors around—no way of catching the track of tears cutting over your cheeks. the places where the salt touches burn like acid. you say nothing. 

satoru's gaze feels intrusive. he doesn't need to ask you anything—he just knows. it's like your body is radiating the emotions tumbling around in your gut. 

you're awfully sensitive for a jujutsu sorcerer, you know that?

"do you want to…kill them all?" 

the question stuns you, and for the first time, you can shake yourself out of your daze to look at satoru directly. blood is smeared over the left side of his face, cerulean eyes dimmed, as though something had pulled the shine out of them. red seeps into the fine hairs of his restless eyebrows. 

"right now, i probably wouldn't even feel anything," he continues, staring at you listlessly.

you think satoru might be feeling just as numb as you are. you don't know what happened to him yet. the last you had heard, gojo satoru had been killed by the man with the scar. he had boasted about it to you before he attempted to kill you too. but then satoru was at your side again, completely alive as he ran your battered body to shoko like a crazed man. 

you'll find out later who the man with the scar on his lip was, and what kind of legacy he had left behind. but for right now, all you see is a teenager with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and you know your answer.

satoru could help the pain go away; he'd be able to make the clapping stop—maybe then your ears wouldn't bleed anymore. but you couldn't ask that of him. 

"forget it. it's pointless," suguru mutters, and you're glad he's on the same page as you. not because any of these people deserve pity, but because satoru deserves a break—one less burden for him to carry. 

you hear suguru say more, but you can't focus. you continue to listen to the sound of the clapping, and once again lose yourself as you stare at riko's bloodied fingertips. 

"pointless, huh?" satoru mumbles in response to suguru's answer. "does there need to be a reason?" 

"of course. it's important," suguru's voice doesn't carry the same pleasant tone it always does. instead, it sounds strained, and tired beyond belief. unsure. "especially as jujutsu sorcerers." 

satoru doesn't respond, but you know that he's measuring the weight of his friend's words. that's how it was with the two of them. they both balance each other out—their moral compasses influenced by one another. but then you feel satoru look up from riko's body and turn to you. suguru follows suit, and before you can wonder why, it hits you: satoru had asked you both. 

you suck a deep breath in, feeling unusually breathless. the flesh of your stomach tingles with a painful reminder of what might've been, and you make up your mind. 

"killing them won't change anything," you say, breaking your silence. the tears on your cheeks have dried, but they leave a rigid trail in their wake—a trail that still stings. "let's just leave it at that." 

viii. fever dreams

satoru lies next to you. 

a few nights have passed since riko's death, and you've chosen to stay holed up in your room. you're not sure why—death has always played a big role in your life. you don't understand why it's different this time. 

tonight is different as well. while you've maintained a distance from everyone since that day, save for classes and passing by people on school grounds, today you've decided to let someone in. satoru's the lucky one, mostly because he would've pestered you until you opened your door for him anyway. 

it's strange though. he had knocked over and over, and when you finally opened up with a snappy jab at his annoying personality, he had brushed straight past you and laid across your bed. he hadn't said a word since then, and you've found yourself lying next to him in silence for quite a while. 

his hand stretches out in the darkness and you can feel his fingertips brush over the skin of your arm. it's delicate, like he's testing his limits, but you understand. it's just to ground himself—to know that you're still here, with him. to be sure that you're still alive.

you think the scar that goes down your body bothers him a lot more than it bothers you. 

"'m here," you mumble sleepily. your fingers reach up to bump against his knuckles, and you hear him inhale deeply. his voice is throaty when he replies. 

"i know." 

ix. doubt

satoru learns that you've never been kissed before and he teases you for it.

not in a mean way, but in a way that has your cheeks heating and your eyes avoiding his. suddenly it feels like the gap between ages 16 and 17 is huge. he's barely even a year older than you and you're in the same year, but it feels as though he knows so much more about the world than you do. you want to ask suguru if it's bad that you've never had a kiss, but you don't. suguru rarely talks these days. sometimes he'll have conversations with you but won't look in your eyes when he speaks. 

"hey listen, hotshot. if you don't get a kiss by…" satoru hums, an eager smile on his face as he swings an arm around your shoulders and contemplates his words. "…let's say 27, then i'll give one to you!" 

there's an odd note of glee in his voice. 

"shut up, toru," you groan, heat flooding your cheeks. "quit joking around." 

he laughs loudly, pulling your cheek teasingly. "aw, i'm just playing. it's not a bad thing i promise!" 

your shoulders relax slightly as the snowy-haired sorcerer continues to speak. 

"i just thought that you would've kissed someone by now," he shrugs. "wasn't there that one guy you went on a few dates with? the one you met when we went to yokohama?" 

there's an almost sour expression on his face as he speaks, but you're too frustrated to care. "just because i went on a couple of dates with him doesn't mean i kissed him!"

a broad teasing smile appears on satoru's face. "is that so?" 

"ugh, i'm only 16!" you hiss, shoving him away from you. "besides i'm saving it for someone special!"

"good," you hear suguru speak up, and you turn to look at him. his fingers are interlocked, elbows resting on his knees, and he's staring down at his hands like they hold the answers to some deep questions he has. "it is something irreplaceable after all." 

x. shadow

satoru's grin is proud as he stands before the three of you, his loose shirt billowing in the summer breeze.

you stare at him, heart thumping as shoko lets out a confused gasp. "huh? what the hell was that?"

"did it automatically choose the target for your technique?" suguru asks.

"yep!" satoru stresses the word, spinning the pencil suguru had thrown as he explains. "though i am the target. i've pretty much automated what i used to have to do manually."

your head is spinning.

"now i can tell an object's danger levels based the strength of its cursed energy, its speed, mass, velocity, shape—whatever. i want to be able to discern poisons too but that's pretty hard right now." satoru's voice is even when he explains, though you can make out the hints of pride that permeate his tones. you think his voice has gotten a little deeper too. "basically this is gonna allow me to keep my limitless technique active all the time!"

"that's gonna fry your brain!" shoko interjects, shaking her hair out of her eyes.

"yeah but i can do it while i continuously generate energy on my own. that way my brain stays fresh."

you can't help but let out an amused scoff. "what brain?"

satoru chucks the eraser at you, and you laugh as it bounces off your shoulder harmlessly.

"i've been working on shortening my hand signals so i can activate red and blue simultaneously." he continues, lips twitching upward as he gives you an exaggerated glare. "after this the only things i need to work on are domain expansion and long-distance teleportation. which i should be able to do if we set up some training courses here at school."

you think if someone examined you closely, they would see the stars in your eyes when you look at satoru.

"shoko~" he calls out, grinning eagerly. "think you could get me some lab rats?"

shoko groans as satoru bounds over to pester her more emphatically. you watch him, thinking you've never seen a person quite so magnificent.

god personified into a 17-year-old body. and yet it is a body that stays so close to you—well within your reach. maybe there's nothing so godly about that at all.

"don't you get tired of getting stronger and stronger, jeez?" you complain, crossing your arms as you raise a brow at him. satoru wets his lips as he throws you a smug smile.

"don't worry hotshot, you'll catch up to me someday!" he gives you an exaggerated wink over the frames of his glasses, and you shake your head somewhat fondly.

"no way! i never want to be at your level," you huff. "i'm very comfortable living in your shadow, thank you very much!"

a strange look passes over his face, almost puzzled, but the dip in his brows melts away as he approaches you. "well—" he slings an arm over your shoulder. "if my shadow makes you happy then you're more than welcome to stay there."

you don't have time to reply. pale lashes flutter at you—a backdrop of cerulean. you think white and blue may be the prettiest combination of colors in the world.

"suguru?" satoru's voice is casual, yet the amusement has dropped from it. his arm is heavy around your shoulders. "have you lost weight? are you okay?"

you look up, seeing tired eyes behind dark stands of hair. suguru's cheekbones are prominent, and you have the sudden urge to reach out and trace your fingers over them.

his lips twitch upward weakly. "it's just the summer heat…"

his lavender eyes drift to your face as he says it, and he tilts his head as he scrutinizes your worried expression. "…i'll be fine."

xi. hellfire

you hear suguru before you see him.

his breaths come loud as he pushes the door to the morgue open, the metal clanging heavily. his eyes bore into your back, taking in your clenched fists and raised shoulders that seem to tremble.

you wonder who told suguru you'd be here. maybe nanami, who was here not long ago, and had sent you a text that merely said: the mission went badly.

or maybe it was satoru, who had been chatting with you near the entrance of campus when he saw the myriad of emotions pass over your face as you read the text. he had probably called suguru as soon as you left.

it doesn't matter—you can't bring yourself to care.

you can only think about the way haibara had smiled at you before he left that morning.

now that smile is covered by a dirty white sheet, and you can't tear your eyes away from it. the taste of blood and vomit is heavy on your tongue.

suguru says your name quietly. you can't even look at him—you're scared that you'll cry if you do.

you don't ever want to cry in front of him. or satoru—so weak in front of those who are so strong.

"he asked if i wanted to go with them and i said no because i was lazy," you hiss, teeth clenched as you spit out the words with venom. "if i had just stopped thinking about myself for a second—"

your fingers dig into the flesh of your palms—deep, deep, deeper.

you hear suguru click his tongue, and his hands wrap around yours. he yanks your fingers apart fiercely, thumbs smoothing over the bloodied indents you've made in your own skin. you tear your eyes away from the body to finally look at him.

"don't—" his breath catches as his thumbs still over your flesh, eyes going hard as he takes in the blood.

he blurs in and out of focus. his head whips up when he hears you sniffle, and his lips slant ruefully. "you—"

"i'm fine," you interrupt, blinking pointedly and taking a deep breath. "it's fine—i mean it's not fine—but i c—"

"stop." suguru grabs your shoulders, giving you an even stare. you don't know how you didn't notice it before, but he looks thinner, older. there are dark circles under his eyes—poison seeping into his skin. "you need to rest."

you stare back at him silently, but you don't feel like you agree. something about this is making you feel restless, like there is so much you need to make up for. his grip tightens, before he's wordlessly leading you to take a seat—he finds his place next to you.

"satoru took over the mission." he stares at the lifeless body on the table as he speaks. you lower your gaze.

"and nanami?" your throat feels like it's closing. suguru inhales deeply.

"he went back to the dorms."

"okay."

you try to figure out if there is any meaning in having this conversation. despite everything, weren't you expected to wake up tomorrow morning and head out on a mission once more? and when you return, you're sure that there'll be another faceless body taking haibara's place.

the cycle continues—clockwork. it scares you, just how replaceable you are.

haibara, nanami, you, another, nameless—interchangeable.

not like satoru. not like suguru. not like the strong.

you lean your head against suguru's shoulder, fingering the hem of your uniform skirt. the fabric is cool to the touch—it seems darker, heavier. heat radiates from the body next to you, and there's something about him that's making your stomach churn with nerves. "suguru?"

his voice sounds far away. "hm?"

"are you okay?"

he stiffens and you suddenly fear you've said too much—nosy, intruding, out of place. you stumble. "it's just, we haven't talked much lately."

"i'm fine," he answers, and you can hear a smile in his voice—whether it's real or fake you can't tell. "just a little tired."

you know there is truth to this. but it scares you, how this tiredness of his has lingered for months. you don't know how to tell him that.

"okay…" your voice is barely a whisper, heavy with unspoken words that you don't know how to formulate. somehow you find that silence has always been your only option.

but like usual, silence with suguru has never once been uncomfortable.

haibara's smile burns behind your eyelids.

"it should be a relatively simple mission. if you're not doing anything today senpai, would you like to come with us?"

his voice tickles your ears.

"that's alright! i'll get going then! oh right, today's mission is a little farther than usual, so we'll probably be back late! what would you like me to bring back for you?" 

hypoxia crushes your lungs, your blood burns. selfish selfish selfish. you've only ever cared about yourself.

suguru's arm curls around your shoulder before you even realize you're crying. his palm is warm as it smooths over your hair, and all you can worry about tainting him with your ridiculous tears.

you don't ever want to burden him—just want to quietly live in his shadow.

