#he also had these glasses on for like just a moment in two different scenes but you couldn't see them too well in gifs

[darkmatilda]

𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your first solo, undercover mission unexpectedly spirals out of control when a real heist begins at the scene.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x newbaumember!femalereader, robbery, the reader becomes a hostage, is beaten by the attacker (quite severely), killing of hostages, shooting, inspired by s1e9 where spencer saves elle on a train (the plot is very similar but set in a different scenery), spencer's pov, the attackers are definitely not the gentle type, reader is wearing a skirt (her whole outfit is described), glasses reid propaganda

𝐚/𝐧: merry christmas guys <3 fasten your seatbealts and get ready for this rollercoaster.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 14.8 k

"Why do I get the feeling that neither of you is even half as stressed as I am? Actually, scratch that—neither of you is even one-tenth as stressed as me?”

The question left your lips accompanied by a kind of sigh, an attempt to expel the air poisoned with anxiety and replace it with something fresh, clean.

"Because we know you’re going to do brilliantly, sweetheart," Penelope replied without hesitation, sparing you only a fleeting glance as she momentarily tore her eyes away from her computer screen. One of many screens.

Her office was filled with an uncountable number of them, all glowing brightly and lighting up the small, dimly lit space, which was also packed with her colorful accessories—pom-pom-topped pencils and flowerless plants in tiny pots, most adorned with smiling faces or hearts.

"Or rather," Reid interjected, spinning in a circle on his swivel chair, "because we both doubt you’ll even be remotely useful out there." A white box of Chinese takeout rested on his lap.

You shot him a grimace.

"Next time you try to undermine my self-confidence, make sure I’m not holding anything sharp," you warned, pointing one of your chopsticks at him. Yes, less than an hour before your first solo assignment, you were all happily indulging in junk food from the closest restaurant to the office, ignoring the looming possibility of digestive regrets. "Or you’ll lose an eye."

"Aren’t you tired of trying to kill me yet? First, you gave me a concussion…"

"You didn’t get a concussion, Reid. Stop exaggerating…"

"And now, you’re openly admitting that you plan to cause me permanent damage by depriving me of my sense of sight—which, as it is," he said, tapping the frame of his glasses, "is already in less-than-stellar condition."

"You two are just adorable when you argue with each other like an old, bitter married couple," Penelope commented with a small smile on her pink-lipsticked lips.

You first looked at each other, then at her, eyebrows raised, and in a synchronized moment, you both let out a huff. Unfazed, she continued.

"But now we really need to get to work. The exhibit starts in an hour, and you should get there with him. Have you ever used that microphone? It’s the latest model we’re testing, gosh, I’m so excited…"

"You’re adorable when you act like a typical nerd," you shot back, mimicking her little smile and tone of voice.

"A nerd I proudly am! Just like this guy here," she nodded toward Reid, who pouted slightly, looking offended. "You’re surrounded by nerds, sweetheart. Soon enough, you’ll become one too."

"Dear God, forgive me my sins and watch over me…" you whispered, staring at the ceiling.

The mysterious he that Garcia mentioned was named Christopher Allen, and he was surprisingly young for a neurotechnology engineer. He worked on issues surrounding the human brain and developed devices designed to have a broad range of effects on it. But why were you supposed to go with him to some exhibit? Equipped with a spy microphone? And why was it stressing you out so much that for the past ten minutes, you had only been picking at your Chinese takeout instead of eating it?

Well, it's hard to decide where to start explaining from.

You were summoned before Hotch yesterday, who informed you that an opportunity had arisen for you to prove yourself in the field. Alone, undercover, for the first time in your—let’s be honest—tragically short career at the FBI. On top of that, this was meant to test all the new equipment your team had received, the kind that Penelope had been so enthusiastic about. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the main reason you’d been assigned this task. Someone had to check the effectiveness of the gear, and at the same time, you, the rookie, needed to gain more experience. Allen’s case was like killing two birds with one stone.

This scientist had worked with the FBI multiple times, and that’s why when danger started looming over him, he was quickly assigned protection. The threat came from threatening letters and even a direct attack at his own home, which fortunately didn’t end in tragedy. Allen was descending into paranoia and was afraid to even attend public events, even ones with full protection, like the tech exhibition—taking place in one of the modest local museums—designed to showcase the latest advancements in neurotechnology and more.

He was probably afraid that during the event, someone would simply rush at him with fists and try to murder him in front of dozens of random technology and brain enthusiasts. Or something like that. Your task was to pretend to be his assistant, never leaving his side and carefully observing the surroundings. And that was it. Nothing too demanding was expected of you, unless things started to go south. However, that seemed highly unlikely, as everyone made it clear to you.

Still, you couldn’t shake the fear—whether justified or not—that something would go wrong. And it would be your fault.

“Reid, clip the microphone on her,” Penelope interrupted your train of thought with the order. “You’ve never used one of these before, have you, sweetheart?”

You nodded in confirmation, watching as Reid set aside his box of Chinese takeout to take the tiny device from her.  He stopped a step in front of you, perched on the edge of one of the desks, his gaze shifting uncertainly between the small black microphone in his hand and you.

“Where… where can I…?” he asked, trailing off as he made a vague gesture with his hand, surprisingly loaded with awkwardness.

“Oh,” you let out a confused sigh, beginning to consider where it might be best to place it. The sleeve? Shouldn’t it be closer to your face to capture even your quietest whispers?

“Okay, I’ve got an idea,” you said, starting to unbutton your white shirt, revealing a significant portion of your neckline. “Here?” you asked.

“Yeah… I think so,” he replied hesitantly but didn’t move.

It wasn’t until a moment later that he swallowed and, with a slow, deliberate motion, reached for a section of your shirt near your cleavage. His actions were careful—almost excessively so—like his top priority was ensuring he didn’t accidentally brush against your skin.

The microphone’s clip was quite small, though, and attaching it to your clothing required him to take another step closer and lower his head near your chest.

Even as your breathing slowed, you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Penelope shaking her head in amused disbelief. 

You preferred to look straight ahead rather than at his fingers, working with such careful focus, though you couldn’t help but let your gaze flicker to them repeatedly. Just for fractions of a second—it was difficult to pull your eyes away once they landed there.

Only when he finished, his hands dropping quickly to his sides as he stepped back, did you realize you’d been holding your breath for quite some time. You became acutely aware of how stifling Penelope’s little office was—how did she even manage in the summer?

"That's not all," the woman on the screen broke the silence, one you hadn't even realized had fallen. "There's also a transmitter you'll need to keep on you somewhere. Securely, so it doesn't fall out. Are you planning to go dressed like that?"

You glanced down at your outfit. A simple black skirt and white shirt—the first thing that came to mind then you learned you'd be posing as an assistant.

"Inappropriate?" you asked, searching for an answer first on Garcia's face, then on Reid's. The latter gave the barest shrug, barely even looking at you.

"You look amazing. Absolutely stunning, darling. I wish I could have an assistant like you," Penelope reassured you. "But in this economy, I can only dream about it. Anyway, my point is, you don't have any pockets. Where are you planning to keep the transmitter and your gun?"

"I was thinking of just tucking it into my skirt. At the back."

"I don’t think that’s the best idea," Reid interjected doubtfully. He hadn’t reclaimed his spot on the swivel chair and stood instead, arms crossed over his chest. The embarrassment you’d managed to put him in (quite adorable, really) was slowly dissipating, leaving only a faint blush on his cheeks. The corner of your mouth twitched when you noticed it. "I mean, it could fall out, or start sticking out, which could lead to questions like why an assistant is walking around with a gun..."

"Okay, I get it," you sighed. You could’ve thought this through a bit better. "Maybe I’ll have time to swing by home and grab, I don’t know, a blazer or something..."

"You won’t," Penelope declared after glancing at the time. "But you can always borrow my jacket."

You looked at the garment draped over the back of her chair—a bright pink leather jacket. You didn’t even bother responding; you simply stared at it, letting the expression on your face do the talking.

"Alright, I admit it, I didn’t think this proposal through. So, it looks like we’ll have to..." She trailed off, her gaze landing on Reid’s figure. Surprised by the attention, he pointed at himself.

You also directed your attention at him. He was wearing a simple brown blazer, which would go well with your unremarkable outfit.

"Take it off," you instructed.

He was silent for a moment, though there was no visible protest on his face—just doubt.

"It’s gonna be too big," he remarked, his hands gently grasping the edges of the jacket as if unsure whether to take it off.

"Apparently, oversized is coming back into fashion."

"Okay, fine," he sighed, removing the jacket. Underneath, he wore a shirt and a black vest, from which a matching tie peeked out. Initially, he seemed hesitant about the idea, but handed it to you with some urgency. "Here you go."

You sent him a brief, grateful smile.

"You’re saving my mission, Reid. I’ll mention you in the report. And I’ll frame your name with a little heart, drawn with one of Penelope’s glitter pens," you declared.

He returned the gesture, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly as he gave a small nod. You noticed his gaze was almost fixed on your face, as if some invisible force were forbidding him to look away, down or sideways.

You didn't think too much about what it meant, you didn't really have time. You put on the blazer, which was indeed a little too long, and hid the transmitter in the inside pocket. You placed the weapon at your hip, concealing it with your clothes. As you were about to leave, you said talk to you later because the two of them were going to communicate with you through the earpiece the entire time. They wished you good luck, and you were just about to leave the desk when Reid, suddenly as if unable to stop himself, said your name one last time.

You looked at him questioningly. Instead of responding, he made an uncertain gesture near his chest. Confused, you looked down.

For the entire time, half of the buttons on your shirt were still undone.

*

You had never met him in person, but you recognized his face from snippets of interviews that occasionally appeared online, or perhaps he had even been on the news a few times. He was in his thirties, give or take five years, hard to tell. His entire persona seemed to be built around the carefree nature of a young eccentric with a sharp mind and an unrestrained tongue, constantly refining his thoughts and conclusions, often controversial, causing an uproar among the public. Without a doubt, he was one of those people often called a genius. Which, not always, was a compliment.

Allen seemed deeply displeased by your presence. He looked… tired. His red hair contrasted with his very pale complexion, as if made of glass, and dark circles rimmed his eyes. He wasn’t shockingly tall, about your height, but with broad shoulders.

"The FBI was supposed to provide me with protection because some psycho is literally trying to kill me, and they send you?" he asked, bitterly, exchanging a brief handshake with you before getting into the car.

You both sat in the back, the driver at the wheel. You were supposed to arrive at the exhibition together. His reaction caught you off guard, his open anger sparking the same feeling in you.

"What's your problem?" you asked. His insulting tone irritated you the most, especially since he hadn’t even had the chance to get to know you.

For a moment, the man sat staring out the window. His body was tense, almost stiff, as if stressed. His elegant attire, with a shirt half-tucked into his pants and too many buttons undone, suggested that he usually dressed more casually.

He let out a heavy sigh, as if furious, then hastily wiped his face with his hand.

"Just..." he began coolly and cautiously, as if holding back some cruel words. "I get the feeling that everyone is downplaying the seriousness of this situation."

"We're all approaching this with the necessary commitment," you replied, though it wasn't entirely true. Allen had every right to fear for his life, but each of you honestly doubted anything would happen to him during this exhibition. If the threat had been real... Hotch probably wouldn't have sent you. "Believe me, we understand the gravity of the situation..."

"Really? Even the letters I've been getting? The content of them?"

You knew about the threats sent by an unknown sender, but you hadn't delved into what exactly they contained. Seeing you hesitate to answer, Allen scoffed.

"You're fucking great at your job, no doubt. So let me fill you in. They come every day. Every fucking day. And I read every single one of them. You know, I've even started seeing a pattern. First, they beg me. Then they threaten to fucking kill me. Smash my face into the ground, beat me to death with a metal rod, rip out my ribs, douse me in gasoline, and set me on fire..." He paused, dramatically scratching his chin. "Oh, almost forgot. They're going to peel the skin off my back. Then there's a day off. No letter comes. The next day, they apologize. I don’t know if this psycho has some extreme split personality or... or... I have no fucking idea. The cops said, get this, it's normal. 'Cause I’m a public figure."

"They brushed it off?" you asked, slightly shaken.

No matter how famous he was, threats were still threats.

He shrugged. He was trying to speak with a voice full of dismissive irony, but it wasn’t working. He stumbled, taking breaks to swallow. Though he had treated you like a complete jerk earlier, you were starting to understand.

“First off, until someone broke into my house and tried to drag me out of bed and take me…God knows where. Probably if I hadn’t had a dog…” he trailed off, glancing back out the window. You’d arrived at the museum, where the exhibition was to be held, but Allen hesitated to get out of the car. “This guy is nuts, whoever he is. I don’t know what to expect from him. He wants to kill me, kidnap me, torture me? Or maybe he’ll just settle for shooting me from a distance like I’m some goddamn Kennedy?”

“That doesn’t really sound like him,” you said in a calming tone. “He tried to kidnap you from your house, why would he suddenly attack you in a public place…”

“My fiancée is pregnant,” he suddenly blurted out.

You blinked, unsure how to respond to the sudden confession.

“Congratulations?”

“For her safety, I sent her very, very far away, somewhere she shouldn’t be in any danger,” he continued, completely ignoring your words. “And though her and the baby’s well-being is my top priority… I also need to take care of myself. I need to make it to their birth…and longer, of course. But that’s why I’m afraid to even go out to the damn store for milk, and that’s why I was so pissed off when I found out they assigned me a woman who, no offense, looks like she wouldn’t know how to hold a gun.”

You instinctively scoffed at his last comment, though it was hard to stay particularly mad at him, knowing everything he was going through. An awkward silence fell between you, heavy and laden, during which the two of you simply stared at each other. It hit you that you were responsible not only for his safety but also for ensuring that someone’s fiancé and future father would make it home.

“We should get going,” you said, nodding toward the museum. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a certain tension at the thought of leaving the car. You shook your head slightly, trying to dispel it. “And just so we’re clear, I do know how to handle a gun—more than you’d think. But for your sake, you better hope we don’t have to put that to the test.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the corner of his mouth twitch.

"Well then, onward, assistant. Tell me, how much do you know about neurotechnology?"

Well, by the end of this day, you were definitely going to know a lot more. Together with Allen, you crossed the threshold of the museum. Its decor clashed with the theme of the exhibition, but apparently, they hadn’t managed to secure a better location. 

The interior layout was harmonious—rounded arches were supported by symmetrically arranged marble columns, and the dominant shades were gold and royal red.

Your destination was the exhibition hall, circular in shape, where mahogany tables served as display stations for various prototypes in the fields of medicine, neurobiology, and informatics. In other parts of the building, there were tall, arched windows, but this particular room had none. No natural light entered; all illumination was generated by lamps that, to their credit, mimicked the natural diffusion of sunlight quite effectively.

Among the displays were an interactive brain map and various projects still in development but aimed at assisting people with disabilities.

You observed all of this with interest while simultaneously listening to your companion’s impromptu lecture on the human brain (apparently, talking helped him calm down). At the same time, you were closely monitoring the crowd around you.

True multitasking.

The exhibition was open to everyone; no one was checking who entered the venue. Although you counted three security guards in the room—dressed in simple black suits and mostly tasked with ensuring that no one tried to steal anything—there was a subtle air of unease hanging in the atmosphere. If Allen’s suspicions were correct, the person intent on ending his life could be one of these faces. To your surprise, however, he suddenly seemed far less concerned about it than you were.

“You don’t have to follow me around like a shadow,” he said, leaning toward you to make himself heard over the murmur of surrounding conversations. A familiar face with a loud, bright red tie waved at him and began making their way over. “Just don’t take your eyes off me, no matter what. And keep an eye out for anyone suspicious—whatever that means to you. Hey, man!”

He greeted his acquaintance with a friendly handshake. Following his instructions, you took a small step back, deciding to take a short stroll among the exhibits. But after barely two steps, your finger went to the discreet earpiece hidden under your hair.

“Are you there, my lovely nerds?” you asked with a playful smile, knowing they couldn’t see it but imagining their reactions.

“At your service!” Garcia responded enthusiastically, and you could almost picture her saluting on the other end.

“And what about Mr. Smartass? Did he get bored and wander off to study the reproductive habits of ants?”

“I heard that!” he replied, summoned by his new nickname. “Such gratitude for letting you borrow my jacket.”

“Speaking of the jacket,” you continued, “I found a candy in the pocket. How thoughtful of you to leave me a little sweet treat.” You weren’t joking; there really was a candy inside. You inspected the wrapper and frowned. “Marzipan? Ugh. Do you have the taste buds of my grandma?”

"To what I know, I haven't had a taste bud transplant. Especially not from anyone's grandmother," he replied nonchalantly. "And as for those ants..."

"Sorry to interrupt, my darlings, but I have a few questions about the sound quality of these new microphones..."

True to her word, Garcia began asking you how well you could hear them and instructed you to lower your voice to a whisper and then raise it sharply. Some sort of test or whatever. You did it all patiently while staring at the red-haired mop at the station across from you. Allen seemed pretty relaxed now, probably realizing nothing was going to happen to him.

"Okay, now do the sound like a chicken. I mean the noise."

"What?"

"You know, cluck."

"Pen, is this really necessary?"

"Yes, sweetie. I need to check something else. Last thing, I swear. Scout’s honor."

You sighed, looking around at the people nearby. Few were paying attention to you, you were just one face in the crowd. God, for something like this, you could ask for a raise.

"Exactly, honey. Just louder," Garcia asked.

You rolled your eyes and tried again to make the chicken sound. An older couple glanced at you, their eyes wide with horror.

"Alright, enough," you muttered, embarrassed, into the earpiece, quickly moving to a different spot.

And then you heard the pair on the other side literally choking with laughter.

"I fucking hate you guys," you said. "I hate you. Especially you, Penelope. Give me Reid on the mic, from now on I'm only talking to him."

Another burst of laughter from the woman. You clenched your jaw. And as if that weren’t enough…

 "Did you want to hear me, little chick?" Reid asked politely.

“I should’ve gouged your eye out with a chopstick when I had the chance,” you hissed into the phone, a little too loudly, drawing a few curious glances. You were supposed to be watching for suspicious people, but it turned out you were acting the most suspicious of all…

“Did you catch what she said?” Reid addressed Penelope. “I only heard clucking.”

“Ha-ha,” you rolled your eyes.

For fifteen minutes, you had to endure such jokes. You seriously began to worry that they’d never get tired of it, but finally, after a quarter of an hour of psychological torture, they fell silent. You kept a sharp eye on your surroundings.

“By the way,” you began, still a bit offended by the chicken joke. “You guys should regret not being here to see these inventions. Perfect for you, nerds.”

“Well, actually, we can see them,” Reid’s voice came through the earpiece, sounding very clear, clearly taking the whole mic for himself. “Garcia grabbed footage from the cameras inside the room.”

“So you can see me? This whole time?”

 “Yep. And we saw that terrified couple who ran as far away from you as they could as soon as you started clucking like a chicken. Poor souls.”

You ignored the comment and began scanning the room for the cameras. When you found them, you scratched your forehead with your middle finger.

“Can you see this too?”

“I can see how much fun you’re having,” he scoffed. “Are you going to include that in your report?”

“Exactly. Right under your name, framed with a glittery little heart. Any other requests?” Not waiting for his response, you added, “By the way, how do I look in your jacket? Does it fit me well?”

"I think so. I mean, the blazer is incredibly well-tailored. And of good quality. It’s impossible for it to look bad on anyone." He paused for a moment, and his voice grew more serious. "How’s it going? Have you noticed anything suspicious? Still feeling stressed?"

"Not anymore," you admitted, speaking the truth. Even though the exhibition had just started and was supposed to last about another hour, you felt like you had passed some milestone where nothing could go wrong anymore. "But of course, I’m still keeping an eye out. I had a little chat with Allen…"

"I heard," Reid acknowledged. "Very interesting lecture on the human brain, I must admit."

You let out a small laugh.

"I talked to Allen earlier. Still in the car. After what he told me, I don’t think he's a paranoiac. The guy is just really worried about his safety. And not just his.”

A moment of silence fell on both sides.

"Speaking of Allen, he's heading your way," he informed you, likely watching the feed from the cameras. "I guess I'll hear from you later then. I mean, I’ll be hearing you the whole time, just not the other way around. Unless you want me to constantly broadcast about ant reproduction?"

"Sorry, Reid, but I’ll pass. Maybe some other time," you chuckled, noticing the engineer approaching. As he walked, he bumped into a man in the crowd and exchanged a quick apology. You used that moment to add something else, a bit impulsively. "And what about this? Do you see this?"

You pressed the inside of your hand to your lips before unfolding it, sending a kiss toward one of the cameras. Reid was silent as Allen drew closer.

"I see it," he finally admitted, quieter. You regretted not being able to see his expression, it was unusually hard for you to picture it at that particular moment. Was he smiling? "And I like it a lot more than what you showed me earlier."

You turned your back to the camera so he wouldn’t see you smile. It only hit you afterward that he probably saw it anyway, just from a different angle.

"I see you're enjoying the exhibition," Allen said, standing in front of you with his hands in his pockets. He had stopped pretending to be the classy guy and fully embraced his more laid-back side. "So, uh, sorry, but I think I'd rather head out now."

Worried, you discreetly glanced around.

"Did something happen? Did someone stare at you weirdly, do something...?"

He shook his head, a negative gesture.

"Nothing like that. I just saw what I needed to see. Check it off the list, I’m ready to leave..."

After his words, an absolute darkness fell.

Absolute darkness, in the truest sense of the word. The exhibition hall had no windows. When the lights went out, it felt as if someone had tied a cloth tightly over your eyes. Yet, like a fool, you kept looking around, as if moving your head could somehow tear through the blackness enveloping you, freeing you from the growing panic that was slowly flooding your senses.

“Garcia, what’s up with the cameras?” Reid’s voice sounded in your ear. He was confused, not yet frightened. He didn’t know what was happening yet. None of you did.

The people around you, of course, were also surprised by the sudden blackout. A few muffled gasps echoed, one or two squeals, a smattering of curses. But there were no screams, no one tearing at their throats or blindly bolting forward, trampling others in the process. That came later.

Exactly four seconds after the first gunshot rang out.

Before, the world seemed to freeze in place; everyone’s breaths were trapped in their lungs, unwilling to escape, even out of curiosity. Your body lunged forward as if trying to flee, but it quickly dawned on you that there was nowhere to run. Where had the shot come from? Who had fired it? Was someone hurt?

Something—or rather, someone’s hand—clamped painfully around your wrist. Instinctively, you tried to pull free, letting out a sound somewhere between a growl and a garbled cry.

“It’s me,” Allen choked out, his voice trembling. You couldn’t see his silhouette, but you knew the blood had drained from his face. “What the fuck... what the fuck is happen—”

The second shot rang out, closer and sharper than the first. Chaos erupted in the room. Screams, so hysterical they drowned out the voices coming through your earpiece, filled the air. Something struck you hard, sending you stumbling as pain radiated through your shoulder. It was an empty kind of pain—something you felt and yet didn’t. You realized it must have been one of the panicked people charging blindly through the dark.

“Here,” you commanded, your mind snapping briefly into clarity. In your mind’s eye, you pictured the layout of the room before the lights went out. The corner of the hall, the wooden table behind you, where one of the prototypes had been displayed.

You slipped under the table, dragging Allen with you. He groaned as his head hit the underside of the furniture.

You were so utterly disoriented that it felt as though your own name was echoing on a loop inside your head. It took you a moment to realize it wasn’t just your mind playing tricks—it was someone’s voice, growing more familiar with each passing second.

The third gunshot.

Allen choked on his breath, his hand still gripping your wrist so tightly you feared it might snap—yet you didn’t register it as pain, merely as a sensation. The two of you crouched beneath the table, facing each other, teetering on the edge of succumbing to the abyss of panic.

Reid spoke your name again, faintly, as though he were far too close to the microphone. As though leaning in would somehow make you hear him better—make you respond.

“I’m here,” you managed to stammer, the first thing that came to your mind.

"Thank God, I thought..." he sighed, suddenly stopping, as if realizing it wasn't yet time for relief. "Are you... are you hurt?"

"My arm."

You didn't know why those words escaped your lips. Maybe because, although your mind was too occupied with trying to figure out the situation to focus on something like pain, your body couldn’t ignore the fact that it felt it. Against your will, you let out a hiss and finally pulled your hand out of Allen's grip.

"You've been shot? We... we can't see anything, do you have anything to stop the bleeding, maybe use my jacket..."

"I don't know what's happening, we've completely lost access to the camera feed, someone must have turned them all off, just like the power... Reid, immediately notify Hotch, he needs to know something's wrong..."

On the other side, chaos erupted, comparable to the one surrounding you. Penelope was aggressively pressing the keyboard keys, Reid was rushing between a phone conversation with Hotch and throwing random phrases at you like stay where you are or how's your arm?

But was staying put the right decision? Wasn't it just waiting for the person responsible for starting this... massacre to come for you? On the other hand, how were you supposed to escape? In complete darkness? You had a weapon... but what good was it if you couldn't see anything? A sound of resigned sobbing escaped you.

And then, suddenly, right before your eyes, Allen’s red hair materialized, his fingers pressed into his skull as if he wanted to tear it apart himself. You both looked into each other's eyes. Visibility returned.

“We have light,” you said, though it didn’t loosen the grip on your chest.

“What?” Penelope sputtered, confused. “We still can’t see anything, the cameras are still…”

Allen let out a choked cry. You followed his gaze. Just before your hiding spot, a pair of leather shoes stopped.

“Get out,” commanded a male voice. You lifted your head. Above you stood a man with dark facial hair and a submachine gun, looking like an extension of his broad shoulder. You immediately noticed, besides the weapon, he was also carrying a black sports bag slung over his shoulder. Both of you were too disoriented and terrified to follow the order. “I said, fuckin’ get out and against the wall, I won’t repeat myself.”

Like animals herded into a pen, you followed his instructions to the designated spot. The entire crowd inside gathered against one of the blood-red walls of the room, some pressing their backs against it as if that embrace would ensure their safety...

“What’s going on there now?” Reid asked. “We still don’t have a feed... I can hear you breathing,” he blurted out unexpectedly.

You realized that your breath had indeed become heavy and loud. It dawned on you that you hadn’t gone through any extensive training on how to handle a situation like this; you were useless...

“Just...damn it, I know it’s easier for me to say, but try not to panic, okay? Whatever’s going on... panic will only make it worse. You need to focus, please. Can you do that? Breathe? Slowly, like I’m doing now?”

Your hands clenched around the fabric of his jacket, feeling it under your fingers. Closing your eyes, you could almost imagine him standing right in front of you, in this very building, speaking those words. It helped calm you down, at least enough for your mind to stay somewhat communicative...

“Good. Very...very good. Now, can you describe what’s happening over there?”

You knew that every piece of information you passed on would be worth its weight in gold. You tightened your grip on the fabric of Reid's jacket and began scanning your surroundings.

“One shooter. He’s herding us... all of us, against one of the walls and... stuffing prototypes into the bag, every one he can get his hands on,” you reported, describing everything you’d seen. “It looks like a robbery.”

“Just one?” Reid asked. “What were those shots? Someone... got hurt?”

You were about to deny it when your attention was drawn to a bloodstain spreading across the marble floor at the opposite corner of the room. Allen nudged you, pointing to something else—a body lying motionless.

“Guards. He... he killed all the guards,” you recognized them by their uniforms, the words barely escaping your throat. So, he hadn’t hesitated to kill, not one of those inexperienced types with any moral inhibitions. Trying to make sense of everything happening around you, you pressed your hand to your forehead. “But... but how could he see them in this darkness...”

“Night vision,” Allen interrupted suddenly, his previously hunched figure straightening as he realized it.

You found the man busy with the theft and controlling the area. He was quite solidly built, you could compare him to Derek. And, as the engineer had observed, around his neck hung a device for seeing in the dark.

“The police have arrived outside the museum, but they won’t go inside as long as you’re trapped with him. They don’t want anyone to get hurt,” Penelope informed you, then let out a soft, wheezing breath, as if she was trying to calm herself down. “Sweetheart, the whole team is on their way too. From now on, you’re our informant…”

“Is Christopher Allen among you?” A commanding voice suddenly cut through the sheet of panic blanketing the room, drawing everyone’s attention. It belonged to a truly imposing man with a shaved head and a forehead lined with wrinkles that seemed to stem more from exhaustion than age. But by far, the most significant detail about him was the submachine gun he held in his hands.

Two. There were two shooters.

Your focus shifted to the man standing right in front of you, as if delivering some kind of speech. At first, you didn’t even register what he’d asked. He repeated the question quickly and impatiently, and you froze. Not that you’d been particularly active before, but in that moment, all your bodily functions seemed to shut down completely. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at Allen—not even for a fleeting glance.

“Christopher Allen. Biotech engineer. He should be here,” the man continued, scanning the faces in front of him almost desperately, searching for the one he needed. He sounded almost... distraught? That broken expression, teetering on the edge of tears and madness, starkly contrasted with his militaristic physique.

Suddenly, his accomplice appeared, tugging at his arm.

“Jesus, give it a rest. We need to get out of here. The car’s waiting for us, remember?”

He shoved the smaller man with a force befitting his build, sending him staggering backward.

“I’m not leaving until I talk to him!” he declared with furious determination. “Christopher Allen…”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me…”

“Allen…”

His eyes scanned the surroundings until they landed on the two of you. You felt someone lightly wrap their fingers around your forearm, gripping it almost instinctively. It wasn’t a strong or painful hold, but rather one born of genuine fear, seeking protection. Protection that, from the start, had been your responsibility to provide. Yet now, standing face to face with two armed assailants, with lifeless bodies lying in pools of blood in the same room…you felt the crushing weight of an obligation you were physically incapable of fulfilling, creating a storm of chaos within your mind.

Allen must have been fooling himself into thinking he could blend into the crowd and remain unnoticed. Even as everyone’s gaze began to focus on him, urgently and with some unspoken hope, he stubbornly stood still. Or was he simply paralyzed by fear?

For the first time since he was called out, you looked at him. His eyes conveyed one thing: a simple message. It was him. The man who had been sending him threats, the one who had broken into his house. You furrowed your brows, this whole situation was becoming incomprehensible. He cared so much about kidnapping the engineer that he had organized the heist at the exhibition where he was supposed to be?

 “Come here. I need to talk to you, you… you need to do something for me.”

Once again, in your ears, you heard the description of the tortures that were mentioned in the letter.

"You have to do this," you said very softly, almost a whisper. "We can't let him get angry. Do you hear me?"

 It seemed like your words weren’t reaching him at all. You nervously glanced at the gunmen, hoping that the command you had given hadn��t raised any suspicion or made them think you were trying to outsmart them, deceive them in some way. Slowly, but with deep remorse, you loosened Allen’s grip on your forearm. His chest wasn’t rising, as if he weren’t breathing. But then his gaze shifted, not to you, but to the people around you, to the ones standing in fear, waiting for his reaction. Something in his face shifted, then he took a step forward.

“Slowly,” you instructed.

It seemed like the best solution. Unsub knew that the person he was looking for was among you, he had identified him without any difficulty. Allen couldn’t hide or escape, all that was left for him was to comply with the orders, for his own sake and for everyone else's. It was also important that he stalled for time. You hoped that as soon as your team arrived, they’d be able to come up with something. Maybe they were already there, working to make contact with the shooters and free you all, alive and unharmed.

At the same time, someone called your name.

"Report in."

It was Hotch. At the sound of his stoic voice, a fleeting wave of relief washed over you. You even parted your lips to answer when you realized the second gunman was staring at you. The room fell into absolute silence as Allen slowly approached them. You shouldn’t reveal that you were with the FBI or any other agency—that was a basic rule…

 "Listen to me carefully now," the unsub spat, placing one of his massive hands on Allen's shoulder, causing him to almost buckle under the forceful touch. Someone behind you let out a muffled cry. "You need to remove it from me, do you understand?"

"Shit," his partner muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. He was holding a bag with the stolen equipment, constantly glancing toward the exit. You wondered if he had anything to do with the threats sent to Allen. "Shit, we need to get the hell out of here before the cops completely block our escape. We don't have time for your fucking delusions!"

“Remove…?” the baffled engineer repeated, completely thrown off.

“The chip. The one inside me. Right here, on the back of my neck.” The man jabbed a finger at the spot. “Someone has to cut it out of me. You work with brains—you must know how to do it. He’s controlling me, watching my thoughts… I saw an interview with you once. I know you’re the only one who can do this…”

The man’s words devolved into a stream of incoherent rambling. Allen had no idea how to respond, and silence stretched on the other end of the phone. Meanwhile, the second gunman tried once again to persuade his partner to escape, but this only triggered an explosive burst of rage that made everyone around them shrink in fear.

