#how do you think she felt slipping into that all too familiar role?

[bluemantics]

When he looks in the mirror, sometimes Keith searches for Shiro. He tilts his head, eyes tracing his nose, his hair, wondering if blinking hard enough will change things. It never does. 

Keith knows it’s stupid— Shiro isn’t actually his brother. It’s just difficult for him to watch that empty seat in the dining room, hard for him to hear the deafening gaps in conversation Shiro would fill. 

So he looks, and he tries. When Allura approaches him to strategize, his mind races to Shiro’s normal responses. If Pidge seems to work harder than normal, he lectures her, ignoring her muttered “isn’t that rich, from you.” Hunk cooks and Keith remarks on how delicious it tastes, thanks him for feeding the team. All of this leads to stares. 

Nothing is seamless anymore, not even waking up. He has to walk by Shiro’s room every day. One time, he stepped foot inside, and left immediately after. Shiro’s walls closed in and suffocated him, pressured him. It still feels wrong to be occupying any space where his echoes ring out. 

Black is no different. She reminds him that she knows, she knows he is not Shiro, tries to comfort him with soothing pulses. Yet all he can see when he looks through her eyes is someone who is smaller, angrier, and vulnerable. He can’t get comfortable in his seat. Keith never envisioned himself at the helm of anything, much less the team designed to save the whole universe. When he’s alone, and thinks of it too much, a gap between his ribs aches. 

This team might be destined to save the universe, but Keith Kogane was never destined to lead it. 

The worst times are when he forgets. He lets himself feel eased, laughs with the team like it’s natural, issues orders without deliberation or second guessing. In those instances, guilt weighs on him like a thundercloud. How could he have felt so familiar in someone else’s role? Keith quickly retreats, reminds himself of his place. Not the helm; he’s the stand-in. 

All this self-loathing would be so much easier if it weren’t for Lance, badgering him constantly. Day in and day out, his new “right hand” constantly pushes him. 

“Join us for dinner or I won’t participate in tomorrow’s training exercises.”

“Team movie night! Your turn to choose.”

“Are you sure that’s the right plan? I’ve been thinking—“

It’s fucking annoying when he’s thinking, but it’s all Lance seems to do. He offers up opinions constantly without being asked, shows up to meetings between Keith and Allura, knocks on his door after difficult missions. Keith can’t remember doing any of this when he was supposedly Shiro’s right hand. 

“Why are you always on my tail, Lance?” Keith demands after a particular comment. 

“Because you need it.”

Lance has a new confidence when he speaks, a bravado that doesn’t need flowery words. His voice is sure. 

Keith knows he’s right. Part of him secretly relishes Lance’s feedback, uses his presence as a crutch. Another part of him is ashamed to rely on anyone at all. Shiro stood tall as a lone watchdog over them and barely needed help from anyone, much less the mess that was Keith. It makes him doubt his older brother’s judgement in choosing him for Black. 

He’s exhausted from questioning himself, his brother, his teammates. At night, he tosses and turns, and every time he tries to train, Lance stops him—or worse—joins him. Keith has a looser grip on his sword and his words at night. Control slipping, he worries he will say the wrong thing as Lance takes him down with newfound skill that only time and practice bring. 

“Since when did you get good at this?” Keith heaves from the ground, chest rising and falling quickly. Lance stands over him, smiling widely with pride. 

“Since you needed a new sparring partner.”

Keith notices Lance doing this a lot lately, anticipating everyone’s needs. Suddenly, Lance wraps Pidge in blankets, tells Hunk not to worry about a broken gadget, and comforts the Alteans by listening to their stories. 

With a pang, Keith realizes something: Lance is a better leader. The whole team probably knows it by now. Effortlessly, Lance fills new shoes without so much as a complaint, while Keith flounders trying to shove his square-shaped self into a circular opening. 

When Shiro comes back, Keith doesn’t even register the differences between This Shiro and His Shiro. He grew up with nothing, so he isn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Instead, he did what he’d been itching to do since he first stepped in Black. 

Keith ran away.

When he’s alone in his quarters at the Blade, he looks in mirrors. He searches for traces of Lance and sees none. Hands cold and stiff, he covers the looking glass with a sheet, unwilling to stare back at an unworthy face.

[mismatchsocks]

we gotta kill hannibal lecter

[renren-006]

Familiar Eyes | Lucius Verus x fem reader

plot: eyes will look familiar when they belong to your best friend.

a/n: ahhh im obsesed!! I can't stop watching edits of Paul Mescal!!! I just had to write something for him. I also have another story idea I'm playing with for him as well! Let me know if you have any ideas for more Lucius stories!!

Word count: 2136

You sat in the emperor's box, watching the gladiators in the pits with curious eyes. Geta and Callicalla both sat in front of you, turning to see your expression every once in a while. They were both playing the game of waiting for you to grow yourself at them. You were playing the game of waiting till their deaths to celebrate. You wanted nothing to do with either emperor. You only wanted to sit and watch till it was time for you to take your leave. Lucille cast you a look of subtle remorse for the role you were thrown into, and you returned it with a small smile. You had known the woman for so many years, when you were younger you were her son's favorite friend. Lucius’s disappearance cast a hole in your heart and soul that could never be filled by anyone; your love for him lasted all these years and forever will. 

Your eyes again focused on the arena, already cleared of bodies and resetting for the next fight. The announcer's loud voice boomed through the Coliseum, causing an uproar from the spectators. Awaiting the next game was always torture, anticipating who or what would fight. 

When those doors opened and out came the group of gladiators, but one, in particular, fought your eye. A man with brown hair and the bluest eyes caught your attention. When he made eye contact, a sense of familiarity warmed your heart. He looked away almost as fast, leaning down to grab at the sandy gravel. You remember from your youth a particular gladiator used to do the same.

 It couldn’t be him, could it? 

The question swarmed your mind as you watched the man before you fight. It was mesmerizing watching him move around the arena; it was an art. How he moved around the arena reminded you of the boy you used to watch play “gladiator” with his guards. He would always have you watch and clap when he had won, always smiling brightly when you sang him praise. As you watched him, the realization shone through your eyes; Lucius was the gladiator. You wanted to scream, to run into that pit and throw your arms over that boy you loved and thought lost. You looked to Lucilla whose face was unreadable and calculating, she too was watching Lucius. When the game was over, and he and a few of his men won, you knew you had to wait and be careful before you ran to see him. 

It wasn't until late in the evening when you rode our horse over with one of your guards and snuck inside the gladiator's cells and training grounds. You watched some of the men in the late hours training, and a few stopped and stared as you passed through the halls through the cell you were told Lucius was in. As the door opened, you saw the man sitting facing away from you. 

“To go from the boy who played gladiator with his guards to being one in the Collosiem is quite a jump,” you said, causing Lucius to slowly turn, “or have I mistaken you for my best friend?”

“You have the wrong person,” he said; the hurt look in his eyes told you enough. The man in front of you was not him, not anymore. Lucius was a diffrent person. 

“Ah. Seems I am wrong,” you said, stepping back and slowly turning to be able to tell the guards to let you out. A hand came up and took your wrist lightly. You jumped slightly. 

“Your best friend…the one you thought I was…why did you think I was him?” he asked. 

“When I looked in your eyes, you made me feel like I was looking at him. My heart felt whole again.” you told him, “Sorry to have bothered you, gladiator.” His hold on you loosened, and your hand slipped out when you left his cell. You didn't turn to see if he was still watching, but the feeling you got told you he was.

The next time you saw Lucius was the next round of gladiator fights he was to partake in. Another group battle was to commence. Watching Lucius, you could see there was a fire in him today. He glanced at at the box to see you, you tried your best to hide your gaze but it failed. Lucius gritted his teeth and looked back to fight. 

“Seems that Gladiator has an attitude today,” spoke Geta, “I hope it foils his game”

“I hope he proves you wrong,” you said. Geta's eyes met yours, and fury was in them. His face folded into anger. 

“How dare you speak to me that way. We have done you favors, making you a woman of high status,” Geta said, “Would you like that to be changed?” “It seems I spoke without thinking; truly, I am at your mercy,” you spoke, bowing your head toward the emperor. You knew your mouth would get you in trouble one day. These emperors tested you constantly, and the game you played was tiresome. Geta and Callicalla expected things from you, but you never gave in. Their feelings of annoyance were always made clear to you about this affair. 

“Sit,” he spoke. “We shall not rid you of your status today,” Calicalla said from his chair. The man was relaxed in his chair with that pet monkey he loved. Geta sat down, letting the words of his brother flow over him. You bowed your head again before looking back towards the fight. Lucius caught your eye. He had seen the spectacle. A small smirk appeared on his face, one matching that same boy from the courtyard. You smiled slightly, this boy has a history untold to you making him difficult to understand. You were desperate to understand. 

You revisited him a few nights after his battle. He was waiting for you this time. Lucius sat on his bed, watching the door with intensity. When you entered, it was clear he wanted you there. 

“I was waiting for you to come,” he told you. 

“I can see that. I tried to come sooner, but…had to play the role I am stuck in,” you told him. He scooted over in his bed. You took that as an invitation to sit next to him. Your blue dress flowed around you as you did. 

“I see,” he said. You both sat in silence. Lucius nervously played with his hands, something he never grew out of. 

“I have to know; you are Lucius, right?” You asked him, eyeing him hopefully. Lucius nodded. 

“I am”

“Why lie to me?”

“I am not the same boy you knew, y/n,” He told you. You laughed a bit and smiled at him.

“You think I would care if you were? You were gone for almost 20 years, Lucius. I should not expect you to be the same. I know I am not”

“You are a woman of status now,” he said. You nodded your head.

“Underneath, I am still the same,” you told him. “I hate this role I was shoved into”

“What happened when I left?” he asked you. 

“Rome was in disarray for so long, they still are. No one truly likes the emperors, and they are too blind to see the hate people have for them.” You told him, “I was still working in the palace when they came into power. For some reason, they wanted me, so they gave me a higher status, a ploy for me to…marry one of them,” you spoke slowly, looking up a few times. Lucious had his hands in his lap, fiddling. It was enough for Lucious to understand that there was a game at play with the gladiators and in Rome.

“Have you?”

“No” you spoke fast, meeting Lucius eyes. 

