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perlen-gold · 9 months ago

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a m!Hawke x Fenris Story

It is already too late. Something in Fenris stirs like ash inside a ruin.

A prodigious silence, crinkling inertly, has melted the air like the blunt edge of an axe pooling silvery on the ground. A word, a stunned noise smoking somewhere to his right.

Too late.

They have never learned. They have never learned what true fear is, let their senses become jaded by power and arrogance; they have never learned how to fight, genuinely fight, whatever they are believing of themselves, Fenris’ mind flashes with a stroke of disgust

He hears the arrow’s singing aim, let loose from the only fingers not hopelessly lost in almighty trust, just when his own inexorable feet slap onto the first step before the throne.

Fenris lets the arrow strike right through him, allowing the lyrium’s flaring blaze of pain to breeze his physical form away and it sticks fast driving right into the wooden throne, quivering with the force of the impact.

The figure is half-rising from her throne, hair shining in a long ink-black sheen, reaching, when Fenris already grabs her shoulder and her neck and the glass inlay of the magnificent window sprays as rainbow drops with vibrating shatters as both he and she collide with it.

Fenris knows a human, elven, dwarven body as well and precisely as a surgeon. Place veins and bones he can, muscles and hearts and lungs and livers as though they were palpitating and pouring blood into his very own throbbing body. But it is his sword’s silver he has summoned, sizzling and darting like lighting’s verge.

She cries out not but narrows her widening eyes upon the impact, a myriad of color-bright shards of glass, a shimmering glitter fleeing in all directions, in unforeseen shock and confusion and something else Fenris cannot quite place as his blood-dried, dirt-streaked, hollowed face stares into hers. From the broken windows’ mosaic icy mountain air gushes inside, whipping her dark hair afly in a furious storm, surrounding the grief-whettled blade pressed against her slender throat. Fenris’ gray-skinned face, so distorted as to be monstrous.

“Let go of her or death be upon you!”

The words are meant to be a lash.

A woman spears them, pointed with the tint of lands Fenris’ remembers wandering through, the color of people who, in that language of their own, call themselves dragon slayers.

Too late.

Fenris has seen them already, his senses meticulously having studied them in the hitches of time it took him to stride up the hall, every single one of them.

The warrior woman who stands at the base of the stairs, prepared to take him on, slim and slender, sword raised high like her cheekbones – tight and skilled with strength, the only one, perhaps, to truly match his own ineluctable skill, fiery and determined, but unsuspecting of lyrium sorcery flying through her guard.

On the other side of the hall a Qunari warrior who swears in perfect Qunlat as the Tal-Vashot he is, so mighty and broad he could snap Fenris’ body into splinters, and way too powerful like so many of his kin to match his swiftness.

Talking in the filthy tongue of the alienages, on the balcony above the far gates, an elf girl, faster and quicker than the others, whose knife-edged arrow-point has whirred through him already.

Behind the Qunari a mage, a woman, proud and high-faced, whose carriage is different from other mages and not defenseless, no, against the swings of a silver blade, but prey to her own pride.

Next to her, another warrior, less proficient than the Nevarran woman, though alert, rimmed, sharp.

Left is an apostate mage, neither reclusive Dalish nor subjugated city elf, the only one Fenris has not assessed thoroughly yet, a man who carries himself like a servant but smells like smooth stone, like an age-old statue of a deity found in immemorial woods among fallen winter leaves.

And, at last, behind the Nevarran woman with the sign of the seeker, one last mage.

Fenris can discern it in the sheen of his garments. Taste it on the man’s rolling tongue. The gleam of his well-oiled hair. Fenris can stroke it, an answering call to the aching, pulsating lyrium inside his skin. The magic pulsing through the man’s limbs taught in prideful night-long lessons without any restrain or cover.

Every inch of him cries it. Magister.

But even this, that man whose skin reeks of the Imperium cannot permeate the strangulating screams inside Fenris threatening to tear his skin.

“Oy, elf!” Out of the color-blurred haze, Varric’s voice. Fenris senses his weapon, Bianca, grabbed in Varric’s white-knuckled fingers.

The second arrow croons like a siren’s song.

This time Fenris is almost too slow, its sleek point nicks his shoulder muscle before he lets it pass through his body, and it lodges into the Lady Inquisitor’s right shoulder instead. This time she gasps.

The sound of another arrow, the bow strung, magic humming, deviating the air. Fenris grasps her neck and whirls her around until she is facing the crowd and her ink-sleek hair seems to be touching every inch of Fenris’ skin. Within the immediacy of the motion he lets his sword’ hilt sink against her upper body, pressed hard against her clothes, her back against Fenris’ chest, holding her body length to length to his like in a lover’s embrace.

Fenris’ hand, however, clings to the lower part of her neck. With a blinding azure-light glow his fingers sink beneath her skin. Veins and bones.

“Open the Fade and take me where you left him to die!”

Keep reading Read from the beginning

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wow-an-unfunny-joke · 7 months ago

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Currently avoiding Beast like the plague because I’ve heard that it’s tragic and I’m afraid.

#I’m almost done with stormbringer #26 pages into Dazai’s entrance exam #on chapter one of Dazai’s dark era #and I’ve finished fifteen #idk what this ‘the day I picks up Dazai’ thing is but I found what I think might be a fan translation #and I’m reading that too #I’m also reading death masks by Jim Butcher so #ya know #my head hurts #cries in dyslexia #occasionally I’ll take a fanfiction break #where I read this one super long chat fic that I’m on like chapter 16 of #it’s one of the nine completed fics tagged with Miyazawa Kenji has an eating disorder #so I started reading it #cause I’m a sucker for making the happy character sad #also he does not have a healthy relationship with food #fight me #I’m so upset that Kenji works at the agency at all #I feel like his ability would be too beefy (he wouldn’t be able to control it as well) if it weren’t for Fukuzawa’s ability #so that’s maybe why he works there #but there’s so much wrong with Kenji working there #I’m also looking for Dazai sh fics #I just want a fic where teenage Chuuya takes care of teenage Dazai sh #is that too much to ask for????#bungo stray dogs #bsd #bsd dazai #bsd shitpost #bsd light novel

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writer-and-artist27 · 7 months ago

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Because once the author finished Lostbelt 6.5 Traum, there were a lot of things to process.

Especially when it came to her first five-star and Grailed Ruler. So, there was lots of reflection, writing, and now here we are.

More canon changes, GO.

Was sitting on this chapter for at least 2-3 months too. Work rage delays a LOT of things.

Spoiler warning for all of Traum, and content warning for implied drug use too. Because this is about Sherlock Holmes, after all. You've been warned.

AO3 link here. OST playlist here, with all the new songs included.

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usagi-1412 · 4 days ago

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Hello hello,

To all those fanfiction writers out there, who are also part of the linked universe fandom, I have an idea.

A fanfiction where Time and the other links get send back in time, also a different ,,dimension”.

That’s right, they get send to termina.

I think it would be funny if like one of the other links (maybe sky and wild because they are also familiar with time travel) asked time to take a look at the legendary ocarina of time.

They accidentally mess with it (maybe play the song of time or something) and suddenly dawn of the first day.

They all find themself infront of the clock tower.

(Important I would say time stays in his normal body and doesn’t get turned into a child, but honestly whatever suits you more)

But let’s say he stayed the same and they just got turned back in time.

From then on time kinda loses it and I have picture in mind.

Y’all know the movie happy death day 2? Yes, you guessed it. The story, how picture it, kinda could also be an linked universe happy death day AU.

(I mean it would also work if time got turned into child aswell, he’d just had to keep his memory)

That is the rough idea, you can do with it what you want.

I’m not really good at writing fanfictions myself, but here and there I often find myself with ideas for them which I can’t convert.

So I’m giving it to you.

If anyone writes something like this of already has written it please tag me or send to me.

That’s it, bye 🐰

#linked universe #linked universe time #time travel #happy death day #fanfiction

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bloody-vampires606 · 9 months ago

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Fanfic and Tumblr

I’m moving everything from quotev to tumblr, are OC fics common around here? Should I post on Ao3? I really need some advice as somebody who doesn’t want to use Q unless they bring back the feed (which they probably won’t)

I have like 8+ one shots that I want to share but have no clue what to do

#quotev #it’s quover #happy quotev death day #quotev nuked #tumblr #fanfic #oc fanfiction #how tf does tumblr work #send help #idk what im doing #i love my ocs and i don’t want their fics to die with quotev #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ao3 oc fic

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nobody-is-evil · 2 years ago

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Dream Receives a Letter

Summary: Instead of my name, I leave you my phone number. You should know that I am a guy. Please only call if you would date a guy as seriously as you have dated girls.

Your Nervous Admirer,

(XXX)-XXX-XXXX

Dream reread the words over and over again. Would he? He didn’t know.

Written for the Dreamling Nation Valentine’s Week. This is will be reblogged with the link to this fic on ao3.