"i don't—" you internally cringe at the throaty rasp of your voice, swiping a hand at your nose. "i shouldn't be so sensitive about—"

"it's not your fault." he quietly hushes you, grip tightening imperceptibly. through your tears you can see him adam's apple bob, and for some reason that makes you feel worse. you're too scared to look at his expression, even though his voice is resolute. "none of this is our fault."

something has changed in the way he speaks now. something has settled, a confirmation of some idea that has been brewing for a long time now.

you don't say another word, but somehow he manages to sear himself into your very being. he's warm, and fuzzy, and he smells like sandalwood and incense. 

you don't know how long suguru let's you pathetically sob into his shoulder.

but you think you're embarrassed that he has taken pity on a wounded animal's cries.

xii. split

he looks different, but also the same. you've seen him wear that sweater before. it's plain black, no patterns, and you know that there's a loose string on the inside of the left sleeve that he was always too lazy to cut. you've always liked that sweater—always liked the way he looked in it. 

you liked it so much that you've even stolen it a few times yourself. 

but now it looks different. older and dirtier—as though soiled by some unknown curse. 

that's what everything came down to, right? curses. 

suguru stands in front of you, almost no trace of emotion on his handsome face, and his expression makes you want to turn and run. you miss the calm serenity that normally graced his features, wishing that you had some kind of cursed technique that could turn back time. but you aren't blessed like that—you wonder what sin you might've committed in a past life that made you so unlucky in this one. 

"you look confused," he comments. you reel at how casually he speaks to you, like it's just another afternoon sitting under that stupid tree. like he's leaning his head back against the trunk and watching you and satoru bicker with that fond look in his eye. 

"suguru," you speak, an odd strain in your voice. you struggle to comprehend this odd turn of events. you've had time to understand that he's now a different person than the one you once knew. you know that he's responsible for killing 112 innocents, including his own parents. you know that he's now an enemy to jujutsu society and you know that you should kill him right at this moment.

but he looks so much like suguru, like your suguru, that you can only manage to stand there, frozen in place. his eyes drift over your body, taking in your pajamas, the bath towel in your hands, and the small drops that trickle from your hair, and you can see the familiarity settle in his expression. 

"why are you here?" you choke out. you feel an overwhelming sense of danger in your gut, knowing that your family is just a few rooms over from where he stands now. 

"at your family home, you mean?" he asks casually. a small, almost amused smirk appears on his face. "you said i was always welcome." 

you did say that. sometime last year or the year before, when you had invited satoru, suguru, and shoko over to visit during one of your quick holidays. suguru had sat across from you at your dinner table. he complimented the food and your father smiled one of his rare smiles. you had chewed quietly to hide your grin.

you don't know what to say to him now. 

"everything they said about you," you whisper, taking a step toward him. he remains rooted in place, but his eyes follow your movements. they shift when he catches your fingers gripping your towel tighter. "is it true?" 

"do you think it is?" he asks, and you gulp. it feels like he's baiting you into some kind of trap. 

"i don't want to believe that it is," you answer, voice shaking. "that you would ever do something so…"

the sentence hangs in the air, and he tilts his head imperceptibly. something in his eyes changes as he focuses on the drops falling over your shoulders. 

"well i'm sorry to squash your hope," he raises his arms in a shrug. "but everything you heard is completely true." 

your head aches, but you're not surprised by his confirmation. "why would you…?"

suguru hums, a dark look falling over his face. "do you remember the conversation we had after haibara's funeral? do you remember what i told you when he died?" 

anger flares in your gut at the mention of haibara, and the bath towel crumples in your hold. "don't say his name," you hiss through gritted teeth. "don't act like he's the reason—just…don't bring him into this. please." 

suguru licks his lips, eyes going soft before he tries again. 

"everything used to make sense back then," he sighs. "back when the strong existed to protect the weak. but it's not true." 

"suguru—" 

"the reason why we suffer is because of them," he interjects evenly, though frustration is clearly evident in the curve of his brows and the volume of his voice. "we clean up their messes. they create problems and we die for it." 

you're stunned into silence, at the way he's raising his voice at you, at the way he's speaking so firmly about this horrible topic, at everything. he seems to realize the effect of his speech, and he quells his anger to speak quieter. "that's why i'm doing this. i'm going to create a world without non-sorcerers, so that sorcerers like you and i can live peacefully." 

a lump forms in your throat because god, he's right. he's so right. your life would be a thousand times better without curses. non-sorcerers were the reason curses existed. but the way he's going about this…

"suguru," your voice shakes, but you press on. "i get it. i really do—" 

"i know you do," he interrupts. "you always have. even back then…" 

he takes a step closer to you, reaching out to finger the towel in your hands. "but you don't agree with the way i'm doing it, right?" 

you bite your lip, and he smiles at the sadness in your expression. "you're so easy to read, hotshot." 

you ignore the way the nickname stings. "i just—how could you kill innocent people like that? your own parents, suguru."

he looks away from you, steely resolve in his eyes. "if i made exceptions for my parents, that would kinda make me a hypocrite, wouldn't it?"  

you don't know what to say to that. he doesn't seem to have anything else to add either. 

he looks around your old bedroom, eyes sparkling as they catch a picture of the four of you from your first year. satoru's arm is slung around shoko. the dark-haired female has her elbow resting on your shoulder, her tongue sticking out playfully. you're clinging to suguru's arm, and satoru's free hand is squishing your cheeks together. the four of you are laughing. 

nobody has laughed in a while now. 

you tear your gaze away from the picture frame to look at him. he's so unbelievably close, and he's gazing down at you with this foreign look in his eyes, the picture forgotten behind him. 

he slips his fingers into your hair. his palm is large enough that it can brush the side of your face, and you wonder why your body doesn't flinch away from those bloodstained hands.

"it's okay," he mumbles, a faraway look in his eyes. they remain trained on your hair, but it feels like he's looking straight through you. like you're nothing more than a ghost he wants to erase. he's so close—you can count his dark lashes as they brush against his cheeks. "it's difficult. i don't expect you to understand." 

his words incite a sudden flare of anger in your gut. it burns something fierce, and in that moment you hate him. 

"no, i don't," you reply indignantly. he pauses, now really looking at you, and his brows quirk upward in what seems to be surprise, because—well, he's never seen you make such an expression at him before. "you never tried to help me understand. you just left." 

a strained silence follows. his fingers twitch against your cheek.

"this doesn't concern you," he says finally. "i don't need you to understand my actions." 

you recoil, as though he's physically hurt you, and your expression falls so hard that it almost makes him regret saying it. almost. 

"if it doesn't concern me, then why are you here?" you ask again, and you see suguru's shoulders drop. "you know that i have orders to kill you. i might not be able to because you've always been stronger than me. but you know that i'll…" 

go down fighting you, is what you want to say, but the words leave a nasty taste in your mouth. but suguru seems to know what you're implying because a wry smile appears on his lips. his fingers twirl a strand of your wet hair. 

"i'm here to say goodbye," he says finally. another tense silence fills the space between you both, and suguru can see the way your fingers shake between the folds of your towel. 

"you're a little bit late for that, aren't you?" you choke out, a strange tilt to your voice as you break eye contact with him. "you left school weeks ago, and you didn't say a word to me then." 

"better late than never, right?" 

the softness in his tone makes you turn to look at him again, and you desperately want to ingrain the features of his face into your head. the gentle slope of his eyes and sweetness of his smile. he almost looks like the suguru you once knew, and you suddenly have the urge to mourn his death. 

his face becomes blurry, the edges becoming less pronounced, and you can see the way his expression falls. 

"i didn't come all the way here to make you cry." his hand drops from your face and he takes a step back. your fingers hurry to wipe at your waterline, and you shake your head. 

"'m not crying." 

suguru smiles ruefully, and his eyes suddenly look devoid of life. he takes another step back—your heart plummets.

he says your name once, quietly, and it hangs in the air as you wait for him to say more. 

he doesn't. 

"you know that I'm not supposed to let you leave alive, right?" you mumble, fingers toying with the towel in your hand. "but i can't—i mean—"

"hm," he chuckles. "still as sensitive as ever, huh? s'okay…" 

he moves toward you again and his hand gently cups the back of your neck. "i think it's your best quality. makes you better than most people in our world."

he presses his lips to your forehead tenderly, and you feel your eyes widen behind your tears. 

you probably could've stopped him, because you're aware that he's now suddenly behind you, and that he's raising his hand. you can stop him, but a part of you thinks that if it's death at suguru's hands, maybe it's not such a bad way to go. 

you accept your fate then and there. 

you'll find out later that suguru never had the intention to kill you then. perhaps he was waiting for a more opportune time, waiting for there to be a meaning behind it. you're not sure. but when you wake up tucked in your bed cozily, you'll feel the remnants of him lingering around you.

he was warm, and fuzzy, and he smelled like sandalwood and incense.

xiii. sanctify

satoru's at your door again. 

you've memorized his knock patterns. he always knocks three times, then leaves a pause, then twice more. for someone so erratic, he can be quite predictable. 

"what's up, satoru?" you call out, not looking up from your busy hands. there are a couple of empty cardboard boxes open on your bed, and you've been placing things into them all morning. things that should've been put away a long time ago. you pause on one of your old test papers, and in suguru's dark, blocky handwriting you read: 

YOU GOTTA STUDY MORE DUMBASS.

underneath it, satoru had scrawled: 

hotshot failing class now huh? :P

and shoko had added: 

both of you stfu you're failing too 

you had drawn a heart next to her name. 

"whatcha doin'?" a familiar voice chirps. "spring cleaning?"

satoru stands directly behind you, peering over your shoulder. you can practically feel his aura shift when he notices the items you're putting away. 

"cleaning of some sort," you sigh, before turning to look over your shoulder. "i've been…putting it off." 

he doesn't move—just continues to stare down at the paper in your hands. you think maybe you shouldn't have let him in. sometimes you forget that satoru might have his own sensitivities—you've always viewed him as the strongest.

a few strands of his hair tickle your cheek, and you scrunch your nose in response. he then turns to you, eyes blinding as he studies you over the frames of his shades. 

"want help?" 

"please." you don't intend to sound so needy, but the way you whisper the word has him immediately grabbing your wrist and sitting you down next to him on the bed. 

"how are we sorting this stuff?" he asks, his voice oddly calm. he hasn't let go of your arm yet, and some quiet part of you is grateful. 

"i was putting our old school stuff in that box. books, papers…" you answer softly, and satoru nods in understanding. "and in the other box…" 

you inhale deeply through your nose. satoru waits, strangely patient. you're not sure if you're imagining it, but you think he squeezes your wrist. 

"…are all of suguru's things." 

there's a moment of silence—a quick mourning for what is no longer there. 

"it's stupid stuff that he left behind, you know?" you chuckle, even though nothing is funny. "some old shirts from when you two would sleep over, his old textbooks, a few pictures from our holidays—shit like that." 

satoru hums. he's not looking at you—instead he's staring at the box, a frown on his face. 

"i guess he didn't really need those things for where he was going. or for wherever he is now," you mumble. 

"guess not." 

you're not sure what's going through his head. satoru's reaction to suguru leaving had been chaotic at best. it was so hard to tell how he felt about it. you knew he was angry, confused, betrayed. but he never showed things like that. you think it might have to do with being the strongest. you're not sure though—you never were strong like him.

you wish there was a way to tell him that he could share his feelings with you, but you can't think of a way that won't be awkward. 

a ticklish sensation crawls up your wrist and you look down to watch satoru's first two fingers tap against the inside of your palm. his thumb brushes against yours as he lets out a heavy exhale. 

"let's get started then, hotshot." 

he looks down at you as he says the words, and you think you might cry. but you want to be strong, like him, so you offer him a smile. he gives you one in return. you realize there isn't that much warmth in it, not like it used to have—you're sure that yours isn't that warm either. 

but it's enough for the two of you. 

"you look tired, toru," you chuckle wryly, reaching up to brush a few strands of hair from his face. his eyes flutter at the touch, and you honestly think this might be the most vulnerable you've ever seen him. 

"so do you." 

"i am," you admit honestly. 

"'s okay," he mumbles. his fingers tap against your palm once more. "'m here." 

"i know," you answer. you always are.

nothing more is said as satoru stands up. he makes his way over to your desk and pulls one of suguru's old sweaters from your chair. you watch him fold it neatly, smoothing out the creases with care, before placing it into the box—you smile once more. 

you think the scent of sandalwood tickles your nose, but it's gone in an instant.  

both of you work in relative silence, sorting through the things in your room quickly. you're surprised at how bare it looks as you're nearing the end, as though there's nothing more to your life than old high school recollections. 

you finish putting the last few polaroids into the box when satoru speaks up. 