“Shut up, or I’ll blow your head off too!” the man shouted. “I’ve waited too long for this. I don’t give a damn about all that crap you stole. I don’t care if they catch me. He’s going to cut out that chip!”

“What chip?” Allen finally managed to stammer. “I don’t understand…”

“The chip the government implanted in me to control me! That’s why no hospital will remove it—they’re all under government control! Only you can do it!”

“The unsub is delusional, that much is clear,” Reid’s voice suddenly crackled in your earpiece, catching you by surprise. He must have made it from Penelope’s office to the museum—where he joined Hotch and the rest of the team—at an impressive speed. “The reality he’s constructed is starting to blur with actual reality, which makes him extremely dangerous. Just from the tone of his speech, you can tell he’s emotionally unbalanced and on the brink of a breakdown. Unfortunately, this means his actions could be erratic and violent, with a strong tendency toward escalation.”

"What can I do?" you whispered as quietly as possible, taking advantage of the commotion in the center of the room.

"Are you there? Can you speak safely?" he asked, exhaling a breath of trapped air. "I mean... What you can do, first and foremost, is stay cautious. Don’t say or do anything that could provoke him further," he instructed, his tone turning focused and determined to provide you with as much guidance as possible. You nodded almost imperceptibly as you listened, as if he could see you. At some point, your fingers began nervously clutching the fabric of his blazer again, a small, unconscious tic.

"Don’t confront his delusions—or rather, don’t outright deny them. Try not to introduce any new elements either, to avoid deepening his paranoia, alright? That could put you in even greater danger..."

"Above all, try to redirect his anger away from Allen and the other hostages," Hotch cut in. "We’re working on a way to get inside. You just need to buy us some time."

Buy some time, it was easy for him to say, you thought with sudden frustration. What exactly could you do? It was incredibly hard to make any decisions when you were fully aware that their consequences could result in the death of an innocent person—or people.

Allen was still in front of the unsub, gripped tightly by the gun-wielding man, slightly shaking his head from side to side, clearly overwhelmed by the situation.

"But... but how am I supposed to get the chip out, do you really believe the government..."

"He doesn’t have the right tools," you interrupted, taking a step forward to draw the shooters’ attention to you. You raised your hands in a gesture of surrender as soon as you found yourself in the second man’s line of sight. You were scared of the direction Allen was heading in—after all, Reid had told you not to deny his delusions. Though you weren’t sure it was the right approach, you tried to make eye contact with the unsub. You had a feeling that he might only fully understand what you were trying to convey if you did.

Everyone was looking at you now. Nervously, you swallowed before speaking again.

"If you want him to remove the chip from your body... you’ll need at least a scalpel. Well, and if it was implanted by the government... that might not be enough?"

To your surprise, the second attacker spoke up.

"She's right, Erick, we don't have anything like that. Leave him, we need to get out of here... though fuck, it probably doesn't matter anymore, I wonder if the police have already caught our driver..."

You hoped that the team had heard this and started looking for suspicious vehicles in the area. Erick, or rather the unsub, began to stare intensely at you, analyzing what you'd said.

"Keep it up," Reid said. "It looks like you’ve planted some doubt in his mind about his own plan. You can keep going in that direction, just please, please, be careful..."

"Reid," Hotch admonished him.

You took a deep breath, your mind was working so fast that it was starting to go blank. You had to say something more before it consumed you entirely.

"But... but I'm sure that if you had met under different circumstances, outside the museum, he would have been able to extract the chip..."

"No! I've waited too long, I can't stand having this crap under my skin for another minute! He'll take it out now, or he won't leave here!"

Allen's raised hands trembled at those words.

"How can we communicate with the police? Is there a phone here?" he asked his companion.

"Are you fucking out of your mind..."

"They'll bring us the equipment. A scalpel. They won't have a choice, or I'll shoot them all, one by one."

"We should focus on how to get out of here..."

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT THAT!" the unsub roared at him. Fueled by this outburst, he shoved Allen away so forcefully that the man fell to the floor. The startled man took a step back, unable to hide his fear. It was clear who had the final say in this duo. Erick was not only physically larger, most likely more ruthless, but above all, incredibly unpredictable. Without looking at you, he issued an order.

"Everyone sit against the wall, you too." Allen awkwardly got to his feet and almost ran to the indicated spot.

You didn't want to sit, to put yourself in an even more vulnerable position. But when a man with a submachine gun and a completely deranged gleam in his eyes is standing in front of you, you don't have much of a choice. Slowly, you sat down on the floor, surrounded by all these terrified people.

You studied the faces of everyone around you—scientists and random people who had ended up here simply because they were intrigued by the exhibit's theme. And that innocent curiosity had led them into such a hopeless situation, where each breath, drawn into trembling lungs, could prove to be the final one. What terrified you was the fact that the only thing distinguishing you from them was the tiny microphone pinned to your clothes and the earpiece in your ear.

The woman sitting next to you, so close that your elbows were touching, looked as though she was about to faint. Without hesitation, you offered her your hand, which she took with no resistance. In situations like that, the escape from fear was desperately sought wherever it could be found—even among strangers.

“What’s happening in there now?” Hotch asked.

You explained the situation to him as clearly and logically as possible, correcting anything they might have missed due to their lack of actual insight into what was happening inside the museum. The woman beside you looked at you strangely, smudged mascara around her eyes.

“Please don’t worry,” you whispered, making sure none of the attackers could hear you. Though maybe you shouldn’t have, you felt you needed to reveal yourself to her, to help her survive the nightmare she had found herself in. “I’m... a federal agent. I have contact with the team outside, they’re working on how to get us out of here.”

You didn’t know if those words had particularly soothed her fear—just as you spoke them, Allen practically pressed himself against you, trying to whisper something into your ear.

“Give me your gun,” he practically ordered.

You looked at him with your eyebrows raised in shock. No words were needed. Your face clearly expressed one big what?

He looked like one of those people going on and on about a newly invented device they had been working on for years, staying up every night. In his eyes was a comparable crazy but incredibly self-assured gleam.

“I know you have it, but you won’t use it. Because you're scared. And I don’t blame you!” he quickly added, moving slightly away from you. Still, your faces were tilted toward each other in a conspiratorial whisper.

“But listen to me. He cares about me, right? Or rather, he cares that I get the nonexistent chip from him. He won’t hurt me when I get closer, he’s too desperate, in his eyes, I’m his only chance…”

“You must have lost your mind,” you said through clenched teeth. Was he really willing to take such a risk and play the hero when he and his fiancée were expecting a child? “And what about the other guy, huh? Do you think he’ll just stand there calmly when...?”

“Then I’ll shoot him first. I used to go to the shooting range, I was pretty good at it. The other one will be too scared to hurt me, and then I...”

“Absolutely not,” Reid interjected.

You snorted.

“As if I would even consider it…” you muttered. Looking at Allen, you tapped your forehead. “No way. You’re not risking your life on such a stupid plan where everything could go wrong…”

“Do you think I’m asking for your opinion?” he hissed, clutching his head in desperation. “The answer is no. I’m just saying, give me your gun. Where is it?”

As he said this, he grabbed the fabric of your blazer, searching under it for what he so desperately wanted. You tried to catch his hand, but he trapped it in his grip, digging through the layers of your clothes, under your skirt. You jerked your whole body in an attempt to break free.

“Leave me alone, they’ll notice us soon…”

“What’s he doing?” Reid asked sharply. Although he couldn’t see what was happening, his voice was not only confused, but also clearly worried, maybe even angry.

“Just give it to me, what the hell does it hurt…”

His hand, despite your resistance, finally reached the grip of your gun, slightly sliding it out from beneath your skirt. You shot a quick glance toward the attackers, still engrossed in their conversation—or rather, argument. Terrified by the thought that they might notice what Allen was pulling from under your clothing, you instinctively swung at his face, causing his head to snap back with a muffled cry of pain.

“What language do I need to speak for you to understand? What you’re planning is idiotic,” you said, your words flowing together with a surprisingly calm yet furious ease. You struggled to keep your voice low, feeling as though shouting might make him grasp it faster. But that wasn’t an option. “You’d risk not only your life but everyone else’s,” you said, gesturing toward what you now had no choice but to call the hostages. “And no one wants to die because of some brainless idiot with a hero complex.”

After you hit him, Allen backed away to a distance that no longer invaded your personal space. With your breath quickened, you adjusted the position of the gun, suddenly panicked that it might fall out during his attempt to grab it against your will. Despite yourself, a strange feeling overcame you. Out of everyone—of all the people trapped in the museum—you were the only one with even minimal knowledge of what to do in this situation, the only one with outside communication to the police, and, most importantly... a weapon. And yet, with that arsenal at your disposal, you were doing embarrassingly little to improve the situation.

Your jaw tightened at the thought, your fists clutching the fabric of your blazer so hard that your knuckles turned white. It was astonishing how much that small action helped you regain your composure. Not just the feel of the fabric but also... the scent. You could almost imagine you weren’t entirely alone in this. And though you wouldn’t trade places with Reid or anyone else from the team for anything, you couldn’t shake the feeling they would handle this far better than you were.

And speaking of Reid...

"Are you okay?" he asked again, his tone much softer than before.

"I'm fine," you tried to give your voice a casual, almost dismissive tone, though you doubted you fully succeeded in masking the tension. You let out a helpless scoff in an attempt to lighten it. "I mean, fine as much as one can be fine in this situation..."

You trailed off, and he hesitated before replying.

"Hang in there, okay?" he said, so quietly you thought you might have misheard. It made you wonder if it was because he didn’t want anyone else to overhear what he was saying into the mic. If that were the case, was it because he didn’t want anyone accusing him of chatting with you when he should be doing something more important? Or maybe, he just didn’t want this simple yet anxious message to reach unwelcome ears and lose its sense of privacy. You heard him swallow. "We’ll get you all out of there soon. Garcia got the phone number of one of the attackers, the delusional one—his name’s Erick Larson, by the way. If he has it on him..."

As if on cue, the sound of an incoming call rang out. They stopped talking, and the surprised man reached into his pocket.

"What are you going to do? Negotiate?" you asked.

"Hotch is going to talk to him. The main goal is to get the hostages released."

The word hostage sounded so strange to you; you couldn’t connect it to your situation. A hostage didn’t have a gun tucked under their clothing or communicate with an FBI team through an earpiece. Those people, holding each other's hands in fear and huddled on the floor, were the hostages. Not you.

"Can you stay on the line?" the words slipped out before you could stop them. "Just, I don’t know... tell me how it really is with those ants or something." You squeezed your eyes shut as a wave of embarrassment crashed over you. You were acting like a scared child who needed a bedtime story to forget the monster under the bed. "Forget it, that’s stupid. You’ve probably got your hands full. Focus on helping us, on the negotiations."

"I'm still on the line," he reassured you, even before the echo of your last words faded. "And I’ll stay on it the whole time. And since talking to you might help you not lose your mind in there... well, I guess that counts as helping all of you. The information you’ve given us, everything you’ve told us... you’re playing a crucial role in all of this."

"I don’t think so. I could be doing so much more."

"Like what, something that idiot was planning?" he asked, stressing the word idiot. "Please, don’t even think about it. You’re doing exactly what’s needed. You’re not sticking your neck out, you’re staying in contact with us. You’re calming the others down, like that woman. That... that’s heroism, not blindly rushing at two armed men."

Moved by his words, you weakly smiled. You’d forgotten again that he couldn’t see you, or maybe it was just automatic.

"Stop, I’m going to blush. But... but thank you, Reid."

"You don’t need to thank me. Oh, he picked up..."

And indeed, Erik pressed the phone to his ear, probably realizing that it was the police trying to make contact. You fixed your gaze on him.

A completely new stage of the robbery was beginning, one on which everything depended—negotiations.

*

Spencer had never had a particular obsession with control. 

In the vast majority of crisis situations, all he needed was a deep understanding of the causes and course of events. A thorough analysis of what had happened so far, drawing conclusions based on that, and then coming up with possible solutions, each with its pros and cons, which he also had to consider.

It involved emotionally distancing himself from the situation and relying on advice from his trusty friend—logic. And when he was guided by that cold logic, he didn’t feel the need to actively participate in what was happening around him or take any direct control. But in that particular moment—ever since he had heard the first shot coming from inside the museum, shortly after losing access to the cameras—he was almost losing his mind over how little he could do. Powerlessness was the first blow, the fact that her life, and others', depended on a man with probable schizophrenia, driven by dangerous delusions, the second, much stronger one.

As with every hostage situation, a makeshift operations camp was set up outside the building, where all necessary units gathered. Garcia stayed at her post, but he saw no other option but to go there personally. The rest of the team quickly gathered, and Hotch arrived so fast it seemed like he lived just around the corner. After all, there was a member of his team inside, the one he had sent there, never expecting such a turn of events. The two perpetrators, who were working together, seemed to have two completely different goals. One, apparently, was persuaded to go along with a simple robbery and escape. The second, Erick, however, had a different, more complicated desire from the start. He wanted Allen, who was supposed to extract a non-existent chip from his body, allegedly implanted by the government.

Allen. He spoke that name with an incomprehensible bitterness and disdain. He was disgusted by his thoughtlessness, pure stupidity. Though he was familiar with his achievements in the field of neurotechnology, he couldn't call him a scientist, really not anything other than an idiot. And it was all because he had nearly put her and everyone else in danger, because he pressured her so much that she had to defend herself by striking him in the face. He remembered how once they had slept in the same bed, so small that they almost fell off it and were forced to lie literally on top of each other. By accident, he had jabbed her with his elbow in the ribs, and before he could even whisper an apology, she hit him with such force that he lost his breath. He hoped Allen had taken an even harder blow.

He forced himself back to reality, as everyone gathered around Hotch, who was leaning over the phone. The unsub had answered, and the discussion began.

"We'll deliver what you need. All the equipment. But first, you must release the innocent people inside and promise you won't hurt anyone else. Not Allen, or anyone."

They argued, a lot. Of course, they wanted him to let everyone go, which was, realistically, impossible. Eventually, the number sixteen was agreed upon, a little more than half of the people present.

Through the microphone clipped to her clothes, they could hear him pointing at the people who were to be released. The second perpetrator seemed to have completely given in to his paranoid companion, and stopped trying to convince him to escape. He must have realized it was already too late for that.

“You’re the one who’s leaving,” he said, his words very clear, suggesting he was standing very close to her, pointing at her.

Spencer straightened up, a sudden rush of premature relief washing over him. Premature—that was the key word.

“No,” she protested sharply. “No, let her go instead of me. She’s older and not feeling well. I should stay…”

He pressed the microphone to his mouth, trying to talk her out of it.

“Do what they say, resisting might make him angry…”

“No, Reid, she’s right,” Hotch interrupted him. Spencer looked at his boss in surprise, shaking his head in confusion. Instead of explaining his decision to him, Hotch turned to her.

“You have to do everything you can to stay inside. You’re our only source of information, our access to what’s happening in there.”

“Hotch…”

Someone, JJ, placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from protesting further. It dawned on him that they were right, but... it was hard for him to accept. It was true that, as an FBI agent, part of her duty sometimes meant risking her life for the greater good. Still, this decision made his hands ball into fists, and he had to take a deep breath to steady himself. Suddenly, it struck him that if an unfamiliar agent, not a member of the BAU, not his friend, and someone who hadn’t shared a bed with him when his fear of the dark grew stronger, were in the same situation... he would have agreed with Hotch without hesitation.

“I told you to leave, so you leave. There’s gotta be sixteen people, or they won’t bring it to me, goddammit.”

“So let someone else go…” She cut off abruptly, a rustling sound echoing through the air, as if— as if he tugged at her clothes. Spencer almost spoke again but stopped herself. The same thought had crossed Hotch’s face, he saw it. 

“Seriously, this will be better. I... I can help with removing the chip...”

“Allen has to do it.”

“Yes, but…” her voice grew more desperate, trying to come up with something more, an excuse to fulfill her duty.

“Oh, what don’t you understand, you stupid bitch…”

Spencer anticipated the sudden outburst of aggression, he had felt it building for a while. Though the unsub was unpredictable, his anger rose and fell within mere seconds, Spencer knew it was all heading in that direction. So, he squeezed his eyes shut just before the horrible, dull thud rang out, followed by a muffled cry of pain. Then the sound was drowned out by a rush, something like a thud, and he could only guess that she had fallen to the floor.

He didn't open his eyes, but something pricked at his chest. He knew that if he looked at Hotch, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from giving him a big, i told you so. It wasn’t even about being right—he didn’t care about that, not at that moment. What mattered to him was that nothing happened to her, and that was exactly what had just happened.

No one from the team said a word, though Derek turned his gaze away from the speaker, his expression one of discomfort, like someone averting their eyes from an unpleasant scene. Hotch stared at some fixed point ahead, his face unreadable, before leaning into the microphone just as—

“What the hell is this?!” the unsub suddenly screamed. “A gun? Why the hell does she have a gun on her?!”

Reid’s eyes shot open as he nearly dropped to his knees by the microphone, as if somehow that could help. The weapon must have slipped out when she fell, sliding free from where it had been concealed beneath her clothes…

He noticed Elle nervously biting her thumb, her face pale as a sheet. He read the same grim, terrified realization on her face that had already taken root in everyone’s minds. She was burned. Her cover as the assistant was completely blown.

“He can’t find out she’s FBI,” Gideon declared, leaning heavily against the edge of the table. “He’s a paranoid maniac who thinks the government is after him. If he realizes a federal agent has been in there the entire time…”

“Wait!” the second attacker spoke up. He had long since given up and was now quietly following his partner’s orders. “I heard the hostages talking... something about there being someone from the FBI among them, someone who’s in contact with the cops. I thought they were just talking crap, but...”

“How does he know that?” JJ asked, her lips slightly parted in shock.

“She told one of the women,” Spencer blurted out, though it felt like the words came from someone else. Some part of him—still detached from the full realization of what her exposure meant—clung to the fragments of logic not yet consumed by his nerves. “To calm her down... but that woman must have passed it on to someone else.”

“FBI?” the unsub repeated, almost in a daze. “Fucking FBI?”

The sound of something slamming echoed sharply—an explosion of frustration and shock. Every pained whimper, every labored breath she took, reached Spencer with cruel clarity, amplified by that damned new microphone clipped to her chest, capturing every sound in merciless detail.

He wanted to cover his ears, to block it out, but he couldn’t. His lower lip trembled, caught between screaming or vomiting the moment he opened his mouth. 

Covering his ears would have been a selfish gesture, one that would only bring relief to him. She didn’t have that option; all that was left for her was to endure, as he assumed, the next kicks...

He lowered his head, not looking at the others, not wanting to see their equally helpless expressions. And although he hated himself for even thinking about it, he took two steps to move away. To escape from this place, from these sounds. Because he simply couldn’t bear them.

However, he didn’t get far; he staggered as if drunk and had to grab the table tightly to keep from falling. JJ, in some protective impulse that she probably wasn’t even aware of, reached out her hand, wanting to touch his shoulder, but he pushed her away.

“I’m calling him,” Hotch announced, immediately moving into action. “Maybe that’ll stop him…”

“Check if she has a microphone on her. If she’s with the FBI, she could have been spying on us the whole time,” suggested the second attacker, in a strangely satisfied tone. He was probably some sadistic bastard who enjoyed this turn of events.

This caused Erik to stop his attack. He completely ignored the incoming call. She took a breath, inhaling deeply, though it clearly caused her pain.

“She has…”

The unsub’s voice became very clear, he must have located the microphone and then disconnected it from her clothing, carefully watching him.

“We need to go in, we have to do something,” Elle said desperately, but it didn’t stir anyone else. 

Yes, they needed to do something, but... what? Going in meant putting the hostages at risk, and their survival was the priority.

"I knew the government was spying on me," Erick muttered to himself, the microphone had probably slipped from his hand and fallen to the ground. "Not just with the chip, but they also sent that fucking..." He kicked her. "...agent."

"Give it to me," Spencer requested, exhaling with a resigned hiss. He was, of course, referring to the microphone. She still had the earpiece in; she could hear him. He didn’t yet know what he intended to say. Maybe he’d ask her to stay strong? Assure her that it would all be over soon? Would that even count as a lie if he had no real certainty they could take any action to save her? Or was this one of those morally gray situations where a lie was better than the truth?

Without protest, someone handed the microphone to him, practically shoving it into his hands.

But then they lost the connection.

The unsub must have destroyed it, stomping the microphone underfoot.

And before it happened—before the static filled the line—a gunshot rang out.

Spence found himself sitting on a chair. Not that he’d blacked out in the literal sense, but one moment he was standing upright, and the next he was slumped onto the seat—probably the only chair in their makeshift camp across from the museum. It was one of those folding chairs made of black metal and unbelievably uncomfortable. For some reason, their look always reminded him of golf courses in the blazing sun. Sometimes they’d be there… wait, why the hell was he thinking about chairs?

Disoriented, he lifted his gaze. Derek was pacing back and forth, his hands on his head, while Elle and JJ were nowhere in sight. Hotch stood in front of him, turned slightly to the side, eyes fixed on the ground, a phone pressed to his ear. His rolled-up sleeves exposed tense veins on his forearms, his hands clenched into fists.

“You killed a hostage,” Hotch said the moment the attacker picked up. Hearing the words spoken aloud, the gunshot echoed again in Spencer’s mind. He flinched, though he hadn’t the first time it happened for real.

It really happened. This wasn’t some hysterical thought creeping into your mind when someone you care about is late to a meeting and doesn’t pick up their phone, the kind of thought where your brain starts whispering that something terrible must have happened. It wasn’t a dream either, nor a nightmare blending with reality. And it wasn’t some devastating novel, a climactic moment designed to shatter the reader’s heart into pieces.

This

really

happened.

"I’ll remind you of the terms of our agreement," Hotch continued. His tone was usually sharp, leaving no room for argument. But now, having just lost a member of his team and addressing the person responsible for it, his words didn’t just cut—they sliced. Spencer fixed his gaze on him, unable to comprehend how Hotch could remain so composed in the moment. He himself…

“You don’t harm anyone else, and in return, we provide you with the necessary tools. Shooting that innocent person…”

How did it come to this—that the person who, just that morning, ordered Chinese food with him to calm her nerves; who had teasingly told him to clip the microphone onto her, leaving him flustered; whose sweet scent of hair lingered so strongly in his senses that he had to hold his breath just to focus; who, one moment, could make him laugh until tears blurred his vision, and the next, worry so deeply about her that he felt feverish with concern; who listened, truly listened, even when he had grown tired of his own voice; who helped him discover pieces of himself he hadn’t known were there; who revealed, day after day, some new and enchanting fragment of her soul; and whose laughter made him want to capture its melody, bottle it, and keep it for eternity—was now reduced to the cold, detached phrase an innocent person shot dead?

He realized his mind had become entirely consumed with replaying those moments. Thanks to his eidetic memory, each recollection was painfully vivid, yet at the same time—perhaps due to the awareness of what came next—filled with a paralyzing void. Detached from reality, he wasn’t even listening to the ongoing negotiations, only snapping back when the shadow of someone’s figure fell over him.

“Spencer,” Gideon called his name, alternating between looking at him with concern and averting his gaze, as if unable to bear the shattered expression on his face. “Did you hear what Hotch said?”

He couldn’t bring himself to shake his head, though he doubted it was necessary. Rarely did something fail to interest him, especially something Hotch had said, but whatever it was, it had landed firmly in that narrow category. After all, what could Hotch possibly have said? That he’d reached an agreement with the murderer, who would now release eighteen hostages instead of sixteen? Or perhaps, in an act of twisted mercy, he’d declared that once they brought the requested items, the killer would allow one person to go inside and retrieve her body?

He had seen many bodies with gunshot wounds to the head in his life. A vision of her with similar injuries haunted him, so vivid and detailed that he closed his eyes in an attempt to escape it. But the moment he did, the image only grew stronger, searing itself into his mind with unbearable clarity.

"He wants you to go inside pretending to be a surgeon. That’s what the unsub is asking for in exchange for the hostages. Your task would be to fake removing a chip from his body, pulling off one of your magic tricks," Gideon explained matter-of-factly, though his expression betrayed a certain doubt about the plan. He suddenly fell silent, hesitation creeping into his voice. "If you can’t do it… this isn’t an order, kid. No one will blame you if you say no."

“We didn’t know it would be such a terrible mistake,” Gideon said quietly.

“Well, that’s the thing about mistakes,” he scoffed bitterly. “You don’t usually realize you’re making them. But you should be able to predict them, especially when someone’s…” His voice broke, and he looked away, his anger momentarily crumbling into something rawer.

Even though he had lashed out at Gideon, the older man didn’t react with anger. Instead, he stared at Spencer with a calm, almost sorrowful expression. When Spencer stood, he felt the weight of Gideon’s hand resting on his numb shoulder.

“I’ll do it,” he declared after a moment.

There was no fear in his voice, no visible sign of stress. Under different circumstances, he’d likely have been unraveling, nerves fraying at the thought of entering the building with the task of saving her. But now…now all he wanted was to stand face-to-face with the man inside. More specifically, next to his neck. With a scalpel in hand.

There was no time to waste. He practiced his sleight of hand trick—making the chip suddenly appear in his palm—a few times. It had been a while since he’d done it, but even so, it came off flawlessly every time. He clenched the small device tightly in his hand and, before he knew it, found himself standing at the foot of the museum steps.

The doors opened, and the first hostages began to emerge. Their reactions followed the same pattern. First came the shock—the struggle to process that they were truly stepping outside again, alive. Then, as they began to accept it, their terrified, hesitant steps turned into a relieved jog, and their eyes brimmed with tears of gratitude.

Spencer stopped, his gaze fixed on the faces of random strangers as they rushed past. Somewhere, deep down, he held onto a foolish, fleeting hope that she might appear in those doors as well. She didn’t, of course.

But if she had… he thought, his chest tightening at the mere idea. If she had, he wasn’t sure he’d ever stop being thankful. Not necessarily to God, but to everything—every twist of fate—that had brought her back.

He had seen the interior of the building on the camera footage and had managed to memorize it. He knew exactly where to head to meet the unsub. The unsub was standing right in the center of the room. Spencer knew there had to be a second shooter somewhere, but he was afraid to look around. If his gaze happened to land on her, not only would his chip trick fail, but he was also certain he’d never be able to shake the image from his mind. It would embed itself in every cell of his brain, one after the other.

He focused all his attention on him, on Erik. He turned to him trustingly, showing the spot on his neck where he believed the chip was located. Everything about his posture radiated the peak of madness. His voice and expression oscillated between hope, desperation, paranoia, and much more that could be listed.

Spencer tried to concentrate on the chip in his hand, not on the scalpel in his other hand. He knew it would be incredibly foolish, but as he was so close to this man's throat, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He realized that the only thing holding him back was the awareness that the second shooter was likely keeping him in their sights. It was almost certain; he didn’t need to look around to know that. But as soon as the blade touched the man’s skin at the back of his neck, his gaze, against his will, began searching. He looked at the wall where the remaining hostages were gathered, the ones who hadn’t made it into the lucky sixteen. He didn’t find the shooter.

But he found her. If he weren’t wearing his glasses, he might have assumed he’d mistaken her for some other woman. He could only blame his brain and possible hallucinations... but before he could entertain those thoughts, one simple sentence took over his mind.

She was there. Blood dripping from her nose, clothes torn, curled up on the ground among the rest of the hostages, but she was there. She was there, alive.

*

When you stood up for that woman, a brief struggle broke out between you and the unsub. He ordered you to go outside, but the voice in your ear told you to stay inside at all costs. Unsure of what to do, you started mumbling excuses and explanations, leading to an argument... during which he swung his weapon at you, aiming for your face.

As you fell, your weapon—clumsily shoved into your clothing after an argument with Allen—slipped out. And then things escalated rapidly.

Upon learning you were with the FBI, the unsub went into his usual paranoid frenzy. He dropped the microphone he had taken from you, and the heavy kicks of his leather boots landed on your body, on your ribs, on your back. You could barely keep up with protecting yourself, as the blows kept coming faster and faster.

And in that moment, something happened that probably saved your life. But at the same time, it cost another man and his family everything.

Allen sprang at the second attacker, who was almost hypnotized by the injuries being inflicted on you. He seized the moment of distraction, yanking the weapon from his hand and turning it against its owner. You remembered the fleeting look of triumph on his face as he aimed it at Erik. And then, the look of confusion when he was overtaken and the bullets tore through his body.

Somewhere in that moment, your microphone must have been destroyed, leaving you without contact with the team. And without it... you were just like any other hostage. Beaten, forced to stem the blood running from your nose with your blazer. You remembered glancing at it, running your finger over the fabric soaked in crimson, and thinking you'd have to wash it before returning it to Reid. Then, the hopeless realization hit you that maybe you wouldn’t get the chance to do that, and helpless tears filled your eyes for the first time.

It was strange that the unsub decided to spare you. Was it the incoming phone call that distracted him? Or perhaps the death of Allen? Was he the reason for this whole attack? You weren’t sure, maybe both at once. But you managed to return to your spot against the wall, where the other hostages had moved as far away as they could from the two lifeless bodies lying in a pool of blood.

Behind your back, the unsub was arguing with the police, probably Hotch. You weren’t paying attention to their negotiations, instead kneeling beside Allen. Completely staining your clothes, you reached for his hand. His eyes were wide open, his chest... maybe rising slightly, or maybe it was just your perception. In any case, you didn’t grab him to check his pulse, to see if there was anything that could be done to save him. You knew there wasn’t. You took his hand in a gesture of gratitude for everything, filled with sincere and deep compassion, despite everything that had happened between you. Maybe he turned out to be a jerk in that one, crisis situation where it’s normal for people to lose their minds. But what mattered was what kind of man he was in everyday, calm conditions. What kind of friend, fiancé, father he was.

You froze in place, staring at his face, his messy red hair. You snapped back to reality only when you realized the unsub was releasing the hostages. You weren’t part of that group. He didn’t look at you, or Allen, or his dead accomplice, as if you didn’t exist. The people were let out of the building, and then…

You nearly jumped to your feet at the sight of Reid, but the sharp pain in your ribs stopped you. Instead, you stared at him, confused as to why he’d gotten himself into such a messed-up situation alone. No one was with him, and you couldn’t even tell if he was carrying a weapon. Why was he taking such a risk? Couldn’t they have sent someone else?

Although your gaze bored into him, asking without words, he stubbornly avoided looking at you. It took a while, but then it hit you—he’d probably been told to hide the fact that you knew each other. He was pretending to be a surgeon, you realized.

You watched in shock as the unsub dropped his weapon and turned his back to Reid, begging him quietly to remove the chip from his body.

Before Reid touched the scalpel to his neck, he looked straight at you. You couldn’t read the expression on his face, but you knew there was a lot going on. It was a long moment of eye contact, which he broke to get to work. Focused, brow furrowed.

You shook your head in disbelief when he really pulled the tiny device from his body. Wait, so what? It had really been there all along? The unsub wasn’t a paranoid delusional?

At the sight of the chip, Erik staggered with a mix of hysterical joy and relief, and after a moment, he literally collapsed to his knees, burying his face in his hands. His body was shaken by sobs as he muttered his thanks. He was... absolutely harmless. The hostages took advantage of his vulnerability, using the opportunity to silently leave the museum. You found yourself among them, even helping those who, due to shock, struggled to move. How? With your injuries? You had no idea.

You pointed one woman toward the ambulance waiting outside the building, ready to take any injured hostages. Around you, sounds echoed, people were running in all directions. A sense of disconnection and disbelief washed over you, as if you couldn’t quite grasp that it was all over.

You turned around, sensing someone's presence behind you.

The first thing you noticed was that Spencer was still wearing his blue rubber gloves. Strange, but the first thing that came to your mind was to focus on that detail. You even opened your mouth to speak, but stopped when he gently cupped your face in both of his hands. As if you were a fragile relic, he tilted his head slightly from side to side, almost as though he was trying to deny the fact that you were standing before him.

"As if you saw a ghost," you whispered, a faint smile appearing on your face.

Taking advantage of the fact that he was leaning toward you, you pressed your forehead against his. With your eyes still open, you saw his eyelids tremble. When he closed them, you caught sight of that single tear beginning to form beneath them.

*

"Reid," you said, as he and the rest of the team were heading towards the exit. All heads turned in your direction, but you only cared about that one. "Can we talk?"

He opened his mouth, seemingly surprised by the request, but then swallowed and nodded.

"Sure. If... just, sure."