“The emperors are not happy about that.” The open-endedness of his statement answered itself. Lucius had always been a smart boy. Even when his uncle played emperor in his palace, he could see through it all. Rome had always been home to a game, not the gladiatorial games, which was worse. 

Lucius started calling on you throughout the week. You would enter the gladiator's home and walk with him, watch him train, or even sit with him and talk. You knew these meetings would get to the emperors sooner or later, and with what was conspiring behind closed doors, you knew it was sooner. Lucius was informed by his mother of the plan she and Acacius were planning. He didn't particularly like the man, but seeing how happy her mother was with him, he let his hatred die. He never would tell you that a part of him was also less hateful because he had found you again. 

It became apparent the word of your meetings had spread to the emperor's ears. The tretory of your betrayal to the emperor's hearts while the tretory of two others came to light the same night. You stood in their halls in your evening gown, feeling as though you wore nothing. Acacius and Lucilla stood in the halls, too. 

“You have betrayed your emperors,” Geta yelled, “You have betrayed our hearts,” He yelled at you as he grabbed your hair. A shrill cry left your mouth. “Do you love this gladiator? Hm? Should I make a show of his death for you”

“No! Please!” you spoke. Geta sparked a plan brewing.

“When I make a show of your treasuries, I shall put this…whore…on display as well. Show these gladiators never to mess with what is mine” 

You stood on the balcony with the emperors, your hands bound, and a giant bruise was forming on your cheek. They had not done too much, but the show of your night clothes, a bruise, and unkept hair was enough for the people of Rome to know something had happened. Next to you stood Lucilla, a similar unkept state about her. 

“Today! We have some traitors in our mist!” In the pits was Acacius. You watched as he fought and as Lucius entered the pits. He saw his mother, and he saw you. When you made eye contact, Geta grabbed your face.

 “In horror of the betrayal of Acacius and the lover to my betrothed. Fight to the death.” Lucius was furious and wanted revenge on Acacius for his actions in Numdia. You watched as they fought; he was angry.

“Do you see now why you should have kept your promise” Calliclla spoke. You looked at him with hatred in your eyes.

“I will never be with you or your brother,” You told him. The slap rang in your ears and turned the heads of others. Lucius and Acacius both stopped and looked at the emperor's box. Lucius stepped twords the box.

“No,” you said to him; Callicalla didn't like this. He took your face in his hands and made you look at him. You wished your life at come to this moment. 

“Let her go” Lucius yelled twords the box. 

“Back to your game, gladiator. Kill the general, and all will end for today,” Geta told him. When Lucius refused to end the general's life, his was taken anyway. You watched as the crowd took uproar at the action. A small smirk played on your lips.

“You think my hate for you is small,” you told Callicalla. “Try Romes hate.” You were let go when the mob started their terror in the stands. The Romans disrupted so much that you managed to be forgotten about and were released. You ran down to the gladiators, many letting you pass so you could get to Lucius. He turned in the hallway as he heard your footsteps. When you saw him face you, he started walking towards you, picking you up in his arms and holding you tight. 

“I will never let you go again” He spoke softly to you.

When all was done in Rome, you could finally rest. Sleep came easy to you next to Lucius in his mother's home. A new room and bed to accommodate the older prince. You were brought to his home and welcomed warmly by the others. You were no longer the mistress of the emperors but the wife of the Prince of Rome, your true love. You lay next to him, watching the stars through the window. 

“Awake are we?” Lucius asked. 

“How am I to sleep when you are here, home, next to me,” you spoke to him, smiling. Lucus met the smile with a kiss.

“Sleep my love,” he told you, “I will be here when you wake”

[fazedlight]

Embers

I’m not going to fuck Supergirl, she promised herself.

There were two things Lena was very certain of in life: Kara was straight as a board, and Supergirl wanted Lena just as badly as Lena wanted her. The tension with the latter seemed to crackle with every late night conversation in her office, with every last minute save.

But it didn’t matter. One good lay wasn’t worth risking her friendship with Kara Danvers. If things went south with Supergirl, and Kara’s friendship with the kryptonian outranked her friendship with Lena…

Well, Lena wasn’t going to find out.

---

I’m not going to fuck Supergirl.

She didn’t want to, not anymore. Not with the kryptonian’s angry eyes trained on her, the completely unearned distrust. I did nothing wrong by making kryptonite.

Lena glared back, trying to distract herself from the tension between her legs. “This may come as a shock to you,” she snarled back, ignoring the electric charge between, “But I don’t think about you while I’m doing it.”

Okay. So it was a freudian slip.

But she wasn’t going to fuck Supergirl.

---

So she… started to develop feelings for the super.

The feelings still didn’t come close to the flame she held for Kara Danvers. The pointless, fruitless flame. What she wanted with the shy reporter was far more than one night, whereas her interest in Supergirl remained purely physical.

But as Supergirl sorted through Lex’s notebooks in the prison, Lena found that there was sympathy mixed with the tension. She knew what it was like to be falsely accused, to be framed for a crime she didn’t commit - and she felt the guilt of her role too, in helping Lex.

But still, the kryptonian looked at her with familiar and lonely eyes. God, it would be so easy…

If she could just forget Kara, meet her needs without strings attached, have a meaningless night with the reporter’s high-powered friend… But it wouldn’t be right, and it still wasn’t worth the risk. I’m not going to fuck Supergirl.

---

Fuck Supergirl.

Hatred buzzed in her veins after her brother’s death, and all she wanted to do was tell the blonde superpowered reporter to go fuck herself.

It was odd, Lena thought. With Kara so sad and weeping at the Pulitzer, Lena knew she had the kryptonian wrapped around her finger. How far would she go?, Lena mulled. If there was no longer a friendship to protect, what did it matter if Lena had Kara soothe her more primal needs?

In the early days, her fantasies had been about the shy and bashful reporter, or the demanding kryptonian. And after finding out Kara’s true identity, her fantasies became more base - hatefucks and betrayals. Any way to release some of the tension before sleep, to satisfy the burning temptation.

But she suspected it would destroy her. I’m not going to fuck Supergirl.

---

Fuck, Kara…

Lena was panicked as she rushed across the city, realizing the trap she had fallen into with Lex, worrying that something would happen - or had happened - to Kara. This is my fault, my fault, she thought, knocking on Kara’s door.

Her breath caught as the blonde answered. Relief that Kara was alive, shame that Kara and the others were in danger because of her. Anything else was pushed far out of her mind.

Far too quickly, Kara was sent to the phantom zone. Lena barely slept, and fantasized about nothing.

---

Then there were the happy tears. Standing in the Tower, Lena couldn’t believe Kara had returned to her - the world felt surreal as she felt Kara’s arms wrap around her.

It wasn’t long after that Kara pressed her lips against Lena’s, and Lena discovered that the kryptonian had many fantasies of her own. Whereas once she had thought Kara to be shy, and Supergirl to be controlling, Lena was delighted to find her insatiably creative.

I’m not going to fuck Supergirl, she had once promised herself.

Some promises were meant to be broken.

[fairsexynasty]

ˏ🔪ˋ°•*⁀➷･ GHOST MOUTH — chapter one: get out and get into heaven

.｡🗡️*⋆⍋*🃏*｡ spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: a new inhabitant? tenant? roommate? you're still not sure how this works. but there's someone new living in your apartment: spencer reid. how is he going to react to a ghost?

warnings: humor, platonic fluff, angst, drug usage, addiction...

a/n: love a good female character who literally haunts the narrative... but it's your narrative... so are you living it...? but you're dead....? like and reblog if you enjoy and don't forget, requests are open!

word count: 4.2k

JUNE 23, 2005.

I don’t remember buying this apartment. Or decorating it. Or signing the lease, for that matter. But apparently, I lived here.

Now, I just haunt it.

It’s strange, being stuck in a place you’re supposed to know but don’t. Like waking up in someone else’s skin. The furniture’s vaguely familiar—like seeing an actor who played a minor role in a movie you liked once—but the memories aren’t there to fill in the gaps.

Rachel makes it easier. Most days, anyway. She’s perched on the couch tonight, wine glass in hand, a throw blanket draped over her like a cape. “Okay, so get this,” she says, her voice dipping conspiratorially. “He texts me every morning. Like, without fail. Good morning, good night—it’s adorable.”

I hover near the window, watching her face light up as she gushes about this guy, Theo. He’s the latest in a string of hopefuls, but this one seems different. Genuine. “You think he’s the real deal?” I ask, trying not to sound like I’m bracing for impact.

“I do.” Rachel practically glows. “He’s thoughtful. Funny. And he actually listens. Can you believe it?”

I can’t. Or maybe I don’t want to. If she finds her happily-ever-after, where does that leave me?

"So, yeah, he's great," Rachel was saying, voice warm and confident. She was curled up on the couch, her legs tucked under her as she swirled the wine in her glass. "I don't know, it's like I finally found someone who gets it, you know?"

I watched her, biting back the sharp tug of something—jealousy? Longing? Whatever it was, it gnawed at me, and I couldn’t ignore it. Rachel had started dating this guy recently. She'd told me about him a couple of times. Each time, I couldn't help but feel like... well, like I was losing her, in a way. I didn't want to admit it, even to myself, but the thought of her moving on without me—of her living a life I wouldn't be a part of—felt like it was breaking something inside of me.

I didn't say anything, of course. I never did. What was I supposed to say? The girl was talking about her future with some guy who was clearly making her happy, and here I was—dead, ghosting around her apartment, just... existing.

She didn't need me anymore. I couldn't tell her I was scared. I couldn't tell her I felt like I was slipping away, like the life I remembered was fading fast and I had nothing left to hold onto. Rachel had a future to live. I... I wasn't even sure what I was supposed to do with what little I had left.

I just kept my distance, lingering in the corner of the room, watching as she sighed and took another sip of her wine.

It wasn’t the worst thing, I told myself. It wasn’t like I had to keep reminding her I was here. It wasn’t like I had a purpose anymore. I had no idea why I couldn’t move on, no idea how I died or what my life had been before it all fell apart. The only thing that seemed real anymore was the fact that Rachel still let me be here, let me talk to her in the little ways I could.

And that, for now, would have to be enough.

“He’s got this dorky laugh, too,” she continues, oblivious. “It’s cute. Like, ugly-cute. You know what I mean?”