"hey." 

you look up and find him staring at you, so you turn to face him completely, giving him your full attention. 

"zenin toji—" the name sends a painful tingle up your body. "—left something behind." 

you frown. "what are you talking about?" 

"a kid. he's got a kid. and i was gonna go meet him today," satoru shrugs. you try to read his emotions, but as usual, he's giving you nothing. "the old man said something about the zenin clan buying up his kid before i killed him. i was gonna go see if there's something i could do about that." 

you sigh before raising a brow, an amused lilt to your voice. "and why have you kept this a secret?" 

satoru's trademark smirk appears, and he walks over to sling an arm around your shoulders. "who knows?" he quips nonchalantly. "guess i was waiting until we were bored. we need something to do now, don't we?" 

you glance at the packed boxes on your bed, and then look around your empty room. everything is always changing, but satoru is constant. 

"i guess so," you grin. his eyes shine, and for a second you see a familiar teenager at the beach, and then a familiar teenager under an old tree. you think you hear waves, and the crinkling of a bag of chips. 

"good," he chirps, walking you to the door, the arm around your shoulder secure. "his name's megumi, and we're gonna make sure he gets strong."

xiv. idyll

it takes you a little over four months to get used to megumi's eyes. they aren't unsettling or invading, like a certain snowy haired sorcerer, but they do give you chills when you first notice them. chills and a fleeting feeling of metal slicing up and down through your flesh. you just have to steady your breathing and remind yourself that the son is not the father.

tsumiki is an angel. you didn't think that kids that age could be so emotionally competent, but she's a pleasant surprise. she had been awfully protective over megumi, fidgeting with a firm hand on his shoulder as you and satoru invaded their space and upturned their lives. even after they had settled into the humble apartment satoru had purchased, tsumiki was still so overly cautious. it was obvious she still didn't trust either of you, but you thought it was admirable of her, and you relay this thought to satoru one day.

"think they hate us?" he asks, squishing his cheeks between his lithe fingers as he eyes the different milk cartons over the rims of his glasses.

"i'm pretty sure they just don't trust us that much," you reply, placing a few packs of instant ramen into the cart. "can you blame them? we're just random strangers who came up and basically kidnapped them."

"i'd like to say adopted!" he points out with a grin, before he sighs. "but we've already proved we're just doing this to help them. but they still barely talk at all."

"they're just being careful. megumi's still a little young and he looks like he doesn't give a shit about most stuff anyway," you chuckle as you remember the expression on the first grader's face as he spoke to your cocky friend. "and tsumiki's being cautious for both of them."

"she doesn't need to be cautious of us!" satoru dramatically whines, pulling out a carton of whole milk and placing it into the cart. you shiver as the cold air hits your skin, eyeing the sorcerer with an exasperated smile. he shuts the door with a huff. "i've been such a good dad!"

you roll your eyes, shoving his arm as he starts pushing the cart down the aisle. "she definitely should be cautious of you, you creep."

satoru looks down over his shoulder, appalled, though his eyes sparkle with mirth. "and why do you say that?"

"have you seen yourself? crazy 19 year old man that kidnaps kids," you mutter somewhat sarcastically, falling into step with him like it's normal. satoru grins at that—amused.

"i think it's pretty cool of her to be that responsible though," you continue, voice going softer as you think about them, and satoru hums in what you think might be agreement. you suddenly grab his arm, stopping him in his tracks and he turns to look at you.

"you think we should get another carton of milk?" you question, tilting your head at him. "megumi's been drinking it every day after he comes back from school and tsumiki said she wanted to try making milkshakes."

satoru blinks at you, eyes widening before an amused chuckle escapes his lips. you're about to ask what is so funny but he gestures back down the aisle. "go get some."

he waits for you as you go grab another carton, leaning against the cart easily. when you make it back and place the extra milk in the cart, satoru slings an arm around your shoulders. you raise a brow, but he just continues to push the cart with his free hand and says nothing.

so you don't say anything either.

the two of you continue shopping, trying to remember the things you've noticed the kids enjoying because you know they'll be too uncomfortable to outrightly request them. for every sweet snack satoru puts into the cart, you add something that can pass as somewhat healthy, and he hides a teasing grin behind his fist each time.

when you're almost done, satoru motions to the shelves of snacks, raising a brow at you. "what do you need, hotshot?"

you look up from where you're analyzing the contents of the cart. "hm? oh i don't wanna buy anything for myself. i'm good with the stuff i have back at the dorm."

"great," he shrugs with a subtle shake of his head. "except you're not buying anything this time, i am. so pick something."

"what?" you frown, walking over to him. "we're supposed to split groceries for the kids."

"we can split next time." satoru rolls his eyes at you, as though annoyed by your insistence. "i just got paid yesterday and i wanna waste money. pick something."

you groan. "but there really isn't anything i want. if you're gonna pay yourself then let's just go. i think this is good enough."

satoru looks unamused, his eyes boring into yours—bright, dominating, mesmerizing. "oh really? nothing you want?"

you stare at him in confusion as he walks over to the frozen section and opens the door. after a few seconds of rummaging, he pulls out a box. "not even this?"

your shoulders drop. he's holding a tub of strawberry ice cream.

he casually places it into the cart, eyes trained on your expression as he bends down. "it's your favorite, isn't it?"

your voice comes out throaty, and you wet your lips nervously—his eyes follow the movement at lightning speed. "how'd you know?"

satoru scoffs out a haughty chuckle, reaching up to knock a knuckle at your forehead—it's cold. "i know everything about you, hotshot."

he moves to grip at the cart's handle, standing close enough that you can feel the energy radiating off of him. the side of his hand touches yours, still cold. "now we can go."

he sticks by your side, pushing the cart towards the counters as he casually looks around the store. you briefly realize that his shadow doesn't cover you when you're at his side like this. the thought both scares you and pleases you in a way you didn't think was possible.

"thanks toru," you mumble before you can stop yourself. his gives you a sidelong glance—assessing.

his lips twitch. "it's just ice cream."

"no, it's a lot more than that." you're not really sure why you say it so tragically, and satoru inhales sharply. you notice that his knuckles have turned white as he grips the cart's handles. once again, his eyes dart rapidly over your face—between your eyes and then further down.

then he lets out a hushed laugh, nudging your shoulder with his. "as long as you share with me, hotshot."

everything is always changing, but satoru is constant.

you can't help but smile. "always."

you two don't say much as you head to the counter, taking turns placing all the items on the belt. you quietly watch satoru dig into his wallet, feeling oddly content doing so. you think the stars in your eyes will never disappear.

the clerk eyes you both, and suppresses a fond grin. with your close proximity, shared cart, and satoru's easy going smile, you realize that she's probably misunderstanding, but you don't really know how to correct her. satoru says nothing—he just continues smiling, oddly pleased.

he smiles all the way to the car. you catch yourself doing the same in the rear view mirror.

xv. retribution

the first thing you notice when you kneel in front of suguru is that he's bleeding all over the place. you have the strongest urge to scramble and grip his fingers tightly, just as he had done for you so many years ago—but you don't dare. you're too scared that touching him will ruin you completely.

he says your name quietly, and yet it's the loudest thing in the universe to you—crashing over your ears until you've lost all sense of self.

and then he leans forward, his gaze heavy, and his hand comes up to tangle in your hair. his palm rests on the side of your face just like it did when he visited you at your family home. the last time you saw your geto suguru.

except this time he moves further—crosses a line. presses his lips to yours.

he tastes like blood. you don't pull away.

the feeling of his lips shocks you though, and you stay permanently frozen in place as you feel your eyes glaze over with something you can't put into words.

suguru kisses you slowly, deeply, like he's been waiting but wants to savor it. maybe you've been waiting too. you're not sure. you're so confused.

you don't even process the way his tongue slips past your lips, tasting almost eagerly like your mouth is some kind of conquest he's trying to claim.

it's intrusive, but not unwelcome. slow, but not gentle.

you whimper quietly, feeling acid sting down your cheek as he pulls away and his eyes flutter open. he takes in your expression, and a million emotions pass over his face.

a quiet chuckle. "that bad, huh?"

you shake yourself out of it and try to push away the flush creeping up your neck. "w-what?"

"you're crying," he announces, his furrowed eyebrows paired with a sweet smile that makes him look so unbelievably tragic. "the kiss was that bad?"

your face burns, and you raise a shaking hand up to your cheek—it's wet.

"it wasn't—i didn't—" you struggle. "i mean—"

he smiles ruefully. "i'm sorry. you were saving it for someone special, right?"

there's a charged silence that follows as you scour your brain for the conversation he's referencing. when you find it, your heart sinks.

"you've always been special to me, suguru." your voice comes out quiet, but he hears it all the same. his eyes widen fractionally and you can see a light pink dust his cheeks before he laughs. it's soft, hushed, and looks like it's painful, but he lets it run its course.

it reminds you of a laugh from so long ago, at a beach, with childish screams echoing against the sound of waves. you think you can feel strawberry ice cream dripping down your wrist.

his laughs die down and he's left smiling softly at you. his lavender eyes sparkle with mirth as he tilts his head. "i'm glad. that you were the one i gave a room to."

you can hear waves in your ears, crashing crashing drowning. sand is in your hands, in between your toes, in your eyes.

he coughs, and his palm shakes against your cheek. you wonder why he doesn't just let go already dammit suguru.

you inhale sharply, trying so hard to breathe because what is that stupid thing that's clogging your throat and preventing you from speaking? there's so much you have to say to him. so many questions. so many things left unsaid. your words are failing you.

but silence with suguru has never once been uncomfortable, right?

you raise a shaky hand to press against his where it lays against your neck. "do you regret it?"

he licks his lips, smiling faintly, as though he's enjoying the new taste of you on them. "no."

"why not?" you whisper. your body unconsciously shuffles closer to him, chasing his warmth because gods is he warm. he's always been so warm, even now, in the throes of death.

"my feelings are still the same. i still hate the monkeys for everything they've done, all the crap they cause." he shuts his eyes, smiling that serene smile. you wish he was leaning against a tree trunk. "i still have no resentment to those at jujutsu tech. and you, i still…"

he doesn't continue. you don't think you want him to. there's a flush crawling up his neck, the faint pink a stark contrast to the red of blood. it makes you nauseous.

another deep inhale, and his thumb slides over your jawbone, before brushing under your bottom lip. he stares at the flesh heavily, letting his finger press into it. his tongue swipes over his own lips, eyes darkening further.

and then something shifts in his face, and he smiles mirthlessly. his hand drops from your face—broken contact.

he doesn't tear his gaze away from you, committing your face to memory. it's almost like he wants to say something, but decides against it at the last minute as he slumps further into the wall behind him and shuts his eyes.

when he speaks again, you know that it is all over.

"you're late, satoru."

[winterarmyy]

Must Be Fate

Prequel to And You're Mine. This is the story of how Y/N first met her cute, chubby alpha!bucky.

Summary: Y/N has been crossing paths with this particularly sweet alpha all day long; this must be fate right?

Navigation: Prequel || Main Story I || Main Story II || Main Story III

Pairing: chubby alpha!bucky x omega!female!reader

Words: 4.2k++

Warnings: a/b/o dynamics. fluffy stuff. sort of fated mate themed because... love at first scent(?). instant love. the reader was just smitten without even knowing bucky's name, alpine making her appearance, 99.9% reader's pov because she's the one who fell in love and remembers him. Dialogue? almost little to none (I AM SO SORRY FOR THAT). And I little shout out to one of my favourite book.

P/S: Been busy these few days, i just graduated my bachelor's degree, then went through the whole job hunting process and somehow managed to land an offer (in another state btw), then went on a stressful house hunting journey and managed to get decent place. Yknow, all those "adulting" stuff (that i am not ready to face). But yeah, here's a little something from my wip that I managed to finish. Happy reading! 🤍

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Y/N herself might not notice it, but she had been stealing glances through the pretense of the book she was supposed to be reading for quite some time now. Not that she wanted to be distracted anyway; she was rather enjoying her current read, especially the banter between main characters, Liesel and Rudy.

Yet for some reason, she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the particular alpha sitting on the park bench, right across from her.