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh. Since your rib injuries were numerous, you had to be taken to the hospital for an X-ray. Your face wasn’t looking too good either. Only a few hours had passed since everything happened, and all your wounds were fresh and painful. After taking a decent amount of painkillers, you felt a bit like you were floating. You were sitting on the hospital bed, your legs resting on the floor as if on a bench. You made space beside you, and although he hesitated for a moment, he sat right next to you, so close your shoulders almost touched.

What you wanted to say, everything you felt, was hard to put into words. So you spent a few minutes in silence, during which you concluded that the simpler, the better.

"Thank you, Reid."

His dark eyes narrowed slightly, and he shook his head dismissively.

"Thank you? For what? I should be thanking you."

You knew this would happen. That he would downplay what he did, and it would be incredibly hard for you to express all the gratitude you felt towards him.

"For what? For everything," you stated briefly. He was preparing a response, but you beat him to it. You even raised a finger decisively, signaling for a moment of silence. You had a lot to say. "Not just for pretending to be a surgeon and getting into that museum. And don't shrug it off like it was a small thing! You saved those people."

"Maybe a little, but…"

"But that's not all. You were… you were with me the whole time. You kept talking to me the entire time…"

"Just like everyone else…"

"Everyone else gave me orders. Told me what to do to survive and what not to do. And of course, I'm incredibly grateful to them—if it weren't for them, I would have probably pissed off that unsub after less than fifteen minutes and we'd all be dead by now."

Reid flinched when you said that. Maybe you should hold off on such words, while the whole situation was still so fresh.

"You... you kept asking how I was feeling, talking to me, just... your voice, the fact that I had you on the other end, it helped me not panic. When, at the very beginning, you asked me to breathe with you..."

You shook your head, holding back the involuntary recollection of that moment, that memory when you were still trapped in that building with two armed men. Helpless and lost, clutching his jacket with all your strength. 

You realized with growing difficulty that you were holding back tears.

Reid had been listening to you quietly the whole time, but suddenly, he lowered his gaze. His hand found yours, hesitated for a moment, then gently grasped it. You immediately squeezed it tightly. Something came to your mind.

"And what did you want to thank me for?" you asked, referring to when he interrupted you the first time.

"It's not... I don't have as much to say as you do," he confessed, circling the topic more than addressing it directly. He still hadn't let go of your hand, and as he thought, his thumb seemed to absentmindedly stroke its surface.

"Wow," you murmured. "I never expected Spencer Reid to say something like that in my presence, but here we are. So?"

He smiled for a moment at your comment. However, that expression quickly gave way to a more serious one, carrying with it the unburied remnants of the horror you had both endured just a few hours ago.

"Just for you being alive," he said. Your brows furrowed slightly when you heard that. It wasn't what you expected. "For a while... when you were still inside, and your mic was destroyed..." With a sigh, he tilted his head back, holding back from returning to that moment. It couldn't have been easy for him, referring to exactly the moment that caused him pain. "We heard a gunshot. Everyone thought it was you.  That's why... that's why I just wanted to thank you for that."

Given that you had absolutely no control over it, those were the strangest thanks anyone had ever given you. But still, they squeezed your heart like no others ever had.

You leaned in to place a kiss on his cheek.

taglist: @she-wont-miss @mggslover @nyeddleblog @dylanobrienswife0420 @wmoony

@heddgie @khxna @marauder-exe-old @yujyujj @charleyreid @kitty-kai @sp3ncelle @pleasantwitchgarden @beesin03 @misserabella @re1dsb1xch

[tbaluver]

I Saw Mommy Kiss Santa!- The Love And Deepspace Men

in order: xavier x reader, zayne x reader, rafayel x reader, sylus x reader summary: your child(ren) caught you and santa kissing! genre: fluff fluff + silly + drabble a/n: hihi again lovelies ! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ justt one moree holiday drabble just bc i love the holidays and i've always wanted to do holiday posts! this isn't proof read btw i had the idea written out and i wanted to make sure this gets posted before christmas at least- i hope you all enjoy reading and i hope you all have a happy holidays! (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

it was well past midnight meaning it was officially christmas day. the cookies you and the kids had left out were completely gone, quite literally no crumbs on that plate and the glass of milk was left empty right beside it.

although xavier didn’t really like the idea of santa claus, he could tell how excited his boys were when santa was going to visit overnight. you had mentioned that they might try to peek, given how excited they were that they couldn’t sleep, so xavier thought it was a good idea to help keep the surprise.

however both of you didn’t expect that they would peek in the worst possible moment.

xavier had just finished placing the last presents under the tree while you were wrapping up the dishes you’d used to bake with the boys. as you walked over to him, you’d admire the scene he’d set up for them so perfectly, you couldn’t help but smile. it truly did look like santa had come.

you lean in to kiss xavier, his hands naturally wrapping around your waist as he pulls you closer. but little did you both know, your two boys had quietly sneaked down the stairs and were watching from the steps.

before either of you could react, they charged at xavier with plastic swords in their hands, ones that he had given them, and began attacking him. he was quick to stop them and the boys froze, their eyes wide in realization.

“huh? but we saw santa..where did he go?” the older one asked, clearly confused. their plan had failed.

“um.. ho ho ho? merry christmas?” xavier scratches the back of his head awkwardly as he sets their toys down on the couch.

“papwa where did santa go?” the youngest asked, his voice trembling as tears were welling up in his eyes.

“santa was in a hurry tonight,” xavier says softly, kneeling down to their level and pats both of his son's head. “santa was nice enough to lend me his suit..so i became santa’s helper.”

you crouch down beside them, trying to calm them down. “why did you attack your father? i’m sure santa wouldn’t have liked that.” you asked softly.

“we saw santa kiss you momma!” they exclaimed in unison.

xavier turns his gaze to, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. “santa kissed you?”

you had to explain to xavier later that he was santa after you put the boys back to bed.

Zayne:

it was well past midnight meaning it was officially christmas. your daughter was tucked into bed while you and your husband just waited a little longer to ensure she was asleep before starting to make it look like santa visited.

your husband loved you and your daughter more than anything. which is why tonight he was determined to make it perfect and the reason why he was wearing the santa suit you had secretly bought him. it was an effort to see that big smile on her face when she woke up. however you try to hold back your laughter every time you pass by him in that red suit.

zayne used his evol to make a few final touches to the scene. he conjured up a powdery snow on the floor, carefully leaving footprints to mimic santa’s path. he made sure to eat the cookies and drink the milk that you and her left out, also leaving snowy handprints. zayne also made sure to leave a beautifully written thank you note near the empty plate, making sure it was written differently than his.

once everything was perfect, you leaned into him as he wrapped an arm around your waist, the other gently cupping your cheek as he leaned in for a soft kiss. as he pulls away, he whispers, “merry christmas my love.”

but neither of you were unaware that from the spot behind the stairs, your daughter had peeked through the railings, watching you kiss santa.

christmas morning

your daughter came running into your bedroom, squealing in excitement as she jumps onto your bed. she tugs both of you to get up as she drags you both down to the living room where a mountain pile of presents laid under the tree.

but there was a moment of hesitation on her face. you exchange a curious glance with zayne as your daughter stopped in front of the tree.

“what’s wrong dear?” zayne asked, kneeling down to her level.

she twiddles her thumbs nervously, her gaze darting back and forth between you and zayne. “well..” she hesitates, “i-i know i wasn’t suppose to be awake last night.. but i hear santa’s boots and i wanted to see if he was really there. and he was!”

you raised a brow, realizing what she meant. but you didn’t understand why she seemed so conflicted. “you heard santa? did he wake you?”

you daughter nodded eagerly, “yes i saw him! but..i saw mommy kiss santa!” her voice trembling.

you both froze for a moment, exchanging a look. zayne tried his best not to crack a smile but you could see the corners of his lips twitching.

“no, no hon,” you try to reassure her before it escalates to anything else, “i didn’t kiss santa.”

zayne nods along, “it’s true she didn’t kiss santa. she was just giving him a hug, my love.”

your daughter’s eyes widened with curiously as she darts her gaze between you and zayne, “really?”

zayne smiles softly, lowering himself to her height. “yes, mommy was just thanking santa for all the presents because you’ve been such a good girl this year.”

relief flooded your daughter’s face, making you both relax. her smile lights up the room as she threw her arms around you both, hugging you tightly. “yayyy! santa must like mommy a lot then!” she chirps happily.

“of course he does. now, let’s see what he’s brought you this year.”

Rafayel:

surprisingly it did not take you that long to convince rafayel to play santa. sure, it was meant for you rather than for the kids but he took the role very seriously even when the children weren’t evem around to witness it.

all he had to do was eat the cookies, stomp around in his boots to make sure the kids could probably hear him in the living room and neatly arrange the presents under the tree. but no, rafayel decided to go all out. and honestly, you couldn’t say no his dedication and work.

he starts by making a grand entrance, the sound of jingling sleigh bells ringing near the children’s room, only for it to backfire. the noise woke up the kids and they all debated if they should sneak out to see if santa was really here.

rafayel didn’t stop there just yet. he called a in a few of his friends, the seagulls, to nibble on the carrots left for the reindeers, making sure there were a few crumbs scattered to ensure they were eaten. he even made sure to leave tracks outside the house to show that reindeers were definitely there.

but that wasn’t the end of it. using powdered sugar, he carefully creates santa’s footsteps around the living room to make it look like santa himself had walked around and set up the presents. as you finished up filling the fifth stockings and stepped back to admire the scene, you couldn’t help but feel excited when your children wake up in the morning.

rafayel steps out of the powdered sugar footprints and saunters over to you with a playful grin. “well? give santa a kiss?” he says, spreading his arms wide. you rolled your eyes playfully but you couldn’t resist. walking into his arms, you lean up to press a soft kiss against his lips. his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer while the other tangled gently in your hair, deepening the kiss.

but before either of you could fully enjoy the moment alone, you heard a small thud and a very panicked rafayel. “hey!! glub glubs-!”

the kids had been watching the entire kissing scene unfold from the stairs and before any of you could react they rushed over, tackling santa rafayel. the squealing stopped abruptly when they looked up. their faces frozen in confusion as they realize it’s their father.

“fawther?” one of them asks, eyes wide.

“papa?” the other repeats, staring at him in total disbelief.

“you..you’re santa?”

rafayel sat up as he brushed himself off, “listen glub glubs..don’t tell anyone okay?” he winks at them, motioning for them to come closer. “you see.. us lemurians actually work with santa. we have an important job in making sure sharks don’t eat him if the reindeers fall asleep. and this year.. santa needed a little help making sure your presents came in extraaaa safely!” he closes his eyes dramatically while nodding. he knew he played it off well when he hears the kids gasp and squeal in excitement

rafayel grins, standing up and playfully ruffling their hairs. “yupp! now let’s get you all back to bed. ya know you shouldn’t be up right now or santa might come back and take all your presents away!” he teases as they gasp in unison, shaking their heads furiously.

“what if he comes back and kisses mommy this time?”

rafayel chuckles as he turns his gaze to you and raises a brow, “puh-lease. as if i’d ever let him.”

Sylus:

it was a few hours past midnight, meaning christmas had finally arrived. while your daughter was tucked in, you and sylus worked under the warm glow of the fireplace and the tree lights, setting up presents and carefully arranging them to make it look like santa paid a visit.

you thought it would be funny handing him a red suit and boots to stomp loudly on the floor but little did you know sylus had his own revenge. with a smirk, he hands you a silly oversized elf hat. ‘my perfect little helper’ he teases.

you carefully stuffed extra toys and candy into her stockings that hung over the fireplace as sylus made a show eating a few of the cookies you had baked together with her, making sure to offer you a couple bites as well. he made sure to leave her a special postcard for her and made sure to ‘accidentally’ drop one of santa’s golden bell.

when you both finished setting everything up, you stood back and admired both your work. everything was perfect and you couldn’t wait for your baby girl to see that santa had visited.

sylus slips his arm around your waist, pulling you close. he lowers his height and presses his soft lips against yours as you slip off the ugly elf hat he’d given you. but neither of you knew that your daughter along with mephisto was quietly watching from behind the banister.

her eyes widened in disbelief as she exchanges looks with mephisto. how dare santa make a move on her mommy? before either of you could react, she charges down the stairs.

your daughter rushes straight at sylus, who was dressed as santa while mephisto swung at you instead, squawking extra loudly as it flapped around you. your daughter tugs at santa sylus’s boots, wailing, “go away leave mommy alone!”

but when ‘santa’ crouches down at her, her eyes widened with shock. she realized that it was her father underneath the suit. he gently scoops your daughter up as he stops mephisto from attacking you. “what’s the matter, sweetie? you know you’re not supposed to be awake right now,” he says gently.

her eyes threatened to spill tears while her lower lip trembled, “i-i..i heard santa and I just wanted to see him! and then i saw mommy kiss santa!” she whimpered

sylus glanced at you with a raised row, trying not to crack a smile. “sweetie..don’t worry. mommy would never kiss anyone else but you and me,” he says softly, brushing her hair from her face. “santa knew you were awake, so we switched places.”

you daughter gasped, sitting up in sylus’s arms with wide eyes. she looked back and forth between you both, “waaowww!”

you were honestly equally impressed by how quick he had come up with an explanation and at how well he played along. “now, now..let’s all get some sleep and we can see what santa left us in the morning, okay?”

“yayyyy!” she cheered, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug.

[hattiewritesalot]

Poison

Azriel x Reader

Summary: At an event hosted by High Lord Beron, Azriel's closest friend Y/N seems to be incredibly wasted. The only problem? Azriel knows that she doesn't get drunk. Ever.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, poison, vomiting, a drunk love confession, a bit of angst but it is all in all quite fluffy

A/N: So this may or may not be inspired by the scene in Wicked King where Cardan gets poisoned... enjoy!! :3

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

Y/N is, as always, on high alert as she follows Rhys into the ballroom. Something combined with her dislike for social events and her lack of trust for the High Lord of Autumn meant her eyes and ears were everywhere, keeping constant watch over everything. Azriel’s large hand gently splays over her bare back, the rough fingers a gentle reminder that he’s there, and possibly to tell her to stop being so tense. She shoots a glare at her best friend, who responds with a badly-concealed smile.

She’s dressed in black, they all are, as is custom in the Night Court. Her dress is floor length, the black satin offering a nice hold around her figure, the neckline a low plunge, and the slit on her left side allowing her some freedom. The fabric is littered with silver threads and diamonds, meant to represent constellations, and also to match the sparkly heels on her feet. She looks pretty. She feels it.

A servant welcomes them warmly, almost immediately offering the group a drink of champagne, which she takes. Cassian snorts, and teases her for taking the only glass that the poor servant had, but she rolls her eyes and takes a sip.

She rarely drinks. She doesn’t like it. She’s seen enough of the boys’ drunk shenanigans to be put off it for a lifetime. She usually stays sober, if not tipsy, whenever they go to Rita’s, opting for escorting a stumbling Rhys back to Feyre rather than being the one stumbling.

But one drink won’t hurt. Not tonight. Tonight, she’ll need it.

The Inner Circle split up around the room, Azriel hot on Y/N’s trails, scarred fingers just barely tracing her bare shoulders. She sighs, leaning against a wall, him doing the same. “Time check?”

Azriel snorts. “You’re the one with the watch.”

She clicks her tongue, and checks the time, leaning back with a groan. “Two more hours of… this.”

“Always a ray of sunshine.”

“Says the shadowsinger.” she grins. Azriel was the first person she’d met in the Inner Circle, and coincidentally, her closest friend. They’d been attached at the hip the moment she’d introduced herself. They know everything about each other, inside and out. 

She’d never admit it, but her heart longed for the Illyrian. He was always so clever, so considerate. And, not to mention, his sharp features and hazel eyes made heat rise in her cheeks; hot, blissful, lovestruck heat.

“I think Cassian wants me for something.” Azriel muses, tipping his chin towards where Cassian was very unsubtly gesturing for him to accompany him. Y/N narrows her eyes at the redhead he’s standing with, and laughs. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say that were Eris Vanserra. Good luck, Az.”

Azriel groans, playfully tugging her hair as he walks over to his brother.

All alone, now. She drinks her champagne, downing it almost immediately. She liked champagne. It never got you too drunk, never made you too irrational. “Enjoying the festivities, Y/N?” Beron’s voice purrs out from behind her. She forces a smile.

“I’d say yes, but it appears I’ve run out of champagne.” The High Lord cocks a brow at her words, and offers her another glass with a different, more vibrant liquid. “Try this. It’s exclusive to the Autumn Court. I believe you’ll enjoy it, it’s not too strong.”

She eyes the glass, before taking it, taking a sip. It’s a subtle flavour - fruity, slightly bitter. “Thank you, my lord.” His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he walks away. 

Cauldron, this drink is good. She drinks every last drop, and places it down on the table next to her, looking for a bottle of the same-

Oh. Oh. This is fun. Fun, fun, fun!

Why isn’t she having fun! Tonight is amazing!

An uncontrollable giggle tears from her throat, the sound throwing her off slightly as wave after wave of lucid dizziness hit her. She laughs, clutching her chest. This is so fun!

Where’s Azriel? Is he having fun? Oh, she loves him. Loves him so much. Where is he!?

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

Azriel cracks his neck, obviously not wanting to engage with the eldest son of the High Lord, who clearly would rather be anywhere else. Cassian is long gone, with the excuse of seeing Nesta, and now Azriel has been left to deal with Eris. This could not get any worse.

Until it does.

Y/N beams at him, tripping over her feet to get to him, stumbling as she slumps into his arms, snorting and giggling. He freezes. Eris chokes on a laugh. Her hands reach up to grab his face and tug at his hair.

“Y/N?” he murmurs, taken slightly off-guard by her strange behaviours.

“Azzy!” she squeals, laughing and kissing his cheek. Eris cocks a brow. “Looks like your little Y/N’s had too much to drink.” His words echo around Azriel’s head. No, that can’t be. Y/N doesn’t like drinking. And why would she get drunk here of all places? And why-

His heart sinks. Her pupils are dilated. Her body is trembling. Her skin is turning clammy. 

This isn’t alcohol. It’s poison. 

His eyes go wide as he pulls her form into his arms. “Y/N?” he mumbles, a little firmer now. “Y/N, what’s going on?”

“Nothing, silly!” she squeals. Eris laughs again, and Azriel’s head whips towards him. “What the fuck did you do to her!?” The eldest son’s eyes widen at his harsh, almost growling tone. 

“Me? I’ve done nothing. She’s just drunk, shadowsinger.” He sneers at him down his pointy nose. Azriel clutches Y/N closer, ignoring all of her babbles as she squishes his cheeks and tugs his dark locks like a child. 

“I love you!” she squeals. “I love you sooooo much. So much. I wish we were mates.” she slurs. Azriel takes a shaky breath at her words, and Eris gestures to her flailing form. “See? Drunk.”

“She’s not- she’s not drunk, she’s- fuck, where’s Rhys?” His tone is desperate as he searches for the High Lord. Y/N’s knees start to buckle, but he wraps her arms around her thighs. “Stay with me, sweetheart, you’re gonna be okay.” He manages to catch the attention of Rhys, whose eyes go wide at the sight of Y/N’s slumped form, and he rushes to them. “What-”

“She’s been poisoned.” Azriel chokes out, panic surging in his veins as he hugs his girl as tightly as he can to his chest. “We- we need to get her out.” Rhys takes a breath, and seems to send a message to Feyre, because she starts to round everyone up. “She’ll be okay, Az, just calm down-”

“I’m not going to calm down! She could die!” He snaps. Rhys backs off at the protective gaze in his brother’s eyes. “Get her back to the Night Court, I’ll sort out here.” Azriel hooks one arm under her knees and the other on her back as he closes his eyes, winnowing back to Velaris. 

She squirms, shoving herself onto the cold floor of the Moonstone Palace, and she pukes, gasping and gagging. He shushes her gently, his shadows swirling around her and stroking her hair back as she retches. “It’s okay, you’re okay. Get it all out.”

As she vomits, his mind can’t help but flick back to what she said in the Autumn Court. ‘I love you!’ ‘I wish we were mates.’ His heart flutters at the recollection, but he silently growls at it to shut up. She’s been poisoned. Her head isn’t right. She was probably just saying words for the fun of it. She doesn’t mean it. She doesn’t mean it.

But still…

No, heart, stop it.

He pulls her up against his chest when she’s finished, gently rubbing her back. She sobs, slurring unintelligible words. He kisses her sweaty temple and carefully carries her up to her room, murmuring sweet nothings to keep her calm, but her body thrashes. Her eyes are rolling back. His hands are shaking. 

He just about manages to get her writhing form onto the bed when Rhys arrives, Madja hot on his trails. “She’s been poisoned?” she asks. Y/N screams in response. Rhys winces at the noise, but the expression worsens at the fury on Azriel’s face.

“Azriel-”

“Go on.” He growls. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t storm back in there and kill them all.”

“Because first of all, that’ll be a lot of paperwork for me, and second of all, I don’t think Y/N wants you to leave.”

Rhys is, frustratingly, right. Y/N has taken it upon herself to latch onto Azriel’s arm, clutching him and mumbling profusely, cheek squished against his bicep. He sighs, and gently pats her hair, shooting a glare to the High Lord of Night in the process.

He sits with her the entire time Madja treats her, his fingers tightly intertwined with hers. The healer concludes that she’ll be okay, but not without side-effects. She says he was clever to get her home so quickly. It wasn’t out of intelligence, it was out of fear.

She gives Y/N a sleeping draught, just so her aching body can get some rest, and then she leaves. Azriel stares at his best friend’s face, and figures he should do the same. He presses a soft kiss to her forehead, smiles at her fluttering eyes, and moves to leave.

Standing in the doorway, however, his eyes flit back to hers, the hazel of his irises connecting with her soft hues.

And then he feels it.

Like a string pulled taut, it snaps within his chest, flooding his veins with the pure bliss of finally having something to protect, to care for, to love. It roars throughout his body, his heart burning with the golden flames of the bond.

Mate.

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

PART TWO HERE!!

lol hmu I write for acotar now

[hwallazia]

ANT!FRAGILE – 최산

⋆ synopsis. you pamper your successful boyfriend after his dream night at coachella.

pairing. idol bf! san & fem!reader

taglist. @bro-atz @purplenimsicle | apply to join my taglist ♡

wc. 3,1k

warnings. unprotected sex (wrap before tap!), bath sex, slight degradation? (reader’s referred as “dumb girl” once), dirty talk, softdom!san, sub!reader, dacryphilia?, slight overstimulation, hickeys, size difference, bulge kink, cow girl position, petnames (princess, love, darling & more), teasing, squirt, suggestive language (yn tells wooyoung to kill himself, jokingly! they’re two very friendly friends ;)), coachella san (as a warning itself, yes).

nic’s notes ⋆ this took way too long for no reason at all (⁠￣⁠ヘ⁠￣⁠;⁠) but here it is! my brain rot of coachella san (ofc with teeth rotting fluff at the end bc i’m the one writing it) also, lowercase is intentional!

you should’ve seen it coming after you found out that your boyfriend, san, would be performing at an event as important as coachella. not that you were complaining though.

you knew how much your boyfriend loves attention, how much it turned him on to hear the fans scream for him, and how the cameras adjust their lens to zoom in on his face or his toned muscles from dancing and moving from side to side. there were constant conversations in which san would ask you “should i wear this?”, “if i unbutton a couple of buttons will i get a reaction from atiny?” of course, you’d tell him dismissively that no matter what he does, he’d always get a reaction from everyone, from you especially.

but taking off his shirt in the middle of a concert? really?

you had already seen him without clothes on the upper part of his body, of course, —and also without clothes down there, but let’s omit details—. the thing here’s that you knew how cautious he was with his clothing, always trying to cover what was most important. but this surprised you, and immensely.

it is, in fact, a sight for sore eyes. but a certain level of jealousy invaded your body; you liked to think that you were the only one with the privilege of seeing his well-worked body. but now millions of people and locals would have photos and videos of your shirtless boyfriend on stage. you definitely couldn’t accept it, even though the entire internet already knows exactly what ateez’s choi san looks like underneath the expensive fabric that covers him at concerts.

you were fully aware that this was his job, and that he was paid for it, but did it really have to be him? why not any other member? maybe seonghwa? or mingi! what about him? he also has a pretty active and... desperate fanbase. it was obvious that more than one fan would pay to get, at least, a glimpse of his abs. so, with so many options, why was your boyfriend the exposed person?

but of course you couldn’t show up in his dressing room with a jealous expression clearly decorating your face, you had to act like the sweet and tender girlfriend you were and put jealousy aside for a moment. your boyfriend had just finished performing on a dream stage for any artist, you couldn’t ruin his night because of a little scene.

you weren’t a jealous or toxic lover; you were a conservative one. you liked knowing that you were special to san and you expected exclusivity from him; consequently, he would receive the same treatment. but you should’ve expected it when you started dating choi san. he’s an idol and that's his job: to cause, in any way, the attention of the fans which, consequently, would keep them afloat or flying through the charts.

but, that was an indelible feature of yours. therefore, in some way, you would make it noticeable.

you hit your knuckles a few times, with moderate intensity, against the modern metallic door decorated by a gold star that highlighted your boyfriend’s band name. you watched as the handle turned slightly and opened the door wide, managing to discover wooyoung with a foaming glass of champagne that found its rest in the palm of her hand. behind his figure, you could see mingi sitting on a noticeably comfortable leather couch next to yunho, both of them clinking their glasses together with a clink; yeosang and seonghwa taking a selfie in the mirror and jongho and hongjoong talking animatedly, perhaps about the upcoming scenarios you thought.

“what the hell are you doing here?” wooyoung said, looking at you confusingly. you narrowed your eyes slightly at his quick lack of courtesy.

“good night to you too, wooyoung. you were incredible out there.” you replied sarcastically, hoping he would finally greet you properly.

“oh thank you so much. but seriously, what are you doing here?” he asked once again.

“what do you mean what am i doing here? i came to congratulate y’all for the show because you totally killed it. all the atiny around me went absolutely feral because of you guys.” you praised, and wooyoung grinned nicely. jongho and hongjoong came up behind him, intrusively joining the conversation.

“well thank you very much, yn.” jongho responded and you gave him your purest smile, truly meaning your words.

“but i also came here to congratulate my boyfriend personally?” you interrogated since his figure wasn’t appearing in your visual field.

“that’s why i was asking! damn, you really don’t listen." wooyoung sentenced, his gaze being comparable to that of a mother scolding her daughter. “as soon as the concert was over, he changed and went to the hotel to see you. he thought you’d be there.”

“but i don’t have a ride home, and my phone died” you explained, doe-eyed as you waited for wooyoung, or any of the boys, to take the hint and quickly take you to the hotel to your boyfriend.

“you could just ask for it, you know?” wooyoung tsked, but finally surrendered to your big, brown eyes with a sigh. “give me two seconds to look for the car keys. i’ll take you there.”

and that’s what he did as fast as lighting since he knew they’d only have that night all for themselves before flying back out to korea. the next day would be full of promotion of their songs to the locals and their stage in coachella, so san wouldn’t be able to even spend a bit of his day with you. 

during the ride to the hotel, wooyoung spoke, “hey just don’t tire him out since we have quite the amount of work to do tomorrow.”

“you know, you could say something like ‘have a nice time together’, ‘take care of him’, ‘call me if you need anything-” before you could continue, he interrupted you briskly. 

“oh hell no. the both of you are responsible adults who know how to take care of themselves without someone else’s help so don’t even try to bother me tonight because i’m exhausted as shit.” he confessed, hands adjusting their position on the steering wheel when cornering.

“oh so now you’re saying i’m a burden?” you asked ironically, knowing wooyoung would catch it was only a joke.

“oh you do know how to think!” he smiled looking away from the road for a bit to lock gazes with you. wrinkles decorated the corner of your eyes as you closed them a little.

“go kill yourself.” you huffed.

“shut up, you love me,” his puckering lips sent a flying kiss to you. he stopped his words briefly, “actually you kind of have to, since i’m taking you with your beloved boyfriend.”

“touché” you agreed. 

the ride to the hotel was quick and calm since you were talking and joking animatedly with wooyoung. and when you least expected it, the car stopped moving. consequently, you turned to look out through your window, yellow lights, and gold decorations hurting your eyes with how beaming they looked, even when it was one in the morning.

“here we are.” wooyoung turned to look at you, his sincere eyes transmitting warmth, “remember what i told you-”

“yeah, i got it mom,” you answered, rolling your eyes vexingly. the man gave you an annoying gaze, so you replied, “what? you’re acting as if you were my mother! chill out, for fuck’s sake. as you said, both of us are responsible adults who know how to take care of ourselves.” you used his own words as a weapon to defend yourself against his exaggerated concern.

“whatever. just go,” he unlocked the car’s door so you could get out of the car once you finished your little conversation. “he’s been a pain in the ass lately because he hasn’t had time to see you.”

“imma get going then,” your hand approached the car door handle and finally opened it and got out of the vehicle. “thank you, woo. i owe you one.”

“you owe me way too many to count ’em” wooyoung wheezed. “but yeah, we’ll add it to the list.” he gave you one final smile, which you reciprocated sweetly.

you finally closed the door and watched wooyoung make his way back to where coachella was taking place, he’d probably go to enjoy the rest of the night’s stages with his members. you genuinely wished for him to do well and arrive with the boys safely, but now you had something more important to do: pamper your successful boyfriend after his dream night at coachella.

after you saw wooyoung getting lost on the dark LA highway, you turned around and ran towards the hotel to get into the elevator and quickly dial the floor of your boyfriend’s room.

once there, before your brain could think about it, your legs moved on their own and guided you recklessly toward the door. you hit your knuckles against it a few times, but there was no response.

“sannie? it’s yn. are you there?” you mutter softly against the door frame. another moment of silence came in response.

remembering your boyfriend had given you the key card, you pulled it out of your coat and faced it against the handle. after a soft peep sounded, you opened the door. just to be greeted with a dim-lighted room.

you wandered around the room, looking carefully at the floor so as not to bump your feet against any furniture or step on any item of clothing that, perhaps in a hurry, had been forgotten on the carpeted floor. you kept repeating your boyfriend’s name until the silence stunned you. the dazzling city lights illuminating what the poor little lamp that rested on the nightstand could not illuminate.

suddenly everything went silent. until you heard, in the back of your head, a faded tune. you quickly recognized the melody and started humming the song, the lyrics of the weeknd’s starboy being the only thing you could think about.

once again, you knocked a few times on the door, this time receiving a response from the other side. a dull “who is it?” was heard. “it’s me, love. yn.” you replied.

“oh, babe! come in!” he said happily, you could imagine the adorable smile drawn on his lips.

you turned the handle gently. and lord, didn’t the scenery you were greeted with turned you on.

your boyfriend’s toned body resting on the bathtub, lavender-scented bubbles covering most of it, his nipples being exposed to the fresh bathroom air that would soon turn into a heavier one, and his arms resting on each side of the tub. a serene, yet excited, expression decorating your boyfriend’s gaze.

“hi, beautiful,” he welcomed you. his eyes becoming crescent moons due to the effect of his beaming smile.

“there they are, those beautiful eyes i love so much,” you mumbled, walking right next to him to caress his left cheek soothingly. “how’re you feeling, champ?”

“alive as fuck,” both of you giggled at his response, your loving gaze locking with his for a moment of comfortable silence. suddenly you felt his hand fondling yours.

“mind joining me here?” his sharp eyes turning darker than they already were as they looked at you. fortunately for your boyfriend, you were willing to give him the moon and the stars that night.

you still can’t explain how you ended up on top of san, the water covering up to your navels, while he moved his thumb masterfully over your clit and his fingers repeatedly entered your cunt. his phalanges stretched you deliciously, causing several moans and moans from you.

“is that the spot, sweetheart? you're shaking so much.” his voice was hoarse and deep as the ocean, causing dizziness to affect your common sense.

“y-yes, don’t stop, please- ahh! ngh...” you could barely answer.

“sorry, love.” he announced before stopping his movements, drawing a annoyed, pathetic whine from your swollen lips. before you could insult him, he spoke first. “’wanna feel your tight cunt cumming around me, pretty.” during his brief pause, a pitiful cry from you was heard. “will you let me?”

“yes!” you answered desperately, “y...yes, i’m all yours, sannie. use me.”

san let out deep groan, which resonated inside your ears and made your heart jump out of your ribcage for a second. you rapidly adjusted yourself so you could reach the height of his crotch and massage his veiny, prominent erection, then align it to your entrance.

“go down slowly, don’t want my pretty girl to break.” he expressed, his soft, low voice driving you insane. still, you looked at him with cocked eyebrows.

“break? hah. surely, coachella drove your ego up to the clouds.” your eyes stabbing daggers into his. his hands found a home on your hips, slightly drawing them down to insert his cock inside you. your hand landing on his bare chest stopping his every move.