Warning for unhealthy attitude towards food from the paragraph starting with “Dream had gotten his breakfast” to the one starting with “Dream stayed safe in his room”.

February. Valentine’s season.

In past years, Hob often had a date for Valentine’s Day. They’d never been anything but childish flings, though. Somehow, he insulted his partner, or they insulted him, and the two of them broke it off soon after—sometimes on Valentine’s Day. He couldn’t remember most of their names.

Sophomore year, Hob had come very, very close to having a partner for Valentine’s Day—a long-term one, at that! But Eleanor moved away in early February, and by then they’d already broken up after she decided she wouldn’t be able to keep up their relationship long-distance.

He spent the day that year sadly tending to Robyn, the oak sapling they’d planted in Hob’s yard. Eleanor had been so excited to watch him grow...

Junior year was different. Last year, the pain of the hellhole he escaped (the less said about it, the better) was still fresh, even months later. Not exactly the best frame of mind to be dating.

Not that that was common knowledge—most people would’ve described him as a happy, optimistic golden retriever. Only one person had known differently: The first person to show him kindness after the hellhole and his best friend, Dream.

Who Hob might’ve, sort of, kind of had a massive crush on at the time. And who might’ve, sort of, kind of gotten a girlfriend soon after Hob and Dream became friends.

Hob still didn’t understand why Dream had been so infatuated with his girlfriend. Thessaly was—how to put this—more disinterested in men than Hob thought possible. She was a 7 on the Kinsey Scale. Had to be, in order to miss how gorgeous Dream was. How neither of them had seen it, Hob didn’t know. But then, Dream had always had bad luck with relationships.

6 girlfriends, and not a single relationship had ended without massively upsetting Dream. Hob couldn’t see the sense in most of them—who would leave Dream for another guy? Who could break up with him over an accident, no matter how tragic? Who could date him just to sleep with him? Who could fall out of love with him? Who could date him without realizing she was a lesbian?

(Answers, in order: Killala, Calliope, Titania, Alianora, and Thessaly.)

(Nada...was different. But Dream’d changed since then. He wouldn’t do that again.)

Okay, so maybe Hob thought about Dream’s past relationships a lot. It was only natural to be upset on Dream’s behalf. If Dream was Hob’s boyfriend—

Nope, nope, nope, he couldn’t think like that. Dream was straight.

Well.

The thing was, all he had to go off of for that was that Dream had just never told him otherwise. That didn’t actually mean Dream for sure didn’t like men.

But Hob didn’t want to risk ruining their friendship. It was a little selfish—after he’d had to leave all his friends behind at his old school, the only true friend he’d been able to make at this school was Dream.

It was also out of concern for Dream. The last time they’d seriously fought had been the worst. When Dream refused to speak to Hob, well, that didn’t mean Hob had stopped caring about him, and it had been easy to tell—to him, anyway—that it was eating at Dream. If calling them friends had gotten that reaction, what would Hob confessing his love do?

No. Just like last year, Hob couldn’t do anything to show Dream that Hob was in love with him.

And that was final.

No way around it.

Period.

...

But as the holiday drew closer and closer, as the dating talk became inescapable, Hob found that he couldn’t stop thinking of ways he could do it while avoiding most, if not all of the consequences he was afraid of.

So here he was, writing a letter that he didn’t plan on signing.

Handwriting a letter to his best friend that he wanted to be anonymous seemed like a bad idea at first glance, but not when Hob’s usual handwriting was rushed. If he took his time and slowly wrote every letter in every word so they were all nice and neat, it looked like it was written by a completely different person.

He did have to start over several times whenever he wanted to erase something. Would using an eraser change Dream’s answer, maybe not, but Hob had to start over anyway.

Most of it ended up being him waxing poetic about Dream. Even if Hob was able to confess to Dream without the poetry, it could only help to stroke Dream’s ego—especially in places it wasn’t usually stroked.

...

Moving on.

The last sentence contained Hob’s instructions for getting in contact with him. It may have also seemed silly for an anonymous letter, but in his opinion, it was sillier to send it without. If he got an anonymous love letter that asked him if he could love the author, well, he wouldn’t know. For all he knew, they could be catfishing him.

So in lieu of a name, Dream would be getting Hob’s phone number. Considering he already had this info, Hob had downloaded an app that gave him a different one, one with the area code of the town he now lived in rather than the one from when he got his phone. Dream would see a number that could be most of his classmates—but not Hob.

Of course, just leaving the number would still defeat the purpose. Dream would call, he would hear Hob’s voice, and Hob still wouldn’t know if Dream even liked men. Even if he asked Dream to text instead, they were still close enough that he couldn’t discount Dream figuring out it was him too quickly. No, there had to be a condition on it. He finished the letter.

Instead of my name, I leave you my phone number. You should know that I am a guy. Please only call if you would date a guy as seriously as you have dated girls.

Your Nervous Admirer,

(XXX)-XXX-XXXX

There was a chance Dream would call anyway. He was curious like that. But more often than not, Dream followed instructions just because they were given, as long as they weren’t from one of his parents or a person he similarly disliked.

That didn’t always mean he would do as intended, though. Dream’s interpretation skills sometimes hit the mark and sometimes missed. Hob was as clear as he dared without using language Dream might not be familiar with.

This was all probably for nothing. Most likely, Dream would get to the part where his admirer was a man and discard it all on the basis of being 100% straight. He’d had six girlfriends before he was 18 that all left him devastated when they ended. He’d never said a word about being anything but straight even after Hob came out to him. He had to have thought about it. Dream had clearly just...decided he was straight, or to never tell anyone he wasn’t. He wouldn’t admit to liking men by answering a random love letter.

Hob stared at the completed letter.

No, that was the devil talking. He’d written the thing, and he was going to send it, for a reason—for he had a chance, and he wouldn’t stop being able to think about it if he didn’t take that chance.

—Line Break—

Dream woke suddenly, without knowing why.

Then he heard the excited squealing.

He rolled over and pressed the pillow against his ears, futilely. Ugh. Why was Desire so enthusiastic about Valentine’s Day when they weren’t even interested in romance?

Unfortunately, he knew the answer to that question: They were nosy, and this holiday was a great way to figure out what people wanted.

He let out a sigh, his morning already ruined, and got up for school.

Making himself presentable wasn’t high on his list of priorities. He tended to sleep in the clothes he planned to wear the next day, rather than change in the morning. He didn’t see the point in brushing his hair when it looked good as it was. As long as he wore deodorant and made sure his clothes were still reasonably clean, Dream thought he was decent enough to be seen in public (considering girls would inevitably find him attractive and guys would inevitably envy him anyway) and therefore decent enough to attend Family Breakfast.

Sometimes, he wished he could take longer so he could get to breakfast after his siblings had already left. It would make everyone happier...except Death. Death would only have to pout at him, and he’d go back to coming to breakfast on time the next day. It had happened before.

Dream had gotten his breakfast (coffee cake and a glass of chocolate milk, perfect for his sweet tooth) and sat down before he realized how quiet it was.

...why were all of his siblings staring at him?

“Is that food on your plate?” Desire asked. At Dream’s bewildered nod, they continued, “What have you done with our Dream? He would never eat breakfast without prodding.”

While Dream kept his face perfectly stony, he was an on-fire puddle of embarrassment. Further humiliation came from the fact that Death didn’t immediately step in—she was thinking the same thing!

He considered his words carefully, as always, before speaking: “Most days, I have no need for food beyond the basic necessities. Today, I do.” The former part was the reason he gave every day. Proof, not that he needed any more of it, that none of his siblings actually listened when he spoke. Why he bothered, he...well.

Now Death interjected to scold him, “Dream, you can’t just have chocolate from your valentines all day. You’ll make yourself sick.”

“I’m sure it won’t just be chocolate,” he acknowledged. He stood up with most of his meal unconsumed, “If you’ll excuse me,” without waiting to actually be excused.

He loudly scraped his meal in the trash and poured his drink down the drain. Or, at least, he hoped they thought he did (in reality he scarfed it down while he was out of their lines of sight, only leaving enough to provide the necessary noises). Maybe next time, Death would think twice about taking Desire’s side on his eating habits.

Dream stayed safe in his room until it was time for the next part of his awful morning: his parents’ call.

Even though they were out of the country, they always called on Valentine’s Day. Night and Time Endless only had one purpose in making this call. Not to make sure their kids were safe and happy, not to wish them a good day, not to tell them they’d be home from their trip soon.

No, his parents only wanted to ensure none of their kids had dates for Valentine’s Day.

Considering not a single one of his siblings had ever shown the least bit of interest in romance, let alone had a partner, it might as well have been a personal attack on Dream. It had been the last two years, when he’d been with Thessaly and before that, Calliope.

He informed them, “No, mother. I have not had a girlfriend since I broke up with Thessaly in August.”

“Good.” They hung up.

They wouldn’t have done anything drastic if he had a girlfriend—that would require a level of care he didn’t think they were capable of—but they would tell Destiny to pester him every day about why the rule existed: Because most relationships end in tragedy.