It seemed that the man was also distracted with his own personal dilemma as his thoughts were lost within the arrangement of peonies in his hand. There was this deep frown decorating his features yet his eyes translates a different type of emotion. More gloomy, more somber. And Y/N knew exactly why.

She never meant to follow Bucky around, in fact, she didn’t. It just happened that his paths were fated to intertwined with hers; and it all started that afternoon.

The bus was packed full, albeit it was Saturday, but thankfully she managed to find herself a seat.

Since Y/N was getting closer to her heat, in about a week or so, and her scent blockers were nearly out. She just got back from a nearby clinic to restock and now she had a full day for herself.

The thing about her pre-heat condition is that she was fortunate to not experience the normally unpleasant symptoms like any omega would; she doesn't get irritated easily and she didn't have to go through those random aches and fever.

However, she had a particular symptom that differs from the other omega; which involve the irregular increase of her scent.

During pre-heat and all throughout the actual heat, Y/N’s scent tripled the amount of a normal omega in heat. And since, she refused to take suppressants, the doctor prescribed her with a high dosage of scent blockers instead; to mask her scent completely during pre-heat.

Besides her own scent thickens and heighten, her sense of smell was also affected. It will become so senstive that she can smell everything and everyone, all at the same time.

Unfortunately for her, there weren’t any medication to combat that issue and the only solution she could do was wearing a mask to lessen affect of other people’s scents. But of course, the mask can only do so much especially when she was in a tight confinement of a bus with – what feels like – 2000 people crammed into it.

Too many potent scents coming from every direction, that her head spun into nausea.

Sure, she might be a little bit exaggerating about the amount of people in the bus, but it felt awfully like it when the bus stopped in every bus stop in its route; she can physically feel the inertia of the force pushing her to lean forward.

Thank god, she was sitting down; she managed to hold on the seat in front of her for support. Often times she would whisper her apologies to the man sitting in front for the sudden push of her hand, And most times he only nodded without looking back.

But at one of those stops, unfortunately, the teenager standing next to her bumped his head right onto the metal pole. Poor thing quickly scurried out of the bus in pain and embarrassment.

The density of people became lesser at that stop, but not enough to empty any seat in the bus. Though it worked well for her that most of the strong scents were fading into a much more bearable capacity for her to endure.

While streams of people exited the bus, only one came aboard; a sweet old lady. The moment Y/N saw her, she was already thinking of giving up her seat, but the man sitting in front of her beat her to it as he swiftly stood on his feet and help the old lady to his seat.

The old lady gushed and thanked the man, dearly patted his cheeks like any grandmother would do to their grandchildren.

And in that brief moment of time, when he moved, Y/N picked up a particularly sweet scent trailing behind him and when he came back, it hits her like a train. At first, she can sense some sort of floral; roses and jasmine but with time the smoky sandalwood and spicy cinnamon seeped through. The combination of sweet and woody notes made such a warm and captivating scent.

She never knew an alpha can smell this good.

Her eyes fluttered close as the alluring scent flooded her brain, letting his scent creates the dreamy images of his fingers lacing between hers as they walk in the rain, or him cuddling her in the heat of the fireplace during the winter, or his body trapping her by the back as she takes his huge delicious kno—whoa.

That was way too vivid and a tad too far.

She was so enthralled by his scent that she forgot to even look at the man’s face. And a mistake it was for her to take a peek because he is absolutely gorgeous. The brown locks on his head was neat and clean that she just wanted to make a mess out of it. His eyes were pretty in steel-blue and his plush lips was simply a sin to look at.

Though some would argue about the lack of shape in his jawline, the same one that was hidden between his chin; she didn’t care at all, rather she was particularly fond of the softness on his chubby cheeks. Shaved so clean and smooth that she couldn't find a single razor cut on his skin.

They look so cute and kissable. She want to kiss his cheeks, his lips, and every part of his ridiculously handsome face. She wanted kiss him so badly.

And those intrusive thoughts made her almost missed her stop.

Y/N panicked when she scurried out of the bus that she didn't even thought to ask him for his name or number; anything.

But then again, she wasn't the type to be so bold in the first place; she knew wouldn't have the courage to even speak a word to him. His scent alone almost pushed her into a frenzy, so imagine if he would look at her with those beautiful eyes of his, smile at her, talk to her?

She'd simply die. She was sure of it.

So, with regrets Y/N walked towards the familiar road right into the local bookstore that she often visits. Thinking that this encounter would probably be forgotten by the end of the day.

Then she spent hours in that shop trying to find the perfect book to put her out of the miserable reading slump she was currently in. While her eyes skim over the covers of the book in display, in the back of her head, Y/N was almost certain of how unlikely it was for her to see the alpha ever again.

Couple of turns later, her footsteps trailed back to the space in between the bookshelves next to the huge glass window of the store. Still glancing absentmindedly at the book covers particular on the historical fiction isle. She halted when she saw it, the book that people had been recommending to her, 'The Book Thief'.

After reading the summary behind the book, she felt drawn to it almost instantly. Thinking that maybe this would be the book that will replenish her interest of reading back to its utmost glory.

But when she lifted her head up, she froze yet again. This time, not because the sight of a book. But it was the silhouette of the alpha she saw in the bus. Instinctively, her feet step closer to the glass window, to have a better look at the man across the road.

The alpha had just exited the flower shop opposite from where she was standing, with a gorgeous bouquet of peonies in his hands. Now that she looked closely, his hands were covered with black leather gloves; it intrigued her and she wondered about the story behind it.

Y/N wasn't that dense; she could see it right away from the way he dressed, to the choice of gift he went for. She knew instantly that the alpha was probably going out on a date.

And that stung her a little bit. How nice it must be to be his date, his girl, his omega.

Funny of her to think so when she never really talked to the guy. Let alone know him well enough to decided whether he's a good alpha or not. But something about him felt right to her.

But, sometimes it'll be like that. Falling in love so strongly, so instantly. And there's nothing wrong with it, as long as you know how to protect yourself; your body, your heart.

When her gaze moved upwards to his face; and her heart almost escaped her body. It was so quick, so faint. But, she saw his smile. It wasn't for her but it was so pretty. Y/N felt like a bow just struck her chest and the cupid was trying to pull it back out.

She knew full well how she probably need to move on from this delusional crush of hers yet her eyes still longingly lingered at his moving figure, walking farther away from her sight.

When she thought that would be the last time she saw him, she was utterly wrong. Now, it felt like devilish cupid was toying with her heart as their path crossed yet again, this time at a nearby cafe.

She didn't notice him at first, at least until she placed her orders and saw him sitting alone at the far corner of the cafe. He seemed to be waiting for his date; the flowers laid perfectly on the seat next to him.

In contrast of the few looks of his that she had witness before, the alpha's demeanour indicates anxiousness.

His heel keeps tapping the floor, causing his knees to jump up and down, as he fiddled with his phone. Occasionally, he would look at the time and put it down. Just to do the same thing over again only seconds later.

And that made her wondered if this was his first date with whomever the person he was supposed to be seeing. She knew those feelings all too well. It was only canon that he felt the jitters on his first date, she'd been there too.

When her drink was served, Y/N decided to stay awhile longer. She didn't know what she was expecting from this but she wanted to make sure he was okay. Or maybe she just wanted to see who was the lucky girl. So she found herself a seat, a little bit discrete yet enough to see him from where she sat.

Pulling out her new purchase, she decided to pass the time with some light reading, maybe getting herself comfortable with the world building in the book and get to know the main characters in the process. In between those moments, Y/N would peek above the book, particularly at the sight of that beautiful stranger from across the room.

Pages upon pages she drowned herself to the words of the author that she didn't notice how time flies passing the half an hour mark; and the cafe started to get more crowded and rowdier. Certainly, the amount of potent scents had were floating around her were slowly getting to her.

Y/N knew if she stayed a longer, she'd surely throw up whatever drink she just had. So, she decided to leave. But not before glancing at the alpha – who was still waiting for his date – for one last time, then she pulled the door open and walked away.

Certainly, that was supposed to be the last time she see him right? Nope. The universe proved her wrong when the man found a seat on the bench opposite her. With the same bouquet of flowers in his hands.

And at this point, she thought that this must be fate. There's no other explanation than this.

When she lowered her book again, she saw a white feline rubbing its head on Bucky's legs. It was too far to hear its voice but considering the amount of time its mouth open, Y/N figured it was meowing at him.

Probably to get his attention, or just wanted to comfort the alpha because just from the look of it, she knew he was stood up by his date. And Y/N was unexpectedly mad about it; maybe it was from personal experience or maybe it was just because she couldn't accept the fact that this fine, gorgeous, sweet alpha was being stood up.

Y/N watched how Bucky put away the flowers and scooped the cat onto his lap. He squinted his eyes at the ball of fur and spoke something. She hadn't had a clue what he said but it was probably along the lines, "Are you lost, little one?" He scratched its chin and neck while trying to see if it has a collar.

After so long of seeing that deep grumpy-looking frown on his face, Bucky finally graced her with another smile when the cat tried to rub its nose on his cheeks. Its whiskers tickled his nose and had trigger a laugh out of him.

God, Y/N had never been so desperate to be a cat in her life. She wanted to be that cat; sitting on his lap like she owns that place, making him smile and laugh like that. She wanted nothing more that to do so; to please him in a way that would make her own heart full.

Her daydream was cut short though, when a heavy scent of cigarettes and rum invaded her space. In fact it was so thick and potent, but considering the lanky alpha was sitting right next to her it was inevitable.

Y/N didn't want to be rude; because if she just walk away to find a different spot to sit at, then it would seem rude to the man. Her heighten sense of smell was to be blamed, not the man who was simply sitting next to her, enjoying the park as much as everybody else does.

So, she stayed.

But in those few minutes that she stayed, she might have re-adjust her mask a few times, as if it would help to lessen the scent. But, she did it anyway. And that was all she did. Yet somehow, it managed to rub the alpha in a wrong way.

"Ya got a problem with my scent, beta?" He snarled, clearly he was drunk. And a drunk alpha in the middle of the day was never a good sign.

Though she was relieved to know that the scent blockers worked just fine. Otherwise, she might push the alpha into a rut if he got even a single whiff of her scent.

The alpha growled as she put some space between them instead of answering his question. "Are you even listening to me?! Answer me, you dumb bitch!" His aggressiveness went from zero to hundred real quick when he yanked her by the hand, pulling her closer towards him.

Y/N's book fell from the force of his strength and she yelped in pain and fear. Though she usually know how to put up a brave face and fight back, but the sudden change of his action and emotion didn't gave her time to prepare her; mentally, physically.

With her omega tendencies on default, her body coward to his force and her voice tremble, "L-let me go!" She tried to twist her hand to escape but his grasp only grew stronger.

He pulled her to stand up, "You think a beta like you can look down on me? You and that omega are the same! Bunch of good for thing bitches. Gonna teach you a good lesson for disrespecting an alpha like me!" He roared with words of his drunken concerns, truth of his wounded ego.

Her blood pumped faster through her veins and her breaths increases behind her mask. When she saw his hand rose, Y/N shut her eyes, whimpering in fear as she turned her head away, waiting for the pain strike her but it never happened.

It between those short heavy breaths, she caught a whiff of Bucky's scent. And surely, it gave her the comfort she needed to calm down, guiding her to open her eyes and witness her saviour stopping the unhinged alpha's strike.

Then what happend next was so fast; the way Bucky forced him to release her, and the way the left of his gloved hand wrapped around the alpha's neck, choking the air out of his wind pipe.

Bucky growled something in the alpha's ear, but Y/N couldn't hear it over her own beating heart. She didn't need to, not when the pale look of the man's face says it all. As soon as Bucky loosen his grip, the other alpha stumbled backwards and made a run for his life.

That does tend to happened when Bucky was literally threatened to tear his limbs apart if he touch the woman ever again.

When the panic didn't die like Y/N hoped for, Bucky quickly came to her side; respectfully close while avoiding any sort of skinship. He whispered words of comfort and sweet nothings, "It's okay, you're okay. You're safe now."

His voice was like magic, especially when it managed to calm her so easily. Y/N can feel herself melting, like a marshmallow hovering over the flames; like an ice cream under the summer sun. She took a deep breath of his sweet scent and exhaled a long sigh, "Thank you. Thank you for that." she said.

Bucky bent down to pick up her book and patted the dust off, "It's no big deal, here." He handed the book. She gladly took it from his hand, gripping it tight to her chest.