I nod, even though she’s not looking. I know exactly what she means. What I don’t know is what happens when this man goes from “guy she’s seeing” to something more permanent. Does she stop needing her wine-and-gossip buddy? Does she stop needing me?

I shake off the thought. It’s not fair to Rachel. She deserves a shot at happiness, with or without me haunting her living room.

Still, the idea twists in my chest like a knife.

She laughs at something on her phone and reaches for her wine. “Anyway, enough about me. How was your day?”

I give her my best deadpan. “Unproductive. Again. Shocker.”

Rachel grins. “You’ll figure it out eventually.”

Will I?

I glance at the TV, where the menu flickers with mindless options. Maybe I will. Or maybe I won’t. Either way, I’m here. Stuck. For as long as this world lets me be seen, I’ll keep showing up.

Because what else can I do?

NOVEMBER 27th, 2006

One could say that I was currently, extremely upset. But that would be an understatement. I was fucking pissed. What do you do when your favorite resident of your haunted apartment moves out? After three years of watching over her, getting to know her, and eventually making yourself known to her– how do you start over? How do you haunt someone new?

Rachel was the one thing that kept me busy. She gave me more than enough reason to wander out of the apartment and practice the ability to leave the building. I’m not agoraphobic, I’m just trapped. And dead.

I can’t say exactly why I can leave some days and am stuck the others. It takes a lot of energy from me, so much so that I can feel myself disappearing from Rachel’s sight. The overstimulating feelings stick themselves in my joints, leaving me rugged and lapsed energetically. I don’t know what it is. I can’t name it.

I can’t even tell you where the hell my body is or what happened to me. It sucks. Not knowing where you end up or how it happens after living a life where people come up with endless theories about it. You’d think that one of the many ideas has to be accurate, and you’ve either been living your life all right or wrong.  But I couldn’t tell you. I can’t make sense of it myself.

Rachel understood that. She spent her Sunday nights with me, cooking in the kitchen, playing my favorite songs I’d request, and sipping on her favorite bottle of Noir while I vented, told stories, or just rambled. I never had a best friend like her. Not while I was alive, that’s for sure.

Talking about myself in the past tense is another tricky part of being a ghost. Yes, I am dead, and I may not know where my corpse is or how I died, but I still exist. My soul is alive, so am I still a being? Is it “I am” or “I was”? We could look at it from a technical point of view. I currently offer no value to the world around me. I cannot contribute or benefit from my environment in any way possible unless you count Rachel. I cannot eat, sleep, or drink. I can still learn, I can experience, and I can feel. But I cannot disrupt the environment around me. So, by that knowledge, that makes me… still confused. I’m not smart enough to find a solution here. I took one ethics class in college, and even then, we only talked about poverty. I don’t understand quantum mechanics, and I believe in the supernatural. It doesn’t make me a credible source.

However, through all the (lack of) noise, I’ve discovered my new friend might be a credible source: Dr. Spencer Reid. It might take him a couple of months to see me, but for Rachel, it took me a year. But I have more faith in myself now.

My new friend is moving in today. November 27th, 2006, three years, seven months, and eleven days since this apartment was mine.

I can hear him coming up the stairs. A couple of mutters are in the background, so I assume he has people helping him move in. Great. More people to take up my space. I’ll probably find myself sitting on the kitchen counter the entire time while I psychotically stare at him. The doorknob wiggles and then clicks, a sign Spencer’s successfully used his key for the first time.

The door creaks open, and Spencer's voice filters in before his lanky figure even makes it through. “Okay, let’s just leave everything in the box until we bring the rest up, and then we can move the furni—oh.” He freezes mid-step, eyes locking onto mine. “Um… hello there.”

He looks like someone just handed him a live grenade and politely asked him to hold it. His friends? Oblivious. A gorgeous, sharp-eyed woman with dark hair and a towering, muscular man with rich brown skin saunter in behind him, oblivious to my presence.

“Who are you?” Spencer blurts.

I raise an eyebrow from my very cozy sprawl on the couch Rachel left behind—one leg draped dramatically over the plush velvet arm. “Oh, so you can see me,” I purr, enjoying his squirm. “How delightful.”

Spencer’s jaw works, but no sound escapes. Meanwhile, his friends exchange concerned looks like they’re debating calling a medic.

“Uh, Spence?” The woman—let’s call her Sexy Boss Barbie—tilts her head, her voice dripping with skepticism. “Who, exactly, are you talking to?”

Spencer points to me, his face a mix of confusion and terror. “Her!”

The man snorts, folding his arms like he’s humoring a toddler with an imaginary friend. “Kid, there’s no one there. Are you feeling okay? Dizzy? Dehydrated? Seeing, you know, stuff?”

“I’m fine! Are you okay? Do you not see the woman lounging on the couch?!” Spencer’s voice rises an octave, clearly distressed. “She’s waving!”

I sit up, slowly, brushing imaginary lint off my clothes. “Spencer, darling,” I say with a smirk, “they can’t see me. To them, you sound completely unhinged. Certifiable. Just batshit crazy.”

Sexy Boss Barbie’s eyes widen suddenly, as if the final piece of a years-long puzzle has just clicked into place. “Oh my god.” She claps a hand over her mouth. “It’s real. The rumors were true!”

“What rumors?” Spencer snaps, panic edging into his voice.

“The ghosts!” She throws her hands up, spinning to the muscular guy. “There’s been all this buzz about hauntings and poltergeists, and I heard they asked Fiona Caulins and her spooky little team to investigate. I thought it was a prank!”

The guy groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Prentiss, you’re telling me the FBI is officially ghost-hunting now? Do we get proton packs, or is that too much taxpayer money?”

Prentiss—because clearly she has a name now—waves dismissively at him and turns to me with the same enthusiasm as someone meeting a celebrity. “Hi, ghost! Please don’t murder my friend, he’s very nice, smart, and has a soft heart. Also, I’m too tired for a paranormal brawl.”

I narrow my eyes at Spencer, just to make him squirm a little more. “Oh, I’m definitely going to kill you.”

His gasp is chef’s kiss levels of comedic. “Please don’t say that. Please don’t say that.”

“Emily,” the guy warns, sounding like the parent of the world’s most reckless child.

Spencer waves a hand awkwardly at me, trying to keep his composure. “I’m just going to assume you’re joking. For my own sanity. Because being kind is important. Even if you’re, you know…” He gestures vaguely toward me. “…dead.”

The guy throws up his hands and makes a beeline for the door. “You know what, Pretty Boy? Nope. I’m out. I’ll grab the rest of your boxes, but I am not dealing with Casper’s pissed-off cousin.”

“I’m not haunting,” I clarify, even though his retreating footsteps suggest he doesn’t care.

Prentiss steps closer, her eyes sparkling with the kind of curiosity that spells trouble. “Maybe you’re stuck here,” she offers helpfully, gesturing to my general direction like she’s presenting an exhibit at a haunted museum. “Are you stuck here?”

I shrug. “No clue.”

“She doesn’t know,” Spencer parrots, clearly regretting his life choices.

“But I don’t mind it,” I add cheerfully.

“She doesn’t mind it,” Spencer echoes, his face a study in pure, resigned chaos.

By the time all of his belongings are finally moved in, I’ve become an unofficial connoisseur of Spencer’s panicked glances. Every other moment, our eyes meet, and he looks like someone just told him Santa Claus isn’t real—or, in this case, that ghosts are. He’s clearly grappling with the idea, the gears in his brain probably spinning so fast they might combust. I mean, he’s a doctor. A man of science, logic, and reason. Ghosts? That’s the kind of thing that could either utterly shatter his worldview or send him spiraling into some kind of quantum physics rabbit hole. Probably both.

Emily and Derek—whose names I picked up during their bickering about me (I’m already a hot topic, apparently)—finally call it a night as the sun dips below the horizon. There’s a brief exchange of goodbyes, Emily offering Spencer a quick “Call if you need me!” while Derek mutters something about sage and holy water under his breath.

Once the door clicks shut behind them, the apartment falls into an awkward quiet. Spencer stands there for a moment, staring at the closed door as if considering bolting out of it himself. Eventually, he turns, slowly, to find me perched on the kitchen counter, swinging my legs.

His mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again. He’s clearly malfunctioning. “I, uh—”

I hold up a hand to stop him, smiling. “Let me make this easier for you. I’ll set some ground rules, okay?” His eyes widen, but I plow ahead. “First, I promise I won’t distract you unless you explicitly ask me to. Second, I’m not going to walk into the bathroom while you’re in there—because, seriously, why would I? Third, if you bring someone over—or if you’re already seeing someone—I’ll clear out and head downstairs. Lastly, I can leave this apartment, but leaving the building? That’s… a work in progress.”

Spencer blinks at me, stunned into silence. He doesn’t move for a beat, then nods. It’s the kind of nod you give when someone hands you a parachute and says, you’re jumping now.

I smile at him. “Feel better?”

He clears his throat, and it’s like he’s rebooting in real time. “Well, um… ghosts.” His tone shifts, slipping into what I suspect is his comfort zone: pure academic lecture mode. “The belief in ghosts is deeply rooted in human history, spanning cultures and civilizations for thousands of years. For example, the ancient Egyptians believed in the ka, the soul, which stayed connected to the body after death—hence, mummification. Similarly, in Greek mythology, spirits, or shades, resided in the underworld but could occasionally wander the mortal realm if disturbed.”

I blink at him, genuinely impressed. “Wow. That’s… actually fascinating. How do you know all that?”

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “I have an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory, and I can read up to 20,000 words per minute.”

I stare at him, deadpan. “Okay, that is harder to believe than me being a ghost.”

He sighs, his expression softening. “I’m sorry. I’ve been so wrapped up in… all of this, I never even asked your name.”

“It’s fine,” I say with a little laugh. “And for the record, it’s nice to… coexist with you. So, uh, are you the tenant of my home, or am I the tenant of yours?”

That earns me a small, tentative smile from him, the first real one I’ve seen. “How about we just say we’re roommates for now?”

I chuckle, hopping down from the counter. “Roomies it is, Spencer.”

“Cool.” He says it with a nod like he’s trying the word out for the first time, and it’s paired with a shy smile that feels surprisingly genuine. “Roomies.”