It was galling, but internally, he could admit that he was starting to think they were right. This was the longest he’d gone without a girlfriend in a while. Not for lack of contenders—the girls at his school were always trying to bag him, an Endless. No, he just didn’t see the point in dating a girl who held only that shallow interest in him. Not one of them could actually care about him.

Ugh. Why was he letting his parents further sink his mood? He had enough things to be upset about without making himself more upset because of a topic he’d already been thinking about for months.

Since he, Desire, Despair, and Delirium were all heading to the same place, it was better that they all take the same vehicle (logic that Dream despised) especially considering neither of his younger sisters could drive and Desire was perpetually on thin ice.

On good days, Death would drive them. However, as already established, today was not a good day. So Dream had to drive.

By the time he was finally able to part ways from his siblings and go to his locker, it felt like his mood was already at its lowest, and he hadn’t even had to deal with anything directly school-related yet.

At least his all-black attire and dour manner meant people made a wide berth around him. Dream reached his locker without any further trouble. He inputted his locker combination and was about to open it when he stopped.

His brain was telling him something was wrong—something undesirable would happen if he opened it. After giving his subconscious a moment to explain itself to his conscious self, he understood. In past years, he’d had a lot of valentines slipped into his locker, and that was while he had a girlfriend. There was sure to be a mountain of them this time, and some would fly out if he wasn’t careful.

Only now did he open it. As expected, letters threatened to scatter everywhere, how tiresome, but he didn’t let a single one slip away. He stacked them and set them to the side to deal with later—

Holy shit.

Despite himself, Dream felt a grin spread across his face. (He fought it down, of course—it wouldn’t do for the school’s gossip mill, of which he was unfortunately considered a celebrity, to see him and come up with any crazy ideas, like him having a secret girlfriend. If that made its way to Delirium, for example, she would tell the family and he’d never hear the end of it.)

Some girl had left a giant box of his favorite chocolates in his locker, far too big to have been slid through the slots. No, she knew his locker combination. As the only other person who should’ve been able to say that was Hob, and Hob would’ve just given them to him in person, that meant she broke in.

But how could he be mad, when she had such a good reason to?

Dream popped the lid off and was further surprised by a pristine white folded paper sitting on top of the chocolates. He hadn’t planned on reading any of the valentines, but this one earned it. While treating himself to one of the gifted sweets, he opened it and looked for a name at the bottom.

Hmm. No name, only a phone number. He flipped it over, scanned the (very neat) handwriting, but the only name he could find was his own. Who would send a love letter signed with a phone number? Intrigued, Dream actually read it now, starting from the greeting.

If he could live solely off of compliments, the letter would be enough to sustain him for likely hundreds of years. It was not just the sheer amount, nor the degree of flattery, but the kind—each one was actually characteristics he prided himself on, not just how others saw him.

His art was highly skilled and full of complex meanings. His hair and clothes were cool and did make him hotter, rather than hide it like so many other girls had bemoaned. He did put a lot of effort into his schoolwork, even though loathed doing most of it at all.

The author didn’t only heap praise on him. Interspersed were declarations of love. Dream had mixed feelings about them—he enjoyed them, but he wished she hadn’t sat on it for so long, if the amount of time she’d apparently harbored these feelings was to be believed.

He read to the end of the letter and froze. His...nervous admirer...was a guy?

Of course Dream knew his school had a not insignificant queer population, but he’d never had cause to think about it before. No guy had ever shown any interest in him before.

In addition to the author being a guy, he asked that Dream only use the phone number if he would date a guy.

Which, again, not something he’d ever had to consider before. Dream reread the words over and over again. Would he? He didn’t know.

At the minute warning bell, he quickly gathered his materials for his first class, leaving the chocolates and the letter behind, but not the thoughts they had caused.

What qualities were consistent with someone willing to date a guy? Well, probably the same qualities that made him willing to date a girl. She was interesting, she was hot, and she was willing to date him. Soon enough, Dream found that he cared about her, that his every waking moment was consumed by thoughts about her.

It was the first condition that no girl had met within the last several months. His heart had closed off. It had higher standards.

So someone who liked guys would find guys interesting and hot. Well, he was intrigued by the author of the letter, at least. Dream hadn’t found a guy attractive before, but then, it had never been an option before. He’d need a large sample size—after all, it wasn’t like he found every girl attractive.

He would take the rest of the school day, and if he didn’t find any of his male classmates hot before school ended, he probably didn’t like guys.

—Line Break—

By the time the passing period prior to lunch had started, Dream had found that the fact that he recognized people was interfering with the experiment, as he was dismissing guys he disliked straightaway.

Did he do the obvious thing, to change his sample from his classmates to pictures of men on Google or something? No, that took too much work. It was much faster to simply think flexibly and stop recognizing people. With just a little bit of concentration, the hallways became filled solely with strangers.

Hmm. Still hadn’t found any attractive guys at this school.

A flash of motion caught his eye. Dream’s eyes searched for it on instinct and landed on—

A hot guy. His search was over.

Now all he had to do was stop staring (and probably freaking the guy out, considering his stare had often been described as intimidating.) Dream blinked, letting his brain go back to its regularly scheduled programming.

Oh. That was. Hob. That he’d been staring at.

Naturally, Hob seemed concerned by his behavior. “Dream, are you okay?” By the way he asked, Dream could tell that this wasn’t the first time he’d done so.

“I’m fine. I just have a lot on my mind.” There, that was vague enough.

“Like what? Got a lot of valentines?” Hob teased as they found their way outside and to a quiet place.

The pieces fell together. Dream narrowed his eyes. Hadn’t he noted earlier that other than him, only Hob had access to his locker? And, as a guy who liked guys himself, Hob wouldn’t be opposed to other guys who did. “I found a large box of sweets in my locker this morning. Did you give the combination to someone or something?”

“Ah, yeah.” Hob looked down in embarrassment. “I figured you wouldn’t mind, considering what the gift was.”

Dream leaned in, unable to look away. “So you know who it’s from?”

He laughed, “I do, but I can’t tell you.”

No, Hob had principles. It would be useless to try to get him to break a promise like this. Instead, Dream tried to get other important information from him. “Is he attractive?”

“Umm...” Hob looked at him like a deer in the headlights. “I don’t know if you would think so or not, Dream.”

Ugh. As much as Dream wanted to know the answer, he didn’t want to make Hob uncomfortable. “I suppose I’ll just have to call him.” After all, he found at least one guy attractive, so there was possibility enough that he could date a guy.

He got his phone out and dialed the number he’d memorized without even trying, just from how much he’d stared at the letter. (Dream glanced up at Hob once, but he was laser-focused on Dream’s phone.) After the last number, he hit the green call button.

Hob’s phone rang.

That...that...

Neither of them said anything as Hob got his phone out and accepted the call. Dream’s call connected when he did.

“Hey.” Hob’s voice came out of two speakers.

Dream ended the call with shaky hands. He was glad he was sitting down, because the revelation left him light-headed. “You...”

He must’ve sounded angry, because Hob’s next words came out in a rush, “Look, I know I’m probably not—”

“The letter-those were your words?” he had to confirm. “You feel that way about me?”

Hob stared at him with a familiar look that it now occurred to Dream was adoration. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“I...”

A lot of things were occurring to him, actually.

Hob was his best friend and most trusted confidant. Hob knew things about him nobody else did.

Spending time with him wasn’t exhausting like it was with other people—Dream had, on several occasions, initiated a hangout with him because he was thinking about Hob, and Hob never brushed him off.

Hob never raised his voice at Dream or called him weird, either, their first meeting notwithstanding. Hob listened to Dream’s advice.

Hob was always kind to him, even when Dream’s grief was hitting him hard or he was resistant to being called friends or he told him he began their relationship with bad intentions.

He held as much love for Hob as he did for Lucienne or Jessamy, except a distinctly different kind of love.

“I believe...I feel the same.”

“You do?” Hob breathed a sigh of relief. “I’d hoped so, but to hear you say as much...!”

The smile that Hob gave him was priceless. Dream would do anything to keep that smile on his face for the rest of eternity.

“We’re dating, then,” Hob said.

“Yes.” Just saying so set Dream’s heart aflutter.

“Then, maybe, sometime—” They were sitting close enough for Dream to tell that Hob’s gaze was drifting down to his lips. Hob noticed him noticing, “I’m sorry, I know you don’t really like kissing—”

“I’ve never kissed a guy before,” Dream countered as he leaned in.

They met in a chaste kiss. It didn’t take long for Dream to decide he was right—kissing a guy was different. The feeling of stubble against his chin was much better than his past girlfriends had made it seem. That couldn’t just be it, though. He’d never been this...giddy...to kiss his partner before. Perhaps it was something intrinsic to Hob.

Dream broke the kiss, and was treated to Hob smiling at him again.

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chooselife2 · 2 months ago

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Scream: A Drake & Josh Story

Megan’s Letterboxd

Scroll to answer the poll and see the last results!