Her head was still fuzzy from the rush of adrenaline, she couldn't think of a single coherent thought other than gratitude towards her saviour, "Yeah, thank you." She probably didn't even notice that she was talking to the alpha she was crushing on the whole day.

Looking at her shaken state, Bucky was worried of her, "Are you going to be okay?" He asked.

Y/N's mind didn't process his question fast enough to for a confident reply to form, "Huh? Yeah, of course. I'll be fine. Couple of deep breaths should do the trick."

"Are you sure?" Bucky was sceptical but she quickly assured him, "Absolutely!"

He nodded slowly as if she failed to convince him, yet he didn't want to push her too much, "If you say so..."

She let out a another long sigh and said, "Thank you again, really. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Bucky simply chuckled at her words, "You know, you've said 'thank you' way too many times now, doll. Plus, it is an utmost honor of an alpha to save a damsel in distress." He jest.

Which was quickly agreed by a mewl coming from his chest, "Meow!" Y/N didn't even notice the white cat nestling comfortably in his leather jacket, albeit it was zipped up until only its' head peeking out of the dark fabric.

"See? She agrees." Bucky shrugged as if the cat's opinion was the only valid opinion in this situation.

"I did say it a lot, did I?" Y/N cooed as she pet the cat on its' head, smiling at the softness of its' fur against her skin before looking back at the blue eyes of his, "Sorry." She instinctively apologized. 

Bucky shook his head and reminded her, "Don't be."

That was when Bucky's phone rang, a call from Steve, "Hey, you're here? Where are you? Oh there. Yeah, I can see you, punk. You don't need wave at me like that. Yeah, I'll be right there. Please don't let Sam join you. God stop that is fucking embarrassing." He muttered as he looked over how his friends were literally halfway out of the car window, waving at him like a bunch of kids.

Bucky snuck his phone back into his pocket and said, "I'd offer you a ride but the car's full with dumbasses and I wouldn't recommend a sweet thing like you to associate with them in any way."

He managed to pull a short laugh out of her, "Oh, no need to do so. I live close by. Don't need to worry about me just..." her trails stopped mid way.

Only for Bucky to continue with a question, "...Just??"

"Do you mind giving those to me?" Y/N pointed at the flowers in his hand. She knew he was contemplating to throw it away because he had been glancing at the trash way too many times at the first couple of minutes when he sat on that bench across from her.

Y/N noticed how his expression changed, he looked confused but didn't frown upon the idea. Her eyes sparkled with anticipation as she waited patiently for his respond. But he just continued to stare at her, almost blankly but not quite lost. It was as if he was mesmerized by something.

The silence was getting louder than the crowds surrounding them so she decided to explain, "You see, I've never received flowers from anybody before. So, I'm curious how it feels like to receive one." She tried to come up with excuses, though she was still telling the truth. No one she dated had ever gave her flower before, probably deeming it as old-fashioned.

But, she loves those old fashioned gesture the most.

Y/N saw how he hesitated when he stared at the bouquet, his face getting tense by the seconds. She recognize that expression, she knew right away he was holding back his feelings.

But it quickly shifted into a gentle smile, "Pretty flowers for the pretty lady." He whispered under his breath. Bucky didn't waste his time hesitating this time and handed the bouquet to her.

Though she was asking for it but she didn't expect him to really give it to her. This was the first time she ever got flowers from a man. An alpha that she was pretty much head over heels for nonetheless.

Letting her emotions unfiltered, "Thank you!" she squealed as she reach out her hand. As she brought the bouquet closer to her face, she pulled down her mask, inhaling the sweet fragrant of the soft pastel peonies.

Even if her lower face hidden behind the flowers, Bucky swore he saw a burst of sparkles beamed from her upon receiving those flowers. It fascinated him because he never knew that someone could be this happy just from getting such small gift, from a complete stranger he might add.

For a second there, he thought that he would've give her a whole garden of flowers just to see her shine like that again. It felt so good and somehow fulfilling to see her happy like this.

Y/N unknowingly smiled as she let herself lost in the intoxicating scent. And when her eyes fluttered open, a deep chuckle distracted her from the trance. Looking up, as he eyes peeking through the blooming flowers, she finally saw that endearing smile that she wanted to see.

But that wonderful fleeting moment didn't last long as she was hoping for when she heard a group of man shouting for the alpha, "Hey, loverboy! We have a birthday party to get to. Natasha would be pissed if we're late. Again!"

As Bucky shouted back his own sassy counter, Y/N's head was filled with thoughts of kissing him. She didn't particularly know why but she had the need to do it.

Why would she ever do this to a man – who probably currently thinking that she was a creep – that she barely knew?

Even with those unconscious questions, she found her body moved on its own.

When he turned around, Y/N was already on her tip toe, her face was so close to his, while her hand softly cupped his chubby cheeks. She pressed a tender kiss on one of the side soft sides and prayed to God that he couldn't hear how her heart was desprete to escape the confinement of her ribcage.

Y/N placed her mask back before pulling away, only to preen at how she managed to stun him into a red mess of shock, "Thank you for saving me, alpha." Her eyes curved as a sign of a smile before she turn around, almost running away.

She certainly didn't give him a chance to at least know her name, let alone get to know her.

Midway through her path, Y/N abruptly stopped and turned around, her eyes met his curious ones and her heart fluttered, "Thank you for the flowers! I love them!" she shouted with a wide smile on her lips and brightest expression of her face, even if it was blocked by the mask.

Though Bucky could probably translate her eagerness and sincerity from how animatedly joyful she was waving at him. He smiled as he watched the girl ran away with her small steps, almost resembling a hopping bunny.

As Y/N skipped her way home, her lips aches for more of the alpha's softness, her heart yearned for his comforting presense and her glands certainly burned for his mark. And even though she went home not knowing his name, or his contact number. She believed that if he was truly her fated mate, then they will surely meet again someday.

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: Thank you for loving this couple as much as I do, guys. I noticed a lot of you have been requesting chubby alpha!bucky ever since I first published the first one. So I hope you enjoyed this one. More to come from them. But meanwhile, drop your thoughts?

[buckyownsmylife]

let the games begin - sebastian stan smut

The one where you ask him to explain the pepsi cup scene to you

Warnings: best friends to lovers, best friend!reader, hopelessly in love!Seb, reader has hair long enough for Seb to “play with” but do with that as you wish, innocent!reader, smut.

WC: 1.8k

A/N: this is just a sweet little smutty one-shot of best friend!Seb realizing you feel the same for him. I didn't delve deep into the smut because to be honest, this has been in my WIP list since the movie came out and I just couldn't be bothered to write more than what's here, yet I hope you'll enjoy it anyway!

Seb’s P.O.V.

“You ready for this? You know we don’t have to watch it, right?” I tried to convince her one more time, and still, she just rolled her eyes and pulled me to the sofa next to her. Oh, how I loved to feel her smaller frame tightly pressed against mine.

“Don’t be silly, of course I want to watch it. I’ve seen everything you’ve ever done, I can’t let one slightly scarring movie keep me away from this long standing tradition.” It warmed my heart to think that she’d been doing this way before we even met.

I kissed her temple before adjusting so her body would rest against my chest, and settled in for the film. I knew it would be an experience, to say the least, watching this with her, so I tried to prepare myself for anything that could happen.

She could end up traumatized and unable to look me in the eye. At the very least, it would certainly serve as ammunition for her to tease me for years to come, and that was one turn of events I could deal with. The first one was my real concern.

So I settled in to watch the movie, because I figured it would be best to be around than to wait for her reactions afterwards. What if she never wanted to see me again? I knew it was just my anxiety coming up with the worst possibilities, but it still scared the crap out of me.

I couldn’t imagine my life without her anymore. And maybe one day I’d grow the courage to tell her about it, but for now, I was perfectly happy just sitting here with her and offering some support when my character started to freak her out.

“Hey, there you are!” She giggled in excitement, pointing at the TV like I wasn’t watching it with her. It made me chuckle, seeing her act like a little kid when it came to me doing my job. God, she was precious.

“Yeah, there I am,” I agreed, leaning over her to deposit a quick kiss against her temple, but much to my surprise all I got was a nudge and a hush. “Are you shushing me?” She finally unglued her eyes from the television to look at me with disappointment all over her features.

“Seb, I love you, but if you keep interrupting the movie, I’m gonna kick you out and there’s nothing you can do about that.” I wanted to point out that if she did, she’d have to watch it by herself and there was no way she’d be able to sleep, but I didn’t want to risk her fury. So I just sat back and pulled her with me, playing with her hair as I watched the story unfold before my eyes.

For whatever reason, I seemed to forget that I looked a bit… different in my role at some point, and as I gained weight before our eyes, she turned around to look at me with a look I couldn’t figure out. It made me nervous.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I had to ask, but she didn’t immediately answer me. I felt embarrassed, it was almost like she was comparing me to the man on the screen, and I didn’t know which one she preferred. 

Could it be that now that she’d seen me like that, she couldn’t unsee it?

“I’ve always thought you looked better when Don wasn’t trying to make you look like some sort of bodybuilder, but this role just confirmed it to me. You’re even sexier with some weight on your body.” 

My cheeks burned, and I didn’t know what to say. So I just cuddled her to me once more, focusing on the screen as I tried to work through my emotions - and there were many. Desire, barely concealed lust, something the hardening member inside my jeans wouldn’t let me forget - but also something warm and comfortable, settling deep inside my chest.

I didn’t want to give it a name. So I just pulled her to me yet again, kissed her temple and pretended to go back to watching the movie, while I waited for her attention to be redirected to it once more. When I was sure she wasn’t noticing me anymore, I got back to analyzing her reactions, chuckling under my breath at the way hers hitched at every little thing, and how she squeezed my thigh when she thought something scary would happen.

And then the car scene started. My muscles immediately froze underneath her, having completely forgotten about this particular part of the movie.

“What’s going on?” She asked, first surprised and then confused. “Is everything okay?” I couldn’t answer her. I couldn’t even look away from the screen, flinching as it developed right before my eyes. It was like my own self-made train wreck: unavoidable and paralyzing.

“Seb…” She reached out for my hand, asking for my attention, and I licked my lips and took a deep breath before turning to give it to her.

“I don’t get it, what’s going on?” I was about to tell her that I was just embarrassed, but the confusion in her eyes as they darted from the TV to my embarrassed self suddenly made sense to me.

“Wait,” I started, holding her jaw so she’d fix her eyes on mine and forget about the movie for a second. “You don’t understand the scene?” She hesitated for a second before nodding, biting her lower lip in that way she did when she was nervous.

It made the warmth inside my chest expand and take over my entire body, shooting straight to my lower belly, where it began to burn. 

Fuck. Who would have thought that she was so innocent?

“Do you want me to tell you?” The question left my lips before I could ponder if my concern came from a valid place - my desire to help her, always. 

But maybe things happened for a reason - maybe it was some sort of ungodly gift the idea of watching this movie together, because as I watched her glance over at the screen again and then lay her eyes on me, I saw it with perfect clarity:

She was aroused by it.

“Or would you like me to show you?” Another question that slipped from my lips unintentionally, another sentence I didn’t regret speaking. This… tension, it had always been here, between the both of us. I’d been too much of a coward to act on it before so if the ball was on my court now, it was time to let it roll.

“’Cause I’d be more than happy to.” With my last reassurance, the thread between us broke, and in a second, we were kissing. Who made the first move, I’d never know. All I cared about was her taste, how sweet she was, and the tiny little whimpers I could hear escaping her when I had to pull back to take a breath.

My body still acting of its own accord, I got up from the couch to take my pants off, hand immediately going to my hardness to release some of the frustration she was causing me. Thankfully, she didn’t seem scared - just hungry, looking at me with doe eyes and biting down on her lower lip before I pulled her closer so that her hand rested over mine.

“Fuck…” I whispered against her neck at the first contact of her hand on my naked dick, but for some reason that was all it took for the spell to break.

“Seb, I can’t…” She pulled away from me, chest still heaving from desire, but I felt so damn guilty I couldn’t even feel good about it. “I can’t do this and then pretend that it didn’t happen.”

Y/N’s P.O.V.

His face softened up instead of becoming angry, like I expected it would. “Come.” He got up from the couch, offering me his hand, which I took without second-guessing myself.

His eyes told me everything I needed to know.