FEBRUARY 13, 2007

Being “roomies” with Spencer isn’t what I expected at all. I thought it'd be a relief when I found out about his job—hunting serial criminals with his team, including Derek and Emily. I wouldn’t have to worry about being a constant bother since he’d be out on cases, gone for days or weeks at a time. But what I didn’t anticipate was this hollow ache, this new kind of loneliness creeping in.

With Rachel, there was a rhythm to our days. A routine. Something grounding that kept me tethered to whatever semblance of stability a ghost can have. But Spencer? Spencer is chaos wrapped in quiet. He comes home with the weight of the world on his shoulders and disappears into his room, leaving me to drift through the empty spaces he leaves behind.

Sometimes, he’s so silent it unnerves me. He’ll come through the door after a long trip, his face drawn, and I’ll sit there, helpless, unsure if I should say something or just… vanish. What could I possibly do to help? I don’t know him well enough to give him meaningful advice. I can’t offer something as simple as a hug or even a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

But I watch him. I’ve learned his habits. The way he quietly checks on me as if I’m a lost pet instead of the spectral figure on his couch. The nights when he’s too tired to make it to bed, passing out on the couch instead. I’ll sit near him for a bit, just in case he wakes up from a nightmare. Watching over him makes me feel… useful, even if I can’t do much.

One night, I finally could.

It was after a case in Georgia. The night before he left, he’d been out drinking with his team, laughing and light in a way I hadn’t seen before. When he returned to grab his go-bag, there was a slight buzz to him—a looseness in his step and a rare smile. But he was gone within minutes, off to chase the darkness again.

When he came back a week later, he wasn’t the same.

The moment he walked through the door, I knew something was wrong. His hair was a mess, sticking out in every direction like he’d been clawing at it. Sweat beaded on his brow despite the cool air. His hands trembled as he locked the door—so slight, anyone else might’ve missed it. But I noticed.

“Hi,” I offered softly from the couch, not bothering with the usual pleasantries like How was the case? That felt pointless—or worse, like it might set him off.

He glanced at me briefly before his eyes darted away. “Hey,” he mumbled, his voice distant, hollow. He crossed the room to his bedroom door, hesitated for a moment, then added, “I’m going to bed.” And just like that, he was gone. He didn’t even bother turning on the light for anything.

At around three in the morning, I heard it. Muffled groans that turned into sharp cries, then full-throated shouts. It was a raw, guttural sound that sent shivers down my spine. I rushed into his room, instinct taking over.

“Spencer!” I called, shaking his arm as gently as I could. My fingers brushed against his sweat-drenched skin, and I held on tighter, desperate to pull him out of whatever hell he was trapped in.

He woke with a gasp, his eyes wide and wild. For a moment, he didn’t even seem to see me. Then his gaze focused, softening just slightly. But then he noticed my hands on his arms and recoiled, shaking me off like I burned him.

“Why are you touching me?” he demanded, his voice sharp and panicked. “How are you touching me?”

I blinked, just as shocked as he was. “I—I’m not sure. But you were having a nightmare, and I just… I wanted to help.”

His expression hardened. “I didn’t need help. I would’ve woken up and assessed my situation on my own.” He sat up straighter, his tone clipped. “You can go now.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, frustration bubbling beneath my skin. “No. Spencer, what happened to you? You were hurt, weren’t you?”

His laugh was bitter, cold. “I just left hell. I’m not interested in taking a guided tour back.”

I wasn’t stupid. I’d seen this before—the trembling hands, the sheen of sweat, the distant, unfocused gaze. I’d been around enough parties, enough people experimenting with everything from weed to molly to coke, to recognize the signs.

“What were you given?” I asked, my voice firm.

His jaw tightened. “Basically drugstore heroin,” he muttered, rubbing his temples.

He’s addicted. Probably became dependent on it during the entire situation, which means he had to have been administered it regularly, given the shit that gets you hooked after just one time. There was no way he hadn’t went out and got more. That was a craving that he hadn’t killed yet. Couldn’t kill. Not on his own. I sighed, my heart sinking. “Where’s the rest of it?”

“I’m not telling you,” he snapped, glaring at me.

I rolled my eyes. “Spencer, I think I can touch things now, sort of. I’ll find it if I have to.”

His shoulders sagged, and for a moment, he looked utterly defeated. “I need it,” he whispered.

His confession hit me harder than I expected. “Why?”

“Because he was right,” Spencer said, his voice trembling. “It makes everything quiet. And for someone like me, a little silence is…” He trailed off, his gaze distant. “It’s more than appreciated.”

I bit my lip, fighting the urge to tell him what he should do, why drugs are bad, and why addiction kills. “Okay. I get it. But it’s not an excuse.” I paused, searching his face. “It’s in the safe, isn’t it?”

His silence was all the confirmation I needed.

JUNE 28, 2008

Dark as it may have been, Spencer’s struggle had given me something I hadn’t felt in years—a purpose. That first night, there was fighting, crying, and, strangely enough, an ice cube or two. It was chaotic and raw, but it gave me something to hold onto. The following week was the same—a tense repetition of stubborn refusals and quiet breakdowns. But the week after? That’s when I noticed changes—not just in him, but in me.

I discovered I could interact with the physical world in ways I hadn’t been able to before. I could cook, organize, and even leave the apartment… well, sort of. My first attempt ended with me walking face-first into an invisible wall about twenty feet from the building’s exits. Still, it was progress. It was proof I wasn’t entirely stuck.

A year later, Spencer doesn’t like to talk about that time. To him, it’s a chapter better left in the past—something he’s learned from, something that shaped him, but not a story he’s eager to tell. His team knows, though. Hotch and Morgan make sure the hospital staff know not to administer narcotics if he’s ever injured. It’s a silent understanding among them, a protective measure born from experience.

When it does come up, Spencer is quick to deflect. If someone brings it up, he’ll steer the conversation into safer, stranger territory. Like the first time Penelope Garcia accidentally mentioned it. Without missing a beat, Spencer quipped, “Yes, but want to know something crazier? I’m roommates with a ghost.”

And that’s how Penelope Garcia ended up in our apartment.

The moment she stepped inside, I knew this wasn’t going to be a normal visit. Penelope was an explosion of energy and curiosity, her eyes immediately darting around the apartment, taking in every detail. And there was a lot to take in.

The space had evolved since Spencer first moved in. Back then, it was sparse, bachelor-esque—a couch, a coffee table, and not much else. But throughout the year, I’d filled it with touches of personality. A corner plant stand I’d built during one of Spencer’s longer cases A display shelf for mugs that had started as a simple project but quickly became a labor of love. And my favorite addition—a gallery wall anchored by a soft loveseat I’d claimed as my corner. I had to beg him to buy all the wood from Home Depot, a place I knew he had no interest of ever visiting. But the apartment had character now, a warmth that said: Someone lives here. And maybe someone else… doesn’t.

Penelope was enchanted. “Oh my God, look at this place! Spencer, this is so gorgeous! How could you even live here? You’re such a little nerd.”

Spencer rolled his eyes as he took her coat and hung it on the rack by the door. “It’s a long story,” he muttered.

It was then that I stepped into the living room, my footsteps light but enough to draw her attention. Penelope’s head whipped around, her eyes widening as she spotted me.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, her voice a mix of surprise and awe. “You’re beautiful!”

I blinked in shock. “Wait—you can see me already?”

She tilted her head, her bright eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Oh, are you not usually visible to the mortal eye? Is this like a Beetlejuice thing, where only the chosen one can see you?”

I shook my head, still trying to process. “Not exactly. Spencer could see me right away, but Emily and Derek couldn’t. How… how can you?”

Penelope tapped her chin, thinking for a moment before a mischievous smile spread across her face. “I must be special,” she said with a playful shrug.

Spencer groaned from behind her. “Oh no. Don’t feed into this.”

Penelope grinned, spinning to face him. “Feed into what? Spencer, you’re living with a ghost, and not just any ghost—a gorgeous, articulate ghost! I demand details. Right now.”

[storiesofsvu]

Decadent Desires Ch 13

Warnings:Language, alcohol, brief politics mentioned/talked about, teasing, sexually charged situations/sex eluded to, gratuitous smut, fingering, oral, squirting, scissoring, spit, mommy kink, use of the word kitten, choking, we’re gonna call it snowballing, breeding kink, rough sex, derogatory dirty talk, I think that about sums it up…

Monday:

The flight wasn’t long, a little over two hours, just enough to finally have a breather from the constant and slightly stress inducing work week Heather’s team had had. You spent most of it on your work phone, queuing up social media posts and statements on Heather’s accounts, double checking her approval before you confirmed everything. You were going over the itinerary for the week with her assistant Cynthia when Heather came up, tsk'ing at both of you as she pinched your arm, leaving flutes of champagne on the table, reminding you both to relax as she disappeared into the back of the jet.

That was the one thing about travelling while part of the Dunbar team, it didn’t matter how work heavy the trip was going to be, she was always going to make sure everyone got to actually enjoy the trip too. There would likely be a couple of days book ending the work days to take advantage of amenities, explore the city or just relax on the beach. She had already pencilled in a few dinners and mini festivities into the agenda, spreading out the brown nosing and elbow rubbing that would need to be done on top of panels and meetings.

Landing in Florida you were whisked away to The Ritz-Carlton resort, naturally Heather had a one bedroom suite booked for herself with a separate living room where you would all meet whenever privacy was needed. She kept you in a smaller adjoining suite most trips, this one included, with Cynthia on the other side of your room. If anyone else was brought with, they were usually down the hall, giving them a little bit more space from the work side of things as they would likely only be needed once or twice during the week.

The resort was gorgeous, ocean views, beachfront property, multiple pools and plenty of things to keep you occupied. Four restaurants and bars, coffee shop and café, tennis courts, an entire golf course, fitness center, full service spa along with a plethora of outdoor activities included with your stay ranging from kayaking to horseback riding. There was absolutely no way that any of you would have a spare minute to be bored, not on a trip like this.

Check in was a breeze and you were escorted upstairs where you promptly told Heather you were crashing for a nap, the extra early morning meetings straight into the flight had utterly wiped you. Knowing that you’d been putting in far too many overtime hours, including over the weekend she had no complaints, heading out to explore the resort with Cynthia.