“nah. it’s just that you’re kind of fragile after all.”

you knew he was messing with you, provoking you. if there was one thing he always reminded you of, it was how strong, determined, and passionate you were, and it was one of the many features that made him fall deeply in love with you.

“let’s see who’s the fragile one here” you went down without warning on his cock, surprisingly touching your cervix all at once. a moan was snatched from both of you. your shaking body began to move carefully up and down him.

“f-fuck, yn- mm,” you heard a strangled moan from your lover, his lower lip was caught in between his teeth.

“f-fragile? that’s y...your- ah! your shit ass cock.” you manage to respond, notoriously provoking him.

“i don’t think it’s a shit ass cock, beautiful- ngh.” he panted, “just look how full you are.” he held your hand delicately despite the momentary brutality and placed it over your belly, a small lump formed there, “full of me, and my shit ass cock.” san breathed, kissing your collarbone, leaving cute lovebites in it. “you cry and beg for it every single night, hun. what does that have to say about you, hm?” a pitiful whine left your lips, demonstrating san that you were truly incapable of formulating coherent words. you were just too fucked out.

“well, lemme tell you,” he continued. “you’re just a dumb girl who needs to be fucked by a big fucking cock, otherwise, you don’t stop whining.” he said profoundly, his voice stimulating all your senses at once as he absolutely ravished you. “isn’t that right, princess?”

“i- ah! sannie, pleeease.” you blubbered, your eyes shedding the most precious tears.

“i asked you a question, darling. and i expect you to answer.” he sentenced sternly, grabbing your jaw and mushing your cheeks together. a pout was, therefore, formed on your lips.

“yes! yesyesyes, you’re right. i just need and think about being fucked by your big fucking cock-” you acknowledged, immersed and lost in the feeling, feeling like he was fucking you just like the first time.

“you’re such a cutie when you whine for me.” he chuckled while you, on the other hand, couldn’t hold back your screams anymore. his eyes stuck to your bouncing breasts, and your parted lips.

“what happened, princess? is it too much?” he cooed at you, looking at you adoringly, his eyes beaming at the sight of you.

“n-no,” you tried with all your might not to stumble over your words, but it was almost impossible since your thoughts were interrupted by the intrusion of your boyfriend's cock into your tight cunt.

“no? let’s see if it is now,”

your bastard boyfriend directed his hand toward your vagina, his ring finger and middle finger deliciously touched your clit. san watched as you exploded inside, his cock was bringing you closer to an abysmal orgasm that you doubted you could withstand, but you were a masochist, and despite all of this, you continued to go up and down on his cock sloppily.

“san! i’m s-so close- fuck!” your frowned eyebrows, reddened cheeks, swollen lips, and arched back made san float, he couldn’t worship you more than he already did at that moment. he was internally so grateful that you were his. only his to kiss, to hug, to fuck, and to adore.

you had had many guys behind you in the past, and they all promised the same thing: ‘i promise you the moon and the stars’, but absolutely none of them reached the level that choi san reached, who promised and delivered to make you see the stars, the moon and– fuck, he made you see the entire milky way every time you were with him.

“go on, babe. let it out for me, i got you,” he hid his face in the crook of your neck when you slowed down bouncing, and then he lifted it up. his lips brushed your neck, a position which he took advantage of to lick and suck on the side of it, adorning it with some nice and new hickeys next to the ones he did some moments ago.

san did everything he could to give you a good orgasm, a strong one, but pleasant. he loved seeing your expression as you had reached the peak of pleasure, a squirt erupted between your bodies, causing strangled moans to come from both mouths. your walls became tighter, squeezing out every drop of cum held in san’s hard cock. you felt how a strip of that viscous, white essence warmed your insides even more. the feeling even being comfortable in some kind of way.

“see? i didn’t break, idiot. hah,” you huffed out a sigh, looking at that beautiful face that you would never get tired of.

“mhm, you’re always so strong and beautiful. aren’t you, my love?” he reacted breathlessly as he stroked your cheek, as if it were the finest diamond.

“always, and only for you,” you wrinkled your nose as you looked at him foolishly in love.

you turned and felt stupid every time you were around this man, but what could you say? you weren’t complaining at all.

that man was capable of loving you in all your facets, in all your states and moments.

you were also grateful that choi san was yours, and solely yours.

“well, big boy,” you started, settling into his chest with him still inside you, keeping you warm, “i’m very proud of you and your achievements, love. you really brought home the trophy.”

“actually, you came here all by yourself.” he flirted, a cocky smile causing a giggle to ring inside your ribcage. “hm. thank you, princess. but the actual trophy is you and will always be you.”

you hid your face with your hands, splashing a little water unintentionally, “don’t start being all mushy, you softie. i’m gonna cry otherwise,”

he laughed, his voice causing your skin to vibrate lightly. “okay okay. wanna finally wash up?”

“can we just... stay like this? just for a bit,” you closed your eyes, enjoying the warmth your boyfriend provided you.

“of course, princess. whatever you want,” he held you in his arms safely, making you sleepy. two minutes of silence filled with tranquility and love passed, until san started talking, “remember you’re always my trophy.” he muttered lowly with his honey-dripping voice.

“babe,”

“hm?”

“shut up.”

| masterlist

[starkwlkr]

just a girl | f1

an: this is me asking for your letterboxd pls i need letterboxd mutuals 🤭 my account is deadpunks also made the reader have glasses because we need more glasses representation in fanfics 😔 (to the girlies that wear glasses, this is for you!!!)

Las Vegas Grand Prix Weekend

“What movie did I watch?” Y/n read the comment that a fan left on her instagram live. She adjusted her glasses and smiled. “I just finished ‘Drop Dead Gorgeous’ it’s so underrated. The cast is so iconic like you have Kirsten Dunst, Brittany Murphy, Denise Richards, Amy Adams and Allison Janney in one movie. It’s definitely in my top four.”

It was hours after qualifying and Y/n was exhausted, but all she wanted to do was finish watching her movie. Unfortunately for her, the movie she had just named wasn’t anywhere on streaming so she brought her portable dvd player and a stack of dvds. When Lando saw her watching a movie and crocheting a scarf for herself in her garage, he laughed at the scene. He actually found it adorable.

“What’s my letterboxd? Okay, listen. . . I don’t give it out to just anyone so this is between you lovely people and me, okay? My letterboxd is ilovecillianmurphy420 and please follow me, I am desperate,” Y/n laughed. She then took her phone and saw all the new follower notifications from letterboxd. “I’m going to ask the social media admin to ask everyone on the grid for their four favorites. Lando is definitely going to name animated movies. That or he’ll forget what a movie is and say nothing.”

What’s your four favorites?

“Whoever your asked for my four favorites, I’m blocking you. How dare you ask me that question . . . Paddington 1 and 2, Saw and Mamma Mia. I know I said drop dead gorgeous was in my top four, but I lie all the time.”

The next day, her letterboxd account had become the second most followed account.

INSTAGRAM

liked by oscarpiastri, letterboxd and others

yourusername just watched the masterpiece that is jackass number two

formulaupdating can i ask why you don’t post about f1 that often?

yourusername no you may not

oscarpiastri i was there too

yourusername ok

landonorris didn’t you watch that last week?

yourusername this is my own private domicile and i will not be harassed

landonorris ?

yourusername bitch

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After The Race / Interviews

Y/n hated being interviewed, it was the absolute worst thing on earth. No wait, forgetting her AirPods was the worst thing, but interviews were right behind that. She was exhausted and now she had to deal with reporters asking her what she thought about the championship battle.

Her fingers brushed the strap of her cap nervously as the interviewer’s voice cut through her anxiety.

“Y/n, P7 today—solid result. How are you feeling?" The reporter asked.

Y/n blinked, her eyes flicking around as she tried to process the question, and then her gaze landed on her own shoes. She cleared her throat awkwardly, looking up only to meet the camera for a brief, uncomfortable moment.

“Uh, yeah. It, uh . . . it was. . . good. I mean . . . yeah, I’m happy with it, I guess," she mumbled, her voice faltering.

The reporter smiled kindly, already used to the shy responses. “What do you think made the difference here in Vegas?" He waited patiently for Y/n’s answer.

Y/n’s lips parted as she prepared an answer, but the words tangled up in her brain. She shifted from foot to foot, adjusting her grip on the cap. Fuck, why can’t you think of anything?!, she thought to herself. “Uh . . . I don’t know . . . it’s just . . . uh, a little . . . weird, with all the lights and, you know, the . . . Strip, and, um . . .” Her voice trailed off.

The interviewer gave her a soft chuckle, understanding that Y/n’s awkwardness wasn’t lack of confidence, but rather a product of her introverted nature. Before the interview could go on, two figures appeared behind Y/n.

Oscar had cut in, Y/n’s pair of glasses in his hand. He placed a hand on her shoulder and handed the glasses to her while Lando ruffled her hair. She happily accepted them and placed them on her face.

“Alright, alright,” he said with a grin, his voice gentle but firm. “You’ve tortured her enough, mate.”

Y/n let out a relieved sigh as she turned to Oscar, who gave her a small, reassuring smile. “You’re doing great, really,” he said quietly, his tone meant to ease her nerves.

Lando then spoke up. “Are we done with the interrogation? She's literally about to disappear into her own head if we keep this up."

The reporter chuckled. “I was just asking Y/n about her performance today.”

Y/n hadn’t even noticed that she had completely abandoned the interview. She had started doodling on Oscar’s hand. The Aussie had given her the pen he had used from a fan when he was signing autographs. It was their thing. Whenever she would get nervous and Oscar was around, he would let her draw on his hand. Somehow the hand doodles calmed her.

“Right, Y/n?”

That’s when she picked up her head and noticed Lando was staring at her. “Sorry, what?”

“The race,” Lando reminded her. “She was brilliant out there. Absolutely nailed it.” Y/n didn’t have the words to argue. Instead, she ducked her head, feeling both embarrassed and grateful.

The three drivers said their goodbye to the reporter and walked away. Lando threw an arm over Y/n’s shoulder, grinning. “You know, for someone who hates interviews, you’ve got a hell of a lot to say . . . just not when it’s on camera.”

Y/n’s lips twitched into a small smile, and she felt a brief wave of gratitude for her friends’ protective camaraderie. She glanced at Oscar, who gave her a knowing nod, his usual quiet confidence offering her a sense of calm.

“You guys are unbelievable.” Y/n laughed lightly.

“Yeah well you’re the idiot who’s going to have to deal with us.” Lando replied.

“Unfortunately.” She teased.

“The idiot with the crocheting skills and silly little film reviews that are very popular on the box app.” Lando added.

“What?” Y/n stopped walking and stared at Lando. She looked over at Oscar for an answer, but the Aussie just shrugged his shoulders.

“I do believe our dear Y/n wants a hot priest?” Lando teased, bringing up Y/n’s lastest letterboxd review about Fleabag. “That’s a bit scandalous, don’t you think?”

“Hot priest?” Oscar couldn’t believe Lando had just said those two words together.

“You two don’t get it! Come on, we’re watching Fleabag!”

[miyukisu]

Talk Like That .ᐟ

❤︎ | Who would have thought that your quiet and stoic boss had such a dirty side to him? (2.7 wc) ╰ feat. hiromi higuruma (jjk) x afab! reader

kinktober entry no. 3 | kinktober masterlist

tags - degradation, office sex, semi-public sex, hiromi is very mean, paralegal! reader, spanking, punishment, p in v, blowjob, pussy eating, doggy, protected sex

minors do not interact

H I R O M I H I G U R U M A

You passed by those bold letters plastered across the matted glass of his office almost everyday. After all, your office was a little bit down the hall from his.

Everyone in the firm knew who Hiromi Higuruma was. For one, he was perhaps the most talented man working there. But also because he was the finest man you have ever laid your eyes upon.

Hiromi always came to work looking sleek and prepared for the day. You would never catch him dead with tousled hair or his suit disheveled.

In fact, people slowly became jealous of his secretary. She spent all hours of her working day right in front of his office, relaying calls to him, and accompanying him in several errands.

It was ridiculous. His secretary probably had grandchildren at her age. But you understood why anyone would be jealous.

Part of you wanted to spend time with the stoic and brooding man too. But it was tough. Too fucking tough.

He wasn't the type to engage in pleasantries or make himself available for too long at office events. You've been working at the firm for so long, yet you barely knew anything about him outside of his achievements. It was almost impossible, you thought.

That was until you, as a paralegal, were requested by him.

────────────

All those years of hard work finally paid off now that the biggest shot at the firm took notice of you. It was your chance to prove yourself at work and to Hiromi. Of course, it was a primary goal to impress him.

The case was demanding, a high-profile one at that as well. It was no surprise that you had to spend many sleepless nights at the office. But you weren't alone—Hiromi was often left to work late hours too.

Sometimes you'd drop off a file or two and discuss a bit. Ordinary stuff, all things considered. However, tonight was different; tensions were high.

You had made a mistake earlier today. You missed a detail and the client had to know about it. There was a whole scene in the office that afternoon. Hiromi had to clean up after your mess. None of it was his fault and he had to embarrass himself for the sake of some paralegal he probably only learned the existence of recently.

Usually, you'd be ecstatic to catch a glimpse of him so late at night. But right now, he was the last person you wanted to see. Hiromi didn't show it, but he was definitely angry.

────────────

You knocked slowly against the open glass door of his office. You were sure it was just the two of you in the building at this hour. At least, if he decides to reprimand you for your shitty performance—no one would have to hear a thing.

Hiromi didn't bother looking up; he knew who it was. He simply nodded in acknowledgement and you let yourself in.

"Here are the files you were asking for earlier," you say as you hand it over to him. Hiromi uses the pen in his hand to point to an empty space of his desk.

It takes you a few seconds too late to understand, but you place the documents neatly before taking a step back. He continued skimming over the document he was currently holding, a bored expression painted on his face.

"Learned your lesson yet?" he asked flatly.

You were hoping not to go over this again, but it was inevitable. "Yes, sir... I'm terribly sorry for what happened earlier. It won't happen again."

"Words... always just words, but it never gets reflected in your performance," he retorts. Hiromi sets down the document in his hand before grabbing the papers that you brought. Still—he hasn't spared you a single glance.

Despite the impartial look on his face, you could tell that he wasn't exactly happy at the moment. You nervously awaited for a comment or critique from him about your work as he proceeded to go over it quickly.

"Are you sure I won't find another mistake in here?"

"Y-yes, sir. I'm certain."

He hummed lowly. "Then I better not see one. You know what'll happen if I do."

Right. You were going to be removed from the case and some other paralegal would take your place. Then, Hiromi would never ever look your way. That fact in particular made you the most anxious you've been thus far.

You watched as his weary eyes scrutinized your work. The black orbs darting quickly from one side to another, his lips still pressed into a thin line.

If you had hoped he would dismiss you without another scolding... oh, you were dead wrong.

Hiromi's eyes squinted at a particular line before dropping the documents on his desk and running his large hand over his face. You felt the blood drain from your face and your heart drop to your stomach. This wasn't good...

He finally looked at you, but with that kind of expression—you'd rather that he not looked at you at all. His dark eyes bore into your skull. No words were spoken yet, but you knew the thoughts running rampant in that head of his.

None of them were good.

"You were certain you made no mistakes—yes?"

"I'm sorry," was all you could mutter. What else was there to say? Nothing would soothe his wrath.

He slammed an open palm against his desk. "What the hell do you do all day in this office? Hm?"

Hiromi stands up, not letting you reply. "Come here," he commands. You had never heard me speak or had seen him look this way. But the stress and frustration at work—coupled with his personal affairs—simmered within him. He was only a man; he too had his limits.

You sheepishly shuffled closer to his desk, head hung low.

"Look at me."

And you do.

Your eyes meet and it stirs an emotion in you that you can't quite put a finger on. He leans in, his smell permeating your nostrils and down to your core. Hiromi smelled good, of course, that much was to be expected.

"Tell me—what the hell do you do all day in this office?"

"I don't know what..."

"You don't know what that means? Can't even answer a simple question?"

He grabs your jaw slowly, applying just enough force to make your lips pucker. "Do you know how humiliated I was earlier because of your mistake?"

You mutter another apology, albeit a bit muffled. Hiromi scoffed in response. "Is that all you can do? Say sorry for every stupid mistake that you make?"

"I'm starting to think all you do here is prance around in your tight clothes, batting your eyelashes at anyone who'd look at you. You like their attention, don't you?"

Hiromi lets go of your face, giving you a chance to speak. "I don't... I don't want their attention... I don't do the things you just said... I..."

"I only want your attention."

His taut expression seemingly softened, though traces of anger were still evident. You added, "Maybe I was trying too hard because I wanted to impress you and in the process I kept messing up more because... because..."

You were a stuttering mess; you weren't even sure why the hell you were telling all of this to him. It was pathetic and unprofessional. But it hardly mattered in an odd situation like this.

"You wanted to impress me?" he asked.

Everyone did; everyone wanted to look good in the eyes of the Hiromi Higuruma. You were no exception to that.

"Yes, sir..."

He takes a step back from his desk, sitting back down on his leather swivel chair. "Come over here," he says as his finger makes a come hither gesture.

You gulped down hard before going around his desk, standing right in front of him. Hiromi still had a bored expression plastered on his face. "On your knees."

Your eyes widened ever so slightly. There was no mistaking his words. He was actually asking you to—

"O-okay," you replied shakily. You dropped down to your knees, but before you could get any closer, he leaned down and grabbed you by the hair; your messy bun became messier. He only did so—not to hurt you—but to make you look at him and to make sure you'd hear him loud and clear.

"You really want to make it up to me?" he asked lowly and you nod.

His fingers slowly detangle from your locks as he leans back in his chair. "You know what to do then. I'm sure you've been waiting to do something like this."

You'd be a fucking liar if you said you haven't dreamt of doing something filthy like this with the hottest man in the office. It only made it better that you were actually doing it inside his office.

You crawled closer to him until your head was between his thighs. It thrilled you straight to your core. Your fingers lightly traced the seam of his trousers before pulling his zipper down. After undoing the button, you slowly tugged the pants and boxers that were in the way. Your mouth almost watered at the sight of his cock—though it was only half hard.

Seeing how it was now—it made you wet thinking about it at its biggest. It was overwhelming now it was actually in your hand. Warmth radiated from it as you brought your face closer.

"You look famished. Fantasized about this before haven't you?"

In response, you simply kissed his tip—earning a hiss from him. You spat on it, letting the glob of saliva trickle down his length before your hand spread it all over. In one go, you took as much as you could in your mouth.

His girth made your eyes water. He relaxed in his chair as if he found peace in your warm mouth, a soft groan slipping from his chapped lips. You made sure to go at an excruciatingly slow pace, not wanting to overwhelm yourself. This might just be your last chance to impress him; you weren't about to fuck it up.

"Guess there is something you can do properly hm?"

A familiar set of fingers tangle in your strands again, slowly guiding your head. "Sucking it so enthusiastically—maybe paralegal work isn't your calling."

All the dirty talk went straight to your sopping cunt, making you moan around his length. He hisses again, "Fuck... you're enjoying this way too much."

He pulls your head away from your cock, taking the time to admire the fucked out expression on your face. Saliva dribbled down your chin as your half-lidded eyes stared back at him.

"Don't wanna cum in your mouth. Stand up," he orders again.

He stands up along with you. Before you could even gain your footing, he had bent you over on his desk—knocking over the stuff that littered the surface.

A gasp escapes you as he roughly pushes your black pencil skirt, bunching it up at your waist. He marveled at your stocking-clad ass. A harsh slap surprised you.

"O-ouch..."

He leans against you, his chest pressing into your back. Hiromi's hand snaked to your front, lightly gripping your neck. You could feel his minty breath against your neck as his nose jabbed your cheek. "That's for the first fuck up."

Then, another slap. "That's for your fuck up now."

Another slap. "And that's just for my own pleasure."

He pulled away, the abrupt absence of his warmth making you feel restless. Your senses were flooded by a plethora of things that you didn't notice how he knelt down in front of your heat. Hiromi wasted no time and ripped the barrier that was your black stockings.

"Fucking slut. You should see how drenched you are right now."

He presses a kiss over your clothed cunt, his nose poking at your hole. You let out a breathless groan, finally nearing some much needed stimulation.

His finger hooks into the gusset before pulling it out of the way. He found it pitiful how you clenched over nothing. He'd give you something to clamp on soon anyway.

Hiromi dove right in, lapping at your folds. He took his sweet time, much like you did with him. His tongue teased the length of your slit first before thrusting it into your neglected hole.

A desperate moan echoed through his office as you squirmed. But Hiromi held you by your ass, making sure you would stay still for him. He went faster and faster, not allowing you to adjust. And in no time, he had you cumming on his tongue.

God, it was unfair that an attractive and talented man like him had to be good at sex too.

The last bit of strength that held you up had disappeared, leaving you slumped over his desk. He reached for his drawer, looking for a condom. As much as he wanted to fuck you raw—let you know reaaaal well the consequences of your actions—Hiromi was still a rational man.

He'd have his fun, safely.

Hiromi wasn't in much of a hurry as he idly rolled the rubber down his cock. Besides, time was probably going slower for you right now. Who would've thought just a little bit of pussy eating would get you undone so quickly?

Pathetic. But Hiromi secretly liked it.

He lazily rubbed himself as he lined his cock against your dripping entrance. There wasn't a chance of him going slow now. Hiromi plunged his entire length into your cunt. Your soft moans came out in unison as the lawyer threw his head back a bit.

It had been a while since he let off some steam... and maybe the first time he had a cute little paralegal bent over his desk.

"Finally got what you wanted? Tell me how much you wanted this."

"Wanted this so much," you blabbered. You could hear yourself and even you were surprised by how shameless you were. Hell, if dick as good as this was going in and out of you—maybe it's not that surprising that he could coax out even the most deprived thoughts in your head.

"Fucking slut. You wore this pretty skirt for me, didn't you?"

"Y-yes. I did."

"Fuck right you did," he says. Hiromi takes your arms and crosses them behind you, grabbing it so he can slam harder into you. His grip was bruising, but the pain was easily overlooked by how good he was making you feel down there.

"Maybe I should keep you on this case—not as paralegal, but as my stress reliever. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

His question was only meant by a strangled moan, but it sufficed. The way you eagerly took him in was more than enough to let him know. "Such a perfect slut," he whispered under his breath.

The relentless snap of his hips had you clenching down and he was definitely feeling it with the way he would suck in through his teeth. He knew you were close and so was he.

"Fuck," he drawled out. "Pussy so good... making me cum too quickly for my liking."

Hiromi let go of your arms, letting them fall to your sides. Instead, he grabbed on to your hips, pulling you into his. The lewd squelching sounds along with your moans were certainly heard from beyond his glass office.

"Sir... I'm so close... shit."

He took that as a sign to keep up his maddening pace. Your orgasm came crashing and white spots flooded your vision. If it weren't for him holding up your hips, you would've been completely slouched on the wooden desk.

"Fuck... take it all," he says before his thrust become sloppy. Eventually, he released into the rubber. Hiromi rode out the last few seconds of his climax before slipping out of you. As he took his hands off your flesh, his hand prints were left as a souvenir.

He took the rubber off his sensitive length, tying it up and chucking it into the trash bin. Hiromi sat back down, exhausted, while you were still bent over his desk. Perhaps it'll be a while before you'd gain your strength again.

Until then, he'll admire your pretty pink pussy.

©miyukisu do not repost/reupload/translate any of my works on other platforms

╰ author's note 100% of my knowledge on law comes from Suits so don't come for me

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Toto Wolff with wife reader. Taking rookie under her wings like Ollie & Kimi. With their son, Jack as their younger brother. And Toto being so done with her but still love her as she was si kind in his eyes. Fluff and cute. Up to you. Thanks!! :))

Mama mode overdrive

Word count: 1.2k

Pairing: Toto Wolff x wife!reader, feat. Jack, kimi and Olli

Summary: In the aftermath of Kimi's crash at Monza, you take on a motherly role, comforting Kimi, worrying about Ollie Bearman, and ensuring that your little racing family is cared for and safe

______________________________________________________________

The Monza paddock buzzed with the usual high-stakes energy, but inside the private motorhome, it was a different kind of intensity—a quiet, comforting cocoon amidst the chaos. After Kimi's crash in P1, the tension hadn’t really left the air, not for you, not for anyone who cared about the young driver. His father, Petri, had arrived moments after you had managed to corral Kimi into the motorhome, his concern evident in the deep lines on his face.

But it wasn’t just Kimi you were worried about. Your mind kept drifting to Ollie Bearman, the young rookie who had also recently joined f1. Ollie wasn’t there today—he had a prior engagement. But that didn’t stop you from thinking about him, from worrying about whether he was eating enough, drinking enough, or getting enough rest. Ever since Ollie had joined f1, you had taken him under your wing, just like you had with Kimi. The young drivers were talented and fiercely determined, but still so young, and you couldn’t help but feel protective of them.

Petri stood by the small kitchenette, making a pot of tea as he glanced over at you. You were seated on the couch, gently coaxing Kimi to lean back and relax, your fingers running through his hair in a repetitive, soothing motion. Jack, your little boy, was curled up beside you, his tiny hand clutching yours, his wide eyes fixed on Kimi with a mix of concern and admiration.

Kimi, for his part, was trying his best to downplay the whole situation. “I’m fine, really,” he insisted, though his voice was a little too weak to be convincing. “It was just a bad corner, nothing to worry about.”

But you weren’t having any of it. “You’re going to rest,” you said firmly, smoothing back his dark hair. “You took a hard hit out there. Let me take care of you, okay?”

Kimi sighed, his resistance waning under your gentle insistence. “I’m not going to win this argument, am I?”

“Nope,” you said with a small smile, continuing to gently rake your fingernails through his hair. It was a gesture that came naturally to you, something you did to comfort Jack when he was anxious or when Ollie was feeling the weight of a race. And now, it was helping Kimi relax, the tension slowly leaving his body.

Petri watched from across the room, his sharp eyes taking in the scene. He walked over with two mugs of tea, handing one to you before settling into the chair next to Kimi. “You know,” he began, his tone light but with a teasing edge, “you’re turning into a bit of a mother hen, Y/N.”

You looked up at Petri, a little surprised but mostly amused by the comment. “Am I?” you asked, not entirely sure whether to be flattered or defensive.

Petri chuckled, patting Kimi on the shoulder. “You’re fussing over him like he’s made of glass. But I have to say, I think he likes it.”

Kimi gave a tired laugh, his head resting against the back of the couch. “She’s worse than you, Dad,” he teased, though there was a warmth in his voice that belied the lightness of his words. “But... I guess it’s not so bad.”

Toto, who had been leaning against the doorway, couldn’t help but grin at the exchange. He stepped further into the room, moving to stand behind the couch where you and Jack were seated. “I’ve been telling her the same thing,” he said, placing a hand on your shoulder. “But she just can’t help herself.”

You rolled your eyes at the two men teasing you, but there was a smile on your lips as you continued to run your fingers through Kimi’s hair. “I’m just making sure everyone’s okay,” you defended yourself, though your tone was playful. “After that crash, I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.”

Petri nodded, his expression softening as he looked at his son. “I know you mean well, Y/N. And I’m grateful you’re here for him, for all of us, really.”

Kimi’s eyes fluttered open at that, and he gave you a small, appreciative smile. “You’re the best, you know that?”

You blushed slightly, not used to being the center of attention like this, especially when you were just doing what came naturally. “I just care about you guys,” you said softly, your gaze dropping to Jack, who had nestled into your side, his little head resting against your arm. “And I worry. Maybe a bit too much.”

Toto squeezed your shoulder, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “You do worry too much,” he agreed, his voice tender. “But it’s one of the things I love most about you. You’ve got the biggest heart.”

Petri nodded in agreement, though his teasing nature wasn’t entirely gone. “She’s got a heart big enough for this whole paddock,” he said, looking over at Kimi, who had closed his eyes again, clearly comforted by your presence. “But you’re right, Toto. We’re lucky to have her around, even if she does fuss a bit.”

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you at their words. Maybe you were a bit overprotective, but seeing Kimi resting peacefully now, and knowing that Jack felt safe enough to relax beside you, made it all worth it.

As the afternoon wore on, the motorhome remained a sanctuary of sorts. Kimi dozed off fully, his breathing evening out as you continued to softly stroke his hair. Jack had also fallen asleep, his little hand still wrapped around your fingers, his small body curled into yours.

Petri watched the two boys—one his son by blood, the other his son in spirit—with a fondness that only a father could understand. He glanced at you, seeing the way you were caring for them both, and felt a deep sense of gratitude.

“You know,” Petri said softly, not wanting to wake the boys, “you’re really something special, Y/N. Not everyone would take on this kind of responsibility with so much love and patience.”

You looked up at him, a little taken aback by the sincerity in his voice. “I’m just doing what anyone would do,” you said, a bit embarrassed by the praise.

But Petri shook his head. “No, not just anyone. You’ve made this team feel like a family, and that’s not something you see every day. It means a lot to us.”

Toto, still standing behind you, nodded in agreement, his hand gently rubbing your shoulder. “He’s right. You’ve got a way of making everyone feel cared for, even when they don’t realize they need it.”

You blushed again, feeling a bit overwhelmed by their kind words. But as you looked down at Kimi and Jack, both of whom were now sleeping peacefully, you felt a deep sense of contentment. This little family you had built, here in the middle of the high-pressure world of Formula 1, meant everything to you. And if that meant being a bit overbearing, a bit of a “mother hen,” then so be it.

Toto leaned down to kiss your cheek, his voice soft in your ear. “I love you, you know that?”

You smiled, leaning into his warmth. “I love you too, Toto. And I love them,” you added, your gaze drifting back to the boys.

“We all do,” Petri added, his voice warm with affection. “Now, why don’t you get some rest too? You’ve been looking after everyone else all day.”

You hesitated for a moment, but then Toto gently pulled you up, guiding you to a chair nearby. “He’s right. You’ve earned a break,” he said, sitting you down.

[vidavalor]

Hey, so...

Have you all noticed *how* Crowley and Aziraphale are drinking in 1941? And by this I mean... that they barely are? <wink>

Crowley has been drinking for millennia by this point. He gets drunk as Bildad the Shuite in 2500 B.C.. Aziraphale has been drinking since sometime prior to the scene in Rome, which is also when we see them drink together for the first time. *This* scene is 1941 so countless years and meet ups between Crowley and Aziraphale have taken place since and considering how these two drink together in other situations-- like how completely wasted they were in the "eleven years ago" scene in S1-- this one here in 1941 is *interesting.* Why?

Because friends, that is *one bottle of wine* on the table beside Aziraphale and I can still see wine in it above the label, which means what's currently in their glasses is less than the first half of the bottle... which means the glasses they are sharing now that Aziraphale just poured are their first drinks of the evening... and neither of them are really drinking much of it. That signals an intent not to drink very much at all-- the open bottle probably being plenty for the two of them. They're going slowly, without an intention to get drunk, but not really just to savor together a particularly interesting vintage. They don't seem to be noticing or tasting the wine at all. Aziraphale poured them both a good amount but not overkill but both of them so far in this scene just take cautious, *small* sips of the wine... and they don't need to conserve it, ok?

It's not the war. It's canon that Aziraphale has a case of Chateauneuf-de-Pape that he picked up in the 1920s sitting in the back of this shop at this very minute that he doesn't bust open until "Eleven Years Ago" in the future of S1 and Crowley is a bootlegger in this moment in history lol and also they're both literally magic. They could miracle wine from halfway around the world if they wanted to. There's wine to drink if they want to get drunk...

...and they both have silently agreed that they don't want to.

It is the *only* time that they drink together in a scene that we've seen where they have a mutual agreement to not drink that much. Even when Aziraphale *didn't drink*, he still got *food* drunk while Crowley was drinking in the Job minisode.

But when they're having a drink together in 1941, both of them are very clearly, by a kind of unspoken agreement from the vibes in the room, *not really drinking.* Just a little. A few sips that will lead to a glass or two a piece total, at most-- that bottle split between them would be a lot from the air of and the pace of them in this scene.

And I mean... forgetting for a moment that Aziraphale will get drunk without issue in other scenes, we all know Crowley, right? This Crowley...

In S1, part of *God's narration* lol includes that Crowley and Aziraphale had been drinking for six straight hours in the bookshop together in "Eleven Years Ago." Rome is one thing because they had just had just met up so we don't know how sloshed they got over oysters at Petronius' new restaurant (and would seem likely that they did) but in every other scene when they drink together, basically, they drink quite a bit and both of them usually wind up drunk, especially Crowley.

So why is 1941 different?

Because they're drinking like people who both want to mess around, that's why.