Results from Trevor’s Letterboxd Top 4:

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dzthenerd490 · 10 months ago

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File: Happy Death Day

SCP: AGC

Code Name: Agent Glebman

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-AGC has been given a house for herself, her father, and her boyfriend at Nx-AD: Archios. However, she is also given a private apartment at Site-AM. The room is a 5x5 meter room with all the proper furniture, rooming, and accommodations of a proper apartment. SCP-AGC is to be given medical checkup's daily and weekly therapy sessions with Dr. Rover. Mobile Task Force Hera-5 "Watch Dogs" are to protect SCP-AGC but also ensure she never abuses her anomalous abilities for her own gain.

Description: SCP-AGC is a young adult female girl of Caucasian ethnicity with blonde hair and blue eyes. Upon first appearance she has no anomalous properties, as she is really no different to any other person of her age, gender, species, or ethnicity. However, her anomalous properties only recently manifested making her an anomaly on her 22nd Birthday. When she died by the hands of a murderer that day she unlocked her ability as a Reality Bender.

SCP-AGC is a Level 0 Reality Bender with her aspect of reality being time. As expected of a Level 0 she is extremely limited in her ability only able to reverse time by a single day and can only activate this ability by dying. When SCP-AGC dies she goes back in time to the moment she woke up that same day. There she is able to live everything the same as if nothing happened though if she is not careful, she will get killed again and have the loop happen again.

The anomalous ability of SCP-AGC has a massive draw back in that each death she faces her body will carry a small portion of the damage. As such if she experiences too many loops in a single day her body will suffer internal bleeding and organ degradation. As such it's imperative she ceases the source of her loop as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, SCP-AGC isn't exactly intelligent and often makes bad decisions or simple plans that can easily be outsmarted.

SCP-AGC was discovered in 2017 when satellites picked up several faint anomalous wavelengths being released at [data expunged] university. Foundation agents were able to quickly find SCP-AGC though she saw them coming as apparently, she accidently died earlier trying to escape from them. Unforutantely SCP-AGC had looped several times trying to escape the agents and with the added loops of escaping her killer she suffered heavy internal damage. Thus, by the time Foundation agents found her she was in her bed unable to get up.

She was quickly taken to the nearest Foundation Area and received Foundation aid. After recovering she begrudgingly told the Foundation everything allowing us to understand her abilities without the need of testing. There she was offered a position into the Foundation by being processed by the Anomalous Employment Division. When she refused, she was threatened by being locked up at Site-AF until a way to get rid of her anomalous abilities was found which could take decades and even kill her. She begrudgingly accepted on the condition she was allowed to at least say goodbye to her friends and her father. She also requested her killer be brought to justice since she was too weak to take care of them herself.

The Foundation agreed to SCP-AGC's terms and allowed her to not only visit her friends and family but also bring her father and her new boyfriend with her to a new one in a Foundation owned Nexus Point. Furthermore, the Department of Law and Control made sure to have the killer identified and placed under arrest for crimes she didn't actually committee. This was done because she had committed no actual crimes before trying to kill SCP-AGC. If she ever asks Foundation staff are to merely say "justice has been served" as to not give SCP-AGC the impression she can get away with murder and have the Foundation back her up.

Update 2019 - SCP-AGC has completed her training and now works within Mobile Task Force Alpha-9 "Last Hope" Division "Shield". She has been trained in advanced close quarter combat, basic military training, and given field medical training. She like others withing Division "Shield" are to act as a defense force for Site-AM and with her ability to reset the day after death she can warn Foundation staff against incoming threats and stop them before they attack. Of course, she is given only the best medical and psychological health care so that her abilities never become a burden.

SCP: Horror Movie Files Hub

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mkarchin713 · 1 year ago

Text

All of Gotham is waiting to see what the Nightingale siblings will do to wrangle Joker

Sucking him into a thermos was not their first guess.

Batman is not sure if he needs to rescue Joker or not.

Batman had just missed them. Again. "Hey B," Bruce grunted, acknowledging Nightwing, "Are we sure these kids need help or do you think they need "help".

Bruce turned to glare at his oldest. He already had ten kids-ten-he was not handing out Kevlar to any more children unless it became absolutely necessary for them not to die. That being said the Nightengale family-two girls and one boy with no parents in sight- were behaving recklessly.

At first it seemed like a fluke. They had somehow managed to twist the Riddlers wording around to confuse him before casually and calmly hearding him away from the other hostages and had him talking so excitedly that he didn't even notice the police were there to arrest him until they were right behind him.

He looked so shocked.

This kept happening in different ways with various rogues. Killer Croc ended up drinking tea with the elder sister, Mr Freeze was caught up discussing Nora's illness and possible cures with the brother and Firefly had been adamantly teaching the youngest sister the wonders of arson and how different materials can burn in a variety of ways.

The Nightengale kids were just so used to corralling dangerous crazy people from dealing with thier parents thats its second nature to them.

Aka they become known as the Rogue Ranglers and Danny once again wants to strangle the press for thier bad naming abilities

#dpxdc #fanfiction prompts #prompts #batman: pls dont ask for kevlar #the nightengales: we...wernt going to but now we're curious #danny fenton #bruce wayne #the joker #only in gotham #joker gets souped #Batman has mixed feelings #jazz is just happy Danny don’t beat joker with the thermos before souping him #Red Hood wants to know if Joker would feel it if he shook the thermos. for science of course #Joker is basically a parasitic ghost possessing people who had one bad day #killing Joker would have only killed his host. death is but an inconvinence for him #Jack Napier/Jeremiah Valeska/Arthur Fleck/Jack Oswald White is very confused right now #why is he wearing a bad purple tuxedo and whose the kid with the thermos?

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reiderwriter · 10 months ago

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Hello!I hope you are having a great day!I love LOVE your writing and I would like to request a fanfiction where the reader is Hotch's daughter who works at the bau and is in a secret relationship with spencer without her dad knowing.Spencer wants to tell the team but she is scared about how they'll react so they fight but during a case she gets kidnapped and the feelings are high,so spencer accidentally reveals the relationship.I would love if it ended in smut (possibly dom!spencer who is angry at her for being so reckless and risking her life like that) and maybe a lot of angst??Hotch could potentially be fuming but when they get her back he decides that he will let them be??I would like my emoji to be 🌼!Thank you in advance and if you write this I would absolutely LOVE to read it!🤍🤍

A/N: I love writing for a Hotchner Reader because the Hotch/Spencer parallels are so 😙👌 This was so fun to write!

Warnings: Smut/ Angst with a happy ending, Semi-public sex, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, case details, kidnapping, abuse, strangulation, mentions of child death/ allusions towards pedophilia etc, Hotch is a somewhat shitty/overprotective dad/boss.

Masterlist!

Falling back into a hotel bed that wasn't yours, you wrapped your legs around Spencer Reid as he furiously worked open the buttons of your shirt, his lips locked with yours in a furious exchange.

“Spencer, Spencer, we can't-” You moaned as his lips fell down to your ear, a small tap to your thigh signalling that he wanted tour legs spread for him. Despite your vocal protests, you complied.

“Need to feel you,” he groaned, nipping and sucking his way down your chest as his big hands began pushing your skirt up and your panties down.

“Spencer, someone will hear.”

“I don't care who hears,” he whispered, finally ridding you of the last piece of material covering your wet sex. “I just want to make you feel good.”

His lips fell to your cunt, falling on your cunt as he began his ministrations. You loved this, the feeling of him near, his lips on you, his tongue teasing out whimper, then moan, then a scream of his name as you came undone on his lips. But that wasn't a chance you could take today.

“He's in the next room, Spencer. Fuck, he's going to hear us.”

You wouldn't push him off, enjoying too much the feeling of your building pleasure, so appealing to your boyfriend to do the right thing was your last resort as your hips bucked into his face, chasing your orgasm.

He didn't stop, but held your hips down, thrusting his tongue in and out of you as his fingers came up to tease your clit.

“Spencer, fuck-” you slapped a hand over your mouth as you shuddered below him, finally reaching your climax.

Your hands fell limp as he worked you through the end of your orgasm before rising up to lay beside you on the bed.

“I wish you wouldn't push it, Spencer. You're a dead man if he catches us like this.”

“Hotch won't kill me just because I'm dating his daughter. I don't understand why you don't want to tell people.”

You ran your hands through your hair in frustration. It was a conversation you'd been back and forward on a lot in the past six months.

Dating a coworker was tricky, doubly so when your coworker’s boss - and your boss - was your overprotective father. Things only became more complicated when you factored in a ten year age gap and the fact that your father refused to view you as an adult, even when you were a fully qualified member of his own team.

You'd had to fight for acceptance into the FBI and go above him to get the job on his team, a decision that he still berated you for to this day. But you'd had enough of him shielding you from reality, and it was a step you needed to take.

Falling in love with Spencer Reid, though, that was just pure bad luck.