When you woke up a couple of hours later you thankfully felt refreshed and after a brief checking of your phone you decided to head downstairs to check out the gym. You wanted to get a run in and there was no way you were doing it outside midday, it may have been December but you were still in Florida. There were a few familiar faces downstairs that you said a friendly hello to or shared some small talk, and you were more than well aware of a Congressman’s eyes on your ass as you did your cool down stretching.

Back upstairs you could hear Heather on the phone in her room, and knowing there was either dinner or drinks happening tonight, you figured you would jump in the shower, getting ready and presentable for the evening. It gave you the warm up and rejuvenating time you would need, slipping into the more extroverted role you would have to play for the week, friendly, approachable and even a little flirty to everyone while remaining quick and smart as a whip to always come out on top and get all the support and backing you could.

Politics was a nothing but a game of strategy, after all.

*

Tuesday:

You knocked on the door leading to Heather’s adjoining suite, her voice calling out only a second later.

“It’s open.”

Opening the door, you stepped through it into the living room area, Heather glancing up from her laptop, “got a weird request.” You started, “you’re a master at French braiding and I’ve been trying and failing for like twenty minutes now.”

“You look dressed for golfing.” She commented, “you don’t know how to golf, my kids beat you at mini golf before they were ten. Are you seriously golfing?”

“Yeah.” You replied with a shrug, “I mean I’m not going to actually golf, I’m going to sit in the cart, serve drinks and bat my eyelashes until three more congressmen are wrapped around my finger.”

“And you need French braids for that because…?”

“Have you seriously not seen any of those videos going around?” You asked and she shook her head, “it’s like a trend, bartenders testing out hairstyles to see what makes the most tips and pig tails always wins. Double French braids count, so why not see if it makes any difference.”

“I’m not even sure I want to think about the logic behind that.” She grimaced, “but come here, sit.”

Heather gestured to the ottoman in the middle of the room and you followed her instructions, handing off the supplies you’d brought from your room. As you knew, she was an absolute whiz at it, after quickly combing through your hair she had one braid in and swiftly finished the other one, tying a tiny elastic around it. She tilted your head side to side to make sure it was even before tapping at your chin,

“Up. Face me.”

You did as asked, turning to face her, waiting as her eyes surveyed your outfit, short pleated white skirt and a patterned green and blue collared tank top, it tied at the bottom so just enough amount of skin would peek out and had a zipper on the top half that controlled the level of neckline.

“Cute.”

“Tony picked it out.”

“Not surprised.” She murmured, her fingers gently tugging the shirt down a little bit before the moved to the zipper, undoing it further than you previous had it, plucking at the fabric until she was satisfied with the amount of cleavage showing, “now, wear it like he would want you to.” You rolled your eyes but let her continue fixing the fabric, “there.”

“Am I free to go Ma’am?” You asked dryly and she chuckled at your tease.

“Have fun, but don’t get drunk, we’ve got that dinner tonight.”

“Heather I approved your schedule, I know.”

With a glance and a last thank you for the hair help, you disappeared back into your own suite before leaving to tackle the day.

*

Dinner that night was at KOJO, a high end Asian inspired restaurant with plenty of offerings to choose from and an extensive list of Soju ready to sample. It was an extended dinner, debating over politics, views, upcoming bills and legislations that everyone wanted heavy backing on. Plates of tofu bites, gyoza, truffled chicken wontons, wok fried green beans, boa buns and a plethora of sushi were passed around the table until everyone had had their fill.

Heather swiped the bill before a debate on how to split things up could even think about being started, earning her more brownie points than anyone else at the table. By the time the cheque was signed there were a handful of verbal agreements, some future lunches or meetings over cocktails planned for the week, and a few under the table handshakes securing offers.

A quick debrief was had in Heather’s suite before the others made their way out for the evening, either to bed or for a nightcap to wind down. Heather stepped out of her heels, letting out a soft sigh at the sensation, beginning to take off her jewellery, placing it back into the travel case.

“You did fantastic work tonight.” She praised, turning back to face you “how was golfing? Looks like you got some sun.”

“It was fine.” You shrugged, “secured Talbot’s support, flirted my way into Swanson’s good books even if it means I’ll have to have drinks later this week and promised to go on a date with his very eligible bachelor of a son when we’re back in town.”

“God.” She rolled her eyes, “talk about going above and beyond, you’ll never fail me sweetheart. You are a godsend; you know that right?” Her hands landed on your shoulders, squeezing gently as she smiled at you.

“Of course.” You grinned, “you always told me that hard work would pay off. And if I went for extra credit on trips like this… I’d be rewarded.”

“Ah…” her lips curved up into a smirk as her fingers trailed up your neck and across your jaw, “you’re still interested in that?”

“Of course.” You nodded.

“What about your little FBI agent?” She asked, stepping even closer to you as her thumb traced just under your lower lip and you let out a small scoff of a laugh.

“I seem to remember you having a husband.”

“Fair point.”

“She buys me nice things, I spend time with her that’s incredibly enjoyable for both of us, done deal. You know exactly how that works.”

“Good.” She husked, “because I was looking forward to seeing what you’ve got underneath this dress.”

Heather’s lips met yours and despite it being the first time of the trip, there was no gentleness to it as she completely dominated the kiss. Her tongue slunk into your mouth at the same time her fingers slipped underneath the straps of your dress, pushing them off your shoulders before snaking around you and pulling the zipper down. She shoved the fabric down, nudging at your hips to guide you to step out of it as she began to back toward the bed. While your lips moved with haste against each other, your hands made quick work of her dress, leaving her a luxurious lingerie set when the backs of her knees hit the bed.

She broke the kiss, her lips peppering across your jaw and you couldn’t help but let out a breathy sigh, your head rolling back, giving her prime access to your neck. Her teeth scraped across your skin and your breath caught in your throat, a small gasp leaving your lips when she actually bit you.

“Hey!” You swatted at her side, “busy week, no marks!”

“I won’t leave any visible ones, don’t worry.” She glanced at you with a devilish look in her eyes as her hands ghosted up your sides, “don’t be so demanding and you’ll get what you want.” Her fingers pinched at your nipples through your bra and you whined, “you want this, right?” She cocked a brow at you and you nodded, “words kitten...”

“Yes mommy…”

“That’s what I thought.”

Heather dropped down onto the edge of the bed, a quiet yelp leaving your lips as she tugged you into her lap, quickly ridding you of your bra. A hand tangled into your hair, pulling your mouth back to hers and her tongue was quick to sink into your mouth, rolling against yours as you moaned into the kiss, your arms loosely draped over her shoulders. She once again began trailing her mouth down your neck, softly this time to not earn any scolding from you as her hands slid up your sides. She groped at your chest, fingers rolling your nipples as she pinched them harder and harder with each roll. You couldn’t help but let out a louder moan, your head tipping back, body arching into her touch as you sank deeper into her lap. Leaning forward, her tongue flicked over your nipple before her lips wrapped around it, sucking it into her mouth, tracing around it with her tongue. Your hand slid into her hair, holding her tight to your chest as she continued to suck at it and you couldn’t help the gasp that escaped you when her teeth sunk into you skin.

“Oh fuck!” You whimpered out, a shiver running through your body as she did it again and you couldn’t help yourself, grinding down onto her lap, your cunt aching for friction as you tried to shift yourself over one of her thighs.

Heather chuckled darkly, nipping at your tit once more before one of her hands grasped your hips, grinding you down into her lap, “there she is… mommy’s desperate little slut.” Her free hand continued to play with your nipples, her tongue darting out to flick at them between her words. “If I’d known you were this needy I would’ve put a little vibrator in that pretty pussy of yours over dinner, gotten you absolutely drenched… made you keep your cool, try not to come in front of all those important people.” She chuckled again, “then again, you’re probably already soaked, aren’t you kitten?”

Her hand sunk between your legs, cupping at your heat, pressing the flimsy fabric into your pussy as her fingers massaged you. A smirk on her lips when she felt your juices soaking through, her hand pulled away only to spank your cunt and you gasped.

“Mommy please…”

Her fingers pushed your panties to the side, sliding through your folds a few times before she raised her hand, “open.” Your lips parted and she slid her fingers into them, smiling as you obediently closed your mouth to suck on her fingers, “it’s been a while, let me warm you up kitten.” She murmured, leaning forward to kiss across your neck again, “you know how much I love to play with my food before eating it. Love playing with your needy fucking cunt, feeling you squeezing around my fingers until you can’t take it anymore, begging like the whore you are. But you never really want me to stop, do you?” She nipped at your neck again, “because you know I love how sweet you taste, making you come on my tongue. You’re such a cum slut you love tasting yourself on my lips, sucking it off my tongue when you think I’m done with you.”

You couldn’t help but moan around her fingers, the wet patch on your panties practically destroying them as she continued to ruin you with her words.

“But you’re not just a cum slut are you?” She asked, teeth sinking into your chest again, “you’re such a needy whore for cock, you’ll do anything for it, isn’t that right? Just love being stuffed full, cock buried nice and deep inside your drenched cunt, just absolutely wrecked, hmm?” She sat back, eyes darkening with the way your lips were still wrapped around her fingers while you ground down into her lap. “Colour, kitten?”

Your eyes cracked open when she slipped her fingers out of your mouth, “green.” Your lips formed a pout when she didn’t move and a whine escaped your lips, “please… please mommy. I’ve been so good.”

“You have.” Her fingertip tapped the tip of your nose, “and good girls do get rewarded.” Her hands grasped your waist, nudging you off her, “so lie back and take off those pathetic excuse for panties so I can see that needy fucking pussy.”

You quickly shuffled back on the bed, dropping into the pillows as you tugged your underwear down your legs, tossing them to the side. Just as swiftly Heather moved through the room, grabbing a couple of spare towels to lay across the bed and you lifted your hips so she could arrange them properly. Your legs spread as she crawled back onto the bed, her hands ghosting up your thighs, spreading you even more open for her as she settled on her knees between your legs.

“Such a pretty pussy.” She cooed, her thumbs rubbing up your entrance, brushing just against your clit, “you know…if I hadn’t been so patiently waiting for this I think I’d tie you to the bedframe and leave you whining and whimpering until you were such a mess I would have to take care of you.”

���Heather!” You grumbled, your hips rocking down towards her touch.