Yeah, people mess around while drunk and I'm sure the same can be said for any of the few Effort-curious angels and demons outside of these two but Crowley and Aziraphale are not a casual hookup to one another-- they're in love, they're best friends, and they haven't been together before after literal millennia of pining and yearning for it. It's not something that's happening while they're drunk. They want to be sober and for it to be special and the evening here in 1941 has really got everything lining up for a perfectly romantic night, if they want it to be. All the rescuing one another and little glances and now Aziraphale's asked Crowley back to the bookshop for a late night drink and they're both drinking like they want it to be tonight.

They're both silently telling one another they want something to happen by the fact that they're drinking with no intention to get drunk. They want to be present. They want to remember. They want each other's explicit consent so they're barely drinking the wine so that it's evident that if things get intimate, it's not because either or both of them are drunk, and no one has to stop over concern over that.

Aziraphale is looking at Crowley looking all dashing, unusually quiet for him, maybe a bit nervous and still hiding a little behind his glasses-- Hell's biggest lush taking the world's smallest, barely-there sip of that wine lol-- and is like how many more tiny sips do we need to take before I can crawl onto his lap...?

Aziraphale's like omg, the sex is going to be amazing... thank God I don't yet know in this moment that something-- like some Zombie Nazis, probably-- will stop us and we'll still be on trying to kiss one another 80 years from now...

[sillymercury]

I’m Not the Crazy One, She Is!

Azriel x Reader

<3

Warnings: Slight suggestiveness and swearing

Word count: 7.7k (idk I went a lil cray)

Summary: You weren’t trying to kill your neighbor, honestly, you were just defending yourself. But that crazy fae and her antics land you in a holding cell. Luckily for you, getting arrested turns out to be much more fun than you ever anticipated.

Part 2

<3

My face was set into a hard line as I sat on the curb outside of Rita’s. The sound of the bar closing early was clearly audible from the spot the lawman had told me to sit and not move. Patrons exited with grumbling and angry faces, some glared as they passed and I could only offer apologetic smiles. I was already uncomfortable enough without the condescending stares and occasional curses.

The cool air pushed my hair around and with my hands magically bound behind my back I was repeatedly spitting strands out of my mouth. My thin dress provided no solace against the cold stone under my ass and the unrelentingly wind was only making it worse. I was beyond uncomfortable but the civil servants didn’t seem to care.

This wasn’t fair; it’s not like I started the fight, I just finished it.

I’ve never been a fighter per se, but I’ve also never let someone walk all over me and at this point I’d had enough. The crazy bitch to my left was currently raging against the other two patrols, thrashing around and spitting on their uniform. I scoffed as she screamed obscenities and pushed the female off of her with a hard kick to the chest.

“See!” I exclaimed at the patrol that was half watching me and half watching his colleges struggle to detain the crazed fae. “She’s fucking crazy! Obviously I’m the victim here.”

His eyes moved to mine and I widened them for emphasis, he responded with a scoff of his own. “It took all three of us to drag you off of her,” he crossed his arms over his chest, “not to mention multiple witnesses are willing to testify that most of the property damage was your fault.” His eyes narrowed as he dared me to challenge the statement.

I just leaned back and kicked my legs out with a huff. A couple of chairs, tables, some glasses, some bottles, a few bystanders, and an already weak wall wasn’t enough. I should’ve thrown her into or hit her with something else. Even now, watching her childish display had me itching to go put her in her place all over again.

“Listen, I’m a cool fae. Calm and collected, I don’t start problems. Her,” I jerked my elbow into the direction of the female that wasn’t slowing down, “on the other hand, does. None of this would’ve happened if she hadn’t come up to me. She was pulling my hair and scratching at my eyes! What would you have done?”

I leaned forward expectantly, I knew he agreed. Instead of confirming he just shook his head and looked away. Back-up had finally arrived and three of the four officers assisted in detaining the wild one. One of them used whatever magic they possessed to temporarily knock her out for transport. The remaining lawman approached where I was sitting and looked me up and down.

“I take it you’re the one who fought her?” I looked over at the unconscious female that was being slung over a shoulder and just nodded with a light shrug. “Can’t say I blame ya,” he responded in a much more relaxed tone than the first officer.

“Thank you!” I exclaimed as he helped me onto two feet. I threw the first patrol a look that said everything I was thinking which he only responded with another shake of his head. I didn’t miss the light smile he had and in that moment I felt like I had this in the bag. I assumed I would get a warning, maybe a slap on the wrist and be sent on my way. I hoped that they would lock her up in some far off dungeon and throw away the key.

The new officer grabbed my elbow lightly before winnowing us to the station. I suppressed my groan as I took in the depressing scene. Gray walls, gray floors, gray bars that lined different holding cells on the back wall. The room was packed with multiple desks where about 15 officers sat, some with either with victims or perpetrators in front of them. Every desk though had stacks of papers that threatened to spill to the floor.

I followed diligently behind the officer as he led me farther and farther to the back. I prayed that he would stop at any of the empty desks but he didn’t stop until he reached the cells. He opened up the metal door and looked at me expectantly.

“Wait, I have to go in there?” My voice was slightly shrill and I couldn’t contain the breaths that were coming out rapidly. The cop just raised his eyebrows and nodded like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “For how long? I have to work in the morning. I can’t be here all night!”

The officer just chuckled and shrugged, “Well I’ve got about a hundred other things on my to do list. I guess you should’ve thought about that before destroying thousands of marks worth of property and assaulting someone.”

My hands shook behind my back and I suddenly understood what made that female rage against the law. I wanted to do anything, everything to keep me out of that cell. Screaming, crying, fighting, biting… whatever it would take to keep me out of there. I knew though that none of it would work, it would just make my situation worse. Begrudgingly I forced my heavy feet to carry me into the cell, all the way to the bench on the back wall. I sat with a plop and depression marred my face as I watched the cop lock the door.

I hit my head against the wall with a groan as I thought about what led me here, my stupid crazy neighbor. But seemingly my luck didn’t run out, it was still finding ways to make the situation worse. My neighbor didn’t just live next to me, her limp body was also parked in the cell next to mine. I cursed the wall for not being solid, instead it was just a row of metal bars keeping us apart.

Eventually her body began to stir as she woke up and I mentally prepared myself. Not only for her grating voice but for the verbal abuse that would accompany it.

“Let’s go! Let’s go!” Morrigan called out to her slow moving family, “We’re burning nighttime!”

Feyre laughed as she hauled Rhys off the couch and hollered one more time for Nesta and Cassian. Azriel was ready, standing dutifully by Mor as he waited with her for the rest of their family. He only took off his leathers at the persistent pestering of Mor. Donning black pants and a black muscle tank, his dark shadows concealed most of him and he looked more like a black mass on two legs. Mor wore her famous color in a tight dress that flowed beautifully over her legs accompanied by a slit that ran to her hips. Feyre’s dress complimented Mor’s but in a deep blue that resembled the night sky, Rhys wore his usual tailored garb that matched the silver detailing on Feyre’s dress.

The couple approached the door and Rhys had a far off look in his eyes before speaking, “Looks like it’s just us… Nes and Cass are,” he cleared his throat before flashing a coy grin, “busy.”

“Eww,” Mor muttered Turing around and opening the door for everyone. “Whatever we’ll have fun on our own!” Mor screamed into the house and only the sound of something falling over upstairs answered her. She rolled her eyes before closing the door behind her.

The pairs made their way through cobble stone roads aiming for their favorite bar. At least once a week Mor would drag them out demanding a good time and she always got her wish. Her and Feyre linked arms as they skipped and the boys walked in a comfortable silence behind them.

“Gonna pick up any ladies tonight?” Rhys nudged his brothers shoulder as he teased, “I know Mor will. Wouldn’t want you to have to spend the night listening to everyone else enjoy themselves.” Rhys chuckled as he pondered all the different ways to get Feyre out of that form fitting dress. Azriel shook his head, already knowing where his brothers mind had gone.

A small smirk snuck its way onto his lips, “I suppose I could indulge.”

“Ooo hoo hoo!” Rhys jested, “My brother, the fox.” A low chuckle left Az’s lips as he just shook his head again. The light air that surrounded themselves dropped when the girls stopped skipping to take in the scene in front of them.

All of the lights in Rita’s was on and crowds of people were formed outside. There were multiple patrols going in and out of the bar and some of them were taking statements from the bystanders. Some of the individuals were with medics, either being bandaged or given ice to sooth wounds. Azriel switched gears in the blink of an eye, going from easing going brother to spymaster as he detached to scope the scene.

“What the hell!” Mor practically screeched as she pushed through the crowded street, heading into the pub. Rhys and Feyre shared a glance that conveyed their confusion and worry before following Mor inside.

The place was a wreck. Multiple tables were broken and shards of chairs were strewn about. Wherever there wasn’t wood chips there was broken glass and the stench of the alcohol that covered the floor attacked their senses upon arrival. The wall that separated the entry way to the hall looked like it had been chopped up with an ax and Rita was behind the bar surveying the scene with distress.

“What happened?” Mor asked after rounding the bar and taking a defeated looking Rita into her arms.

“Bar fight.” She said simply, “I’m going to have to shut down for the rest of the week. Some of my best bottles are now in puddles on the floor, and that alone’ll take a month to get a new shipment in.”

Mor looked pissed and Rhys’ expression wasn’t far behind. To see his families favorite oasis in disarray and people of his court injured had redness creeping up his neck and threatening his face.

An officer strolled in and bowed to his high lord and lady before addressing Rita, “We’ve taken multiple statements and taped off the scene. There’s not much more we can do at the moment but we’ll be back to collect damage report.” Rita nodded understandingly but Mor wasn’t having it.

“Not much more to do?!” Her voice was loud as she screamed, “Look around! Look at this place! This… this is a crime!” She was irrational at the moment, she obviously didn’t expect the officers to clean up the scene but she wanted- needed- something to be done.

“Yes…” the cop blinked before straightening and clearing his throat, “it is. We are taking this very seriously. The suspects are already in custody so there isn’t really anything else we can do.” He seemed nervous as he remembered who he was talking to. His eyes darted between a flabbergasted Mor and his high lord, Rhys just nodded and that seemed to calm him down before he practically ran away.

“I am going to kill whoever did this,” Mor seethed, her hands shaking. Rita was her friend and this was her favorite spot in the city, she felt as though the crime was done specifically to her. “I mean- what? What are we going to do?”

Rita just shook her head but Rhys’ attention was redirected when Azriel materialized next to him.

“Bar fight, between two females. Subject A attacked subject B and B used her powers to fight off A. 3 bystanders were injured and by the looks of it,” Azriel keen eyes raked over the room before turning back to Rhys, “thousands in damage.”

Rhys let out a heavy sigh before placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder, “Let’s go. I want to deal with these females myself.” Azriel nodded at his brothers words and there movements were halted.

“Do you want me to come?” Feyre asked, stepping over broken chairs and around puddles to reach them.

Rhys’ eyes softened as he took in his worried mate, her wide eyes scanning the scene for the hundredth time. “No, stay here. Do what you can to help and try to comfort Mor… and Rita.” His eyes danced over to Morrigan who was walking around the hall waving her hands and still screaming, she looked more distressed than Rita did. Feyre nodded and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek, offering Az a supportive smile before making her way to Mor. With that the men shared a determined look before exiting the hall and making their way to the station.

At this point I was hitting my head against the cold wall repeatedly, not hard enough to hurt myself but enough to drown out the nagging from the cell next to mine.

The crazed female, Gala, had woken up and immediately began screeching. She pulled and tugged on the cage door and verbally assaulted any officer who passed. Her attention eventually shifted and she was now honed in on me.

“You selfish bitch! You couldn’t just let me have one night. One peaceful night without your presence! You had to show up and ruin everything! And now, I’m locked in a cage like some wild animal because you can’t control yourself!”

I didn’t want to, but I snapped, “You are a wild animal! I’m the one who doesn’t deserve to be locked up! You might be too dense to remember but you attacked me, I didn’t even know you were there!”

Gala began screeching again claiming that I was put here to ruin her life and I can’t help but indulged in her childish behavior. Something about this female irked me to my core and soon I was partaking in the screaming match through the bars.

The officer was who was unlucky enough to have his desk placed closest to the holding cells stood up so quick his chair fell over. He whipped around and glared with bloodshot eyes, “Shut up! Both of you! Or I’m adding disorderly conduct to your already long lists.”

Gala scoffed at that and I mimicked the sound, “Once again,” I said exasperated, “she started it!” The officer didn’t say anything else but a pointed finger came through the bars. His finger shook with his barely contained rage before he looked to Gala who was mumbling about police incompetence and gave her a finger as well. He turned around and quietly picked up his chair before going back to the gargantuan stack of papers on his desk.

After sitting back down I hit my head against the wall one last time shaking my head. All of the other ways the night could’ve ended mocked me as I closed my eyes.

“Don’t look so forlorn, not when it’s your fault,” Gala was determined to keep the argument going as she harshly whispered into my cell. She had her face squished between bars as she glared at me and continued her verbal lashing.

I counted my deep breaths as I tried to control the urge to reach through the bars and wring her neck. Images of me slamming her face into the bars repeatedly was my only solace as I tuned out her low shrieking. Even when she whispers she’s still incredibly annoying.

The venom kept spewing from her mouth until the same officer that brought me in came and unlocked my cell, I shot up and prayed for freedom. He unlocked Gala’s cell too and had the mind to hold her arm, “There’s someone here to see you two,” his tone was borderline teasing and he led us away from all the desks. “He says he wants to handle this himself.”

I followed quietly behind as nerves overtook my body, was it the police chief? Was someone in Rita’s family a judge who wanted to dish out the worst punishment they could? Cold sweat threatened my brow as we made our way into a private office.

Gala was shoved into a leather chair and I stumbled into my own. The magical binds on my wrists made it hard to sit comfortably and I shifted around while the leather squeaked. The officer closed the door with a smile and at that Gala turned in her chair, glaring.

“Can you stop? Even your shifting is annoying me.”

“I’m annoying you?” I felt blood rush back to my face for the umpteenth time, “Well imagine how I felt when you grabbed my hair and started scratching my face!” Your voices were low but the venom was still there.

“Don’t act like you didn’t have it coming. You go out of your way to ruin my life any chance you get, showing up at Rita’s tonight… I know what you’re trying to do.”

My eyes widened and realization hit me, “Your crazy. You’re just fucking crazy.” That was the only answer. Gala was out of her fucking mind, that’s why even when I breathe she cries abuse.

The word crazy seemed to spark something and the screaming match started up again, this time in a lower tone. Something about the formidable air in the office kept us from getting too loud; but you can still scream a whisper.

I couldn’t even hear what she was saying over my own words but I knew it was bullshit so I continued to say all of the nasty things that popped into my head.

Our voices were haulted when a cool black mist came over the room, obstructing everything. I couldn’t see an inch in front of me as darkness encompassed the room and my entire body. It wasn’t mist, it was shadow, and it clung to me like a second skin. The anger was replaced by fear as I tried to determine what was happening, what had stolen my sight and dropped the rooms degree.

Eventually the shadow cleared and suddenly someone was on the other side of the desk, two someone’s.

The High Lord of the Night Court and his Spymaster. A shiver ran down my spine as I felt the power rolling off them in waves, pushing me further into the chair. They were the last people I expected to see, and the last people I wanted to deal with. There stoney expressions conveyed the anger that was rippling through them.

Rhysand sat poised in the large chair, narrowed eyes studying me and Gala while Azriel stood behind him, arms crossed over his chest with an emotionless face.

Normally I would drool at the sight. Two of the three most handsome men in Velaris, staring me down. Rhys’ perfectly carved face set to impose intimidation and Azriel… I’d seen the spymaster a few times in passing, but seeing him up close was a different story.

His high cheekbones that contoured into a perfect jaw, his Nubian nose that sat perfectly straight above plump lips, hazel eyes that shone through shadows, and a low taper fade that danced across his forehead lovingly. He was the embodiment of beauty, perfection in fae form, awe personified. I knew I should be scared, shaking where I sat, but something in the hazel warmed me, soothed me. I forced myself to look at Rhysand so I could have the right mind of being scared, and it worked.

He stared at us for a few minutes and the tension in the air grew, Gala was crazy but no crazy enough to lash out in front of her high lord, not yet at least. We both sat uncomfortably in the silence and now it was her leather chairs turn to squeak.

“So,” Rhys began, picking up the paper that was laid in front of him and looking it over, “Disturbing the peace, public intoxication, assault, aggravated assault, battery, criminal mischief, theft, resisting arrest, evading arrest, assault of an officer, intentional infliction of emotional distress, reckless endangerment, disorderly conduct, obstruction of justice, trespassing, vandalism, and last but not least hate crimes.” He laid down the paper and I couldn’t help but gape at the list he rattled off, there is no way I was being charged with all of that. Especially not the assaulting an officer or evading arrest, I know that was Gala but hate crimes? They can’t possibly believe I fought her because she is a lesser fae.

“This is quite the list you’ve racked up,” he spoke again his eyes zeroing in on me. I just looked down, ashamed. I wished my power was to reverse time. I would’ve never stepped foot into Rita’s if I knew it would land me here, a meeting with my high lord who seemed determined to dish out terrible punishment. “Do you have anything to say for yourselves.”

I just shook my head, finding my glittery heels very interesting.

“I do,” Gala spoke up, my head snapped to her and I saw a disgusting determination on her face. “I shouldn’t be here! I should be getting medical attention, therapy, a protection detail! I am clearly the victim here!”

I knew it didn’t help my case but I couldn’t help my eye roll. By the looks of it, I was the one in the wrong. I had a couple marks on my face that probably wouldn’t bruise as well as minor scratches around my eyes. Gala on the other hand, had bruises and cuts all over her exposed lilac skin. Her silver eyes were bloodshot and one was swollen with green and dark blue hues, a cut lip, and a nose that suffered a gnarly break.

This was bad.

“Alright…” Rhys started slowly before glancing at the paper once more, “Gala is it?” She nodded fervently, “Since you’re the only one with something to say… tell me what happened. And don’t lie to me.”

Gala took a shaky breath and I almost groaned at her theatrics, “I have been so stressed, you know, I work really hard, with children, not easy work. But I decided to go to Rita’s, grab a drink. I’m a grown woman, you know, I wanted to let off some steam. Then she,” she pointed a crooked finger in my direction as she had some how shimmed her bound hand in front of her. As I looked I wondered if it was always like that or if it was crooked because I broke it. “She followed me there. She’s obsessed with me, you know, always doing whatever she can to make my life hard. She’s my neighbor, you know. always pestering me and my pets and plants. She’s unrelenting.”

I made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a gasp, if anyone was unrelenting it was her. Rhys sent me a harsh glare and the shadowsinger stepped forward, a warning.

I slunk back into my chair and I’ve never seen Gala look so happy.

“Well she followed me to Rita’s, and I didn’t feel safe. I mean she’s always sneaking around doing things she’s not supposed to, you know. As a matter of fact she has- well had- a baby hippogriff. Poor thing didn’t survive, she probably killed it. But those creatures are illegal in this court, you know,” Rhys nodded and hummed along, I just threw my head back on the chair and stared at the ceiling. I’m going to rot in jail.

“Anyways so she was being unruly and loud and that dress, I swear this girl would do anything for some attention. Well I went over there to ask her to quiet down, I wasn’t the only one getting annoyed with her, you know. But when I touched her shoulder she turned around and started screaming, I put my hands up because I didn’t want her to hurt me or anything, you know. She just lost it, screaming, hitting, it was absolutely insane.

She picked up a chair and whacked me. She threw some glass at me and tackled me into the shards. She threw me through a wall! This woman is a danger to our city! A danger to the night court- hel- a danger to all of Prythian! This woman belongs in a cell with no way out!”

By the end of Gala’s tale I couldn’t help but stare, my mouth was practically on the floor. He explicitly told her not to lie and yet she had the gall to do it anyway. If I wasn’t facing persecution from the most powerful man alive I would’ve gave her another black eye.

Rhys hummed, processing the story, his violet eyes turned to me. They were swimming with contempt and I wanted a hole to open up and swallow me. I forced tears to the back of my eyes knowing tears would only egg Gala on. “Still having nothing to say?” His voice was deathly calm.

“Yes- no!” I cursed the nerves that had my brain scrambled, I needed to calm down before I made things worse for myself. I took a deep breath before looking up again, my eyes caught Azriel and for a brief second something flashed across his face. His eyes got a far off look that matched the high lords. The conversation that happened between them was brief and when the high lord zeroed in on me I felt like the decision was made before I could even speak. I was guilty.

“I did hurt her- bad. But, I didn’t start it. I swear I was at Rita’s first, I didn’t even know she was there. I was drinking with my friends and this guy was looking at me, and I was looking at him, and then well we were looking at each other so I didn’t even notice when she came up to me, not until she tapped me on the shoulder. She was yelling about my dress, calling me horrible names. At that point the dude had walked away so I was already pissed when I told her ‘I’m not doin this with you tonight’ and when I turned around she grabbed my hair. Yanked me down to her level and bop bop!” I jerked my shoulder to try and insinuate a punch, “she was doing my head in and so I grabbed her wrist and tried to remove her from my hair and when I turned she started scratching at my eyes-“

“Liar!” Gala stood up and screamed at me.

“No! It’s true and you fucking know it,” I hissed at her. She opened her mouth to yell again but words didn’t come out when Rhys let out a low growl, accompanied by an unmistakable look. She was receiving the same the same warning I got earlier.

Rhys nodded at me and I continued, “she scratched my eyes and I shoved her off of me, that was when she fell into the table. My powers are… interesting so the table broke when I pushed her into it. She got up pretty quick after that, she grabbed a chair and started running towards me with it so I grabbed it before it hit me and I hit her with it. Mind you I had a couple shots in me so I was ready, I turned the chair on her and broke it over her. I thought that would be enough but she grabbed a glass from the table and threw it at me. I know those glasses hit some other people but I think when she missed me it upset her because she was screamed and ran at me-

“You threw the glass at me! I was screaming running away!”

It was my turn to growl at Gala, she only sneered before shutting up again. “She ran at me and I dodged her and she ran into another table, that’s how the second table broke. So I grabbed a bottle off the bar and when she came at me again I broke it, on her face. I really thought she would stop after that but she grabbed a tray off the bar that was full of glasses and threw that at me, some of it hit me and so I threw another chair at her. She was under the chair and tackled me to the floor, scratching at my face again. I hit her and it knocked her off of me, she grabbed the broken bottle and she looked like she would kill me so… well I picked her up and threw her. That’s what put the whole in the wall, and really, that’s when I thought she was done for real.

So I turn around and go to grab my things because I’m trying to leave but she grabbes one of those big bottles from behind the bar and threw it.”

“Bitch!” Gala was up again this time moving for my face, “You stupid whore! You know-“ her voice was cut off when the ground beneath her feet began to shake, the whole office was shaking.

Rhysand braced his hands on the desk and glared at Gala, “We heard your story, now I want to hear hers. If you interrupted a fourth time… you will regret it.” Galas eyes were wide and she was smart enough to look afraid. She just nodded dumbly before sitting down, her silver eyes darting between the angry high lord and the unyielding spymaster. I waited for Rhys to nod again before continuing.

“It hit my head and at that point, it wasn’t about defending myself, I just wanted to to beat her ass. So yes I did run at her and slammed her into a table, kinda roughly so that’s how the third table and those chairs broke. Anyway so yea, I get to her and that’s when I just started hitting her, some guy tried to pull me off but I think I hit him. I really do feel bad about that, I’ll pay for whatever medical treatment he receives. Anyways that’s when the cops dragged me off of her, three of them I think, they detained me and when they went to try and detain her she freaked. Started fighting the officers, she threw another bottle at the short one and they dragged both of us out. She fought them the whole time, kicking and screaming at the cops.”

When I finished the high lord just stared face still blank, I felt like I needed to explain more, pleade my case further. But he spoke before I could, “So you guys are neighbors?”

“Yes!” Me and Gala both said at the same time, the dirty look we gave each other also happened at the same time.

“Yes,” I repeated, “She has hated me ever since I moved in. Actually I’m pretty sure she’s the one who killed my hippogriff.”

Gala snorted, “I wouldn’t go near that thing with a ten foot pole! They’re dangerous creatures and they’re illegal here you know!”

“Yes, I know,” I mocked her and the fire that was in her eyes in, Rita’s returned.

Gala jumped up to scream, “You insolent bitch! You think you’re above everyone but you ruin lives for fun!”

“How did I ruin your life?!” I was standing now too, “I never did anything to you!”

“Lies!” She screeched, “you know exactly what you did! Sneaking around my garden when I’m not home!”

I, once again, gaped at her. “Seriously? That’s what this is about!? Because I watered you plants when you were out of town?!”

“Trespassing!” If my hands were able to I would’ve covered my ears, her tone was dangerously high. “You trespassed on my property! Not to mention you tried to steal my cat, probably to feed it to you hippogriff!”

“What?!” The whole situation was utterly insane to me, “I was trying to be a good neighbor! And your cat followed me home. Probably to get away from you.”

Gala was seething, “You don’t talk about my cat! You stole him after you broke in! Broke into my garden and ruined my work!”

A dark chuckle fell from my lips, “I ruined your work by keeping your plants alive? You’re fucking crazy,” I turned to the high lord to try and find some support, “You hear this? She’s fucking crazy!”

“I’m going to fucking kill you!” Gala screamed as she shook from rage.

“Come on bitch. I’ll beat your ass- again!” She ran at me only to hit an invisible wall and falling onto her behind with no way to brace herself.

“Enough!” Rhys voice was commanding now and the primal part of me coward at the sound. He was visibly angry. “This all started over a garden?” His voice held an incredulous tone and I couldn’t blame him, the story was ridiculous.

“It started before the garden, she’s had something against me since ever I moved in.” My voice was calm as I spoke, I didn’t want to anger him more.

Gala on the other hand didn’t seem to care much, she rose from the floor before continuing her rampage, “She moved into my quiet neighborhood, and my life has been hel ever since! Always singing loudly in the morning. Having friends over at night. Prancing around in skimpy dresses. Growing plants that I haven’t been able to grow just to rub it in my face! You should see it, she’s always flicking her perfect hair and smiling at everyone who looks at her. I can’t stand it! All the males coming to her doorstep trying to be with her, females flocking to gain a friendship with her. In all my years no one has ever tried to befriend me! I hate how everyone loves her! I hate it! And I hate her!”

I just blinked at Galas out burst and suddenly everything clicked. She was jealous of me. I stepped back and slumped into the chair at my knees. I just shook my head, all of this over some petty insecurities.

“Nell!” Rhys called and the officer that escorted us poked his head in, “Can you escort Y/n here back to her holding cell? I’d like to speak with Gala in private.” Nell just nodded, he moved towards me but I stood up and met him half way. All the anger was lost to me as I followed him all the way to the back of the station.

I sat down in my cell and my eyes were trained on the floor, the tears I was holding back finally found there way out. Nell locked the door and when I didn’t hear him walk away I looked up. “I heard everything, and off the record,” he leaned in, “I think she’s crazy too.”

I offered him a sad smile before looking back down. She was crazy but she was hurting, I knew her jealousy wasn’t my fault but I couldn’t help but feel guilty. I was trying to be helpful, living my life as happily as possible but for some twisted reason I was hurting her. Tears continued to fall until a small whisper of a shadow nuzzled my face and wiped them away.

The entire scene that played out in front of the brothers was no less than absurd. Almost comical, Rhys might have laughed if he wasn’t playing the role of the dutiful high lord. But the most interesting part was what Azriel had whispered in his mind. The girl, the main perpetrator, was his mate.

The second your voice hit his ears, Azriel almost fell to his knees. Your voice was melodic, soft and sweet, reminiscent of a summer breeze. The only thing he could do was petrify himself, to keep from falling in front of you, kissing your minor injuries, and tearing the throat out of the female who spoke ill of you.

He saw the tears threatening your eyes as you stood up to move out of the room. Every part of his body screamed at him to comfort you, hold you, inform you that you aren’t responsible for another fae’s bitterness.

When you left Rhys interrogated Gala further, listening to her wild tales of all the times you did something terrible. It truly sounded like you were just living your life and for some reason she hated that. She called you names, names that threatened Azriels resolution. He wanted to rip the spiteful bitch to shreds and finish what you started. He couldn’t lie, he felt some sick pride while listening to your side of the story. He knew if he was there things would’ve ended much worse for her.

Rhysand listened diligently, nodding and humming as Gala went on. Azriel slightly resented his brother for not striking her down where she sat. Rhys eventually cleared his throat, indicating that he was ready to speak. “So Gala, do you remember the first thing I said to you?” She nodded dutifully, “When I told you not to lie to me?” She nodded again, more unsure this time. Rhys just gave her a saccharine grin, “You wouldn’t mind if I checked, would you?”

“I- well-“ she shifted under the intensity of the stares, “It’s just my thoughts are my own, you know… I would like to keep it that way.” Her confidence wavered and suddenly she was unable to make eye contact.

Rhys chuckled lowly, “Look Gala, I just want to help. That- that wretch has made you suffer enough. Let me in; and I’ll take care of all of it.”

A deep growl came from Azriel his tight grip on his shadows loosened, causing them to swirl around him menacingly. Rhys knew the reaction was for him, he would react the same to hear his brother speak such words about Feyre. Galas eyes widened, taking the scene as a threat to her. She nodded lamely and with permission Rhys slipped into her mind.

Azriel tried to reign in his shadows, struggling against their will, it wasn’t until they relayed your voice he relaxed. They carried soft whispers to his ear and a deep breath pushed from his mouth at the sound.

I sat in the cell watching the lone shadow dance around for me, it seemed it was attempting to cheer me up. I chuckled lightly at its antics. An officer walked past the cell and it darted into my hair, hiding. This naughty shadow wasn’t meant to be here, I wonder if my power is what called it or if it came on its own free will. I decided to channel my power, hone it in on the male who the shadow belonged to. After a few seconds of concentration, I was connected.

“Hi,” I whispered and it circled my head, running across my face before landing on my knee.

Hello, hello, it whispered back. Beautiful, so so beautiful.

I laughed airily, “Thank you, so are you.” The shadow whirled around at the compliment, happy to hear praises. “Listen, I’m innocent. You have to believe me, I didn’t start this. I didn’t do anything to her.”

Innocent, innocent, it chanted and I let out a breath. The shadow believed me, I wondered if it was a reflection of its master or if it had its own will.

“Can you tell your master?” I questioned, leaning down, “Can you convince him?”

He’s here, it whispered back and I snapped my neck up to find none other than Azriel. He was leaning against the bars giving me a devilish smirk. He looked beautiful, his tan arms crossed showing off rippling muscles as his eyes glanced over me lazily. I pushed my thighs together, feeling hot under his gaze.

He wants you too, the naughty little shadow whispered, causing a blush to creep up my cheeks as I looked away.

He chuckled lowly as he turned to face me completely, his forearm met the bar above his head as he leaned in. The ravishing sight had me licking my lips, something his smirk told me he caught.

“Cool power,” he mused, his eyes shone with mischief as he held my gaze.

Busted, the shadow whispered and I rolled my eyes at it.

“Very cool, and very useful.” My voice was confident despite the shaking under my skin.

He huffed a laugh before leaning back and crossing his arm over his chest once more. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.

He does, the shadow outed him and it was my turn to laugh.

“I’m guessing that’s where you got the strength from, you channeled someone else’s power to throw that poor female into a wall.”

“Oh please,” it was my turn to lean back. I crossed my legs slowly and I bit my lip as his eyes tracked the movement. “That bitch had it coming.”

“Ooo,” he purred and the warmth between my legs spread to the rest of my body, “Naughty little girl, don’t you know? Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.” His head cocked to the side and I mimicked his movement, a smirk of my own forming. “Bad girls need punished.”

I slowly uncrossed my legs and pushed myself up, moving towards him. I was hot, burning under his gaze. Everything tingled as gave into some intrinsic need that command I be closer to him. I pushed my chest against the bars and my low cut dress showed off my cleavage. His eyes lowered to exactly where I knew they would. The shadow danced excitedly through my hair as if it too loved our proximity.

“And will you be personally handing out my punishment?” I made my voice sickly sweet, conveying an inappropriate innocence. I looked up at him through my eyelashes and batted them sweetly.

A low rumble left his chest and I hummed at the sound. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

Leaning in he whispered, “I don’t think anyone else would do it properly.” His eyes raked the entirety of my body and I thanked the mother for putting on my most flattering dress. The double entendre coupled with his hazy eyes had me ready to tear apart the steel and pounce.

“Promise?”

His scared had gripped the bar so tight his knuckles turned white. Looks like I’m not the only one ready to tear through steal.