You weren't sure how it had taken you until joining the team to meet the man, but you sure were glad he hadn't been introduced earlier. You'd joined the team at 24, having been in grad school until your FBI Academy application was approved, and somehow in the 10 years before that Spencer had worked under your father, you'd never crossed paths.

Of course, you knew who he was before that from context and conversations with your father, and of course, he figured out who you were quickly based on the many arguments you'd had in Hotch’s office. But that hadn't stopped you from repeatedly falling into his bed month after month, and then falling in love with him.

Your relationship was more than the sex, but it was also a lot of sex. From the stories you'd heard, and from the look of him, you'd assumed that Spencer was a delicate little flower, an innocent in the bedroom as much as any 34 year old man could be.

And then you'd both been offered spiked drinks at a holiday party courtesy of Penelope Garcia, and he'd proved you deliriously wrong. He'd been hooked from then on, and after waking up awkwardly in his bed the next morning to two cups of coffee and a spread of breakfast pastries he'd gone out to specifically pick up for you, you'd been hooked on him as well.

The only problem was Hotch.

You certainly weren't winning any daughter of the year awards already with the stunt you pulled to get on the BAU, but you didn't want to be completely and totally disowned just yet.

“Hotch won't kill you for dating his daughter, you're right,” you mumbled back to Spencer rolling yourself back on top of him and pinning his arms down so his fingers couldn't tease you any further.

“Thank you, now if you trust me, I've ran like four different scenarios in my head so-”

“He'd definitely fire us both, though. And that's worse than death.”

“Y/N….”

“Tell me I'm wrong, please. Back up your findings with empirical evidence. He doesn't want me on the team, Spencer. He doesn't even want me in the FBI. I think he'd be happy enough to ship me out of the country, too, if that helped.”

Spencer sighed and tugged your hair behind your ear as he gestured for you to sit up.

“I know it's scary. But I love you. I don't care about the consequences because I'll still love you before and after telling him.”

“And during?”

“I might freak out a bit, but deep down, the love will be there still.”

You hit him with a pillow and climbed off the bed.

“Okay, get out now. I'll think about it but you really can't stay here tonight.” He nodded, grabbing his things and pulling his clothes back into place.

“So, like we're totally done for tonight? Nothing else.”

“Spencer! Out!” You whisper-shouted the words and watched him turn your door handle as slowly as possible before he waved his goodbye and left your room.

12 hours later, you were once again getting frustrated with Spencer Reid. And Aaron Hotchner. They may soon be enemies, but goddamn they were perfect for each other in some ways.

“Hotch, you can't just give me nothing to do. Send me to the morgue with Rossi, or let me interview family members with Tara. I'm a member of this team, too, so let me do my job.”

“You'll do well to remember that I'm your boss, Y/N.”

“You're acting more like my dad right now. A boss would utilize his team members.”

You'd been stuck in this stale mate since the morning, and Reid hadn't helped at all. When giving out assignments that morning, you'd not been notably left out of crime scene investigation, suspect interrogation, and anything helpful. Reid usually asked for your assistance at times like these, but he was finally putting his money where his mouth was and keeping distance from you in the office.

So far, you'd ran coffees back and forth between the kitchen and work room and had been communicating back and forth with JJ and Derek in the field and Garcia back at Quantico.

You'd been, for lack of better comparison, relegated to receptionist.

“At least let me work on the geographical profile with Reid-”

“Absolutely not.”

You stiffened at the reaction, wondering just exactly why he would react so strongly. Spencer had snuck in a few secret kisses here and there this morning, though you'd been sure that you'd had no witnesses.

“Why not?”

“I don't want you to distract him.”

Bile settled in the back of your throat as you tried your best to bite your tongue and keep the bitter words in.

“You know, sometimes, Dad, it feels like you love everyone on this team more than you love me.”

He locked eyes with you quickly, but he glance was dismissive and stern, almost as if he was asking you ‘seriously.’

You turned on your heels and began to walk out before he called out from behind you again.

“Y/N,” you stopped despite yourself.

“Leave the gun and badge on the desk. We'll discuss this after the case is closed.”

You almost laughed. You almost blurted out your relationship with Spencer just to spite him. You followed his order and took yourself out of the office for some fresh air, finally giving him what he wanted.

An hour of aimlessly wandering down the street, and you turned into a run-down park. 16 missed calls from Spencer and other members of the team, who'd no doubt watched you turn in your badge.

Garcia had even called a few times, and you felt guilty for not forwarding her calls somewhere else, knowing she'd probably have key case information for someone.

But you just couldn't handle it anymore, so you switched it off, pushed it back into your pocket, and kept walking.

It was two more blocks before the man following you pushed a soaked rag over your mouth and nose and pushed your unconscious body into the back of a waiting van.

×××××

Two hours of near constant complaining to Hotch had gotten Spencer nowhere in his demands to know just where you went.

He'd called you 36 times since Hotch had told him you'd left, and he hadn't stopped freaking out since.

“But where did she go?”

“I sent her back to the motel.”

“All of our cars, bar the one JJ and Morgan took to the crime scene, are outside and accounted for. The motel is a 34-minute drive away. It'll take her 5 hours on foot through our unsubs hunting grounds, and I'm not sure if you've noticed, but she matches the victim profile we just gave. Where is she?”

A muscle in Hotch's jaw twitched, but neither of them moved, eyes locked in battle to see who would back down first.

A call from Penelope ended whatever disaster was storming between them.

“Hotch hey, I can't get in contact with mini-Hotch, so here I am. Morgan called earlier from the crime scene. From the way they're posed, he said they could be possible stand-ins for a lost child a daughter or a sister, so I cross checked the ownership of the vehicles that run with the tires we found prints of at the scene, and I got a name. Like one.”

“Great work, Penelope, send it over.”

Hotch dropped the call and looked back up at Spencer, readying himself to give orders and push the issue.

Again, their standoff was interrupted.

“Hotch,” JJ rushed in, carrying a radio dispatcher, face white, and filled with worry. “You need to hear this.”

“Witness reported an abduction on East and 7th, patrol surveyed the scene and found a cellphone. Identifying information suggests it belongs to a Y/N Hotchner. We're bringing it into the stat-”

Hotch stood so fast his chair almost crashed to the floor. He stood so fast that he barely had time to dodge the lunge Spencer took in his direction, fist pulled back. It would connect, given the chance he knew it would. He'd been the one to teach Spencer to throw a punch in the first place.

Morgan insinuated himself between the two men before, and blood could be shed, quickly pulling Spencer back as Rossi, too, rushed into the room to diffuse the situation.

“One hour. I've been asking you for one hour where she went, and you wouldn't answer me. You made her leave her gun behind.”

It wasn't exactly a shout, but there was something broken in his voice, as of his mouth had filled with blood and he could only spit hate at a man who'd been a mentor to him until seconds before.

“If she's hurt- fuck, if even a hair on her head is out of place, I'll-”

“What, Spencer? What will you do? She's my daughter. What could you do that-”

“She's my girlfriend! She's my girlfriend, she's the love of my life. God, I want to marry her, I have the ring, I have the proposal planned, all that was left was telling you and then asking her, but you've been such a dick to her about this job, and about cases, and God knows what else, that she doesn't want to say anything to you, and now you've driven her away and she's fucking gone. And she could be hurt or in danger or d-de…”

He crumpled to the floor, Morgan still holding him as his legs gave way beneath him.

Nobody moved for what felt like hours, still in their grief, shock, some just nervous to see what would happen next.

“You've been in this situation before, Hotch. So have I. It's …. It hasn't ended well for us before.”

The words were so final, so defeated that they sucked the air out of the room.

“Morgan,” Hotch started quietly, eyes still locked with Reid's, still staring down the reflection of his own despair.

“Get Garcia back on the line, I want confirmation that the vehicle that picked Y/N up is the same one that our unsub has been using to set up crime scenes. See if she can lift a name and an address. Rossi, if he's skilled enough to pick up an FBI Agent unaware, we need a SWAT team, get one on standby.”

Slowly growing in volume, he continued, as the room started moving at his signal.

“JJ, Tara, take over where Reid left off with the geographical profile. Look at Y/N's last known location and how far a car could've gotten in the last 24 minutes.”

He paused again, staring Reid down.

“Reid, you're with me.”

xxxxx

It took you a few seconds to gain a sense of your surroundings when you came to. Partially because of the drug induced migraine splitting your head, and partially because of the mess of ribbons and stuffed toys you'd woken up in.

A change of clothes, and hands tied to what seemed to be a children's bed and you felt so grossly vulnerable your body shook with a few harsh sobs before you regained your composure and remembered your training.

The knots on the rope holding your hands were tight. There wasn't much room to move with them pinned above your head, but you recognised them as naval knots. Your unsub had experience at sea, recreational or professional you'd yet to determine.

Looking around again, you looked for entries and exits, wanting to know how the unsub would come in again and how you could get out.

There were no windows, but a set of stairs leading up towards a solid door told you that you'd been locked inside a basement. A basement decorated similarly to a child's bedroom.