He took me to his bed, where he kissed me deeply once again. “Don’t worry, I’ll be patient.” How could I say that I’d let him do anything to me?

Within seconds, I was naked. It was unlike any other similar experience I’d ever lived, and the way he stared at me only had me falling deeper into the cloud of comfort that only Seb could provide me.

“Spread your legs for me, honey.” I did so instinctively, also closing my eyes in nervousness at what was happening.

“Keep looking at me,” he asked, and so I reopened my eyes, finding him staring at my most private spot with hunger in his. “Fuck, you’re soaked.”

Before I could comprehend what was happening, he’d yanked me to the edge of the bed and proceeded to kneel down before me, lips kissing my inner thighs and navel while I panted softly.

“Fuck, I can’t believe that I get to taste you,” he uttered before his tongue stuck out and he did just that… He tasted me, and nothing had ever felt quite as great as that simple gesture.

“How does it feel, sweetheart?” He asked in the midst of attacking my clit with his tongue and lips, the hot muscle swirling over it and making my head spin. “Do you like this?”

“Yes, yes!” I nodded, hand flying down to hold him by the hair and keep him attached to me. “More, I want more.”

“What?” He teased me, the devious thing. “You want what?”

“More,” I insisted, pushing him down so his face would connect with my pussy once more. He didn’t keep up with his pretense and kept on licking me until I saw stars behind my closed eyelids, screaming his name for dear life.

“Kiss me,” I begged breathlessly once I was able to speak again, and he leaned over me to grant me my wish, allowing me to taste myself for the first time in my life.

“You know…” I struggled to find the courage to say what I wanted, but I knew I could trust Sebastian. “When we actually do it, you don’t need to be so gentle…”

He bit my shoulder in response, shaking his head at my antics. I thought I was dreaming, being naked in his bed, having just had the best orgasm of my life.

I wanted to do this for the rest of my life.

“I don’t want to go to sleep tonight,” I confessed, watching as the most beautiful smile opened up in my best friend’s face.

“Lucky for you, there are a ton of things we can do to pass the time.”

[gabessquishytum]

Hob mistaken for a prostitute by Dream.

Hob is just sitting in this hotel bar getting a drink when this blazingly hot man walks up to him and starts talking.

Hob's leaving tomorrow and had been in dumb meetings all day selling his tech company for more money than he thought existed for an idea he came up with his late wife; He and Robyn will be set for life (2 or 3 lives). Hob just wanted a drink to decompress (and quietly freak out). Somehow, this hot guy, who didn't share his name, talked Hob up to his room and blew his back out/they blew each others' backs out (Hob honestly stopped tracking when they front'ed against the room door to a fast 1st one each).

When Hob wakes up the next morning to a pile of cash and a note on hotel stationary saying 'thanks and hope this covers it + tip', he's gobsmacked. 1. It was a lot of money - at least he's a good whore; and 2. Hob didn't think they connected for a long term thing or anything, but he certainly didn't think his stranger thought he was on the job!

Well, life is weird and full, and this will be a great story for his friends at the pub -- Joanna is going to give him so much sh*t. Hob certainly doesn't expect to see his stranger again, now.

This is my new favourite thing. I’m actually so tempted to throw this in my wip pile because omg. I LOVE sex worker Hob, but not-actually-a-sex-worker Hob is so fucking funny and weirdly hot.

Anyway, it keeps Hob from moping as he starts his new life with Robyn. Whenever he’s sad he has a little chuckle about that night. He’ll mutter “chin up, you’re a good whore remember?” whenever he’s having a crisis. He’s moved to this smallish village with a school for Robyn and a nice little pub where Hob has taken on a few shifts that he doesn’t need but hey, they were short staffed. He’s made a small circle of friends and Robyn’s grandparents are just down the road. It’s a very comfortable life.

And then one night he’s hanging out with his friends at the pub, and someone new comes in. Hob doesn’t get a glimpse until Joanna waves the stranger over and introduces him as an old uni mate.

It’s the guy. The hot guy who paid him £4000 cash for sex. Holy shit.

Their eyes meet and Hob feels his face turn bright red. The stranger introduces himself as Morpheus and sits down awkwardly next to Hob, while the rest of the group dissolves back into chatter. Which would be fine, except — Morpheus starts whisper-asking polite questions about Hob’s job. Do his friends know? Should Morpheus be discreet about their encounter? Is Hob being safe? Hob nearly dies there at the table. How’s he supposed to tell the guy that he’s a millionaire, not a rent boy?!

The worst part is, Morpheus is so fucking hot. Hob wants him all over again. And because he’s a fucking idiot, he lets Morpheus take him back to the little B&B he’s staying at nearby. Once again Hob is fucked into sweet oblivion in several different rooms, and when he’s too sore to go any more he takes over and finally fucks Morpheus on the actual bed. Morpheus gives him permission to stay the night and Hob thinks that he really, REALLY needs to come clean but. They both fall asleep.

In the morning over coffee in the kitchen, Morpheus says “I am afraid I only have £500 in cash. Do you have a PayPal account?” Just as Joanna pops in through the back door (it’s her girlfriend’s b&b, she has a key).

“Oh my GOD, Hob.” She says. “This is why EVERYONE assumes that you’re a whore!”

…and from there onwards, chaos reigns.

[autisticlancemcclain]

wip tease number god knows, truly

The phone doesn’t ring for more than two seconds. Which is crazy, because New Altea is an unfathomably huge number of lightyears away and also Lance’s phone signal is perpetually garbage.

“Ahoy,” greets Allura when the line connects, because she is strange.

“Ahoy,” Lance greets back, because he loves her.

They sit in silence. He can hear, vaguely, the clicking sounds of compacts being opened and closed, and the particular humming noise she always makes when she’s putting on eyeliner.

It occurs to Lance, for the first time, that they have known each other so long and so closely that to the outsider, their relationship might be quite strange. The thought makes him smile widely.

“So,” he says.

Allura hums again. Deliberately, this time.

Lance takes another long time to answer, digging the toe of his boots into the ground. He spies a worm wiggling in the newly churned dirt and bends down to pluck it, writhing, out of its hovel. He quickly snaps a picture and sends it to Pidge with the caption, ‘didn’t know you were on Earth today.’ She responds with a grotesquely realistic custom clown emoji.

“There is a possibility. Perhaps. That I do not actually want to be a farmer.”

“No shit,” replies the Queen of New Altea And Also Lots Of Other Things Lance Can’t Remember, blithely.

Lance sniffs haughtily. “This is quite the revelation, you know. I’ve had four panic attacks about it.”

“You have an anxiety disorder. You had a panic attack about malevolent gut bacteria last week.”

“…This is true.”

“Also, whenever I feel you need to be humbled, I ask your mother to send me stuff from your childhood. There’s a video in particular I enjoy of you sobbing about the prospect of being anything but an astronaut. You looked at a cornfield and threw up. You were four, I believe.”

Lance does, actually, vaguely remember that. Well, he remembers Luis writhing on the floor, weeping with laughter, and kicking him in the shins. He also remembers the cornfield, if only because he distinctly remembers lobbing a piece of corn at Luis’ head, also.

He was a very expressive child. Also, Luis is a turd.

“I am entitled to a period of self-reflection,” Lance says primly.

“It has been an Entire Year, knobhead.”

“I needed time to collect my thoughts in peace and on Earth. I died, you know.”

“Oh, did you,” says Allura drily. “I wonder how that went.”

Lance’s smile widens. He lets her have this one. “Fuck farming, okay. I’m bored. I love my family to pieces but I need to be closer to drama. Give me a job.”

“That is a garbage application, Leandro.” He hears the distinct sound of a nail polish bottle being shaken. “I should hire someone more qualified.”

“How about you hire deez nuts.”

“Hm,” she says, and he can hear her grinning. “On the other hand, I need a second in command who is unafraid to challenge me. You know, in case I grow corrupt with power.”

She pretends to deliberate for a moment.

“You’re hired. I’ll send someone to come pick you up tomorrow.”

“Is that someone going to be a hot, tall Altean in a slutty outfit?” Lance asks hopefully.

She can’t help a laugh. Lance grins triumphantly. “You’re fired.”

“Is that a yes?”

“I’ll think about it.”

She hangs up.

[mxboxlocks]

shipwrecked if it was cool

this is an au of mine i've had in the works since 2022-ish? the wip of maxwell has been sitting in my harddrive for god knows how long and i only just today cleaned it up to post

essentially this au takes place in victorian-ish wherever. the survivors are split into 4 groups: landlubbers, islanders, sailors, and sirens. landlubbers stay on the mainland, mostly as shopkeeps. the islanders reside on the archipelago that is this au's constant. the sailors, despite their name, are a bandit group of pirates led by maxwell (who wilson happens to accidentally get himself roped in with), and the sirens, who are equal parts beautiful as they are deadly. though, a few of them stand to resist their violent nature.

doodles n shit below

here's the lineup of the cast and also a bit of worldbuilding. Keep in mind I wrote this in like 2022 so not everyone is gonna be there :( sorey

and a little comic i made of wynslow and wilson bonding. yaaaayyy!!! <33 ok im done bye

[housethemd]

Behind Closed Doors

When Chase happened to mention he had to be out of his apartment for 24 hours due to windows being replaced, Wilson invites him to stay with himself and House. Chase gets to see a side of his boss few do.

Established married House/Wilson.