Suddenly he leaned back and crossed his arms again, smirk still evident. A second later Rhysand and officer Nell were at the cell door, and Rhys was looking at me with a pleased look that only garnered confusion.

“Where’s Gala?” I looked around but she wasn’t in the station and I didn’t see her exit the office.

“Gala’s not going to be a problem for you anymore,” the simplicity in his words was slightly troubling. I didn’t want anything bad to happen to Gala, not anymore at least. I tilted my head and raised an eyebrow waiting for an answer. Rhys noted my concern, “Nothing bad. But I looked through some of her memories and- what she felt for you, it was completely irrational. She needs help so we’re going to get her some. Very far away.”

I let out a breath which was followed by an airy chuckle. I leaned my head against the bar and my chuckle turned into a full belly laugh. “Thank gods, she was fucking crazy.”

Rhys smiled as he waved his hand and my magical bonds fell. My hands wrapped around my own wrists soothingly and I stepped out of the now open door. “There’s still the issue of all the damage Rita’s suffered,” Rhys cocked his brow, interested in what I might say to that.

“Whatever it is, I’ll pay it,” I made hands that conveyed that of a promise.

“The damage reports come to around 4,090 gold marks,” officer Nell responded, his coy smile ever prevalent. I made an O shape with my mouth and rocked on my heels back and forth. That’s about 6 paychecks, without factoring the need to pay rent or buy food.

“I’ll pay it,” Azriel said simply. I whipped my head around to look at him, on the cusp of disagreeing. “Well you’ll pay it, it’ll come out of your check; when you come work for us.”

My shock was evident on my face and my mouth opened and closed lamely before I mustered up a “What?”

“Your powers,” he clicked his tongue as he stepped next to me, close enough for our arms to brush. “They could come in handy, far more handy for us than they do at some desk job.”

I shook my head as I processed everything. How did Azriel know where I worked? I suppose that’s dumb, he’s a spymaster and I told the police earlier. But was he really able to offer me a job, on Rhysands court?

I looked to my high lord for confirmation and he just smiled, “Way more handy than having you behind a desk,” he shoved his hands in his pocket with a shrug, “plus we already know you can fight.”

I laughed at that and my hand met my head as I mulled it over, I would be stupid not to accept. I knew my powers were unique and I always wanted to do more, I just never knew where to start. “Sure, I never liked my job anyway.” I tried to play it off cool but my soul was bouncing on the inside. The sneaky shadow seemed happy too as it whirled around my head and down through my fingers.

“Sounds good,” Rhys clapped and turned to walk with Nell, “Oh,” he looked over his shoulder, “Be sure to apologize to Rita.”

I brought my hand to my forehead offering a salute, “Yes sir!” He smiled before placing a gentle hand on Nell’s shoulder and walking away.

A giggle stole from my mouth as I clapped my hands over my heart and turned to Azriel, he had a pleased look on his face. I decided in that moment I would do anything to keep it there. “Well, that all worked out nicely.”

“Lucky you,” he purred, before tilting his head down and whispering, “Not lucky enough to escape your punishment though.”

The darkness returned to his eyes and my whole body lurched, begging to be punished right here, in front of the whole station.

I hummed as I wrapped my hands around his strong forearm, pushing onto my tiptoes and leaning into his ear. “Don’t hold out on me shadowsinger.” I giggled as I pulled back and bounced towards the door. On my way out I felt some more shadows, sneaking up and brushing against my thighs before coming up to whisper to me.

Bad, bad girl, they said. I just smirked as I pushed out of the door into daybreak. Who knew getting arrested could be so exciting.

A/N: I didn’t plan on writing this but I got the idea and since it’s my day off I went for it :p

If you guys like it I would be sooo down to do a part 2??? Maybe I’ll be brave enough to make a smutty 2 :D

Anywhooo my requests are always open so don’t be shy ;)

As always, if you made it this far… I LOVE YOU<3<3

Masterlist

[cyberpunkgyu]

SERIES: The Sun and the Sunflower / P. Sunghoon

genre: fluff, romance

introduction: these series include random one shots of tsundere! sunghoon and bubbly! reader’s relationship, more chapters/parts will follow in the future! this part shows the softer side of sunghoon but next chapters/parts will show his more “tsundere” side

a/n: i decided to make it one shots because i realized i suck at making long stories so hopefully this turns out alright! let me know what you think :D

warnings: suggestive, and not proofread cause i’m lazy

I. Jealousy *ੈ✩‧₊˚ — when you get jealous

Sunghoon is someone who doesn’t show a lot of affection when there are other people around you both. If a stranger saw the two of you, they might not even think you both are in a relationship because of how casual he is around you in public. You didn’t mind, you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable in anyway, and you respected that (though there were times where he would peck your lips when no one is looking).

But there were times you wish you could just kiss him to show others that he is yours. Like right now.

You always thought you weren’t a jealousy person. What’s there to be jealous about? You know Sunghoon is a loyal person and would never do anything to hurt you. He is a whole green flag, a green forest even.

But you can’t help it when you see girls flirting with him out in the open.

He has asked you out for a night out in a nearby art museum that just opened. Of course you agreed, making sure you were free and don’t have anything else planned, you definitely wouldn’t pass any opportunity to spend time with him.

The night has been going well so far. You two went around to see different exhibitions, taking photos of one another (you even secretly took photos of him when he wasn’t looking because he looked so dreamy).

He was wearing a suit and tie with his glasses on, which you have always told him how handsome he looks with it on. Sunghoon is very handsome in general, but when he wears his glasses on, it just hits different. There’s just something about it that makes your stomach flutter ten times more.

You have also dressed up quite nicely, wearing the dress Sunghoon gifted you for your birthday which wasn’t too long ago. It was a pretty long white dress, and you felt very confident in it. Spending almost two hours doing your hair and makeup, your craft not going unnoticed by your boyfriend.

He is quick to notice your appearance, staring at you in awe when he picked you up from your apartment. He had literal heart eyes for you, a soft smile on his face.

For a quick moment you have left him outside to use the bathroom, to freshen up and all that. Once you got out, you didn’t expect to see him talk to someone, and a woman. And he was smiling?

What caught you off guard is when the girl placed her hand by his bicep, though Sunghoon didn’t seem bothered by it, just nodding to what she was saying. Does she really have to be touchy?

You pouted to yourself, watching the scene in front of you, not knowing if you should let them be or approach them. Before you could even decide, Sunghoon has already spotted you, excusing himself.

“You ready to go and see more exhibits? There’s more upstairs.”

“Hmm, sure.”

Your voice came out soft and quiet, something out of the ordinary as you often talked with such excitement. His thick brows furrowed, but he pushed it off, nodding at you. Maybe you were just getting tired? He thought.

Crossing your arms, you began to walk to the escalator, Sunghoon following by your side. Who was that girl? Is that someone he knows? Or did they just met? Why were they smiling? They looked so happy together. Is that his ex? He never told you about an ex…

You shook your head to yourself, feeling yourself overthink. Stop it, yn.

“Hey… you alright? I can take you home if you’re feeling tired.” Sunghoon looked at you with such concern, both of you getting off the escalator as you got to the next floor up.

You looked up at him, quickly shaking your head. “No! Uh, I’m alright. Don’t worry. I want to see more of the exhibits.” You forced a grin, though it came out so fake that Sunghoon can sense something was definitely wrong.

You got startled when he took your hand, pulling you to the side. Your back was suddenly pressed on a wall, gasping softly as his hand found your hips, looking at him with wide eyes. Your cheeks reddened so quickly, heart beating hastily.

“Is something wrong? You can tell me.”

His eyes stayed on you, waiting for your response, though you felt your throat dry during to how close the two of you are. When you opened your lips, nothing came out.

“Nothing! I just- I…”

“You can tell me what’s wrong. I don’t like seeing you so quiet. It’s weird.”

That made your heart flutter, blinking up at him. He was so close that you could smell his sweet scent, making you feel fuzzy inside.

"I would rather hear you talk non-stop than be quiet. I like hearing you," he whispered softly, feeling his fingers run through your hair, making you feel giddy.

"It's just... it's nothing. It's stupid." you felt yourself pout softly, looking away from him, but you felt his hand grip your chin gently, making you look up at him. "Well it's not stupid if it's bothering you right?"

"The woman earlier. You know her? Is she-"

"She's a childhood friend during my ice skating years. We just quickly catched up, that's all."

Ah, right. You nodded, feeling yourself embarrassed.

"Were you… jealous?"

"What? Why would you ask that." you huffed, suddenly getting defensive. He found it cute how pouty you got, feeling himself smile down at you. Gosh, you're cute.

"You can be friends with anyone you want, I don't care. It's the same with me, I can be friends with whoever, talk to whoever I want. And also, why did she have to be touchy-"

Sunghoon looks at you with adoration, his eyes flickering between your eyes down to your lips. He loves it when you ramble, pouting your lips whenever you do. Your voice was going in from one of his ear to the other, everything in the background becoming a blur.

You were suddenly cut off by Sunghoon's soft lips, your eyes widening before they fluttered shut, putting your hands into a fist as you didn’t know what to do with it.

His lips were hot and plump, his hands going up to your waist, pulling you slightly up, causing you to go on your tippy toes.

You wish you could kiss him for longer, though he definitely took your breath away, pulling away from to the kiss to catch your breath. Your cheeks flushed, as well as your lips, and definitely swollen.

“Sorry. I couldn’t help it… you were talking too much.”

A giggle escaped your lips, looking up at him shyly. “I thought you weren’t a fan of PDA.” you teased, smiling shyly up at him.

“I could do much more if we weren’t in public.”

“Hoon!”

He grinned cheekily, his fangs on display, chuckling lowly. “Cute…”

Your cheeks felt as if they were on fire. He really knew how to make you fold, huh? His eyes never left yours, caressing your waist ever so gently, eyes full of love.

“Why don’t we just go back to my apartment?”

“Hm, are you tired?”

“No.”

“Then why? Aren’t we going to see more exhibits?”

“I did. But now all I want is to able to kiss my pretty girlfriend longer.”

[yan-lorkai]

Hello! I have a Black butler request if you don’t mind! (It can be yandere but If you can make it not to noticeable??? If that makes sense.)

If I may could I request a Ciel Phantomhive x Cruella De Vill reader? I mean not exactly like Cruella but the fact she was born with hair spilt between black and white, she owns multiple Dalmatians which are really aggressive guard dogs for her. And she has a wonderful sense of fashion, even though most her clothes are only black, white or red. She even has a nickname that combines her name and Cruel together (like “Cruel-(/N)”) because she can be really honest and it comes off as rude. She is short temper but unlike Cruella she is only occasionally sassy but most of the time she is quiet because she used to get made fun of for her hair.

Also I was hoping it would be a oneshot, with a few hc. But if that’s to much it can just be hc! Thank you and have a nice day!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: I hope I did this rq justice because I absolutely loved it. Detailed rqs my beloveds. As you ask, I did some hcs and then wrote a little drabble, though I do apologize for such delay in answer it. Hope you like darling <33

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: Platonic content. Maybe typos too.

☆*: In Ciel's ears, the news of a figure with two-tone hair who only dresses in black and red reaches him through gossip that Lau felt the need to share. The rumors, however, were not enough to capture the earl's attention at first. Who cares if Londoners are talking about this girl because she acts different and has a sharp tongue? Who cares if she has some protective dogs who can attack on command?

☆*: Certainly not Ciel. He has better things to worry about being the Queen's Watchdog besides running his own company. Gossip and rumors are not something that holds his attention unless they are related to the murderers who killed his parents.

☆*: So it takes a while before you finally get to know each other and he can get a glimpse of your strong genius. And heavens, he's enchanted, even if he doesn't know it, feelings aren't Ciel's thing. One thing he knows, this night will be one he would never forget.

...

Reluctantly, Ciel was participating in the celebration. A glass of juice in his hand as he watched each of the nobles approach the throne, kneel and say their rehearsed congratulations. So typical of nobles, so insincere. He hated it here, he could be doing so many things right in the comfort of his office. Still, he smiled and played his part when all adults around him looked down on him just because he was the only child here.

The starry night became filled with light and laughter; The Queen was throwing a party to celebrate another birthday well spent. Her age-kissed skin was still glowing, her eyes carrying a tinge of unforgettable joy, and her voice a jovial tone. As usual, she sat on her throne and waited for one by one the nobles to greet and boast about the gifts that were certainly better than the others.

It was funny to watch though. They all just seemed like jealous peacocks, huffing and puffing their feathers, wanting the queen attention on them.

Sebastian when can we leave? was what he wanted to ask to the butler at his side. What he almost asked. But right at that moment he heard a commotion.

A few meters ahead stood the notorious Cru-y/n DeVil, your presence commanding attention. Ciel couldn't help but be drawn to you, his gaze fixating on you with a mixture of intrigue and caution. Despite your reputation, he couldn't deny your beauty, a striking contrast to the darkness that surrounded your name. You were young, much like himself, yet exuded a confidence that belied your age, almost as if you too had to grown fast to protect yourself.

You seemed to be fighting a much older and powerful woman. The duchess who was always looking to fight someone and today had just found her new victim. But you aren't having any of that, making exaggerated gestures and smiling mockingly at the duchess.

Ciel observed the scene with a mixture of amusement and exasperation, at least the party turned out to be entertaining with this little fight happening and the queen was also watching you two too intently, curious, not at all bothered by it. Ciel couldn't help but roll his eyes when the duchess continued to argue and pointed her finger at you.

"Your hat is adorable" You say in a loud and clear tone, with the sweetest smile you can produce. "I'm sure it was worth sacrificing Big Bird, its poor beautiful yellow feathers wasted on this hat that perfectly fit your head."

A murmur starts around the two of you, some are laughing loudly, others are whispering among themselves, repeating what you said. The duchess, wanting to appear strong and resilient, fixes her khaki yellow hat - that barely fits in her head, lifts her chin an extra millimeter and leaves. However, Ciel knew that your comment would still haunt her for months to come. Today she had lost a fight and was insulted.

Undeniable was that the hat was horrendous.

Holding back a laugh that seems to want to escape him anyway, Ciel takes off his hat in greeting to you as soon as your eyes meet. He understood now why everyone was talking about you so much. To the court you were like a fresh breath of air, devastating if you hate it, great if you like it. And he absolutely like it. Not a lot of younger aristocrats behave this way and he really needs someone different to spend time, as Elizabeth is quite overwhelming with her affection and Sullivan is busy.

He approach you and with this gesture, plans to know more about you. He is now curious and his curiosity must be satisfied.

[outofconcheol]

The Sun Also Rises (LMH x F!Reader)

pairing: dancer!Minho x ballerina!reader (afab)

genres/au/rating: smut, fluff, some angst, strangers to lovers, travel au, 18+

summary: sometimes, one night is all it takes to change everything. and that's where Minho meets you.

warnings: pov switches, feelings of burnout and poor mental health discussed, alcohol, swearing, alcohol, kind of a language barrier (Minho can understand but is bad at speaking English), lots of tension, they're literally idiots I can't, Hyunjin being the voice of reason, Kento Yamazaki also makes a cameo (twinnn where have you been)

word count: 8k

a/n: consider this my early bday gift to me (and Minho), since both of our bdays are coming up in October. this is based on the film Before Sunrise. I'm very happy with how this fic turned out, it feels very me, so i hope you enjoy! thank you to Beezy @hobeemin for the lovely banner!

smut warnings under the cut!

smut warnings: sexual tension abound, lots of kissing (too much for two people who just met), grinding, beach sex (be cautious when attempting irl), nipple play, fingering (f!receiving), pull-out method (again be cautious and wrap it before you tap it), cumshot

The night breeze rustles through the trees, and even though it's late, the city teems with life. Whispers can be heard around every corner, the clinking of wine glasses muddled with the sound of laughter. Minho’s stomach rumbles, the warm, spicy scent of paella wafting from somewhere nearby, and he remembers he hasn’t eaten since this morning.

For a brief moment, he misses the food back in Korea – the deep, earthy flavour of a steaming pot of doenjang jjigae from his eomma’s kitchen. He should really call his parents – they’d probably want to know how their son ended up lost and halfway across the world, stumbling through Gracìa on an empty stomach. 

To be fair, Minho didn’t even know himself. If he was Hyunjin, he could have said that he was attracted to the abstract, flowing architecture of Gaudì, and he wanted to study it. Maybe if he was Jeongin, he’d point to the numerous shops and boutiques that lined the streets of Barcelona, a fashion lover’s paradise. 

But he was Lee Minho –  a failed dance school drop-out, kicked out of his own crew because one day, the music had just stopped. And so did he, frozen in the middle of the routine, before he made a break for it and ran. The weak link in the chain. A note slightly out of tune. 

The discordance of it all didn’t escape him – being here in such an enchanting city, when inside it felt like he’d stumbled and stumbled until he wasn’t even sure if he’d ever be able to dance again. 

And he only had himself to blame.

The streets continue to wind, Minho’s sluggish feet under their spell, going wherever they lead. He remains a prisoner to his thoughts, the sights melding into a blur around him, until suddenly, he hears it. Around the corner.

Music.

And not just any kind – real music. The jovial sound of a live band, so different from the synthetic beats he was used to when it came to choreographing. His feet have a mind of their own, entranced and leading him straight to the source of the sound.

The scene he stumbles into is beyond what he could have imagined for this time of night – under a canopy of twinkling lights, were dancers. Dancers everywhere, twirling and prancing like they were out of a storybook, perfectly in tune with the music. 

Minho ducks behind a tree, his foot tapping in sync to the beat, and watches them dance, their toes skipping from right to left as they move back in forth in a circle. It’s beyond captivating, and he longs to join them. 

He wonders if they recognize him as one of them, or if he seems like just another plain tourist, happily enjoying the feeling of getting lost in a foreign city. 

The circle stalls, the music changing into a slower, more enthralling lilt, to signal the entry of someone new. Minho’s eyebrow quirks when the sea of people parts, the moon’s spotlight now on a solitary figure. 

His breath catches in his throat as he spots you – nimble movements a stark contrast to the rustic giddiness of the common crowd. He knows you must be classically trained – movements precise and ethereal, your meticulous form a stark contrast to the fluidity that surrounds you. He’s spellbound with the way you move – a vision of grace, so different from the swift, powerful movements he was used to executing, watching how the music takes hold of you, like you’re a marionette on strings, letting it lead you wherever you need to go.

Time ceases to exist the longer he watches, taken with the elegant lines of your body, a smile pulling at his lips. He’s so lost in his mind that he doesn’t notice when the music stops, until he feels the rustle of a figure next to him.

Minho turns in surprise, and tumbles backwards into the tree.

It’s you. The dancer.

Your doe eyes look up at him in concern, and it’s only then that Minho feels the sharp twang of pain from colliding with the sturdy trunk, rubbing gingerly at his shoulder.

“Are you always this clumsy?” Your lips curve in a lovely grin, and Minho feels his ears grow hot.

“I’m sorry, I’m new here, I didn’t…” he manages to choke out, too drawn in by the way your eyes sparkle with amusement and mischief.

“Sooo, should I call you New Here, or…” you trail off, and Minho pauses, a few silent breaths passing between you before he finally gets it. His name. You were asking for his name.

“Minho.”

“Ah. Minho. I’m ____.”

“You dance well,” Minho manages to blurt out. 

The words felt heavy on his tongue, like it’d been ages since he’d talked to someone unfamiliar, too caught up in his comfortable ways. His schedule had been simple. Eat, sleep, dance, repeat. And of course go home to feed the cats. But being here felt like challenging everything he’d known.

“You noticed?” You raise an eyebrow in question, and Minho can tell that you’re wondering whether he’s being genuine or saying it just to say it. You were probably used to it – fleeting tourists who flirted for a brief moment before disappearing into the night, too captivated by your beauty to act reasonably.

Maybe he was a fool then too.

“I dance as well. Not here though. Back home. It’s different,” he steps closer, heart warming when you don’t back away, honoured that he’s won your trust. Dance was a language he could always speak, no matter where he was in the world.

“Different isn’t always bad,” you reply, tilting your head curiously. “What do you dance?”

“Hip-hop,” he rambles, feeling his shyness dissipate when you tune in to the conversation. “It’s not like you, I mean you were–, wow, but I like to tell stories. When I dance.”

He feels himself grow warm at his stilted words, silently cursing the fact that he hadn’t taken Chan up on those English lessons when he’d met up with him for coffee last time. But he never imagined he’d be here.

Your smile only grows as you nod your head along with his words, understanding exactly what he meant.

“So, Minho, what brings you here? To Barcelona.”

Minho bristles, unsure how to answer the question. There were so many reasons, and you were a complete stranger. Did he dare reveal the truth?

“Here, I can be lost, I think,” Minho whispers, hoping you’ll know he means in more than ways than one. “Seoul is different. I think too much. The noise hurts.”

“I know exactly what you mean. I moved here six years ago, and sometimes it feels like I’m living inside a painting. It’s both magical and lonely sometimes.”

A flicker of relief washes over him. You understood him. Minho had been searching for so long for someone who understood – his friends could comfort him, but they didn’t really get it. The paralysis he felt. 

“You’re kind. Kind and good at dancing,” he grins shyly, bunny teeth poking through his lips.

“You’re good with words,” you tease back. “You should have been a writer instead.”

“Too late for that now,” Minho sighs, his entire figure slumping, and he watches you freeze. He wants to tell you it’s not your fault he feels this way, that you didn’t do anything, but the words remain clogged in his throat.

“Well it’s barely 10pm. I wouldn’t say it’s that late,” you say, voice filled with warmth, and Minho slowly comes back to himself, giving you a chuckle.

“Can I, you, we, go somewhere? Together?”

Minho watches you pause for a moment, scared that what he’d offered caused you to hesitate. But something about you made him want to keep talking to you, even if it was only for tonight.

“Sure, I’d love to.” He watches your eyes scrunch in enthusiasm. “I can show you some of my favourite places around the city.”

You beckon to him with a hand, gesturing to the shadowy streets. Minho gulped – this was the biggest risk he’d taken since being here, almost a risk as big as leaving Korea. But with the way you’d captured him from the very first moment he’d seen you tonight, he wondered if it might just be one that paid off.

The night air hums with a new kind of energy as Minho follows you through the streets – whereas before, it all seemed a blur, now the city had truly come alive in his eyes. He peered through the windows of every building you passed, watching happy patrons laugh with each other, the heady buzz of alcohol in their veins.

Minho’s stomach only grumbles louder at the thought of booze, a pang of hunger hitting him. Embarrassed, he braces a hand around his stomach, hoping you haven’t caught on —

But you’re more perceptive than he gives you credit for, already turning around to face him.

“Okay, I definitely know where we need to go first,” you flick his arm, and Minho yelps at the surprising amount of force in the tiny jab. “You can’t dance on an empty stomach.”

Minho wants to tell you that he’d never planned on dancing at all, wasn’t even sure if he could anymore, but you’re forging ahead, on a mission.

A couple of blocks later, and Minho is hit with a tantalizing array of scents – the zing of freshly ground spices, the florality of fresh fruits, and the richness of cooked meats.

“Welcome to one of my favourite places in Barcelona,” you grin, gesturing to the wide variety of stalls laid out in front of you both. “Please take your pick.”

Minho knows exactly what he wants, heading straight for a stall serving paella. He’d passed too many damn places with the stuff already, he wasn’t going to miss out on it this time.

You following along, practically skipping with him, eyes alight with excitement.

Minho falters when the kind old gentleman running the stall greets him with an ¡hola!.

“I, uh, uno, por favor,” he stutters, ears burning with embarrassment. 

You step in, gracefully saving Minho from his shame, quickly tittering off a huge order to the stall owner, and Minho feels himself relax.

“He said it’ll take a little bit for the food,” you tell him. “Do you want to explore for a bit?”

Bobbing his head yes, Minho wishes he could so badly take your hand as you weave through the market. But he wasn’t sure if you’d find that overstepping. Whatever he felt, all he knew was that the night seemed endless in the best way, full of possibilities.

The loud voices of the vendors and the clanging of different pots meld together like s symphony in his head, and Minho feels his cold limbs fill up with warmth. Maybe, just maybe, he’d come out of this trip being able to dance again.

Out of the corner of his eye, Minho sees something that makes him stop in his tracks. He taps you on the shoulder, and your face falls with concern, but when you turn to see what he’s pointing at, your eyes light up again.

“Hola,” Minho approaches the flower stall more confidently this time. The fresh scent of many different blooms makes him think of his mother’s garden in Korea, full of mugunghwas. He sees the brilliant hue of a bouquet of red carnations, and silently puts up a finger, his eyes darting to you.

The lady running the stall understands him immediately, her eyes gleaming with excitement. She grabs one from the bunch, taking special care to trim the stem. Minho rummages around in his pocket for some spare change, handing the lady more than she probably charged him for, but his heart thuds as he turns around, holding the flower out.

“For you,” he says shyly. “You’re a good guide.”

He watches your lips part in a surprised oh!, and your entire face changes colour when he holds out the flower, suddenly becoming just as shy.

“Oh Minho, you shouldn’t have… thank you.”

You take the flower from him, thumbing at the soft petals and inhaling the sweet scent. You’d received hundreds of flowers in your lifetime, huge bouquets filled with every single kind you could think of, but somehow Minho’s humble gift of a single stem makes you feel the most special. Like he actually sees you.

The two of you remain there for a few moments, unable to follow the exchange with words, until you catch the lady from the stall eyeing you both curiously.

“I think… I think maybe we should go eat,” you finally manage to breathe out, breaking the haze of the exchange. You weren’t sure why it had been so charged, a still moment amidst the hectic market, but it felt like something you’d want to hold on to.

"___?” Minho looks at you, his voice soft. “I’m glad I came here. With you.”

You met his gaze, heart beating just a little faster. 

"Me too."

Belly full, Minho follows you again through the city. Anyone looking at the two of you would think he was a little lost cat, following you around. But really, it was the opposite. Something about him made you want to stay with him. In your six years in the city, you hadn’t made very many friends. You chalked it up the the demanding nature of your job, saying you were always tired after dance practice and your feet were sore from wearing pointe shoes 85% of the time.

But you knew that was mostly an excuse. Right here, right now, it felt nice being with someone. Sharing things with someone. It only made you think of what would happen when the night would end, and Minho would leave, your loneliness welcoming you into the abyss once more.

Turning the corner, you spot it. The cozy bar was tucked away on a quiet street, its silence punctuated by the soft clinking of glasses.

Pushing the wooden door ajar, you lead Minho into the small, quaint space, filled with flickering candles and the scent of citrus and spices. The bartender sees you come in, waving a hand in greeting, and his grin only widens more when he sees Minho trail in behind you.

“Hello Kento,” you wave back, and Minho pauses again, studying the man across the bar.

“おはようございます (ohayu gozaimasu),” Minho’s low voice rumbles among the quiet din of the bar, and your jaw drops open in surprise. Minho does nothing but wink, moving to a quiet corner to pull out a chair for you.

Kento comes by to take your order, tempting you both with some of the fine-label vermouth he keeps under the bar, and you watch Minho quietly converse with him for a few moments, exchanging hushed words in Japanese.

His voice is pretty, you think. In another life maybe he could have been a singer.

“You’re full of surprises,” you tease him, watching him fidget with his napkin. 

“Tokyo is close by to Seoul,” he shrugs like it’s nothing. “And I like to watch animes.”

“Where did you come from Minho? Why haven’t we met before?” You give him a wide grin.

Minho becomes quiet, his handsome face marred by what seems to be a dark cloud.

“Leaving Korea was not my plan,” he manages to grunt. “I have things there. My cats. An apartment. Dancing.”

“So what made you do it?” The words slip out, and instantly you regret them, watching pain twinge on his face. You’d hit an unexpected nerve.

“I’m looking for something,” he admits. “I don’t know what it is. My friend Hyunjin told me about Barcelona.”

“Well I think we were always meant to meet then. Hyunjin sent you to me so I can help you,” you reach over, grabbing his hand within yours. Under the dim light you study it – muscled and with prominent veins. He had a dancer’s body for certain. “Us lonely dancers only have each other to rely on huh?”

“Dancing made me happy. I, uh, what’s the word, like clothes, they–” he stumbles through his thoughts, but you don’t need him to voice them.

“Fit. It makes you feel like you belong.”

“Not anymore.”

“Why?” you blurt out, instantly regretting it when he recoils. “I’m sorry Minho, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, no it’s okay.”

Kento swings by then, with two glasses of vermouth, rich, and slightly sweet with a hint of bitterness. Watching Minho knock back the alcohol, you see his body loosen up, instantly feeling the tension from the previous conversation melt away.

“Have you ever had a bad dance?” Minho asks, brown eyes glimmering with interest.

“Oh, many times,” you respond with a light laugh. “One time, when I just moved here, I slipped during a performance of Swan Lake in front of a huge crowd. I locked myself in my apartment for a week.”

Minho chuckles, but then leans in, like he’s genuinely concerned. “How did you recover?”

You know he’s probably talking about the smarting ankle you must have had, but you think he means more.

“I walked in the next week and continued dancing like nothing happened, But it took time to get over. The pressure to be perfect can be overwhelming sometimes.”

Minho nodded, understanding the weight of expectations when it came to doing what you both loved. 

“I want to let go,” he says, gaze softening. “But it’s hard.”

“I believe in you, Minho. You’ll find the music again.”

“For you, I’ll try,” he teases softly, but you can hear the hint of determination in his voice.

Your eyes met, and for a moment, the air between you crackled. You realize this entire time, you hadn’t let go of Minho’s hand. And he hadn’t made you either. Pulling him up with you, Minho yelps in surprise, barely having a second to wave goodbye to Kento before you’re dragging him through the door, back out into the cold night.

“I think I know something that may help.”

Buzzing from the alcohol, you drag Minho deeper into the neighbourhood, the glow of the streetlights casting a warm golden hue over the cobblestones. 

Heat radiates from where his palm meets yours, a soft breeze helping to calm the racing of your heart. Eventually, you hear it – the echo of a faint tune reverberating from the nearby buildings, and you know you’re almost there. A group of street musicians come into view, their lively jig fading away to a slower, more sensual melody.

“You’ve been talking this entire time about being bad at dancing, but I haven’t seen you actually do it,” You giggle, eyes gleaming with mischief. You take a few steps towards the middle of the square, beckoning Minho with a playful grin. “Come on.”

You watch Minho stall, and your heart races, thinking maybe you messed up. Maybe it was too soon for him, maybe he was scared and didn’t want to try again.

“Here? In front of everyone?” he replied, chewing nervously at his lip. 

“Why not?” you challenge. “Forget everyone else. It’s just you and me. Two people who love to dance.” 

You squeeze Minho’s hand in yours, squealing in shock when he pulls you close to him, arm wrapping around your waist. Leaning into his chest, you inhale his warm, woody scent, feeling yourself shiver.

“Okay,” he sighs. “But don’t think badly of me.”

“I could never,” you whisper into his neck.

Minho chuckles at that, stepping back to dramatically bow, before sweeping you into his arms once more. You move into the open space of the plaza, surrendering to the rhythm as the notes of the music envelope you both. Pressing lightly into Minho, your hand comes to rest in the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

“Tell me more about you,” you breathe against his lips. “I want to know.”

“My cats, they’re called Soonie, Doongie and Dori, they live with me in my apartment,” he smiles, pride taking over his expression when he thinks of them. “You?”

You twirl free from him, dress flaring for a moment,, then spin back, hand finding his once more.

“My mother was a ballet dancer. She hurt herself when I was young and could never dance again. It’s why I chose to follow her,” you admit, finally letting yourself break free from the walls you’d built.

You let your arms float gracefully above your head, marveling at the way you and Minho moved together. His movements  were fluid and free, a sharp contrast to your precision, bodies weaving together like the finest tapestry. The air between you crackled, the pull between you like two halves of a magnet.

“You’re beautiful,” Minho says, his gaze intense as it meets your eyes, then travels, to your lips, down your neck, even further. You feel a throb between your legs, sparks erupting across your skin everywhere he touched. 

The heat between you was palpable, an electric current that seemed to pulse with every beat of the music. The world no longer felt as big or scary anymore, narrowed down to the two of you, everything else fading into the background. 

Suddenly, the scene around you spins, and you’re looking up at the stars, Minho’s face hovering above yours. You lean in, lips ghost against his jaw.

“Am I distracting you, Minho?” His breath caught at your query, and he sighs, drinking in the subtle scent of your skin.

You gasp when he spins you around, back meeting his front. Shivers run up your spine when he leans in, chuckling in your ear.