Dimly lit by a mass of fairy lights, the room seemed covered head to toe in teddy bears, dolls, and children's books, a sturdy handmade doll’s house standing in the corner of the room.

Faintly, you heard the creaking of floorboards above you before the handle of the basement door rattled and more light poured in.

“I bought you breakfast, cupcake.”

There was no time to feign unconsciousness again as your captor finally came into view.

He was older than middle-aged, slightly wider around the midsection than you assumed he'd been in his youth. His hair was closely cropped and laid neatly, leading you to suspect he was former military.

“Oh, good, you're awake. What do you want to do today, cupcake? Daddy has some time off now, I can play with you all you want.”

You moved slowly, pushing yourself up to a seated position so you could bend your arms a bit. But you didn't look away, needing to keep him in your line of sight the entire time.

“Where am I?” You asked slowly, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Wow, you must've had a deep sleep cupcake. You're in your bedroom, silly!”

The man's sprightly tone was disconcerting, and you could see a muscle in his forehead twitch slightly as you spoke.

“O-of course. My mistake. Maybe I'm just still tired.”

He laid the tray on the bedside table and sat on the bed next to you. You tried your best not to shy from his touch as he stroked your hair, but every muscle in your body tensed and pulled from him reflexively.

A quick glance to the tray and you saw the food he'd brought you was a small cup of pills and a glass of water to rinse them down with.

If he noticed your flinch, he said nothing, grabbing a hairbrush from the nightstand and beginning to comb through your hair slowly and deliberately, taking care like one would a daughter.

“Daddy,” you took a chance, recalling the name he'd given himself earlier. “Can we play outside today? I want to go to the park.”

He stopped moving, and you held your breath as his smile dropped.

“No, sweetie. You know we don't go to parks.”

“Why not? I really want to play there, Daddy, please!”

In seconds, his hands wrapped around your throat as he pushed you back down into the bed, holding you there with his tight, suffocating grip.

“Shut the fuck up you little slut. I said we don't go to parks, you listen. I am your father, you are not being taken by one of those sick freaks again.”

He released you as quick as he grabbed you and stood up, pacing as he attempted to regain composure.

“You can draw or we can have a tea party but you know we can't go out. You know that cupcake, I've told you so many times.”

He grabbed at his hair, pulling it from its carefully styled arrangement into a mess, his fingers leaving red marks against his white skin as he pushed and pulled his head.

He breathed deeply, and you sat up, trying to regain your composure as you watched him lose his.

“What was her name?” You whispered, half hoping he would hear you, half praying that he'd ignore you for the sake of his fantasy.

“W-What?”

“Your daughter. What was her name?”

He focused on you again, but his hands - hands that you knew could and would choke the life out of you if you did something wrong again - his hands were shaking.

You heard the floorboards creaking upstairs and decided to push your questioning, hoping it meant what you thought it did.

“Why are you saying it like that, ‘was?’ Is. Her name is, your name is Laura, and you're my little cupcake.”

“What happened to her?” You filled your voice with as much sympathy and understanding as you could muster, one eye on the basement door that was being slowly pushed open. One look at Morgan at the top of the stairs had your heart rate slowing to a calmer speed. You locked eyes with him for a second, halting him, and he nodded, waiting for your signal.

“You, you're my cupcake, you look just like… She should look just like you.”

The man sat on the bed again, stroking a hair out of your eye as his filled with tears.

“Fifteen years. I looked for her for fifteen years, you know. If I hadn't taken her to that park-”

“That must have been hard.”

He nodded as he broke down in silent sobs.

“They said… they said she probably died a day or two after we lost her. When they found her, she was…” he rested his head on your shoulder, let him cling to you as he mourned his daughter.

“We couldn't identify her, but she had that teddy with her. The teddy with the cupcake in its hands. She never went anywhere without it. So we…we knew.

You looked at Morgan as he slowly made his descent into the room, closely followed by JJ.

The man looked up into your eyes again, wiping the tears from his face.

“She was only 8.” He looked defeated, and your heart broke for him, even as you wished to get as far away from him as you could physically muster.

Morgan pulled him up and away from you as he secured the man with handcuffs, but his eyes remained locked on you.

JJ untied you and guided you out, but you felt his gaze bite into you ever after you'd left the basement.

As soon as you were above ground, you let your body divest itself of adrenaline, your legs buckling as JJ tried to catch you. Another set of arms was quicker, though, and you didn't even register Spencer's arrival before burying your head in his chest and letting your sobs escape you.

He guided you to your feet and walked you out to the ambulance, his arms protectively wrapped around you, his lips peppering kisses along your hairline and forehead, anywhere he could reach. In moments, you were bundled into the ambulance, and three gentle voices were trying to calm you, to pry you away from your comfort doll.

You wondered if you'd die like the unsubs daughter had, if they'd find you clinging to Spencer the way she had to her teddy bear.

“Y/N,” your father's deep voice was clear and smooth, the only thing that was cutting through the wretched moment of pain you were enduring.

You remembered yourself again, relinquishing your grip on Spencer and wiping the tears from your face as you finally looked towards Aaron Hotchner.

The paramedics took their chance and began checking your vitals, working around you in a hurry.

“Dad, I'm sorry, I was walking and didn't notice that he was behind me, I should've been more careful-”

“Y/N, it’s okay. You're okay now.”

You nodded as he came closer. You ignored the tears in his eyes, trying not to break down again. It had been an age since you'd last witnessed him cry, at another crime scene with another family member and another unsub. You couldn't think about how close you'd come to making him relive his worst nightmare.

Spencer's hand was still firm in yours, and you held it like a lifeline, though you were sure your nails had to be cutting him by now. It took another moment to register that he was holding onto you just as hard, that he was unmoving, still where he was usually a series of compulsive moments, tapping, hand wringing, fists clenching and releasing.

You glanced between the men, who had now become quiet as they surveyed you, and noticed the tension. Before you could say anything, though, the paramedics took over.

“We're going to get you to the hospital now, Agent, one coworker can accompany you in the vehicle, preferably one with knowledge of your medical history.”

Both men immediately moved forward again, as if ready to jump into the van, before turning again to each other.

“Shit,” you mumbled to yourself just as the buzzing in your head from the migraine grew louder.

“Y/N, it's your choice. Who do you want to come?” Spencer said gently, his body still stiff with worry.

“I'm her father. This isn't a question of who she likes better.”

“I have her medical records memorized, and I have more knowledge about the drugs the unsub gave her, but Y/N can choose for herself because she is a grown woman.”

You sighed and dropped the man's hand as the medics ushered you into the van fully, but the men were fully absorbed in their fight for dominance that they barely registered it.

“JJ. JJ is coming with me,” You could see both of them turn back to you to argue, but you continued before they could. “Because I am a grown adult who knows her own medical history, and I don't need my father and my… coworker having territory wars over my wellbeing.”

And possibly because she'd be the least awkward option to answer the questions about sexual activity and possibility of pregnancy around, but you really did not need to vocalize that.

“Right now, I'm just a victim you've saved. Go and do your jobs and meet me at the hospital later because I am not doing overtime completing paperwork while on suspension.”

JJ climbed up into the ambulance and the doors shut, letting you finally get a few moments peace as it began slowly making its way to whatever hospital was closest.

“He knows, right?” You asked, covering your eyes with your hands as you braved for the answer.

“Hotch? You could say that he figured it out.”

“That bad?”

“Spencer threw a punch at him. He tried to at least.”

“What?!” Your body shot up, but the paramedic gently forced you back into a laid position, giving you a warning look to stay put as she checked your blood pressure.

“Don't be too hard on him, Y/N. He thought he was going to lose you. They both did. I don't think either of them would survive it happening again.”

The guilt hit you right in the chest as you nodded and dropped the conversation.

“Maybe I should've let Spencer come with me.”

“Why?” JJ asked, not offended bit curious.

“Because I'm not entirely sure my father won't throw that punch back at him now he knows I'm okay. It's hard being in a relationship if one of you is dead.”

The older woman chuckled slightly, and you settled back down, letting the car movements rock you into sleep.

xxxxx

A few hours later and some quietly bickering voices pulled you from the rest you'd so sorely needed. Without even opening your eyes, you knew they'd both subtly scrambled to your bed to make sure you were comfortable.

“What are you talking about?” You asked, wiping your eyes carefully as you tried to sit up, arms still aching from being tied up.

“Oh shit-” you exclaimed after seeing your boyfriends freshly split lip.

“Dad, what the fuck?”

“Y/N, it's fine. It doesn't hurt.”

“Aaron Hotchner, do you have nothing to say for yourself?” You tried to put all of tour anger into the words as you said them, bit he looked at you again with his straight face, and you crumpled under the pressure.

“I won't…I'm not going to object. I just ask you to keep your private life separate from your work.”

“And you're going to punch my boyfriend while I'm unconscious, so I can't defend him.”

“I'm still your father, and he deserved it.”

You looked back over to Spencer, who was quite notably not meeting your eyes.