Lightning fast, her hand shot up, circling around your throat, squeezing harder as she leant toward you, “you know better than that.” She growled, laughing darkly when she caught the way your lips curved up into a grin at the sensation when she squeezed harder.

“Sorry ma’am.”

“That’s what I thought.” Letting go of your neck she patted your jaw, “now… you’ve been doing so much hard work for me, such a good little kitten… you may come whenever you want understood?”

“Yes.” You nodded, sucking your lower lip into your mouth as you looked down at her, “please… please touch me!”

“Alright kitten.” She smirked, “you asked for it.”

Her fingers slid through you once more, smearing your juices around your cunt before two of them sunk into you and you let out a soft moan, your head falling back into the pillows. It was like it was pure muscle memory, just how quickly Heather’s fingers were able to fall into the rhythm that you liked so much, each thrust of her hand earning a breathier moan, pussy fluttering around her fingers already. She twirled her fingers around, bending them ever so slightly so her knuckles brushed across the extra sensitive spot inside you.

“Fuck…” You groaned, feeling yourself get wetter with each pass of her hand.

“Who knew you were this fucking desperate.” She chuckled, her fingers twirling once again so her finger tips could press into the same spot, pulling another gasp from you, “needy little whore’s gonna come in record time.”

Heather picked up the pace that she was fucking you, fingers pulling out more wetness with each flick of her wrist. Her other hand slid up your body, tilting your chin down so two of her fingers could slip into your mouth again, coating them with saliva before she pulled them out, spitting onto your pussy and using her wet fingers to start rubbing at your clit.

“Oh god!” You cried out, “harder please mommy! Oh fuck!”

“That’s it kitten…” she purred, “come for mommy. Let me see how big of a mess you can make.”

She increased the pressure of her hand, tight fast circles rubbed on your clit while the hand inside you pressed longer and harder against your g-spot with each thrust.  Your thighs were already shaking and the sounds coming from your cunt were absolute sin, pleasure soaring through you higher and higher until you felt the coil deep within you burst and your pussy clamped down around Heather’s fingers, a strangled moan leaving your throat as you hit your peak and juices dribbled down your thighs, soaking the towel underneath you.

“Good girl…” her fingers slipped from you, bringing more wetness with them, “you’ve got another one in you, I know it.”

Sinking down to her stomach her hands clasped around your thighs as her mouth wrapped around your dripping cunt. She gave you no time to recover from your first orgasm, clit throbbing, pussy pulsing as her tongue swiped through it. You couldn’t help but moan, each one louder than the last, a string of breathy swears on you lips as the fire very quickly began to build underneath your skin again. Your nipples were hard in the cool air, your hands ghosting across your own body as you began to play with your chest, a shimmer of sweat glistening on your skin in the low light of the room while Heather ate you with expertise. Her nose bumped your clit and you couldn’t help but cry out, your hips jolting up off the bed,

“Fuck!” Your eyes scrunched shut and you pinched at your nipples, “s-so good mommy, feels..s-sooo good.”

Heather’s hands wound tighter around your legs, pinning you to the bed while her mouth continued to move against you, groaning over your taste. One of your hands sunk into her hair, unable to control yourself when her tongue flicked through you again and you couldn’t help but grind against her face, letting out a low moan as the sensations fluttered through you. Her fingers pinched at your skin as a warning and when your hand slightly tugged she pulled away from your cunt, turning her face so her teeth could sink deep into your thigh.

“Shit!” You swore, the pain mixing with pleasure as your thigh throbbed, clit puffy and swollen begging to be touched again.

“Greedy little thing.” She tsk’d, shaking her head at you before her tongue made a torturously slow lick through your pussy, just daring to flick at your clit. “I thought you were a good girl.”

“I am.” You whimpered, your body shaking with need, “please mommy. I’ll be good, I swear.”

“You better.” With a near growl she ducked down to your cunt again, this time lips wrapping around your clit, sucking it into her mouth to trace patterns with her tongue. Two of her slicked fingers came between your legs, sinking into your heat again, matching the tempo of her mouth.

“Oh god! Fuck!”

Your eyes shut even tighter, a glittering of stars behind them as she sucked your juices into her mouth. All you could feel between your legs was wetness and throbbing need, the sounds echoing around the room were pure filth as you begged her for more, begged her to not stop, that you were so close, just a little bit more. You felt like you were about to burst, the fire in your chest, tears in your eyes or cum out of your pussy you weren’t entirely sure. One of Heather’s hands slunk up your body, beginning to pinch and grope at your chest and her lips smirked against your skin at the way your body began to shake, you were putty in her hands and you both knew it.

“Right there.. oh ff-Uck!”

Your hands clawed at the bedsheets, back arching off the bed as your second orgasm hit you, cum leaking out of your pussy. Heather’s hand was soaked, your thighs smeared with your juices as her mouth finally popped off your clit.

“That good, kitten?” She asked with a knowing smirk, wiping her face and fingers on one of the towels.

“More, please.” You whined, chest heaving and she chuckled.

“More?” She raised a brow, “kitten there’s a puddle between your legs and you want more?”

“Want you to come…” you looked up at her with pleading eyes, “wanna feel your pussy.”

“You want to touch?” Her fingers slid into the waistband of her panties, tugging them down her legs, “or you want me get off by grinding on your puffy pussy? You want mommy’s cum smeared all over your messy fucking cunt?”

“Yes!” You cried out, your pussy clenching at the thought already, a gasp leaving your lips when she spanked your cunt.

“Yes to which?”

“Second.”

“Dirty fucking slut. Just so eager to be as naughty as possible, hm?”

She raised a brow at you and all you could do was nod as she manhandled your body into position, turning you half onto your side and pulling up one of your legs, resting it against her shoulder. She dropped herself down onto you, letting out a soft moan at the feeling of your drenched cunt rubbing against hers. She began to rock her hips, smearing your juices together, coating herself with your cum as your eyes fluttered shut again and you were moaning before she even expected it.

“You like that?”

“Mmhmm…”

“Feels good doesn’t it?” She ground down on you harder, “so fucking wet and slick for me, such a good girl.” She pressed down harder, a gasp leaving her lips as her clit dragged over your pussy, “oh god..”

The desire for her own pleasure took priority over continuing to degrade or praise you as she continued to grind her cunt against yours, pleasure tickling under her skin. She could see the way your body was trembling, knowing just how sensitive you could be, it wouldn’t be long until you were coming again, gushing against her. Her free hand moved up her body, toying with her chest as her hips picked up the pace, fire prickling under her skin.

“Fuck.. oh yes…” her head dropped back as her eyes fluttered shut, “just like that…”

You had just enough energy to open your eyes at this point, staring up at her, watching as she rode you, the pool of wetness collecting between your legs growing with each roll of her hips. You felt the coil tightening inside you again, your clit swollen and slippery against her, it was almost too much, your body trembling at how sensitive you’d become.

“Mommy please!”

“Are you close already, you little slut?” She groaned, grinding down harder against you as she moved even faster, “gonna squirt again, make a fucking mess of mommy’s pussy?”

“Mmmhmm.” You nodded, biting down on your lip as hard as you could so the entire floor wouldn’t know what you were up to.

“Let go for me.” This groan was a little louder than the last, her thighs beginning to shake around you as the pleasure electrified her, shooting through her body, just about to burst at the seams. “Come with me, kitten.”

“Fuck!” You couldn’t help the cry, tears nearly prickling in the corners of your eyes as your body shuddered, juices gushing out once more and only a moment later you felt Heather trembling, a loud moan escaping her lips as the pool between your legs got another burst of liquid.

“Fuck…” she muttered, dropping your leg as she sat back on the bed, taking a moment to catch her breath. Her hand soothed up your leg, fingernails digging into the forming mark on your inner thigh, “colour?”

“Green.” You panted back, chest heaving and she laughed darkly.

“Good.”

You let out a gasp, your legs clenching shut around her when she suddenly dove down between your legs once again, her tongue lapping at your slick pussy, sucking and licking as much cum as she could into her mouth. Heather crawled over you, her hand closing around your jaw and you quickly opened your lips wide so she could spit the mixture into your mouth, watching as it pooled on your tongue, slowly dripping down into the back of your throat.

“Good girl.” She tapped your chin, her other hand closing around your neck as you swallowed the liquid down, “now, you still want my cock?”

“Yes, oh god yes.”

“Then roll over, hands on the headboard and don’t you even think of moving them? Understood?”

“Yes mommy.”

Heather surprised you with a new strap, larger than the one she would usually use, stretching you out, fucking you so incredibly deep all you could see were stars. Your knuckles white from clutching at the headboard as tightly as you were. The pillows muffled your cries as she made you come another two times around her cock before finally spilling her cum deep into your pussy, making sure you got every last drop of it before she pulled out. She chose not to torment you, letting you drop to the mattress as she held your hips up, playing with the lube, fingering it back into your heat as you whined. She slipped from the bed, placing the strap in the bathroom to be dealt with later.

“Jesus Christ.” You groaned.

“Satisfied?” She asked with a smirk.

“Very.”

“Good. You better be for the amount of mess you made.”

“I need a shower.” With a wince you pushed up from the bed, stretching out your stiff body, “maybe a Gatorade…”

“Take an extra reward in the morning, charge some room service breakfast to my room, I’ll expense it.”

You cast a look over your shoulder as you gathered your clothes, “it’s a work trip Heather, everything gets expensed…”

“You take the fun out of everything; you know that right?”

“Oh… I’m so sure.”

*

Wednesday:

Heather knocked on the unlocked door between your suites as she moved through it and you glanced up from your spot on the bed where you were working on your laptop.

“I’ve almost got your endorsement emails finished and ready to send out.”

“Good.” She smiled, “but that’s not why I’m here.”

You glanced at the time on your screen, “Heat, it’s barely ten a.m.…and I just showered.”

She laughed, shaking her head at you, “McKnight and Wallace want to barter it out over a game of doubles, I need a partner and we both know Cynthia is so uncoordinated she trips over her own feet walking.”

“You play tennis?”

“What else do you think I do at the country club?”

“Drink, gossip and trash talk?” You offered up and she paused, a chuckle escaping her lips.

“I suppose you’re not wrong. It was always more something of Rob’s interest, but if I’ve got the skill I figure I may use it.”