(This is the fic that got the most votes when I did a poll on which of my WIP people were most interested in.)

~~~~~~~~~~

Chase stood awkwardly outside the door of 221B, trying to convince himself to knock. It wasn’t too late to turn around, get a hotel room. Wilson had offered, nay, insisted that he stay with him and House for the night however.

Wilson was a nice guy. Far to nice to be married to House in Chase’s opinion, but the two seemed to make each other happy so he supposed he couldn’t judge. He doesn’t know what he’s so nervous of, he’s been at 221B before. He knows there’s no sex dungeon or large aggressive dog waiting on the other side. Maybe it’s that it’s his boss, that it’s House.

He closes his eyes, bites the bullet, and knocks. It takes long enough for someone to answer that Chase begins to wonder if this wasn’t some elaborate prank. While House is usually the one staging such things, it wouldn’t be unusual for Wilson to get involved. He’s about to turn around and leave when he hears the door unlock and it opens to reveal House himself standing on the other side.

“Um. Hi.” Chase says. He’d been hoping Wilson would answer the door.

“Wombat.” House replies.

House is dressed in one of his band t-shirts and a pair of loose fitting basketball shorts. His feet are bare and he’s leaning on the wall, his cane nowhere to be seen. They stand eye to eye for a few moments, neither speaking or moving, when a voice calls out from inside the apartment.

“Don’t just stand there, invite him in!” It’s Wilson’s voice, and it holds a tone of fond exasperation.

House doesn’t say anything, but turns around and limps into the apartment. Chase glances around, but ultimately follows him in. Given House’s lack shoes he opts to remove his own. He’s more comfortable that way anyway. He’s never understood why Americans wear their shoes at home.

House is sitting on the couch, and there is an American football game playing on the TV. The windows are open, letting in the slightly cool September breeze. He can smell something delicious coming from the kitchen where Wilson stands at the stove.

“You made it!” Wilson says when he sees Chase.

“Yeah, found the place alright.” Chase jokes.

He stands awkwardly for a moment, not sure where he’s supposed to be going or what he’s supposed to be doing. Should he be offering to help in the kitchen? He’s a little nervous to just sit down next to House. At work they’re comfortable around each other, hell the could go for a drink and it probably wouldn’t be awkward, but something about being in House’s domain makes him nervous.

“Sit down, make yourself comfortable. I’ll bring you a beer in a second.” Wilson tells him.

He does as he told, and sit on the opposite end of the couch to House, who doesn’t acknowledge him.

“You want another beer, Greg?” Wilson sticks his head out of the kitchen.

“Yeah.” House replies.

It’s strange hearing House called “Greg.” He shouldn’t be shocked, they are a married couple for God’s sake. Still, House is one of those people who seems like he only has one name - House.

Wilson comes out with two beers in hand. He’s dressed in grey sweatpants and what looks like one of House’s t-shirts. It strikes him as odd but he reminds himself again that they are married. Wilson hands the beers over the back of the couch. Chase makes a point to say thank you but House just sort of grunts, eyes never straying from the TV.

After a while Wilson appears again with two plates full of what looks like homemade Pad Thai. After placing them in front of the two of them he leaves and returns with his own plate, sitting down between them.

The food is delicious. They all dig in with reckless abandon and take turns making comments on the game. House makes scathing deductions about the players personal lives and Chase has no idea if he is serious or is just saying ridiculous and offensive things to make Wilson laugh.

“Stop stealing my chicken.” Wilson says without taking his eyes off the game.

House had been using his chopsticks to steal bits of chicken off the edge of Wilson’s plate.

“You barely gave me any.” House whined.

“I gave you plenty.” Wilson replied as if reasoning with a small child.

“Fine. But it tastes better when it’s yours.” House’s voice held a tone of flirtation which Chase took as his cue to go grab a beer from the fridge.

He felt lucky that Wilson didn’t seem to escalate the situation in an amorous direction, though when he was returning from the kitchen he did catch Wilson feeding House a piece of chicken from his own plate.

House and Wilson finished their food before he did, and they both took their plates out to the kitchen. Chase paid them no mind, until he heard House’s voice speaking in a low register.

“Dinner was extremely acceptable.” He said as he leaned on the kitchen island.

“Oh my, that’s almost a compliment.” Wilson replied, placing both hands on either side of House’s hips on the island, leaning into his space.

It was like watching a car crash, Chase thought as Wilson pressed a deep kiss to House’s mouth. He didn’t want to be watching his boss and his husband make out, yet he couldn’t quite look away. It was so odd, seeing them in this domestic light. While everyone at work knew they were married, they didn’t really engage in a lot of PDA.

“If you want to thank me for that extremely acceptable dinner, I can think of a way.” Wilson rasped when he pulled away from the kiss.

One of Wilson’s hands moved from it’s place by House’s hip, to grab a handful of his ass.

Chase immediately turned back to the game. That was more than he needed to know about the intimate dynamics of their marriage. He quickly finished his food, and excused himself to the bathroom. When he returned House was on the floor in front of the TV, pulling at something on the stand.

“Wilson!” He exclaimed, far louder than necessary given that Wilson was just in the kitchen.

“Yes, Darling?” Wilson came into the living room, hands on his hips and smirk on his face.

“Where are the cables for the PlayStation?”

Wilson’s eyes lit up, seeming quite pleased with himself. Chase wasn’t sure he wanted to know what was going on.

“It’s your night to do the dishes.” Wilson stated, still in his hands on hips position.

“Are you hard of hearing? I said where are the cords for the PlayStation.” House over emphasized, staring at Wilson with a Jack Nicholson level stare.

“And I’ll tell you where the cords for the PlayStation are, as soon as you’ve done the dishes.” Wilson mocked.

“You really think that will make me do the dishes? I’m a genius, you think I can’t just find the cords?” House argued.

“That’s exactly what I think. You can either spend hours searching for the cords, which you won’t find by the way, and then do the dishes or you can spend ten minutes doing the dishes now, then I’ll give you the cords, and you can be playing GTA before the sun goes down. But it’s up you, genius.”

Wilson looked exactly like the cat that got the canary as House used the coffee table to help push himself up off the floor, grumbling about how rude it was to make cripples do chores.

“I put the stool in front of the sink for you so you don’t have to stand!” Wilson called after him, before starting a ridiculous and frankly awkward looking dance of victory.

Twenty minutes later House limps back into the living room, declaring the dishes complete. Wilson goes as far as to inspect the kitchen, including opening the oven for some reason, before opening the cupboard under the sink and pulling out a blue bucket filled with cleaning supplies. Reaching his hand inside he produces the cords, handing them to House.

“There you go, have fun.” He says with a fond smile.

Chase is truthfully confused. Wilson cooked dinner, had his food stolen by House, at some point he took apart their PlayStation and hid the cords just to bribe House into doing a completely normal household task, and yet he seems completely unbothered. In fact he seems to be enjoying himself.

House, on the other hand, seems slightly less abrasive though he wouldn’t go as far as to call him caring. He doesn’t really know why the incredibly kind Wilson tolerates him as his spouse.

Once House has the PlayStation up and running Wilson brings them each another beer and together the three of them play a few rounds of Mario Kart. They are all competitive and while Chase never manages to beat House, he takes solace in the fact Wilson does.

“Would you guys mind if I went out for a run? I like going to this trail just outside town so I’ll be gone a couple hours.” Chase asks.

“Sure but don’t think you can you use our shower.” House says, getting up from the couch to hobble over to the piano bench.

“He’s joking. Of course you can go for your run and of course you can shower after.” Wilson shoots a look at House, who is staring innocently down at the keys of the instrument.

Chase changes in the bathroom, and when he returns to the living room Wilson curled up on the couch reading a book while House plays a quiet, gentle melody. It’s shockingly domestic and Chase puts on his shoes and slips out the door quietly, not wanting to disturb them.

When Chase returns from his run, Wilson is still sitting on the couch but now he’s watching a black and white film on TV. House is stretched out across the couch, right foot propped up on the arm, left foot tucked under his right knee, and his head in Wilson’s lap. He’s also snoring softly.

“Is he…” Chase trails off as he toes off his running shoes.

“Asleep? Yeah.” Wilson says, not turning from the TV.

Wilson’s fingers are in House’s hair. Just absentmindedly stroking as he watches his movie. They look very sweet, the two of them.

He walks as softly as possible to the kitchen for some water, opening the fridge gently.

“You don’t have to worry about being quiet. He’ll sleep until I wake him up.” Wilson says.

He’s not watching the movie now, he’s staring down at House’s sleeping form with that fond smile on his face again, like House is the most wonderful thing he’s ever seen. Chase can’t imagine what about the misanthropic doctor makes Wilson so happy.

As Chase passes behind the couch, heading for a shower, Wilson stops him.

“Hey, can you pass me the blanket that’s on the floor behind the couch? It’s usually over the back where I can reach it but I didn’t notice it had fallen.” He explains.

Chase grabs the blanket. It’s brown and fuzzy, very soft. He wonders how Wilson plans on getting himself under the blanket without suffocating House when Wilson tosses the blanket down the couch to cover House’s body. He isn’t totally successful though, the blanket falls at House’s knees, bunched up.

“Would you mind pulling it over him the rest of the way? When it’s on the back of the couch I can pull it down to cover him but my throwing skills need work.” Wilson says.

Chase does as he’s asked. The blanket is quite large and covers house from shoulders to feet quite easily. It occurs to him that what Wilson said implies this happens a lot - House snoozing on the couch using Wilson as a pillow.

“Thanks, he gets cold when he’s sleeping.”

“Does he usually fall asleep at 9pm?” Chase finds himself asking. Wilson chuckles.

“Sometimes. People tend to write it off, because of his other eccentricities, but he does have chronic pain. It can be pretty tiring.”

Chase momentarily feels bad. While House’s frequent Vicodin popping reminds them that House does experience pain, they tend to forget that the pills don’t make him pain free, they just keep him standing. Chase heads for the shower with this in mind.

When he’s towelling off he can hear Wilson in the other room talking to House.

“Greg, wake up.”

There is some unintelligible grumbling from House.

“I know Baby, come on. Chase is going to be out of the bathroom soon so you’ve got to get up.” Wilson’s voice is terribly gentle.

Chase runs the towel through his hair, and hears more caterwauling from House.

“You can bring the blanket with you, and I’ll still cuddle with you in the bedroom.”

Chase lets out a small laugh at that. He never would have pegged House as the cuddly type.

“My cane - it’s in the kitchen.”

The first actual words he’s heard from House. Chase is fully dressed and could walk out at any time, but he finds he doesn’t want too. He’s learned a little about them as a couple from watching them at home, but he’s curious about their interactions when he isn’t in the room.

“Just lean on me Baby.”

And Chase can’t imagine House willingly leaning on anyone to help him walk, yet the next sound he hears is the uneven gait of the two of them.

“Leg’s sore.” House says, their voices growing closer.

“You’ve just been laying down on the couch for nearly two hours, I’m not surprised. You’ve got some pills in the bedroom, we’ll get you your bedtime dose and it’ll feel a little better. I can massage it too.”

“Hmm, love you Jimmy.”

“I love you too, Greg.”

Chase is well and truly shocked. House leaning on Wilson to walk, admitting his leg is bothering him, saying ‘I love you’, it’s all so un-House like.

When he hears the door to the bedroom close, he finally leaves the bathroom to get the couch ready. The light above the stove has been left on, and he isn’t sure if it’s for his benefit or if they always leave it on.

As he arranges the bedding to his liking, and when he’s settled down he mulls over his experience with House and Wilson over the course of the evening.

He is reminded of a cat that used to live around the dumpsters near his school when he was young. It had been white at one time but it appeared more brown from the dirt the caked in it’s fur. It was a vicious thing, anytime you got anywhere neat it, it would hiss and arch it’s back. His friends liked to laugh at it, but one day after school he went back with some food for it. He felt sort of bad for the thing.

It became somewhat of a ritual and slowly the cat stopped hissing at him when he would bring the food, until one day he was able to touch it. Eventually it would roll over on it’s back and purr when he came to see it, but only if it was just him.

He tried to bring his friend to see the cat once, but despite him having food and it being only the two of them, the cat hissed and arched its back before disappearing behind the dumpster. His friend had laughed and claimed he knew that cat couldn’t like anyone. He went back after supper that night and sure enough the cat greeted him happily.

He remembers how special it made him feel, to know that cat was friendly only to him. Even if no one else would ever know, he did.

And he supposes that’s how Wilson feels about House.

[serpentarii]

M O R D L U S T ; september 22nd, 2024

finally getting around to doing these more often now that i'm making money moves in the draft (this is a lie, i am making moves into my friends' dms to scream) so that means i have an excuse to make self-indulgent WIP edits.

my primary protagonist vératre, formerly known as voir, has been made sufficiently weird, and i think i've found a way to smoothly integrate all of the new scenes i added when i reformatted her half of the plot.

i've also been in my overthinking era to make sure that everything from color symbolism, animal motifs, to the specific variations of words characters use has a purpose. 90% of it will not be apparent in the actual draft so, to paraphrase myself, i'm like gay sisyphus opening and closing notion.

but, i do plan on making some character aesthetic intros, tv show edits, and finally getting around to that animal symbolism post 🐯

transcript below the cut:

Pale blue light flooded into the crate as the lid was pried off, then abruptly overturned, sending Aleksander tumbling out between a set of familiar armchairs. His attention traveled up the front of a familiar desk and landed at an unsmiling familiar face.  Sitting quietly on the other side of the desk was Lady Kos, regal as a queen and ten times wealthier, with pearl droplets woven into her dark braids, dressed in chiffon and lace from trailing hem to high, starched collar.  She was melting wax, her movements swift and assured as she poured a small pool onto the folds of an envelope and stamped it with a sigil Aleksander knew to dread. She took a sip of riesling, soundlessly replacing her glass onto the wood, before setting her sights on him.  “Herr Aleksander Fox,” she said at last. 