“Do I want to know?”

“I'm leaving now. Jack will be here soon. He wants to check on you now that school is over. We told him you were hurt trying to save a sick man.”

“Thank you, dad.”

He nodded at you and left you alone in your hospital room with Spencer.

“Why did you deserve it?” You whisper shouted the moment you assumed he was out of earshot.

“The doctor came in and asked about some old bruises on your upper thighs. And ass. And chest. I had to admit they weren't sustained during the kidnapping, and Hotch wasn't pleased.”

You huffed out a sound halfway between incredulous and a strangled moan of shame as you curcled yourself up into a ball and tried your best to die.

“Great. Wonderful.”

“If it makes you feel any better, he thought it was signs of domestic violence and not just rough...sex.”

“Yes, Spencer, that makes me feel entirely more comfortable with the situation.”

Registering the sarcasm in your voice, he quieted down again, settling into the chair by your bedside and grabbing your hand.

You sat silently together for a few minutes before either of you said anything.

“I'm sorry. I know you didn't want him to find out.”

“Spencer, you don't have to apologise. All things considered, this is possibly the best way he could've found out.”

“My busted lip suggests otherwise, I think.”

“And a whole lot more would've been busted if he caught us any other time. Besides, I already lost my job, so there's not much else at stake anymore.”

The words stung you as you said them, but you did still feel the weight of your dismissal in your chest, spreading miserably through your bones.

“Does your head still hurt?”

“Not really, why?”

“You're not as perceptive as you usually are.”

You shot him a confused look as he smiled softly down at you, offering a nod towards the small coffee table under the window of your hospital room.

There on your table sat your creds and your gun. The silent acknowledgement you'd been waiting for from your father.

Spencer sat by you as you did your best to hold off the tears. He let you pretend there was something in your eye, let you wonder if your eyes had become watery because of dust from the basement. He quietly held your hand as you grinned and grinned until you pulled him in for a kiss and held him close to you.

His lips were soft as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down on top of you even as he tried to hold himself up and off you so he didn't hurt you.

“You know,” you said, punctuating each word with another sweet kiss. “This means- that- you're- stuck- with- me.”

He laughed into your final kiss, finally pulling back for more air, studying your face as if he were trying to memorize it.

“That was never the issue.”

“Oh really, and what was?”

He kissed your again, slow and deep this time, taking his time working his hands down from your hair to your neck to cup your face so you were opened up to him, letting his lips and tongue explore everything he wanted to. He pulled away eventually and instinctively your lips tried to chase his, even as he pulled out of reach.

“Making sure you stayed by my side.”

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itsagoodluckkiss · 8 months ago

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Hi, I wanted to make a request about Luffy x female reader. The reader is feminine but clumsy, emotionally-reserved, unexperienced and kind-hearted. Smart and funny, with a soft spot for Luffy. . As for the plot, "she fell first, but he fell harder", slice of life with a little angst would be perfect. I'm desperate for fanfiction about first experience in everything kinda stuff. I'm not a minor, so it would be very good to see some sensual and awkward smut. I would be glad to read anything you'll write about Luffy x female!reader and I hope that you liked my request (^o^)/ sorry for bad english

It's Okay ~ Luffy x F!Reader

First of all, thank you for being my first request, you made me really happy and I'm really sorry for the really long wait, we had a really rough couple of months. Also, it's the first smut I've ever written so read this with patience. English is not my first language either and I'm sorry for any mistakes. Anyways, I had fun writing this, I hope you'll like it, lots of love!

Words: +3k

Warnings: hurt/comfort, op spoilers, ptsd, mentions of character death, comfort sex, smut with plot, oral (f!receiving), virginity loss (both), unprotected sex, cockwarming, fluffy ending kinda?, no use of Y/N

MDNI

Quiet days on The Thousand Sunny were as rare as mythical zoans. Not only because of dangerous encounters but also because of how calm the whole crew was today. Even your walking ray of sunshine captain was not as wild as usual. But you couldn’t really complain as you could focus on your task in silence.

The tailor of the crew, responsible of sewing, stitching and mending every piece of fabric on the ship. And that included the sails. Strong winds the night before managed a large tear and the next island was a couple of days away. So you had a job to do. Standing on a rope ladder, you effortlessly worked through the sails with elegance. Every piece of fabric in your home deserved care, as you’d always say when you mended the torn up clothes of your crew mates.

You were proud you could provide your family with loved and cared clothes and everything else they needed, top priority along with the dream of becoming the best tailor the seas had ever seen. Your mind wandered away to the smile of your captain every time you placed the fixed straw hat you came to love so much on his head, while you automatically repaired the sail. But your gracefulness started and ended at the needle in your hand.

Looking away into the sea for one second resulted in you prickling your finger. The sudden feeling caused you to lose your step and balance and you yelped as you fell from the ladder, expecting a hard fall and a trip to Chopper’s infirmary. But the land never came, arms wrapping around your frame, drawing you to somebody’s embrace. In fear, you wrapped yourself around your savior’s waist like a koala, your flower patterned dress coming up slightly. Your face went to the crook of his neck for one second, immediately recognizing who it was, and you raised your head to look at him in embarrassment.

“Hi there!”

“Luffy, thank you, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s alright. Was on my way to check if you needed help. Guess I was right.” he said laughing.

You smiled and hugged him tightly as he put you down on the deck. You were embarrassed, part of it because of your own clumsiness, another part because of the way Luffy’s hands lingered on your waist before letting you go.

“Are you almost done? Picked up a new card game from the last island and I want to play with you.”

“Oh, ah, I, I still have some, some work to do...?”

You didn’t. You also didn’t know why you said that. You said a lot of stupid stuff lately. You loved spending time with your captain, especially when you knew there wouldn’t be a crazy fight following you in a few hours. Falling in love with his brown eyes, his goofy and brave personality and his loyalty to his friends was the reason you said yes to joining the Straw Hats after you helped them save Robin in Ennies Lobby.

But ever since you returned to Sabaody, it’s gotten harder to contain the feelings for your first love. The other night while you two were keeping watch and talking about things you loved, an “I love you” escaped your lips without thinking, proceeding to an inept attempt to cover it by saying how you loved he is such a loyal friend. You felt the blush rushing to your cheeks as you looked again on his face and noticed something you were seeing more and more these days. His trademark smile was reduced to a small upward line and in his eyes there was a gleam of sadness. You couldn’t have that.

“It’s fine, I’ll see you around later I guess-”

“On another note, I can always finish it later. Let’s go play, Captain!”

And you grabbed his arm, running like a child playing chase across the deck toward Nami’s tangerine trees, laughing as you tripped on your two left feet, Luffy holding you upwards and laughing in the process, always there to catch you.

The ship was in motion, light rain falling from the night sky as Luffy found himself walking aimlessly on the empty deck. His black hair tousled, his straw hat dangling from the string around his neck, his posture slumped, trying to find some sort of relief in the breeze that hit his face. His trembling hands grip the railing, his gaze lost towards the vast ocean, unable to back focus on anything but his most recent nightmare. Memories of Ace's death spreading, like poison in his veins, once again. He tried to steady his breathing but failed as hot tears run down his cheeks, silent sobs leaving his body, trying not to wake up his crew. He hadn’t talked to anyone about Marineford. There was no reason for his friends to see him in that weakened state. He could tell that everyone felt guilty because they weren’t there for him, he didn’t want to feed that ugly feeling inside them.

You felt restless, worry prickling your skin like a hundred needles at once. Sleep wouldn’t do you a favor so you hoped off bed to get some fresh air on the deck and some moments of peace to think. Luffy’s sad eyes lingered in your thoughts. You couldn’t help but think about how much he had changed since you first met. You remembered the scrawny, eager, brave boy he was. Now his hair was longer and spikier, and he looked stronger than ever before, he was almost a man. Despite his carefree looks, a lot had changed about him. Yes, he was still as eager and resilient and determinated as ever, yet more mature, as much as maturity applied to him. And that big scar across his chest was the only testament of the fight he gave alone two years ago, as he hadn't talked to any of you about it. Not that he had to. You all knew you would wholeheartedly give him the support in any form he’d need. You’d do what you knew best. Take care of the people you loved. And from the moment you joined the crew, you knew your heart belonged to the straw hat captain.

You spotted Luffy in the front of the ship. It was unusual for him to be up and alone this late at night. Your eyes filled with concern, you walked closer to him as you noticed the trembling in his form, worry rising in your chest. Your hand caressing his shoulder slightly, you didn’t want to scare him or make him feel worse.

"Luffy?" you asked softly, voice barely audible over the wind.

Luffy wiped his tear streaked face quickly and tried to control his heavy breathing, wanting to be like his usual self, even if he knew it was too late for acting.

“I…”

He took a deep breath trying to hold it all in. He was the one that was supposed to help people through their crying and problems, to protect them. He couldn’t protect his friends in Sabaody, he couldn’t save his brother. He swore he’d never let anything like those things happen again. He didn’t want to be seen as weak. Not again. Not in front of his crew. Not in front of you.