“Yes, but I like it,” he groans, low voice ringing in your ears, and everything around you fades as you begin to move together. Hips swaying side to side, Minho’s palms settle below your waist, so close to where you need him, and you whine softly. Even though you’re turned away, you can feel his smirk in your ear, and it all feels like it’s too much. Yet you don’t want it to stop.

The haze lifts with one particular thrust of his hips into you. A small moan leaves your mouth, and everything clears, and your heart begins to race. Shakily, your eyes meet Minho’s, surprised to find them blown out in deep pools of lust.

Minho’s shaking fingers cup the line of your jaw, his lips pressing against yours. You comd your fingers through his hair, sighing against him, finally giving in. He kisses you first with the utmost gentleness, pulling back to search your eyes for anything wrong.

Despite the chill in the night air, you’ve never felt warmer.

When you nod no, Minho leans in again, his previous gentleness giving way to hunger, the tip of his tongue gliding past your lower lip, sighing at your taste. You feel like you’ll keel over if he’s not holding you, all the blood in your body rushing away from your head.

When he finally pulls away, breathless and wide-eyed, you feel your words clogged in the back of your throat.

“I-,” you struggle, seeking brief respite from the emotions coursing through you, but not wanting the moment to end.

“I didn’t expect this night to turn out like this,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper, filled with awe.

“I’m glad it did,” Minho replied. 

Looking around, you realize the music had long stopped, the band dispersing, no sign that they were even there to witness you and Minho’s dance.

“Do you have to go?” Minho asks, and his voice sounds impossibly small, like he’s afraid to know the answer.

You pause. So much waited for you ahead – performances, errands, the struggles of daily life in a foreign city. But you decided that right now, you had more than enough time to leave that behind. 

Shaking your head, you nod no, air swirling with the thrill of the unexpected. And you were ready to embrace whatever came next.

Minho feels the breeze ruffle his hair, and lets his eyes close, shoulders sighing in relief. The lapping of the waves against the shore becomes even louder, the sound of traffic and other people fading away. The sand squishes in between his toes, and he lies back on his jacket, looking straight up at the stars.  For the first time since he’d left Seoul, Minho felt completely at peace. Whereas uncertainty scared him before, now he completely welcomed the unknown. After all, it was what had lead him to you.

Minho feels his body heat when he thinks of you two dancing in the square, your face looking up at his, the feeling of your soft lips. It’d been so long since he was last with someone – dance always took over his life, leaving little time for love. But he thinks that maybe he’d been going about it all wrong.

He feels a tap on his shoulder, and he turns to see you lying right next to him on top of your coat. He can feel the warmth radiating from you, your hair tousled by the sea breeze and flying in the wind.

He really wants to kiss you again.

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, letting the rhythmic crash of waves fill in for the unspoken words in between you.

“Hey,” you interrupt the quiet with a whisper, like you’re afraid to shatter the serenity of this moment.

“Hey,” Minho says back, reaching over to brush a stray strand of hair out of your eyes. His fingers linger a little too long on your cheekbone before he drops it.

You stare at him, swirling patterns in the sand between you.

“I get it, you know. How you feel. I feel it every day when I dance. Ballet is beautiful, but it’s also... constricting,” you sigh. “Sometimes I just want to be free – free to dance, to live, to love.”

Minho nods, feeling a lump in his throat. 

“I also want that. But I’m scared. What if I’m free and I’m still not happy?”

There’s a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, a rawness in his voice. 

“I think happiness finds you when you least expect it,” you say gently, your voice like a gentle pat on the back.

Minho had never expected you at all. But he was glad you were here anyway.

“Can I kiss you?” He manages to choke out, heart racing as he takes in the way the moonlight casts shadows against the curve of your jaw and the softness of your lips. The urge to touch you again felt almost unbearable.

The space between you vanishes, and Minho sees you smile, leaning in closer, and his heart thuds in his chest. He reaches out again, pulling you towards him.

Your lips meet softly, shy and tentative compared to the way he kissed you in the square. It’s as gentle as the lulling of the waves, and Minho feels the world fade away, only able to register the cold sand underneath him, and you. 

As you broke apart, breathless, Minho sees you search his face. 

“What’s on your mind, Minho?”

Minho knows he’s always been pretty poor with words. Chan was the lyrical one in the friend group. Where Minho thrived, and always had, was action. So he decides to show you.

. . . 

Minho leans in again, capturing your lips with a fierce urgency, releasing a euphoric sigh into your mouth. Not wanting to push more than you’re comfortable, he wants for you to respond, fingers carding into his hair, pulling slightly at the strands, warmth blossoming in his chest.

You wonders if he knows you can feel the rapid beat of his heart, his pulse point right there below your fingertips, and you reach for his hand. 

“I want you,” Minho finally manages to say. The words are strained, like he’s been holding them back for too long. 

“I thought it was just me this entire time,” your own voice cracks.” I thought you were just being nice.” 

Because the truth was, you’d wanted him the very first moment you saw him. He may have thought little of himself, but he was a vision in your eyes. A masterpiece to be admired, a person to be cherished.

Minho pulls you into him, body meshing with yours, until you can no longer tell where he ends and you begin. You gasp when you feel his hardness underneath his jeans.

“I am not just nice,” he smiles against your lips. His hands cradle your face, before reaching his arms behind you, fingers ghosting down the the curve of your spine. 

Kicking your shoes off, you feel his fingers run up and under your skirt, skimming against your bare legs and he your breath hitch, chest rising and falling in the pale light of the moon. 

Lips falling to your neck, he inhales your sweet jasmine scent, teeth grazing lightly against the soft skin. You whine into his mouth, hands fisting at the edge of his shirt, struggling to pull it over his head. He slides over you, using one hand to pin both arms behind you, reaching over with the other to slide your your dress down to your stomach, finally peeling it off, and you lie back, eyes alight with desire as you take him in.

The clink of his belt rings in your ears as both your clothes finally finish falling away, and desire pools between your legs. Sliding up against your warm coat, you spread your legs for him, a low hum escaping his parted lips at your messy arousal gleaming on your thighs in the low light. Trailing his eyes back up to your lips, he inches towards you, his breath tickling your bare skin as he leaves kisses on your jaw, your collarbone, in between your breasts. The veins in his arms bulge as his hands come up to cup both your breasts, rubbing your nipples between his fingers until they stiffen, and you let out a soft moan.

The teasing doesn’t stop, his lips enclosing over the hardened buds, messily sucking on them. While it felt amazing, you knew the sun would rise soon, and the time you had with each other was limited. You trap his hand in yours, guiding it to your throbbing clit. He nudges your legs, coaxing you to spread them further, before plunging a finger inside your wet heat, sliding it in and out. Your breath comes out in sharp gasps, your pleas for more being answered swiftly as he slides a second one in, laying his head on your stomach as more and more of your arousal coats his fingers. You mewl, unable to contain your volume as you swallow them deeper, loving the rough drag against your slick walls. His thumb grazes your clit, rubbing it in slow, delicate circles before speeding up, rubbing faster, and his grunts of determination are what push you over the edge as you come.

Breath leaving you in heavy pants, your lips find his desperately, and he teases you with his tongue, his hard cock rubbing up against your wet entrance. You gasp when he pushes in, and he pauses, wondering if it’s too much, but you nod, letting him know it’s okay. He thrusts shallowly, before pushing in all the way, watching you squirm underneath him while rutting your hips.

“Fuck,” he sighs, pushing his cock in deeper, bucking his hips against yours as your nails dig into his back. “You feel so good.”

“Oh my god, Minho, I can’t–, it’s too much,” you groan, rocking against him in an attempt to quell the burning in between your thighs..

“That’s it,” he grunts, trapping your clit in between his fingers, rubbing tight circles until you snap, seeking his lips once again, your orgasm flooding your entire body like a wave. Minho speeds up his thrusts to join you, groaning when he feels himself explode, pulling out and jerking himself off, white ropes of cum splashing against his toned stomach and onto your  stomach before slumping against you.

You can feel his his chest heave with the weight of his breaths, your sticky bodies curled around each other. You begin to shiver from the breeze, and Minho cradles your sticky body in his arms, brushing the damp strands of your hair from your face before pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“가지마, 나랑 같이 있어 (gajima, narang gatchi isseo)” he whispers against your cheek. You don’t know what the words mean, but you hold them close anyway.

When the first light of dawn washes over the beach, orange and pink and purple poking out from between the clouds, you both know it’s time. It’s hushed – an eerie silence falling in between you and Minho as you scramble to throw your layers back on, the sticky feeling between your thighs a reminder that it hadn’t all just been a dream. 

From the corner of your eye, you see Minho hum absentmindedly to himself, running his fingers through his hair to tame the messy strands, and your heart lurches. 

The silence remains as you bid the sea farewell, the familiar streets of the city you called home greeting you once more. Only this time, you felt like a stranger, unsure of where your relationship stood. You supposed the same could be said for the man next to you.

It takes a few short moments before you’re seated at a café, stirring your coffee pensively. The rich, bitter aroma mixes with the salt from the sea that sticks to your clothes, and you feel nauseous. Across from you, Minho was gazing out at the horizon, his expression pensive.

You knew it was only supposed to be temporary. One of those single brief moments where two strangers met each other, eventually passing like ships in the night, both of them holding onto the memory forever. So why did it hurt so much?

“Are you ready to go back to work?” Minho asked, his voice warm and gentle, snapping you from your thoughts.

“Yeah,” you replied, forcing a smile. “I’ve been rehearsing for weeks. But…” 

You hesitate, heart feeling heavy.

“I know,” Minho finishes your thought. “It feels different this time.”

“I love ballet, I really do,” you continue, voice barely above a whisper. “But dancing isn’t my whole life. I think I’m just like you Minho. I’ve been searching for something real, something that goes beyond the stage.”

You watch Minho’s face twist, like he wants to say something, and you already know he would have asked you if you’d found it. Because he’d been searching for the same thing. It felt so cruel to have it ripped from your grasp the moment the sun began to rise.

You shared a moment of silence, the weight of everything hanging between you. You took a sip of your coffee, but instead of calming you, the warm liquid only makes your heart race.

“What are you going to do?” You asked Minho, watching his face jump to meet your gaze. “After tonight?”

“Go back to Seoul,” Minho struggles to keep his voice steady. “Maybe take a break from dance, to try something new.”

“Do it,” you encouraged, voice wobbling. “You owe it to yourself to explore what brings you joy. Don’t let fear hold you back.”

The café soon begins to fill with the clink of dishes, the laughter of patrons, the aroma of freshly baked pastries. It felt surreal, almost like a scene from a movie.

Minho reached across the table, his hand covering yours. “Thank you ___. For everything. I wish I knew how to say more.”

You squeezed his hand gently, eyes glistening. “You don’t have to say anything. Just promise you won’t forget this.”

You won’t forget me.

While you and Minho labour through finishing your breakfast, the clock behind you continues ticking, each passing second a reminder that time was running out.

By the time you leave, the sun has fully risen, casting a warm glow over the cobblestone streets. Walking side by side, you travel deeper into the city, the streets blurring into each other until you come upon a familiar one. The one that leads to your apartment. It was over. 

“What did it mean?” you ask him, voice tinged with sadness. “What you said on the beach?”

Minho’s smooth voice had lingered in the back of your mind all morning, and you wished you knew Korean, that you could say something back to him. Like he’d tried for you.

Minho looked at you, a hint of a smile on his lips, though his eyes were clouded with emotion.

“I can’t tell.”

Both of you knew it was because it might change everything.

You falter, wondering if you should say something, make a promise to keep in touch, to meet again. But it seems so useless, knowing Minho would probably never come back, and you’d never scrap together the time or money to fly to his side of the world.

You settle for throwing your arms around him, wrapping him in a tight embrace. You bury your head into his neck, committing his familiar scent to memory, wishing it could last forever.

When you pull away, you’re already backing down the street, Minho’s somber expression looking after you.

“I guess this is it,” you said, voice trembling slightly.

Minho nodded, a bittersweet smile on his lips. 

“Take care of yourself, ___.”

The knot in your stomach only grows tighter when you see him step away, tears pricking your eyes. With one last lingering look, he turned and walked away, the sunlight catching in his hair.

As he turned the corner, you whispered a silent wish to the rising sun, that no matter what happened, that Minho would be happy. And that if he was, maybe you could be too.

Adjusting your pointe shoes, the soft strains of music fill the air. You stand on your tip toes, gazing at your reflection in the mirror. What looks back at you looks the same as it always has – perfect form, straight posture, the picture of elegance. But only you know there’s something different now, a wild longing in your heart.

It had been months since that one night with Minho, but he’d never left your mind. Somehow, even though he was oceans away, his ghost trailed after you everywhere you went. When you spun, you could almost feel his hands around your waist, guiding you in a duet. When you came home to your apartment, you wished he was there, the two of you laughing over a cup of coffee. Every time you smelled the ocean breeze, you remembered his lips meeting yours, bodies tangled together in the sand.

He was everywhere and nowhere to be found, all at once.

When practice ends, you chat with your fellow dancers, wishing them a swift goodbye before running out the door.

When the longing built to its worst, you always knew where to go, the warmth of Kento’s bar waiting for you at the end of another rough day. Before, he would tease you, asking where your “special friend who spoke good Japanese” was, but now he only slides a matcha in your direction, his eyes sad while he chuckles about how you needed to cut back on the vermouth.

In a daze, you scroll through your phone, heart dropping when you realized there were no photos of Minho in your phone. The date remained a figment of your memory, like he’d never existed at all. And you had nothing to look back on.

Tears prick your eyes when you realize how stupid you’d been. So caught up in the moment that you hadn’t even thought of asking for his number, or any contact information. There were a million people named  “Minho” from Seoul to wade through every time you opened social media to check.

You wondered if Minho thought of you as often as you thought of him. What was he doing now? Was he happy?

Sighing heavily, you decide you’ll probably never know the answer.

Until your phone buzzes.

. . .

Minho sighs deeply, his muscles aching from another grueling day in the studio. He feels Soonie brush against his feet, his oldest friend curling up into a ball at his feet, and he reaches down to scratch between his ears. Looking out over the balcony, the twinkling city lights of Seoul gleam back at him, but his thoughts are full of another place. And another person. 

No matter how much he immersed himself in his routine—classes, rehearsals, and performances—something felt off. His friends would joke about his trip, saying he’d come back a changed man, like a monk who’d found enlightenment, but his serious expression always shut them down. 

He hears footsteps on the balcony behind him, and Hyunjin comes to sit next to him, holding out a steaming cup of noodles in his hands.

“Eat hyung,” he scolds Minho. “You have to be exhausted from practice today.”

Minho accepts the cup, picking up a few with his chopsticks, but decides he can’t stomach them, staring absently at the cup.

“Hyung, I don’t mean to pry, but,” Hyunjin sounds unsure, like he’s poking a sleeping dragon. “What happened in Barcelona?”

Minho shoots up at Hyunjin’s perceptive question, knowing his pabo face was terrible at hiding things. Especially from his best friend. 

Whereas Minho struggled to find the words with you, they all came flooding out in front of Hyunjin, recalling everything from the moment he saw you to how you continued to linger in his mind even now. How he couldn’t shake you no matter how hard he tried.

Hyunjin listens along, nodding his head in understanding, and finally leans back, brushing a hand over Soonie’s fur.

“Hyung, I know you’re stupid, but like, have you ever thought about just reaching out? Why are you torturing yourself like this?”

“Hyunjin-ah,” Minho pinches the bridge of his nose. “You don’t understand, it’s–”

“Complicated? What is so complicated about it? You like her. It sounds like she likes you. Why waste time on the what-ifs?”

Hyunjin pats him on the back, saying that if the weekend rolls around and Minho doesn’t have an update for him, he’ll threaten to air-fry him.

Minho sighs, taking a deep breath. He pulls out his phone and opens Instagram, thumb hovering over your username. He’d found you right after he’d left of course, easily putting your name and Barcelona together. But he’d never been able to take the final leap to reach out, to build on whatever had started that night.

But now, he decides he’s done wasting time.

When Minho steps off the plane, the air in Barcelona is thick with the smell of orange blossoms and the distant strumming of Spanish guitar. It had only taken a few messages back and forth for you two to fall into the same easy rhythm. Hyunjin teased him for constantly checking his phone for notifications from you, but deep down, he knew that his friends wanted him to chase whatever made him happy.

It hadn’t taken much longer for him to decide to decide to book a flight, seeing an ad for the ballet troupe’s latest performance on your Instagram story. Now, as he watches the streets pass by in the cab, he feels like he might be nauseous, wondering if he’d made the right choice.

But then he thinks back to how one night hand changed everything, and decides that you’re a chance worth taking. 

When he arrives at the performance hall, Minho ducks by the crowd, slipping into the plush velvet seat. Around him, the audience buzzes with excitement, but Minho pays them no mind, his eyes trained on the stage, dark for now.

When the lights go down and the curtains draw back, Minho has to hold in his breath. It was exactly like the first time.

You, in your silver and white costume, gliding across the stage like a wisp of smoke, letting the music lead you wherever you needed to go. Your performance cries with unspoken passion and longing and Minho wonders if all this time, you’ve felt the same way, unable to let him go like he had with you.

Minho doesn’t know if minutes or hours pass before the music finally stops, but he pushes his way through the audience, moving against the crowd to find the backstage exit. To find you.

. . .

“I’m sorry sir, you can’t come back here, this is only for performers…” 

The security guard’s voice booms at the door to the dressing room, and Sakura, your fellow dancer, nudges you, rolling her eyes. A laugh bubbles in your throat, wondering what crazy person had made their way backstage, but then you hear it.

A voice that stops you in your tracks. One you thought you’d never hear again.

“Please, I just need to –, please,” it begs, and you’re up out of your chair before you can even stop yourself.

Pushing past the guard, your eyes widen in disbelief when you see Minho outside. He looks different now, hair longer, and maybe the colour had changed, but the real difference is in his eyes. No longer empty, they light up when they see you.

“Minho?” You whisper, unable to believe that it’s actually real. That he’s actually here.

“Surprise,” he grins, taking a step towards you.

The security guard eyes you both suspiciously, Minho in his long trench and crisp pressed slacks, and you in your sweats, the remnants of your shimmery makeup still lingering on your face, before he slips away.

“What are you doing here?”

“가지마, 나랑 같이 있어 (gajima, narang gatchi isseo). It means that I want you to stay together with me,” he admitted, voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions churning inside you both. 

Tears of happiness shimmered in your eyes as you moved closer, closing the distance between you two. 

“I thought you were just being nice,” you joke, but it comes out a sob.

Minho took your hands in his, and you feel the warmth radiate from his skin. 

“I am not just nice,” he smiles, reaching over to thumb away a stray tear rolling down your cheek. His lips fill the spot where the tear had once been.

“Come with me,” he whispers against your temple. “I have to show you something.”

. . .

Hand in hand, the cobblestone streets of Barcelona greet you both once more, only this time, everything had changed.

Minho comes to a pause right then, feeling the weight that he’d been shouldering for months finally lift from his shoulder now that he had you in his arms again.

“Do you remember this place?” he asked.

You looked around, a smile spreading across your face as recognition dawned. “This is where we danced that night.”

“Will you dance with me again?,” he poses, his chest  filled with fear and trepidation, but also hope.

You take a step back, sinking into a deep bow in front of him. Minho grins, catchind your hand to spin you back towards him. The world around you faded as you began to move together, time stopping for the both of you.

As he slowed, breathless and beaming, he feels you burrow into the crook of his neck., whispering against his skin.

“Am I distracting you Minho?”

Minho tilts his chin up to meet your gaze, a smirk pulling at his lips.

“Yes, but I like it,” he breathes, closing the gap to crash his lips against yours. “I like you.”

“I like you too, Minho.”

The sun would rise again tomorrow. But this time, you’d be by his side.

a/n pt. 2: this reminds me of Collision!Minho a bit, they're like two sides of the same coin haha. As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜

[millerscoffee]

reader lives in jackson and is friends with tommy, so she sees joel relatively frequently, and they just DONT get along. the reader is young and she’s got a sharp tongue and cheek that irritates the shit out of joel, who shoots back just as much condescending insults. they literally can’t be in a room without getting into it. however, the reader does it for his attention (she’s got daddy issues), and joel doesn’t catch onto this until she’s knocking on his door at midnight because she can’t sleep and she needs him and she doesn’t know how to admit it. he pulls her in the house and absolute filth ensues. he makes her blow him and then they fuck. joel is smug and condescending the whole time, and reader just becomes a ragdoll. Size kink, dirty talk, daddy kink, creampie/breeding, the works PLEASE

you got it, anon! ✨ this was requested on @atticrissfinch's page too, go check it out! i love how the same request can elicit two different stories. i did my best not to read it before i finished this (it was as difficult as it sounds cos HOO BOI 😅🥵♡)

only daddy that'll walk the line

6.2k | joel miller x f!reader

rating: 18+ MDNI

warning: big mean dom!joel™️ lmao, alcoholism (reader's dad, but also drunk!joel for a second - **this is not in the smutty scenes**), parental abuse (verbal, it is brief), smut, age difference (joel is 56, reader is 18-early 20s - your choice), size kink, dirty talk (joel's a talker more than his usual grunty self), name calling (bitch, brat, slut, etc.), light praise kink & like- two pet names, ✨ degrading language and acts ✨, edging, choking/gagging, hair pulling, creampie, breeding kink, daddy kink, spitting kink!!!, spanking, oral (m receiving), no prepping the reader, brat tamer!joel, bratty reader, if i missed anything lmk

summary: based in jackson, you have the unfortunate predicament of being friends with tommy miller and hating his brother, joel – and you have no problem in letting either of them know that! until one night you are brought to joel's doorstep.

A/N: this is my first request! thank you! huzzah!! hopefully it's to your liking, nonnie. he's big mean dom!joel™️ but with a conscience yknow?? enjoy ♡ i did proofread this, but i wrote it over the course of a couple weeks. i did my best! lol

"Dude, what's his fucking problem!?"  You roll into the dining hall in a huff.  Shuffling to your seat for dinner, you slam your tray down and Maria gives you a combined look of worry and irritation at peace being compromised.

"Who, honey?"  Tommy asks, handing you a glass of water with an entertained grin because he's positive he knows just who you're talking about.

He'd seen the two of you go at each other's throats earlier in the day when you were trying to get by him on your way out the door.  His back was to you, and he all but ignored your request to get out of the way.  Causing you to shove past him, which ensued an argument between the two of you.  Which led you to both of you gunning each other with your words until you both left in a bad mood.

Joel had his back to you, his frame fully in the doorway as he spoke with a woman in town.  It started off slow: a few clearings of your throat, a slight nudge of his back.  No avail.

"Excuse me," you shouted, pushing at him again before he finally turned around quickly with his jaw ticked.

"Do you have any manners, Christ."  He said dry and muttered under his breath, but the lady made room for you and you nodded politely in her direction.

"Maybe if you weren't so fucking old, you could've heard me!"

"And watch your fuckin' mouth."

Joel turned his back to you, not giving you a moment to retort.  Conversation over. 

"This fucker," when you look up, you see Joel coming towards the table.  The sight of him gives you a set of shivers you can't explain.  Not complete disgust, but certainly not excitement.

"You really oughta keep better company," Joel tells his brother, sitting down beside him, he frames his entire body towards Tommy so he's sitting in a way to make you feel ignored.

"I'm right here, you know."  Your head is moving so you're in the line of his vision.

"Don't remind me.  Listen, this is a family dinner.  Go find your own."

A slap in the face would've hurt less.  Before Tommy or Maria had the chance to come to your defences – both of their mouths open ready to take up for you – you stood up, shoving your tray over to Joel.  So loud, other people turn their gaze to the four of you.

"Fuckin– eat up, then."

As you storm off to your house, you hear Tommy scold his older brother but you don't look back.

---

The next morning, your father wakes you up to the sound of his own yelling for you to come downstairs.  You'd been helping out Maria and Tommy to get your own place, or at least a shared one with people your age and to hear your dad's voice; whiskey-soaked and cruel, makes your stomach churn.

After slipping on your clothes for the day, you make it to the kitchen where he's sitting at the table and reeking from alcohol even from where you're standing.

"Didn't you hear me call you?"  His words were slurred and angry.

"Yes, I'm sorry."  It's such a difference from how you talk to other people, talk to Joel, for example.  Maybe because he's the last person you spoke to, but he's the first one who pops into your head during this interaction.  You sound meek, scared to say something wrong.  A stark difference from how you speak to Joel – abandoning all worries of punishment.  Almost like you wanted that from him.

"Fuckinbetterbe – hiccup – breakfast.  Now."  Your dad all but snaps his fingers and rage creeps up the back of your throat, biting your tongue so hard you break the surface layer.  A slight streak of blood coats your mouth, but you do as you're told.

This morning is kinder than others.  Your dad did not say thank you for the pancakes, you didn't get hit or debased too much.  You consider it a win.  Once you leave your house as soon as you can, Joel's chest hits your face as soon as you turn the corner.  The milliseconds seem long when you're met with the warmth and solidity of his chest, the scent of cedar and... whiskey?  It seemed too early, even for him, to be drinking and you shake off the unreasonable rationale that he should be treated differently than your father for the same behaviour.

You ignore the similarities of him and your father all together, actually.

"Watch where you're goin'," Joel's brows are knit together, which is normal for him, but you've never been this close to see his lips from this angle above you.  You almost say something out of the ordinary for the two of you, but you reel it in quickly.

"You're one to fuckin' talk.  Morning coffee smells a lot like alcohol.  Maybe I should tell Tommy about your habits."

"Does it ever hurt your head bein' a bitch all the time?"

"Not as bad as that hangover will be around noon.  Move."

You push past the large build in front of you with a clenched jaw, unable to be around him a second longer.  "Fuck you, Joel," you mutter for good measure on your way to Tommy and Maria's.

They'd given you safety on days when it seemed scarce, and showing up felt appropriate.  You were a little closer with Tommy than Maria.  He was able to listen to you without being too judgy, and you needed that.  The lack of safety piece was a lot like how your day started off.  You walk around to the back where Tommy's working on a new hobby and you sit in front of him, letting out a big sigh.

"Y'daddy givin' you trouble again?"

Typically when Tommy asks about your father he says it like this, but today it catches you off guard.  Confusion twists your mind, but you nod distractedly.  "Yea, he was drunk this morning.  Your brother, too."

You slide that one in fast.

Tommy fists through his hair, letting out a heavy exhale.  "Shit.  We both got trouble this mornin', I guess."

"Seems like it."

You're unusually quiet, looking at the ground more than anything.  It bugs you that Joel and your father have a similar quality to them.  That they both are up reaching for the bottle, but for Joel it's not a common occurrence and that makes you worried – an emotion you don't have for him that often, if you're being honest.  You don't think about his experiences that often.  But this is the first time, really, you've even seen Joel drunk like that.  You remember Tommy mentioning that he'd given up the stuff since Sarah's passing when everyone was around a fire one night sharing stories.

As if the dots connect in real time, you look over to Tommy who looks worried sick.

"He'll figure it out,"  you reassure, chewing the inside of your cheek before heading out.  You call behind you, "I'll be around."

You've never really been good at the whole 'being there for someone' thing.

~~

Later on, you find yourself in the mess hall again for the night's dinner and you catch Maria, Tommy, Joel, and Ellie all together and it feels weird to sit with them.  They're all laughing, Joel looks sobered up.  And it seems that Tommy didn't bring up the conversation the two of you shared.  They look like a happy family and twists a knot in your throat and the proverbial knife at your side.

"Can I please spend the night at Tommy and Maria's?  Please?"  Ellie is looking over at Joel with the sweetest expression, you snicker to yourself at how menacing she actually was.  It seemed to do the trick, though.  Joel's eyes flicker over to you, and it feels like you're being caught for something.  The look is inculpatory without you doing anything.  As if to say you are witnessing something too personal, a side of him not meant for you.  "Yeah, sure," his response to Ellie sounds distant.

This gives you no choice but to walk up to the scene, to sit down beside Maria.  She gives you a welcoming grin and makes space for you.  "What'd I miss?"  You look over to Ellie who's excited to see you, but Joel?  Not so much.  His eyebrows narrow down his face, suddenly more quiet than usual, even for him.  You set your sights back on Ellie who's telling you all of the cool things she's gonna do at her Uncle Tommy's and you flash a smile that lets her know you're listening.  Or at least trying.  It's hard when Joel isn't even initiating the usual conflict with each other.  More arguing than speaking.  And the fact it wasn't happening was off.

"That sounds like a blast...," you trail off, your chin in your hands.

"If you're not gonna listen to her, don't ask her questions."  Joel barks, eyes now solemnly black in your direction.  It makes you scared and delighted at once.  Like he was back to normal.  Your normal.

"I was listening to her?"  You retort, and everyone's quiet now.  Awkwardness filling the air as the two of you battle it out.  "Maybe if you weren't so drunk all the time you'd know the differen–"  "Hey, now."  Tommy chimes in, giving you a stern look of disapproval and you feel bad.  Reflective.  Joel wasn't drunk all the time, and you knew exactly why he was this morning.

You exhale, "I'm sorry," you nod in the direction of everyone but Joel and stand up from your seat, "enjoy your family time."

On your way back to your house, you catch a glimpse of a group of people your age.  People you'd grown up with, but they didn't acknowledge you and it digs the wound closer in.  You truly felt alone.  Like nothing fit, and maybe you didn't belong in Jackson but it wasn't like there were many choices to go to.

---

More times than not you sneak into your room.  Not because you are past a type of curfew, you were an adult.  It was more, you didn't want your dad to know you were around.  Your door was locked when you climbed in through the window.

You got comfortable, spilling out of your clothes for the day and into your pajamas.  Cotton shorts and a loose tee.  Your breasts perky and nipples taut from the worn fabric.  A lot of the day was spent dealing with heavy subjects that you just wanted to let your mind escape.

Staring at the ceiling in your bed, your eyes become blurry in need of sleep.  Needing release.  Anything.

Your mind wanders to why Joel was so quiet with you when you sat down.  It wasn't like that was the first time the two of you had a shouting match in front of everyone, but this felt different.  You deduce it to Joel having an off day and let your mind wander somewhere else.

Or, at least you try.

Because when your hands explore your body under the blankets, Joel comes back to life in your thoughts.  You come back to the warmth of his chest when you ran into him this morning, the grunt that left him from impact.  What that would sound like against your ear.  Before you know it, you're shifting your thighs together, spreading the mess of your cunt.  A craving ignites your bloodstream.

It's slick between your legs when you sit up, and you're full of determination unbeknownst of where it's coming from.  The act itself is a little heady, but you have nothing to lose so why not?

Slipping on a pair of shoes and a jacket that covers your clothes, you turn your back to the window and scurry down until you're able to jump off onto the grass.  One step close to where you want to be.

Joel's house is across the street which makes it easy to get to, but aggravating when you want a sense of peace.  He's always around, shooting you a menacing stare when you're not down each other's throats but there's an ache you can't deny.  A compulsion.

You knock on his door twice before he swings it open almost like he saw you approach, but he doesn't tug you inside like you thought he was.  Doesn't make you get on your knees or fulfill any fantasy of being used.  Of... making him proud.

"What?"  His question is dry and a part of you is crushed. He isn't taking advantage of the way your legs look in your shorts right away.

"You're not the only one who had a bad fucking day," you start, but he doesn't give you a moment to push through the door because before you know it you're being pulled inside.  The sound of a slamming door somewhere behind you.  You're forced to look at him with his paw wrapped around your jaw, thumb tilting your chin up effortlessly.  It locks you in place.

"You came here.  Why?  Y'want me to fuck your bad day away?"

You gape is panicked, eyes wide now in this compromising position.  You can't think, you can't nod or say words.  You just stare.

"She's real fuckin' quiet now," Joel shoves you against the closed door, not letting an inch of space be wasted and he takes your wrist with his free hand, palming you over his hardening cock in his jeans.  "How about now.  You payin' close attention?"

You whimper, nodding softly as your fingers massage and rub, tug at anything you can through the fabric.

"Did I tell you y'could do that?"  His words make you pause, shivering at how truly empty your mind is in the moment.  Even in your inexperience you don't know you've ever felt so instantly timid.  Joel makes you fold at the first hint of misbehaviour.  You can't think of a thing to say.  Halfway don't know why you're here in the first place, and he's got you so wet from this it almost hurts.  Stickiness coats your thighs as you squeeze your legs together and you're sure it will be obvious even through your cotton shorts.

You shake your head, and he's sick of you not speaking to him.  Squeezes your face tighter, "Use your fucking words."

"No... no you didn't," you manage and you've never heard yourself sound so pathetic.

"I didn't, that's right.  You answer to me."  The snapping sound of his words causes your eyes to roll in annoyance.  He doesn't own you, he never fucking could.  The action makes his jaw tighten, his hand from your jaw in a grip that didn't hurt now is wrapped around your throat and although it's not tight, it certainly isn't loose.  "What the fuck was that?"