“You’re lucky I’ve got a good backhand.” Letting out a breath you closed your laptop, slipping off the bed, “but I’ve got to be back by two thirty, Durant booked us in for facials down at the spa.”

Her lips flicked up into a smirk, “play a good game of tennis and that won’t be the only facial you get today.”

“Oh?” You raised a brow.

“What?” She gently pinched at your chin, “we’re here all week, did you really think I’d only bring one flavour of lube? You always look so pretty down on your knees.”

“Focus.” You flicked her palm, “we’ve got a game of tennis to win.”

*

Thursday:

It was time for the excruciatingly boring day. While the week was pretty evenly balanced between meetings and socializing, Thursday was the jam packed schedule of all work. Brunch followed by a morning of assemblies, speaker after speaker droning on about what policies and procedures they thought were best and why everyone else should support them, the changes that should be made.

Lunch was a luxury buffet provided by the hotel, where the mood barely shifted from work as everyone mingled about the room making small talk with those they hadn’t gotten a chance with yet. Cocktails were served, which helped everyone loosen up a little bit and have a little bit more fun than otherwise, so that was the saving grace.

The afternoon was dedicated to the up and comers, a couple of assemblies catering to high school students, those with an interest in politics, debate team, federal jobs and the like. The others with very similar themes (though maybe more specialized) dedicated to university students who were very likely going to end up on the same career path. While the younger students were shuttled back to their schools when everything wrapped, the others were invited to a special cocktail hour to socialize, able to ask various levels of politicians or their teams whatever one on one questions they may have. It was good education for them and a fantastic opportunity for everyone to secure more support and hopefully votes when the time came. While it was mainly a group of people who had their eyes set on the White House, Congress or the Senate, there were also a scattered bunch that weren’t looking for that, rather just in the general field which meant you weren’t lucky enough to escape quite yet.

At the very least you were thankful cocktail hour also included tables and waiters with trays of hors d’oeuvres so you weren’t left completely starving until dinner. Heather managed to track you down while you were finishing up a chat with a couple of very promising looking up and comers, passing off both yours and her business cards, telling them to email to set up an appointment whenever they happened to be in D.C.

“Bored yet?” She asked with a tease, plucking a drink off a nearby station before handing the server a twenty.

“On the contrary, having the time of my fucking life.” You replied dryly and she chuckled, her eyes surveying the room and you watched as her gaze settled in on something and her brow raised. “Huh..”

“What?” You asked, not even bothering to find out where she was looking.

“Looks like Jackie’s just about finished up her day. I should send you over with a drink.”

“What?” You laughed, “are you pimping me out now?”

“No,” she swatted at your arm, “but it would be a shame if she had to leave alone. And I did miss out on a rather fun night, the opportunity just happens to be presenting itself.”

“You are insatiable…”

“You love it.” She smirked over the rim of her glass and you huffed.

“I’m exhausted. I’d love it if there was at least one night you would just let me sleep. It’s no wonder you have to keep multiple sugar babies around to stay satisfied.” Finishing your drink you placed it down on an empty table, “I want to go upstairs, put on pyjamas and order room service.”

“You’re no fun.” She scoffed.

“Then go have yours.” You laughed.

“I’m not going to fuck her alone.” She muttered, “c’mon, just one drink, we’ll go down to the beach bar that has the good mojitos.”

“One drink.” You reluctantly agreed, “there is a pizza with my name on it.”

*

Friday:

At the very least, Heather let you sleep in today, which you were incredibly thankful for. You got a late morning workout in, swung by the café to grab a bite to eat before heading out on something that was a mix of a pub crawl and an afternoon of meetings. The group bopped around all of the hotels in the area, taking in the sites, learning about the amenities and bonuses that each location had while enjoying a drink and a few appetizers at each location. The trip extended outside the resort area as you were shown a few of the cities main attractions while you continued to rub elbows and play politics.

Returning back to the hotel you were happy to retreat to your empty room, enjoying the air conditioning for a bit while you drafted up a couple of things. Once satisfied, you knew you only had a couple days of sunshine left before heading back to the dreary Washington weather and figured you should probably take advantage of the private terrace. You changed into your bikini, grabbed a couple of books and draped across one of the loungers on your stomach.

It was only when you jolted awake to something cold dripping onto your back that you realized you’d fallen asleep. Heather’s hand soothed up your back a moment later,

“Can’t have you burning.” She muttered, “how long have you been out here?”

You glanced at your watch, “couple hours.” You let out a gentle groan when her thumb dug into your shoulder blade, “you sure that’s sunscreen?”

“If it was lube I wouldn’t be rubbing your shoulders, that’s for sure.” She chuckled, wiping off any of the excess on a spare towel before her hands slid up the back of your thighs, just daring to grope at your ass, “but if that’s something you’re interested in I’m sure it could be arranged.” Her fingers began toying with the strings of your suit, “first you’ve got to roll over for me though. I know Tony wouldn’t suggest a new suit unless your tits looked spectacular.”

Rolling your eyes as you laughed you rolled over onto your back, pushing yourself up to sitting so you were on display for the other woman, “happy?”

“Mmm. That man has fantastic taste.” She tugged at the straps, letting the triangles of fabric fall from your skin, “now let’s get you inside before anyone overhears you…”

*

Saturday:

A morning yoga class with Jackie before lounging on the beach to start your day off, trying to take advantage of the sunshine and ocean air before the humidity hit and it was simply too hot to be in the direct sun. You only briefly parted ways, picking up lunch on your way back to your room to eat while you finalized a few more work things before jumping in the shower.

Just before dinner time you were headed down to the docks, the final item on your agenda of the day being a party on the very large and luxurious yacht of the Florida governor. Cocktails, beer and liquor were plentiful, appetizers on trays of wandering servers while everyone got relaxed and chatting. Dinner would be served at eight, succulent plates of surf and turf, including freshly caught seafood while wine was refilled, a glass never empty the entire evening.

It was much more party centered than anything else that week, people getting comfortable, letting loose, secrets quietly spilling from lips as the sun sunk in the sky. A sense of playfulness drifted over the boat, wine changed into hard liquor and shots, small talk began to edge the line of dirty talk while people began to disappear to different decks or down small hallways.

Heather found you returning from the bathroom, stepping out onto one of the side decks for some fresh air. A moment after resting on the railing her hands were on either side of you and a shiver ran down your spine as her lips pressed into your skin.

“I just know there’s a gorgeous set of lace underneath this dress and I am absolutely dying to see it.” Her teeth nipped at your neck, “you wouldn’t deprive mommy of that would you? It is our last night after all.”

You let out a soft moan, turning so your back was resting against the railing, “when did they say they we’re docking next?”

“Ten forty five.”

“Enough time for one more drink then.” With a smirk you moved around her, a sway to your hips that had her eyes glued on your ass as you wandered back towards the bar.

______________

@mickey-gomez @momlifebehard @daddy-heather-dunbar @maybe-a-humanbean @rustyzebra @leftoverenvy @kades95 @dextur @supercriminalbean @emilyprentisssluvr @lex13cm @zizzlekwum @emobabeyy @riveramorylunar @scorpsik @onmykneesformarvel @inlovewithemilyprentiss @regalmilfs4me @ara-a-bird @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @hopedoesntknow @venromanova @waitaminuteashh @noahrex @imlike-so-gaydude @wittygutsy @cx-emerald-cx cx @momily @nilaues @borinxnovak @soverign @v3nusxsky @mccdreamys-writes @l4yne @obsessedwjill @supercorpstan97 @asolitaryrose3 @lisqueen @mrs-prentiss @whitewinewithice @d33pd3sire-blog @daffodil-heart @maximoffcarter @i-lovefandom @chimnlex @moonlightjxuregui @chestnutninny @gamma-rae-bursts @just-moondust @idkifimasub @gaydragonwitch @dowsedwithbleach @divergentalwaysandforever-blog

[airybcby]

Hiii hope you’re having a lovely week <3 and Merry early Christmas!! I hope you get everything you’ve been wanting!! I think the marriage event is so so so cute omg, and I was wondering if I could get yoichi isagi with tropes 🍓 and 🍫? Mostly bc my dumbass thinks strawberries and chocolate go well together lol. Your works are amazing btw!! And honestly I don’t know how you find the motivation or time to write so much, it’s so inspiring 🫶 keep up the good work and have a lovely Christmas (or something else you celebrate!)

Hiii! i love making ( and eating ) chocolate covered strawberries, so i totally get it :) and tysm! I usually brain dump every few days then struggle to get into it again, but alas i prevail! i had a lovely christmas, i hope you did too!

now for

an isagi yoichi chocolate covered strawberry :)

જ⁀♡⊹｡° like a dog with a bird at your door

♡ a/n — for my more than a married couple event!

♡ content — isagi yoichi x gn! reader, gn! reader, unrequited love, isagi and reader are childhood friends, isagi mentions liking another girl (no name mentioned), KUNIGAMI MENTIONED!!! (once but i love him), reader has feelings for isagi, set in high school :)

♡ synopsis — you'd wait for a million chances with isagi yoichi, but he wouldn't even give you one.

You knew doing this marriage simulation with Isagi Yoichi was a mistake the moment you saw his name on the pairing list.

Your heart clenched, the familiar ache settling in your chest. Isagi had always been your closest friend—someone who could make you laugh on your worst days and whose determination inspired you to push forward. But that closeness came with a cost: the quiet, unreciprocated feelings you’d carried for years.

It was fine, though. You’d learned how to manage them. Or so you thought.

“Hey!” Isagi greeted you that first day in the shared apartment, his signature smile lighting up the room. “Looks like we’re stuck with each other, huh?”

“Yeah,” you said, forcing a grin. “Lucky me.”

If he noticed the strain in your voice, he didn’t say anything.

The first few weeks of the program were easy enough. Isagi’s natural charm made it impossible not to enjoy his company, and his unrelenting optimism balanced out your more cautious approach.

He was attentive, thoughtful, and surprisingly good at playing the role of a devoted partner. It felt so real sometimes that you had to remind yourself it wasn’t.

The way he’d casually sling an arm around your shoulders when the instructors were watching, the way he’d call you by a pet name that made your stomach flip—it was all for show. And when the simulation ended, it would all go away.