and since i haven't done this in like 4 years, surprise bitch. i'm doing a novel prep tag in here now.

first look ;

describe your novel in 1-2 sentences (elevator pitch) ;

a businessman-turned-thief finds himself entangled with a pair of opposing assassins and the roles they unknowingly play in a much grander conspiracy.

how long do you plan for your novel to be (novella, standalone, series, etc.)? ;

a standalone, thank god. the technically term would be roman fleuve, since i am planning future standalone works that take place within the same universe.

what is your novel’s aesthetic? ;

ancient buildings overtaken by nature, cemeteries at midnight, poisonous flowers, venomous snakes, whispering in shadowy alcoves, masquerade balls, bloodstained feathers, veiled truths

what other stories inspire your novel? ;

the his dark materials series by philip pullman, uprooted by naomi novik, classic gothic lit, fairy tales in general, and uh,,,,,,,exodus.

share 3+ images that give a feel for your novel ;

main character ;

who is your protagonist? ;

my two main protagonists/POVs are liferuiner and wannabe businessman aleksander fox, and vératre, a notorious poisoner struggling her way through a quarter-life crisis.

who is their closest ally? ;

aleksander's closest ally, at least in the beginning, is his friend heidi, an information broker with a secret :) and vératre begrudgingly accepts the help of salicaire, another assassin, since they are both nosy and want answers.

who is their enemy? ;

aleksander vs. the ospirin family (a fight he is nawt winning) and the church

what do they want more than anything? ;

so, to be cryptic, 3/4 of the leads in mordlust are all reflections of each other, what they could have been and what they want to be. the last of them is the mirror. they see in him what they want to see. and what they want, shockingly, is prestige, power, belonging, etc. they've always felt like strangers in their own skin and will go to terrible lengths to fit themselves into a society that was not made for them.

why can’t they have it? ;

dirty dirty politics for which they are mere pawns ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

what do they wrongly believe about themselves? ;

that because they've been hurt, they are justified in hurting others in pursuit of their goals.

draw your protagonist! (or share a description) ;

aleksander is a classic dandy with a hyperfixation on his vintage fox fur coat, which he wears even when it's wildly out of season and out of fashion because it's the nicest thing he owns. he's also usually seen wearing kid leather gloves and a golden cravat pin he received from his patroness. he's got green eyes, short auburn hair, lots of freckles, and more people would find him handsome if he didn't smile like he knew your fly was down and was refusing to tell you.

vératre's lips are stained purple due to. reasons. and so she wears a veil, which is not uncommon for particularly devout women. she has medium length brown hair she keeps pinned up into tight plaits and a notably long neck. also, she has pretty privilege because shits fucked and having attractive lay servants representing the house/church is common practice. since she works as a kitchen maid most of the week, she's often wearing her uniform w/ an apron. and sometimes she wears isme's black feathered cloak.

drawing wise, i do have this chart, courtesy of alex @bitethebard:

plot points ;

what is the internal conflict? ;

aleksander and vératre, being parallels of each other, have somewhat similar internal conflicts. they both came from nameless villages out in the countryside and share a burning desire to be more. in vératre's case it's v much a "be careful what you wish for" situation, because in receiving everything she thought she wanted she's no longer herself and unhappier than ever. aleksander is younger and earlier along in his journey, but barreling down the same path. except the choices he makes fucks shit up for the people around him more than they effect himself.

what is the external conflict? ;

again, cutthroat politics (literally). everyone has something they'd kill for.

what is the worst thing that could happen to your protagonist? ;

other than dying horribly, probably being tethered to an uncaring master, praying to uncaring gods, and trying to find comfort in an uncaring church for the rest of their miserable lives.

what secret will be revealed that changes the course of the story? ;

aleksander is entangled in a pseudo-liar revealed plot, which i kinda hate, but as an extremely unreliable narrator his priorities are not in proper order... vératre is witnessing the horrors.

do you know how it ends? ;

yeah

bits & bobs ;

what is the theme? ;

blind faith is dangerous. you must learn to take responsibility for both the good and the bad actions you take, and attaching yourself to someone or something at random to validate your own existence isn't healthy. holiness exists not only in gods but in small moments of happiness and in the people we love. and lastly don't fucking steal someone's skin and sell it on the black market.

what is a recurring symbol? ;

thorns.

where is the story set? (share a description!) ;

niederbrinn, the capital city of falkenreik, which is loosely inspired by pre-german empire prussia. it's filled with tons of gothic™ architecture and fun locations like cathedrals, catacombs, and creature shops. it's situated closer to the malevolent eldritch forest than most would like.

do you have any images or scenes in your mind already? ;

hell yeah

what excited you about this story? ;

mostly isme. and then the other 3 protags ig 🙄

tell us about your usual writing method! ;

these days, i usually write a rough outline and expand it using the snowflake method, incorporating ideas, themes, and worldbuilding along the way. then i make a proper outline where i figure out chapters, acts, the dreaded midpoint, etc. i don't write in chronological order so this helps a ton with out-of-context lines since i have a reference for where i want them based on the location/emotional state of the characters. getting myself to actually sit down and WRITE the damn thing is the problem, shout out to my fellow procrastinating perfectionists <33

if you made it to this point you are sexy and i love you, byeeee !!

[kinnporsche]

hey guys, long time no kinn & porsche fic rec list! i miss these two so much it’s not even remotely funny. as always, this list is ordered according to length (from longest to shortest), and each fic is by a different author (to share the love)! all fics that are not yet complete have been marked with (wip). lastly, make sure to read the tags, and show the authors some love! god bless y’all for my daily allotment of serotonin.  [part 8/?]

— the empty crown by rainbowcolored7 – explicit / 117.2k words (wip)

Porsche was destined to rule his kingdom, but the throne and his family were taken from him, forcing him and his brother into hiding.

Kinn chose to rule to save his family from the untouchable threat of the Council who strictly guard the power of the Source.

When their worlds collide, everything changes. Hidden plans tumble into motion, enemies become allies and, above all, love conquers.

— you were there, written in my stars by bleakyblues – explicit / 81.5k words (wip)

Kinn is your everyday, ordinary guy. Well, as ordinary as the heir to the country’s underworld can be. But the point still stands. Kinn goes to school, helps his Pa with his work, hangs out with his friends and has a huge crush on his ‘good friend’ whom he is ‘not-dating’ (yet).

Enter Porsche Pachara Kittisawat with all the grace and stubbornness of a class five hurricane. And Kinn is lost, lost, lost... caught up in the winds never to emerge again.

— freedom is a sound/pleasure is a right ‘series by baby_droll – explicit / 31k words

Kinn stares at him, and then up at the ceiling, and then back at Porsche.

“Have you considered being professional even a day in your life,” he says, sitting back down in his desk chair and rolling away enough to get some space, “I mean really and truly, do you know what it looks like, barging into my office,” Porsche cuts him off, mouthing along to his spiel, mainly because he’s heard it before, “sitting on my desk, interrupting meetings, and acting like, Porsche, people are going to think things, things you and your shiny visa can’t afford to have them thinking. things that me and my giant internship program can’t afford for them to think—”

(Or: Kinn and Porsche meet, kiss, fall in love. Only one problem—Kinn is his PhD advisor, and there’s more than a few rules about them being together.)

— the bachelor by blue_grama – mature / 25.9k words

It’s Pete who explains, the next morning over breakfast, because of course the news has spread all over the compound. “Haven’t you ever watched a mob movie?” He asks Porsche, gesticulating with a spoon. “They have all the money they could ever need, but they can never get respectability. The old-money types look down on them. The new-money types take their bribes, but they don’t let them into the inner circle. This is public relations.”

“A kinder, gentler mob?” Porsche laughs. “Come on.”

“They’ll use it to look nonthreatening, highlight the legitimate businesses, that sort of thing,” Pete says. He lowers his voice. “Everyone knows the Theerapanyakuls are dirty, but if they’re on television, how dirty can they be, right? And… I don’t know, but Khun Korn is strange about Khun Kinn’s love life. Maybe he’s trying to keep him in line somehow.”

— i’m not a saint, but i pay like a sinner by haeseolar – explicit / 25.4k words

“I’m not sure how a lowly human like you called me, but here I am,” His voice is deep, but not gruff or harsh like he was expecting. Porsche doesn’t have many preconceptions about demons as a whole, but everything he holds is being completely turned upside down and thrown out the window.

“Who are you?” Porsche croaks out, somehow finding his voice.

The demon’s eyes sharpen as he speaks, the slitted black pupils contracting and opening again like a cat’s. It’s just as fascinating as it is unnerving.

“You’re the one that called my name,” He shrugs, gesturing around the room flippantly.

“Anakinn,” Porsche says, the name rolling off his tongue smoothly. “You’re Anakinn.”

— scale and bone by ahdriking – explicit / 25.2k words (wip)

Fairy tales aren’t real. There are no happy endings. These are the truths Kinn knows.

Ever since stepping into power, Kinn has been suspicious of the Russians—led by Mikhail Alexeyev—operating in Bangkok, suspecting them of stealing from him. He sends Kim to investigate, and the truth turns out to be much worse than his initial fears. He resolves to destroy them, even at the risk of all out war; he can do no less if he wants to avoid appearing weak.

It starts with reconnaissance at Alexeyev’s party, an event promising a ‘grand spectacle.’ Kinn is expecting something appropriately depraved, suitable for the Russian mobster and his tastes, but nothing could have prepared him for the reality of what Alexeyev has been hiding. Nothing could have prepared him for the way it will change his life forever.

Because fairy tales aren’t real.

Until they are.

— moonchild (we’re born in the moonlight) by wicca – explicit / 24.1k words

“Let me walk you home, then,” Kinn offers, recalling the recent accidents and all the superstitions he’d heard about the forest ever since he was a boy. “Even if you live close by, these woods can get dangerous. You should always get home before nightfall.”

“Trust me,” Porsche smiles, teeth sharp and brown eyes glittering an almost golden hue under the late afternoon light. “I’ll be fine.”

He lets Kinn walk him home anyway.

— desire is so different when god bore you hungry ‘series by captainkit – explicit / 20.6k words

“Let’s get out of here,” whispered Kinn. His eyes were so very kind. Porsche wanted to keel over with the hunger gnawing at his bones. The kindness in his eyes made him ache a little more.

“Okay,” he whispered back.

Starvation was an old friend of Porsche’s.

— force of attraction by nuwildcat – explicit / 14.3k words

Gravity (noun): the universal force of attraction acting between all matter.

Porsche never was the best student in school. She’ll be the first to admit that hands on lessons were always the ones that best made things ‘stick’ for her.

Porsche isn’t certain she wants to know whatever lesson Kinn Anakinn Theerapanyakul is trying to teach her. The problem is, resisting Kinn is like trying to stop a force of nature: impossible.

— if i go too far by p1n3appl3_p3n – explicit / 13.9k words

Kinn and Porsche are friends that fuck, and it’s totally fine until it isn’t.

— red-handed by martynax – explicit / 12.3k words

“Hello, gentlemen,” Porsche finally manages to find his voice and is proud of himself that he comes off as cool and collected. He doesn’t really feel like it, but as long as no one is pointing a gun at him, he can roll with whatever. He’s good at bullshitting his way out of tough situations. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

The corner of the stranger’s mouth ticks up in amusement, eyes taking in Porsche’s silhouette. It’s a slow once-over that makes Porsche’s skin tingle.

The stranger takes a slow sip of the whiskey, tipping the glass elegantly and smacks his lips after he swallows. “It’s not bad.”

“Want a refill?” Porsche proposes, waving his hand at the almost empty tumbler while he slowly starts approaching the couch. He feels awkward just standing there. The two guys in black suits tense up, but make no move to stop him. Not giving his unwelcome guest time to answer, he adds, “I’ll do you one better, I make a mean cocktail. How about I make you one?”

“Such a kind host,” the man muses, titling his head as he observes Porsche. “Do your best, little thief.”

— all of me (is all for you) by kurtstiel – explicit / 10k words

The water has saturated Porsche’s white shirt completely, soaking through the vest beneath. The translucent material clings obscenely to the swell of his pecs. His nipples are clearly visible through the sheer material, hard and pebbled, with the unmistakable shape of the metal barbells pierced either side of them.

Porsche’s head jerks up to check if he can still hide them from Kinn, but it’s already too late. Kinn is standing across the room, staring in Porsche’s direction, entire body coiled tight like a spring.

(Or: While Kinn is away on a business trip, Porsche gets his nipples pierced as a surprise for their anniversary. Kinn comes home earlier than Porsche expected.) 

— whatever else that touches you by technicallyverycowboy – explicit / 9.4k words

“No, it’s fine.” Porsche shifts to be a little less plastered against Kinn’s side, straightens his shoulders and smooths out his jacket with great dignity. “The answer to your question is yes, I have really never been with any other men.”

(Or: Porsche answers questions, asks some of his own, tries new things, and fills in the knowledge gaps of his own sexuality.)

— i’ve been waiting for you, to slip back in bed by dearsidewalk – explicit / 5.5k words

Porsche is sound asleep on their bed, the cityscape casting a soft, warm glow against his skin, dipping and arching with his silhouette. Kinn sags, hands falling to his side, but that itch hasn’t faded—that heaviness in his chest, stomach, and throat multiplies, malignant and spreading, and in a blink of an eye, he’s at Porsche’s side.

— the sweetest thing on this side of hell by butterflylungs – explicit / 3.3k words

Being vulnerable with Kinn is always a dangerous game: she never knows when it’s going to be thrown in her face. After the forest, she thought—well. But Kinn had given her to Vegas, cold and stone-faced from her perch on the couch, still attached to an IV line after taking a fucking bullet for her.