You're back to being silent, unable to do anything but take.

"Not asking again."

"I rolled my ey–"

"You rolled your eyes.  Roll your fuckin' eyes at me again, little girl.  You'll regret it."

A cool threat, you think.  Meaningless, even.  What possible reproach would he have anyway?

It's then you take in the house.  You'd been here once before to stay with Ellie.  It's dark, a single lamp upstairs.  All of this is background noise to the drone of your need prickling your youthful skin.  It's apparent, your age difference, when you're this close.  His rough fingers, wrinkles catching the moonlight peeking in through the windows.

"I–I'm sorry," you've been saying that a lot lately.

"Don't apologise to me.  Don't say sorry when I know you're not."  His thumb moves from your chin to your lips, thumbing over just how pliable and soft they are and it sends your nerves to the surface.  Prying your lips apart, he presses inside and you willingly wrap your lips around it to lap the pad of his digit.  "Look at that sweet thing," he says, more at you than to you, and your neck flushes being this willing to suck for him, "so easy for me to use.  I put my thumb to y'er lips and you just took it right in, didn't ya?"  The taste of his skin robs you of any other sense, his tone making you all but fold.

"Show me what this mouth is good for, 'cuz it sure ain't good at a sincere apology."

Before you know it, you're on your knees.  Joel is kind enough that he ushers you down onto the hardwood floor and you can't believe you're face to face with his crotch in front of his door, no less.

"You couldn't wait to take me to your bedroom?"

Joel doesn't reply straight away.  Instead you hear the clanking of metal, a zipper coming undone, and the slap of his cock hitting his abdomen on the way out of his pants.  You take mental note that he hasn't been asleep by his attire, but it's all for nothing when your eyes make out the shapes in the dim light.  You choke when you see just how big he is.

He tuts, leaning his head condescendingly as he takes a chunk of your hair in his palm to tilt your chin up to greet his cock.  "Aw, you think you're goin' t'my room?"  The words make you feel naïve, the one or two times you've done something like this didn't have nearly as much... compromise.  And you certainly didn't hook up with someone twice your age.  You don't have time to be self-conscious because the head of him, the leaky head of him, is tapping against your lips and your eyes roll back as you open your mouth for him.  After jumping slightly in surprise, of course.

He sighs in relief with a deigned smile, pushing his hips further.  "Fuck.  You hear that?  Nothing!  Sounds so fuckin' good, shuttin' you up."

But it's not entirely nothing, is it?  Not with your gagging, slurping up what you can but you don't know what you're doing all the way and fumbling through half of it.  Doesn't seem to faze him much.

It's obscene as it feels, him using you like this – and you don't feel an ounce of guilt when it's exactly what you want.  The switch flips on why you came to his door in the first place.  His big thumb swipes over the corner of your full mouth, "You like that, dontcha, filthy thing?"

And you hated how right he was.  You wanted to scream, kick him.  Retaliate in a way so you could still be in this submission at the same time.

Your mouth was full by the earthy taste of him, obliterating whatever feelings you had about the day.  A bad mood that he had contributions in, but it's melting from the constant thrust of his hips.  And he's keeping your head locked in place, hand gripped in the strands so you can feel your spit mingling with the underside of his cock.  Honestly, every part of his dick is covered in your spit.  It spills down your chin, threatens up your nose when you gag, leaves your eyes to water when you look up at him in a dire need to breathe fully, but he's not done with you.

Not until the loudest, lewdest pop from your mouth you've ever heard does Joel break contact completely.  Steps back until you're being observed in a patronising way.  Your gone expression.  All saliva and tears and his precum smeared over your mouth.  You can barely bring yourself to look up, but his demands seem to do the trick.

Snapping his fingers at you to get your attention, you swallow hard.  "Nuh uh.  You're not gonna get all soft on me, girl.  Wake the fuck up."

Which would be simple if he wasn't practically dragging you by your hair, making you crawl on your hands and knees until you're on your feet and you're shoved onto his couch.

All that and you're still dressed.

"Off," he's barking commands like you're a trainable being and if you were in any other state, you may reconsider this whole ordeal, but when he pushed you onto the couch your legs spread just enough for him to see the wetness smearing the cotton at the apex of your thighs and that amuses him. "not good at hidin' how much of a slut y'are."

"You think it's just you that does this to me?" You find your voice again, hoisting yourself up to sit on his couch as his cock – thick and proud – sways against the fabric caught between it.  Your tongue presses to your cheek when you make eye contact, "You're kidding yourself."

The venom drips so fluidly from your tongue, Joel doesn't make a sound.  Just peels off his clothes until he's standing there naked in his house, giving you living proof that you are kidding yourself.

The silence speaks for itself.  He is pure smug under the sight of your drooling gaze.

"It's real cute that you think y'got control over the situation n'all," the weight shifting on this couch from the cushion shaping around his knee.  Joel sits down, taking you by the scalp again to cloak you over his lap stomach-first, and you yelp in surprise when he does all of this and tugs your shorts down in one fell swoop.

With your hair in his fist, his other hand ghosts over your ass in effort to make sure you squirm for him before administering a devilishly loud spank to your ass.  "But somebody better teach you better manners.  Sure as shit itn’t your father."

You crack out a sob at that– from the contact and the truth.  You couldn't retort, you were too busy getting slap after slap against your increasingly worn ass to think about anything else.  "Lucky I ain't making y'count.  You'd have this for eternity now."

Not that it mattered anyway.  He's leaving mark after mark of his large handprint across your cheeks, probably ten more if you could even focus on anything else but finding the words to stop him.

"Please– y-you're right," tears stain your face as you bury your face in your arms.  Flinching when Joel moves, you expect another searing punishment, but instead he pulls your ass apart and you gasp at the cool air striking your cunt that's hot and wet for him.  "Joel!"

“Dirty fuckin’ girl, wet from gettin’ punished.  I talked so bad about you, and you liked it?  You’re as desperate as I thought.  Only good for gettin’ my cock wet.”  And it’s like a lever is pulled when your slutty little smile plasters over your face with him out of view.  Not that you had much time to gloat, or to experience the pleasure of living in your own fantasy because Joel’s got you pulled again.  His thick thighs spread apart when he maneuvers you so willingly to sit between his legs.  Right where he wants you.  Right where you can feel the throbbing pulse at your folds.  He tells you to take off the rest of your clothes and you would be a fool to do otherwise.

“Bad girls don’t get the luxury of bein’ opened,” that Texan drawl slips over your ear when he holds the base of his cock, slicking himself through your folds, you gasp and wriggle against him – his grip tightening harder.  Silently warning you if you make another move it’s over, you’re done.  It’s over.  All the while the searing stretch of him causes your cunt to flutter and clench around him.  It’s too much, too overwhelming, and he won’t let you adjust long enough.  “You’ll get over it,” but it’s not reassuring.  He still sounds in control despite his laboured breathing and when he can, he moves his hands to grip your hips and guide you down on him.  You scream, a knee jerk response wriggle away from him, but this position doesn’t quite allow for that.

“Be a good girl.”

That folds you, quite literally, as he moves his hips down to pound up into yours, using you like his own toy to get himself off with.  And it’s just the incredible sounds of your squelching cunt and his balls tapping against your folds.  The fucking isn’t frantic, but it certainly isn’t soft.  He’s rough with you, a hand traveling up your back to grip your hair so your neck is back in place and he lifts you upright so your back is curved, neck craned so if you tried, you could make him out – upside down.  “Poor thing couldn’t help it, had to get a daddy to take care of her.  You want that, kitten?  Wanna be used and as daddy’s little fucktoy – only good for makin’ me cum?”  his hand sneaks around to the front of you with his free hand, he presses and digs into your pubic bone to make you feel exactly where he is.  “Put a baby right here.  Make everyone know what you fuckin’ did.”

You whine, eyes rolling back at the thought.  It was so obscene, nothing like you’d ever even heard of before.  Where did he fucking learn how to talk like this?  Your brain is swimming while your sticky sweetness coats his lap, clawing at his thighs for any sort of stability, but it was dizzying how he had you.  How his grunts filled the air in between slaps like he had your hips placed at the perfect angle for him to work you.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?”  His gritting teeth by the shell of your ear, he keeps you secure within your hair to snake his arm around the front of you tugging and rolling at the sensitive nubs of your nipples.  When he feels you appear to drift off, those rough hands supply another smack, but to your tits this time, your fingernails clawing into his thighs involuntarily as you squeal in surprise.  You tighten at that, fluttering around his cock and you feel it at the edge.  So close you can almost taste it.

But he knows you’re close, too, and there’s no way in hell he’s giving that to you.  Not when you’ve barged into his house like this, not when you’ve done nothing but be an insufferable brat to him since the moment he came to Jackson.

Joel hovers you over his lap, and your heels dig into the floorboard.  His hips still, keeping the very tip of his cock inside of you – you feel panic flash over your body.  “No,” it’s the first word you’ve uttered in god knows how long and it sounds desperate.  Any hope of getting an orgasm swirls down the drain, and it’s set in stone when he pushes you on your back – the lumpy couch digging into your skin.  “No, no, please.  Why!”

His eyes could burn a hole through you.  Like a hungry dog, his body hovers – shoulders stooped, head down when he pours his gaze into you.  And he likes what he sees.  Legs open and begging, willing to do anything to get him back into you.  Your cunt glistening, even in the dull light and he can tell it’s pulsing.  “Poor thing’s clampin’ around nothin’,” he teases, grunting when his knees meet the couch cushions – another tell of his age.  But you, you’re too preoccupied in taming the ache between your legs to comment.  It burns, coming back to a fixed state you realise how stretched out you were and it’s more than overwhelming.  To know you haven’t been used to completion, all hope draining from your face.

“Joel,” your breath is shaky underneath him, pupils blown and wet when you make out his features, “Joel, please.  Please, I want this.”

“Darlin’, I know you want it.  Everybody in town knows you want it,” his words make you sob a whine as they approach closer to your neck, the delicate graze of his beard dances at your pulsepoint and you shudder.  Hips raise and he’s quick to slam them back down into place.  “If you want me, ‘Joel’ ain’t whatchu say to get me.”

And if you felt hopeless before, you really do now.  Unable to do anything but debase yourself for your own pleasure.  You’d heard it earlier, the way he referred to himself with a name that brought up mixed feelings at Tommy’s.  You swallow down embarrassment, looking him in the eyes – which were faded obsidian, your fingernails dig into your own thighs as if to brace for what’s tempting to slip out of your throat.

You hated that he made you nervous.

And you hated the hold he had over you.

But he had it, there was no doubt about it.  He had it.  He had you.

Your jaw ticks forward, fully aware of your clit screaming for attention and exhale shakily.  “Please, daddy.  Please, I want this.”

“Eh,” Joel muses, shaking his head, “I don’t believe ya.  Really gotta hear the desperation in your voice.  Maybe if I,” his hand reaches for his cock, slapping the sloppy head of it against your folds and that– that sends you.  Takes you to a different destination entirely because for the first time all night there’s attention to that bundle of nerves, and he knows it.  He knows you need this in order to give everything over to him in full.  “Daddy!” you screech, pelvis jutting up in full inclination and without a single word, Joel’s cock spears into you all the way to the hilt.  All the way to your cervix.

His hands, emitting heat and wrapped largely around your hips, locks you where he wants you like some animal in heat.  It forces you to bring your legs up into a position you aren’t sure you’ve ever been in – thighs against your stomach, by your sides.  It’s so, “deep,” you whimper, head rocking as your mouth flies open and he’s delivering you thrust after thrust of pleasure so wrecking no noise comes from you.

“Is that what you needed? Fuckin' brat,”  Joel is still able to tease, but even he isn’t immune to how tight you are around him.  Your fluttering core begging for release as it moves in and out around him – as if it’s doing its own begging.  “You wanna be filled up to the brim with my cum, babygirl?  Needy fucking cunt like you only good for matin’ like this.”  Your skin burns at his words, your body convulsing as you do your best to keep it together.

That’s when Joel’s hand wraps around your throat, a line of spit falling into your mouth and you willingly drink from him.  “You hold off, you ain’t gettin’ it tonight,” you pout for a moment, not fully understanding what he means by that, but he clarifies when his hips get sharper, more precise.  As if his cock is hooked inside of you, not letting a drip of precum spill out of you against your cervix.  “Y’ain’t cummin’, but I am.”

His grip around your throat gets harder, and you swear you can see every vein in his face rise to the surface when he uses you.  You’re limp, all thoughts washed away – his cock thick and long, you aren’t even sure how he fits it all inside of you but he does.  The edge of your stomach bulges as he works you, his neck cranes back to expose his neck and it’s too much to take. For both of you.  His hot cum ropes cords inside of you, sticking to your walls.  Filling you up is an understatement with how much he has to give you.  It’s as if you can discern the moment his seed grazes your cervix in its sticky texture.  Your head is swimming at the sound of your animalistic grunts, he looks so… fucking hot like this.  His name is replaced with ‘daddy’ more easily than you care to admit.  You do try not to chase your orgasm… a part of you does, anyway.

But you’re defiant.

You can take yourself there without him telling you to, and in fact the opportunity to disobey him is just what you need to send yourself creaming all over his cock.  You gasp, eyes wide before they roll back and you’re fucking yourself on his spent cock that somehow still has life to it.  Even for his age, he can still keep it hard for you after his seed coats your insides.  “Daddy, daddy, daddy,” becomes part of your breath, and you’re shocked he doesn’t pull out of you even though his hips are still.  You don’t notice it until you come down considering you’re using him.  Did he say you could do that?  As if you’re woken up by an alarm, you jerk at the sensation of the orgasm you snuck.  Without his permission.  You look up, and his knuckles are bleached around your hips.  He looks so menacing like this, scary.  You shake your head, swallowing hard in your attempt to fix things.

But it’s too late for you.  You’re a brat at the end of the day, and he has to train you.  Make you realise the error of your ways.

His cock is still buried deep when his middle finger plays where the two of you connect.  A whine escapes you, shivering now, not quite sure what he’s going to do.  He’s lethally quiet, you aren’t sure how to react.  He’s contemplating what to do to you, he’s not met someone who’s as menacing as he is.  As unwilling to give away freedom.  Not since… his nostrils flare as he inhales.

“I told you not to do that,” Joel stating the obvious makes you clear your throat, his cock twitching inside you in the aftershocks sends your teeth to bite down on your lip and you shake your head, “I c- I couldn’t help it!” You lie, and he knows it.  Compels him to prod that middle finger just above his cock inside you and the stretch is too much.  When you reach out for his forearm, his other hand darkens over your wrist, pinning it back in a way that hurts.  You wince in tandem with it and his monstrous hook of the digit inside you.  You’re so full, “It’s too-it’s too much!” you tap at anything you can, but he’s not listening.

Instead, the pad of his finger has no problem in touching that spongy bit inside of you – especially since your cunt is stretched from his cock and he can see it.  His cum tempts to pool out of you, but he shoves it back in, working his finger inside you repeatedly but he’s just rubbing.  He’s just rolling his finger against your g-spot until you feel so overstimulated it brings more pain than pleasure.  “Came like you knew what you were doin’,” he finally remarks, thumb rolling over your clit and you can’t take it.  “Please, pl– it’s too much!  Daddy!”  That rhythm is sly, though, in making you come undone.  Again and again.  As you’re on the peak of what would be an explosive orgasm, Joel pulls out of you entirely.  His cock, his finger.  His warmth is a distant memory when he stands up, palming over his cock.  How did he get hard again?!  He would deal with that on his own time.

Your moan is choked out, thighs pressing together for any sort of… something.  A release, a grind.  You’re left panting and begging, your tits perky and heaving for him.

“What did I say, little girl?”  He climbs into his clothes, one button up at a time with his flannel.  “You won’t be cumming for a week with that fuckin’ attitude.”

You’re so lost in chasing a feeling, soon to disappear as it could arrive that all you can do is whimper and nod.  “I’m so–” his hand grips your jaw, forcing you to look up at him.  Spit covers your face, and you hum like a kitten at the feeling of his hot saliva down your cheek, “What did I fucking say about apologisin’ when you’re not sorry?”

You wipe your face, sucking the spit off your thumb with a satisfied smirk.  “Fuckin’ loved it, daddy.”

He swallows then, his head shaking in disbelief over how much of a filthy bitch you are.  “Yeah, yeah you fuckin’ did.  Belong to me now, you understand?  Gonna let everybody know what a slut you are for this cock.”

And you would be lying if you didn’t experience a swell of pride in those words.  You’d be down each other’s throats again in no time, but the look of ownership that adorns his face over you is too much not to bask in.

“A week?”  You study him, eyes wet and round, look up at him and you see his cheek twitch in response.

“Gonna be two if you keep it up.”

You let out a faint sigh, resting your head back on the armrest.  “Yes, daddy.”

“Good girl,” he coos, leaning down to press his lips at the shell of your ear.  Fingers tucking his cum back in your hole.  He relishes in how hot you feel under his fingers.

“Now get the fuck out of my house.”

taglist: @cool-iguana - dm to be added!

[chosoisamalewife]

* Sees the angst tag in the masterlist * me: 😈

I request the finest dish of Sukuna and Male reader, with the drink being Angst. Sukuna had kept his Male servant around in the heian era and began to have a soft spot for him. But when he found a servant's dead body, he began to go mad. Now, the rest is up to you.

Sukuna x male!reader

A/N : I am a big angst lover so the moment I saw this request I squealed and instantly started writing

A/N : I gotten inspiration from the last of us opening for the death scene. Also Sukuna and reader had a special thing 😉😉 ALSO SUKUNA IS HEAVILY OOC

Sukuna wasn’t a kind man,well he wasn’t a man to begin with, he was a curse object that hated basically everything. He wasn’t kind at all, he was rough and mean. He was one thing that has zero weakness or so he thought. There was you he never understood why he adored you so much. You were a pesky human to him, a mere servant of his. However he couldn’t help but to be soft and patient with you. He felt pathetic every time he saw you smile, every time he saw your eyes and skin glowing in the sun light. The way you looked at everything with kind eyes, even him, a monstrous being. The way you trace the patterns all over his body, your fingertips grazing his skin gently like he was fragile glass as your soothing voice spoke. Oh your voice was something he could listen to always, it was one of a kind to him. He hated it but oh he couldn’t tell you to stop. You were a weakness to him and he hated, he hated everything about it, yet he couldn’t get rid of you.

He has even tried to, there has been many times he has thought about killing you. He has pictured it many times and many different ways, sometimes they come out of the blue. The other times is when you are sleeping peacefully next to him, his eyes starring at your resting face trailing them down looking at all the marks from him. He couldn’t help but to imagine ripping your heart out right then and there, doing the same thing you have done to him, making you feel the same pain.

You didn’t understand it either why he was so gentle to you. When you first became his servant he treated you like the other. He was cold and ruthless to you, the only person you saw he even remotely nice to was uruame. The first time that you saw something different from was when you bumped into by accident. The force of him basically knocked the breath out of your lungs. You just stared up at him with fear as he just stared down at you. You gotten on your knees "I'm sorry King. I must have been distracted I didn't see you." Your voice shook with fear. He reached one of his hands down offering it to you. You looked at him confused

"Are you gonna take it or what?" He asked without any emotion or tone to his voice. You put your hand in his helping you raise up. From there you saw him slowly began to soften. He knew the track you walked in the castle so he eventually start to intercept that track. He knew you liked to paint so he start to let you go outside to do that with his "supervision" of course. You had a favorite spot too, it was under a tree surrounded by flowers, so he had other servant set up a area for you there. He stood out there with you for the most of it he wanted to make sure you didn't run away. But that was just an excuse. He stood out there because of how peacefully you looked. He liked how you looked when you concentrate, he liked how your strong hands look holding the brush. He also did it to make sure that no one would disturb you.

One thing he hated more than how gentle you were, was the way you looked when you cry. Sukuna wasn’t a patient being which caused a lot of fights between the two of y’all. Sukuna never felt the need to apologize to anyone or anything but with you he just couldn’t help it. He felt the need to apologize especially after a bad one. Such as the recent one, he was sitting on his throne thinking of the way your eyes filled with tear before you stormed off. The way you yelled “If you are so tired of me then kill me! Do it already!”

He decided to ask uraume to make your favorite dishes as a act of him apologizing to you. When he brought the food up to your door. He could hear sniffling. He thought your were still upset so he put the tray on the floor and knocked gently on your door. "Y/N, I know you're probably still upset but here is some food. " That’s when he heard you say his name but it wasn't normal. It was odd like you were hurt. He opened the door to find you bleeding on the floor.

He ran to your body lying on the ground, the was a big gash from your chest to your torso. “Y/N, going to be okay.” He took you in his arms trying to pick you up which caused you to scream in pain. “ I know, I know but you have to let me. I have to get you help.” He tried again, your nails were digging into his skin as you screamed. “I know baby, I know.” Baby was a nickname that he has never used until now, it was always brat. He stood up half way before the grip you had on him let go and everything went silent. Your body fell limp in his arms. “Y/N” He sat down on the ground with your body cradle in his arms. He sat there just staring at the opened window. If he wasn’t late he could’ve caught that person, the thing that killed you. Or he could've killed it before it hurt you. The thing that took you from him. He’s going to hunt them but he doesn’t want to kill them. No, killing them would be to humane. He wants to torture them until their body can’t take it and give up.

He sits there for hours in the the silence of what use to be your lively room. What once was a room filled with laughter, talking, and other noises is now a room with nothing. The sound of the door opening interrupted his thought. He turned his head looking at the intruder, it was another servant. “My kin-“ the servant wasn’t even able to get the full word out before a slash went through his body. Uraume eventually came the fetch the body before leaving sukuna alone again. It began a repeated process of servants intruding to only be killed in a second

This went on for 3 days, your body started to decay but he didn’t move. He stayed there not caring about the decay or the smell. “Sukuna” Uraume opened the door gently. He stared at them with a look in his eyes that they have never seen before. Was it heartbreak, anger, madness that he didn’t want to let out. Simply because he didn’t want to disturb your resting body.

“I don’t want to fucking hear it.” He barked at them. They crouch in front of him leaving your body in between them.

“Sukuna, I think we should give him a proper burial. He doesn’t deserve to rot here.” He sat there for a second considering it. "Please" They pleaded with him hoping to get in his mind. He nodded slowly. "Where do you want to bury him"

"I know a place." Sukuna and Uraume put you in beautiful clothing before burying you along with your paint and brushes. Your favorite place became your resting place, under the tree surrounded by flowers.

For hours the quiet castle became home to thunderous yells the sound of things being thrown. No one even dared to ask Sukuna if he was okay, it was clear to what would happen. They would become like those painting of yours that he has ripped up. Those gorgeous painted vases shattered on the floor, he didn't care about the glass stabbing his feet. Everything reminded you of him and he wanted it all gone, it all destroyed and dead just like you. Sukuna's madness went as far as killing every other servant that met you. They knew that you were a weakness to him and he couldn't let them live. He made sure that only him and Uraume remembered you.

Over the course of centuries you began to fade into the back of his mind, a place that he will never tap back into. Those memories no longer had the same effect on him. They didn’t make him soft like they use to. They made him angry, viewing them as a time that he was weak. He even forgot that he was on a hunt looking for the person or curse that killed you. If anything he now wishes it was him that did it. He sees you as having a victory over him simply because he couldn't. You were his biggest regret and now you exist forvever in the back in his mind. You were like a thorn in his foot that he can never get out. No matter how much it annoyed him, it will always be there so he learned to ignore it.

[gardenwons]

HELP YOU OUT :: sim jaeyun

SYNOPSIS: jake always helped you out with anything, but now that he evidently has a problem down there you decided it was time to reciprocate the care and love he had always shown you.

PAIRINGS: bf nerd!jake x gf reader

GENRE: established relationship, smut, fluff.

WORD COUNT: 1.1K

WARNINGS: blowjob, praise, pet names, smut w/ almost no plot, shy jake :((, maybe also not shy jake :))

Jake was always shy when around you, even as he mustered up the courage to ask you out, his nervousness made him a stuttering mess, and the words he wanted to say seemed to playfully dance just out of reach. But, fortunately, you knew him well already, and your heart warmed at the sight of his charming shyness. Giving a nod then a peck on his cheek, shocked- he stared at you in awe, already somewhat in love with you.

Another day, and it was time for the usual study date with Jake. He was a diligent student, always focused on his academics. As you both settled in, you couldn't help but notice the tension painted on his face, cheeks redder than ever.

Whenever you accompanied Jake to the library, it seemed like a recurring scene that played out. You would sometimes get so engrossed in your studies that you'd doze off, and he, being the sweetest boyfriend, would gently wake you up with a tender touch. With a caring gesture, he'd wipe off any stray droplets from the corner of your mouth. Both your bags are already packed, him carrying it for you as he accompanies you home. His loving nature always shone through, and you couldn't help but feel grateful to have someone as caring as him in your life. You cherished these little moments that strengthened his trust and love in you.

But today was different, the air felt thick as he kept fidgeting in his seat beside you, worried— you'd place the back of your hand over his forehead and he flinches. "huh? what's wrong, love?" you'd ask in worry, placing your hand over his, trying to meet his eyes that were purposefully averting your gaze.

A soft nothing comes out of him as he fixes his glasses on the bridge of his nose, trying to focus back on his textbook on whatever physics topic he was on. Worry doesn't leave your body as your eyes travel around his body, searching for any bruises or wounds until they drop to his pants, which appeared to be far too tight for whatever was developing underneath. Your breath hitched, it's not like you both haven't done anything close to something like that, but still.

Your fingers ghosted over his thighs, with that— his head whipped so fast in your direction and blinked innocently. "What are you doing?" he asked, his plump lips begging to be kissed by you but you kept calm and grinned. Fingers grazing over his bulge, tracing over the length while staring him down hungrily. "m wanna help you, jakey" feigning a pout, you'd scoot closer to him as he panics. Eyes searching around the library where it was almost deserted except by the two of you.

"B-but we're studying? We need to study...I need to study" His eyes scan over yours, somewhat begging to not do it here but his grip on his pencil has grown so tight that his knuckles are turning white. "Let me help you please, just this once?" Jake would have his mouth agape, unsure of what to do or whether his morals would permit him to do it in this situation, but shockingly he nodded against his better judgement and watched as you disappeared under the table, hidden away from eyes that tried to pry.

"Be quiet for me, mhm?" you said as you unzipped his pants, hooking your fingers on both his undergarments and waited for his response. Sweat was already forming on his temples, he gulped and moaned as a form of yes. His thick member sprang out of his pants, staring at it in shock at how big your shy boyfriend was concealing. 

Despite the fact that you didn't know why he had such a nasty little problem, you were already taking his head in your mouth, sucking on it sweetly. Jake wasn't sure if he found this way too kinky, but he was obviously enjoying it as he clung desperately to the table's edges. The anxiousness in his chest died down when he looked down at how preciously dirty you looked.

"God, angel you look so good.." He'd whisper above his breath, a hand slowly making its way to your hair and gripping it gently. "M..more please?" he asked just as he had the confidence to push your head down his length, sucking in harshly from the warmth of your mouth. Holding back with all his might from fucking up in your throat and come so early.

Licking his lips, he'd be so shaky and hand would feel so clammy with his other hand still gripping the table so tightly. His body arched in response to your choked sound, which sounded like sweet music to him. He whines when you press against his thighs, pleading with him not to be too rough, but he can't help but marvel at you with hunger in his eyes every time his cock stuffs your mouth so nicely.

His small but increasingly erratic thrusts, glasses that fogged up as he gripped your hair more tightly, and praises that flowed from his mouth like a sinner's prayer, and god does he look so undeniably erotic in this fucked out state. Your nose hit his abdomen as he pushed your head downward. "Fuck- angel,'m so close," he says, his eyes closing tightly as he feels the orgasm rip through. He bites down on his bottom lip when he realises how you were swallowing, taking all of his load without missing a drop, being the good girl that you want to be for him at that moment.

Gently pulling away, he used his handkerchief to wipe off the sweat from your forehead and any residue from your mouth. Love adorned his face as he tidied and helped you back up to your seat. Jake showered your face with smouldering kisses, teasing, "Such an overachiever, huh?" You playfully slapped his shoulder, but he cooed, nuzzling at the crook of your neck, and softly murmured, "You did so well for me, angel." A dreamy sigh escaped him as he felt your hand stroke his hair.

"I never knew you could be this naughty, Sim Jake”you'd playfully remark, glancing at the table strewn with abandoned books and highlighters, shaking your head at what just happened. "Well…would you like to know more then?" Jake would ask, a hopeful expression in his puppy-like eyes as he gazed up at you with a subtle pout. And who were you to say no to him, honestly?

[gffa]

*slams The Glass Abyss down on the table* OKAY, I HAVE FINISHED IT AND I HAVE SOME THINGS TO SAY.

In a lot of ways, this was a complicated read for me and I think the best way to describe my feelings on the author's take on Mace is that we diverge at the fork in the road that is, "Who is Mace Windu without his internal balance/his connection to the Force?" but that, as we walk along separate paths, I can still see the author clearly from where his path takes him and where my path takes mine. Like walking on separate sides of the street, still in view, just not perfectly aligned.

Further, I think my biggest criticism of the book is one I have to give a caveat of my caveat to, where I very much felt the absence of the Force in this book and as a presence in Mace's life. That, as he's being unbalanced and has trouble reaching the Force, it's not a bigger deal. That there's very little sense of spirituality connected to Mace's connection with the Force.

But the caveat about this is--that's kind of necessary for the story that the author is telling, because I think this is a book about Mace walking alongside the road of another life that he could have had, that he finds a connection with the people and romance (which I think is furthered by how thin the romance felt because it was serving a point about Mace's life more than it was a fully-fledged romance, in my opinion) and family--and that that life is valuable, that that life has love and warmth and connection and righteousness.

And that Mace Windu still chooses the Jedi.

That he would not be anywhere near as complete a person as he is without the path of the Jedi.

I think ultimately the point of the book is to give Mace that other path so that he can realize, yes, he did choose the Jedi, yes, the Jedi were loving and fair with him, yes, the Jedi are his family, yes, being a Jedi is what fulfills him even when there are other options. That those other paths are valid and yet the Jedi is the path for him.

There are things I would quibble with in the writing (primarily that I think there has been more joy in Mace's life than the author writes), but beyond that I think this book is incredibly thoughtful towards what I really needed it to be--that, while it may not mean the same thing in a galaxy far, far away, we're still reading it from our society and Mace Windu is a Black man and that comes with a lot of underlying context, especially when it comes to his anger.

This book felt to me like it was always aware of that, that the author (probably as a Black man himself) didn't shy away from that there was a riot of feelings in this character, that he felt protective anger and was a lethal warrior, while also being stern of face much of the time, things which are often demonized in this character, but here it was always in service of how that gave Mace depth and made him both a worthy central character and a good man. Mace cared deeply and part of that care was his anger that he turned towards Vaapad (which has been recanonized now!) in a way I ultimately found very fitting on a grand scale.

I was nervous going into this book, because Mace is a character that I'm so invested in and feel protective towards because of the shit that gets flung at him, and I feel like this book and I were at the very least in the same chapter and often even on the same page together with regards to him. I always felt that this book loved Mace as a character even if I might disagree on some particulars, and let me tell you that was a joy to read.

There are so many moments in this book that were an absolute joy to read (there are two different scenes between Mace & Anakin that sent me over the moon), so much of Mace's value of the Jedi and his path as a Jedi are at the heart of the book--even when it might not seem like it, ultimately the point is that, yes, Jedi can and do question their path, because they want their people to be certain this is the right one for them. This is a book about separating Mace out from that path, both physically and psychically, and having him rebalance himself and recognize that being a Jedi just is who he is and who he chooses to be, every day.

I can only give my view of this book and I will admit to stumbling a time or two with it, but by the end of it, I felt it was incredibly supportive of Mace as a character, that it was very Jedi-positive (even when it might not seem like it, it's usually going somewhere with the structure, somewhere I was vindicated by), and that the author wrote some absolutely banger lines that I'm going to be screaming about in a liveblog and that the worldbuilding was so good, I wish the author had had more space for building Jedi stuff.

It's an absolutely wild ride of a story (the action was really good and the harshness of the fighting added a necessary edge to the story that I thought worked really well for what the author was building with Mace's character), the story sailed right along smoothly, and I'm satisfied with what we got of it, I would definitely recommend to Mace fans and even Jedi fans. A few caveats about how I would let the story play out if you get wary in the middle, that it's not perfect, but that it's good and it loves Mace Windu as much as we do.