“It’s okay, Luffy.”

His eyes met yours, a warm and safe gaze, always inviting and full of love, ready to be a place of comfort and joy to anyone that needed it. You wrapped your arms around his shoulder and back, taking him in a comforting embrace. His arms went immediately around you, his face buried in the crook of your neck as silent sobs left him once again. He hugged you tightly, hyperventilating as he let every last feeling of grief and pain out. You felt your eyes well too, the pain your favorite person carried alone enough to make you want to scream.

“It’s okay… you’re okay… it wasn’t your fault…”

“I couldn’t… I thought you… were all dead… and… I was right there… I couldn’t save him… he left… in my arms… it should have been me!”

Your heart ached listening to Luffy's sobs, tears running down your face as well. You pulled back slightly, cupping his face in your hands, and looked into his red, puffy eyes.

“Listen to me! Don’t say that again, ever! We all know you’d never let us down. You did everything you could, Luffy, you always do, and it’s enough for us." You said, voice shaking, carrying all the sincerity in the world. "And you always were there for him. You gave everything you had! He loved you so much and you saved him because you showed him how loved and cherished he was! You're still doing everything you can to keep his memory alive. That's what he would want! Don’t do this to yourself, please.”

You wiped the tears off his face and squeezed his cheeks like you usually did when you shared food and laughs together, managing to drag out a small smile from the boy.

“How about we go grab some tea and biscuits from the kitchen before Sanji comes down from his watch and go to my room?” you suggested, knowing Luffy would never say no to food.

“It’s on!”

Stealth wasn’t your strongest suit as you somehow always managed to hit on something. And with Luffy beside you, havoc was almost always certain. Getting out of the kitchen as fast as you could, before Sanji’s yells could reach you, you run into the ship, down to your handicraft’s room. The warmth of the cabin enveloped Luffy, feeling a little more like his usual self now, as he took in the room. That’s were all your great works laid, with needles, threads and sewing machines all over the place. From clothes and blankets to large embroideries hanging from the walls. You laid a soft, fluffy blanket on the ground to sit on. You sipped your scolding tea as Luffy munched on a cookie, taking in your works.

“I don’t know how you can make beautiful things like these.”

“I’ve practiced it a lot. And I love it. I’m glad you like it, Captain.”

You smiled widely, gaining a toothy grin from him.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For always being here.”

You were thinking your next words for a moment before moving the cups and plate from the blanket, taking his shoulders gently as you both laid on the ground, your eyes looking at each other, taking his hand into yours.

“It's alright to not be fine, you know… I'll always be here for you, no matter what.”

“It’s… I’m not thinking about it most of the time… I just have nightmares… it’s hard sometimes.”

“And that’s completely logical, Luffy, you’ve been through hell! I collapsed when I heard the news and couldn’t be with you. I would have run to you if I could. I love you so much and I’m sorry I wasn’t there and…”

You were the one tearing up now, cheeks red from embarrassment as the words slipped through your mouth without thinking. You knew Luffy would be shattered when you heard about Ace. The only thing you wanted was to hug him until you pulled all his pieces back together. He met your gaze. Luffy was never interested in romance. He didn’t thought he needed it. Until he met you and for the first time, he wanted someone to join his crew not only because he wanted them as a friend and they’d be a great addition, but because he felt something different, something he couldn’t quite understand. The only thing he knew was that he loved you a little differently than the rest of his friends. It was his turn to brush the tears off your face now and you melted from his touch. You tried to speak but before you could, his hand, warm and slightly trembling, cup your cheek. His lips pressed into yours, just for a moment, before drawing back only inches from your face.

“I think I love you too.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, heart pounding against your ribs. Never had you thought you’d hear those words from Luffy. Of course, you knew he loved everyone in the crew, but this felt different. You felt like you would burst into flames as you blushed even more.

“You, you do?!”

“Yeah… you’re sweet and strong… always by my side… you’re very important to me…”

You let out a gasp of surprise as you hugged him tightly and crushed your lips into his clumsily, both of you laughing at your enthusiasm. Small, sweet kisses evolved into longer, more passionately ones and soon you were underneath him, his hands caressing your thigh beneath your dress, your hands slowly pushing his vest off of him.

“Are you okay?”

“I am, you?”

“Me too.”

Soon, your clothes landed somewhere else in the room as you felt him caressing your skin everywhere and you gasped into the kiss, him taking advantage of your parted lips to push his tongue into your mouth, tangling it messily with yours. His lips travelled down your neck and lower, soon to be between your legs. A feeling of self-consciousness crept over you as you closed your legs and he smiled up at you as he caressed your thigh.

“Hey, it’s okay, we can stop if you want.”

“No, I want this, I’ve just… never do this before…”

“Neither do I. We’ll find it together. But I want you to be comfortable. You can stop me if you don’t feel okay.”

You smile down at him and relaxed a bit, allowing him to spread your legs and start kissing the inside of your thighs. It felt so good to share another experience with him, and his touch was gentler than you thought it would be. He positioned your thighs on his shoulders and before you could react, his mouth was on you, his tongue licking a stripe before latching onto your clit. Your head fell back immediately as a choked out moan slipped through your mouth, one hand flying to his hair, pulling on his locks gently as the other grasped the blanket beneath you. His eyes were on you, his look was magnetic and focused on the task of making you feel good. A finger circling your tight hole, it pushed inside you slowly as he sucked on your clit, making you whimper from the pleasurable feeling. The stretching inside you new and welcomed, a combination of his mouth and a second finger breaching in has your orgasm approaching faster than you expected. He curled his fingers upwards, hitting repeatedly a spot you had never reached before on your own and it pushed you over the edge unexpectedly. He smiles against you as small moans left your mouth, your whole body shaking, your head spinning.

Coming down from your high, he crawls back on top of you and kisses you passionately, your tongues intertwining. You can taste yourself through the kiss, and it makes you long for more. He breaks the kiss and smiles down at you.

“How was that?”

“Luffy, it was… amazing. How did you know-”

“Didn’t. Just did what felt right. Are you okay to continue?”

You nodded eagerly and he grinned at you, his lips back on yours again. Your hand sneaks between your bodies to grab his dick, gently pumping him up and down, bringing him close to your folds. He moans into the kiss and swats your hand away, gliding himself between your now soaked pussy, his tip touching your clit every time, sending small jolts of pleasure down your spine. He breaks the kiss, his face only inches apart from yours, staring into your eyes.

“You’re sure?”, he whispered.

“Yes captain, please…”

A shiver run through his body as he hears your plead, and he moves his tip against your entrance, pushing in. A small gasp escape you and a sharp hiss leaves his mouth as he slowly slides into you, his movements awkward but gentle, the feeling of your warmth around him making him slightly tremble as he bottoms out. It felt slightly uncomfortable for you at first but the pain you expected to feel was nowhere to be found. His lips were on your neck, nibbling and sucking gently while his arms roamed your body, trying to make you relax as he stayed still, waiting for you to adjust to him. A few moments passed and your hand cupped his chin, bringing his lips to yours in a sweet kiss.

“Feels better now?”

“Yes, Luffy… please, move…”

He smiled down at you and placed another soft kiss on your lips as he began to move, taking it slow and tender, setting a rhythm that made you gasp, the pleasure spreading over you. One of his hands on yours, intertwining your fingers as the other grabbed your thigh to keep you against him, his forehead on yours, eyes closed as you both relished the feeling of your bodies pressed together. His speed picked up slightly as he finds a steady rhythm and you moan his name, your legs wrapping around his waist to keep him close. He smiles widely and kisses you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth, your fingers running through his hair, gently tugging at his dark locks.

One hand gripped your thigh rougher now, pushing it upwards, the shift in position allowing him to go deeper, the other sneaking between your bodies to rub at your clit. Your face buries in the crook of his neck, trying to choke down your moans, the knot in your stomach tightening as his thrusts grow faster and sloppier, you feel that he’s close too.

Your lips connect again in a messy kiss and your back arches as you come undone, crying out through the kiss, your nails dragging down his back. He breaks the kiss, his lips trailing down your jaw and neck, his hands grab your hips to drag you to him as he fucks you through your high, his hips stuttering, feeling your walls squeezing him tight, pushing him over the edge with you.

You stay like this for a while, hands wrapped around each other, his face buried in the crook of your neck, savoring the moment. He places a tender kiss on your cheek and turns to face you, his head on your shoulder.

“How do you feel?”

“I feel… wonderful…” you say with a sigh as you smile up at him. His hand caressing you cheek, he placed another sweet kiss before stretching his hand to grab another blanket nearby, covering the both of you. He then lies flat on top of you again, his arms wrapping around you, and closes his eyes, still inside you.

“Luff, we…”

“Can’t move, I feel snuggly right now.”

You laugh softly as you hug him back, feeling his breath slow down as he slowly falls asleep, your eyelids getting heavy as well, a content smile playing on your lips.

“Goodnight dummy…”

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