You reminded yourself of that every night as you lay awake in your separate rooms, staring at the ceiling and wishing things could be different.

One evening, after a particularly intense day of tasks, you both collapsed on the couch, a shared bowl of popcorn between you.

“Man, I don’t know how people do this for real,” Isagi said with a laugh, throwing a piece of popcorn into his mouth. “It’s exhausting.”

You smiled faintly, keeping your eyes on the TV. “Guess it’s easier when you’re with someone you actually love.”

Isagi hummed in agreement. “Yeah, I bet it is.”

The silence stretched, the weight of his words settling over you like a blanket. You didn’t dare look at him, afraid of what you’d see.

Instead, you changed the subject, masking your hurt with a joke that made him laugh. But his words stayed with you, carving deeper into the parts of you that already felt raw.

It wasn’t until halfway through the program that you found out why Isagi had signed up for it.

You were cleaning up after dinner when he blurted it out, his voice casual but laced with excitement.

“Did I tell you? She joined the program, too. She’s paired with Kunigami.”

Your hand froze mid-wash, the plate slipping slightly under your grip. “Who?” Isagi had been your friend, yes, but he'd never told you about another girl before.

"She's in our class," He nodded, his eyes lighting up at the mention of her. “I’ve been meaning to tell her how I feel, but I guess I haven’t found the right moment yet. This program’s the perfect chance, though, right?”

Your stomach dropped, the air around you suddenly too heavy.

“Right,” you said, forcing a smile. “Perfect chance.”

He didn’t notice the tremor in your voice or the way you quickly turned back to the sink, blinking back tears.

From that point on, everything hurt a little more.

The way he’d absentmindedly lean into you during group exercises, the way he’d talk about his plans for the future, the way he’d practice his “husband” role so earnestly—it all felt like salt in a wound you couldn’t close.

You wanted to hate him for how blind he was to your feelings, but you couldn’t. It wasn’t his fault. And you couldn’t fault him for wanting someone like Tsubaki, someone who was bright and kind and seemingly perfect in every way.

You could only stand by and watch, your heart breaking a little more with each passing day.

The final night of the program came faster than you’d expected.

You sat together on the couch, the apartment eerily quiet now that all the tasks were done.

“Hard to believe it’s over, huh?” Isagi said, his voice soft.

“Yeah,” you replied, staring at your hands. “Hard to believe.”

He leaned back, his gaze thoughtful. “You know… I think this program taught me a lot. About relationships, about myself. And about you.”

Your heart skipped, hope flickering despite yourself. “Yeah? What about me?”

He smiled, that familiar, radiant smile that had always made you feel like the world was brighter. “You’re an amazing friend. I don’t think I could’ve done this without you.”

Friend.

The word echoed in your mind, snuffing out the tiny ember of hope that had been burning inside you.

“Thanks, Yoichi,” you said, your voice steady despite the lump in your throat. “I’m glad I could help.”

The next morning, you packed your things in silence, the weight of unspoken words heavy in the air.

When it was time to leave, Isagi pulled you into a tight hug, his warmth making it even harder to let go.

“Thanks for everything,” he said, his voice sincere. “I’ll never forget this.”

“Me neither,” you murmured, your words barely audible.

As you walked away, the tears you’d been holding back finally spilled over.

You’d known from the start that this was how it would end—with Isagi chasing after someone else, and you left behind, holding onto feelings that would never be returned.

But even so, you didn’t regret it. Because for a little while, you’d gotten to be close to him. And that, you told yourself, was enough.

it was so awful making this not have a happy ending :,)

i hope you liked it!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[apomaro-mellow]

Mafia AU 11

Part 10

“Ciao bella~”

A kiss of the hand and a giggle. That was how it started.

That and a little aside to her friend in Italian, poking fun at this man who had clearly used up all the Italian that he knew. Fortunately for him, he was handsome enough to take pity on and switch to English.

“What a gentleman. What family do you come from?”

“The Harringtons.”

“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with them.”

“You will be.”

At first, her father didn’t say anything outright about associating with him. He was working with the family after all. He only just warned her not to get too attached. But when he announced himself as an official suitor, her father put his foot down.

He wasn’t worthy of her, worthy enough to be the boss. That he, as her father, would find a more suitable match. But she had spoken in defense of her love. He might not be ready now, but he could learn. She could teach him everything he needed to know, make him the sort of boss the other men would respect. And like many fathers, his heart was soft under the intense gaze of his only daughter.

And so the courtship had continued.

To her delight and her father’s surprise, the outsider took to the job like a duck to water. He was ruthless and didn’t shy away from blood. He didn’t follow all of the traditions though, and didn’t hold respect for the old ways and the families that had paved the way as he should. But he got results. He had the approval of the boss and the love of the boss’ daughter. No one could touch him.

The bonding came as a surprise to no one, and the birth of their pup was met with elation. Her new bouncing baby boy was her greatest treasure. The father was happy for an heir, but didn’t appear to share the same wonder at their son. She had heard that it took fathers some time to truly bond with their children and brushed it off. As a wife and now a mother, her role in the family became less active, but no less busy. It was still her duty to support her husband after all.

It was her job to sit in with the other wives from their family and others. To hear what their husbands didn’t know about and to pass that information on to her own. It was what her own mother had done to assist her father. But while her alpha was good at most aspects of the business, he ignored the social part. Even when she came to him with something important, he ignored her.

When it became clear that he would hear nothing from her, she put her all into her son. In time she came to realize how others saw her husband and that she only needed to hold the line until her son could take his place. Just long enough that no one would oust them so that Stefano could do what he had been born for.

The first time she yelled at her husband had been when Stefano was five. The little pup had slipped away from his nanny and found his way to his father’s study in the middle of a meeting. She had been walking by when she heard him curse at their child so viciously he immediately started to cry. She felt a fire blaze inside of her, shouting at her husband and carrying their crying son away.

They fought later that evening, him angry at her for disrespecting him in front of others. 

“You will NOT speak to me that way in front of these people! Isn’t it all about honor?”

“You dishonor yourself! They look at you and think ‘what kind of a man curses at his baby like that’?!”

“He’s not a baby anymore!”

“He’s five years old! And if you keep treating him like that they will think you are afraid of your own child.”

He didn’t soften around Stefano, not the way she wanted him to as a father. But he never yelled at him around others anymore. He got used to expressing his disdain more privately. She realized by the time he was ten that his fatherly love would never come. And any love for her had been buried deep beneath his ambition. Her determination to protect her son and raise him to be a proper boss was strengthened as she saw him grow.

She made sure he knew the right people and how to treat them, brought him up in the right customs. Made sure he knew Italian just as well as he knew English. Her husband’s nose scrunched up whenever they spoke it in front of him, barring him from the conversation. She used to think that little quirk was cute. But nowadays it was a sign that not only did he not know, but that he had no intention of finding out.

Her son had a similar nose scrunch and it was the most adorable thing to her. It was amazing how the same thing could give such different feelings.

They didn’t have a major fight again until Stefano (sometimes called Steve) was twelve. She passed Tonio in the hall and he said she might want to pop in on the gymnasium. She did and found her husband treating their child’s face like a punching bag. There were a few other men who looked on with mixed expressions as Steve remained standing despite the blows to the face. They all parted to let her through and kept quiet as she laid into her husband. Her rage so blinding, that she was sure she was switching between languages but had no control over which one came out and when. But she made one thing very clear.

“If you ever put your hands on my son again, I will make you regret it.”

With that one incident, his reputation began to slip. The old boss made it clear he hadn’t been a hundred percent on giving the family to him. He had lost the love and respect of his wife. His son wasn’t looking too promising either and his only saving grace was that he seemed to take more after his mother.

“Are you trying to end this family?!”, her husband accused one night.

“I’m trying to save this family. I was wrong about you. How could I have been so stupid?”

“Haven’t I been good for you? Haven’t I given you everything we wanted?”

“You’ve only given me one good thing in this life. Everything I do, I do for Stefano.”

Her husband’s entire demeanor changed. Like he had closed himself off. “Well, until I have retired, I still run this family. And that includes the both of you. And my retirement will not be coming for a very long time.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“...What do you mean?”

She was going to answer when she noticed the crack in their door, the flash of an eye, and the whiff of a familiar scent. She let out a sigh and started towards the door.

“I am going to say goodnight to Steve. If I were you, I would take some time to think about what it means to be a part of this family.”

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

“They fought some more after that. And then, one day, my dad came to my room and told me she was dead”, Steve said. “She’d been out in the city and some random guy shot her while trying to hold up a jewelry store.”

Eddie swallowed. What felt like the first movement in hours but Steve’s story hadn’t been nearly that long. He wanted to reach out to him but the omega looked untouchable right now.

“How old were you?”

“I had just turned fourteen”, Steve answered. “It didn’t feel real. She was always there and she said she’d be back soon and then she just…wasn’t.”

“What was her name?”

Steve smiled. “Francesca Noemi Marini.”

Eddie ventured to reach out and put his hand on top of Steve’s. Steve turned his palm upward to hold his hand but didn’t say anything more for a while. And for once, Eddie was speechless.

“I don’t think it was random though”, Steve spoke up after composing himself. “I’ve had this gut feeling and something about it all seemed odd.”

“Well, targeting the boss’ wife would be a ballsy move”, Eddie said. “How did your dad take the news? Didn’t he ever punish the guy who did it?”

“He told me it had been handled. That he’d taken care of it. Back then, I just took him at his word. But I…”

“But you?”, Eddie urged.

“I just know that if someone killed the love of my life, I wouldn’t handle it quietly. I would make an example out of them. Make it so no one would ever fuck with my family again.”

He tightened his hold on Eddie’s hand and the alpha felt his heart skip a beat. Was he included in that? Was there ever a chance that Steve might rip the world apart if something happened to him? The thought of someone caring so furiously and having the power to back it up was a bit intoxicating.

“Any leads on who the culprit might be?”

Steve put his head on Eddie’s shoulder, shocking him to stiffness but he quickly realized it was just an excuse to whisper in his ear. Even deep in the maze, there could be eavesdroppers. And what Steve said next was completely traitorous.

“I believe my father had her killed.”

Part 12

[iamnotoriginalphil]

Keeping Our Secret (Alex Blake x f!Reader)

Synopsis: You and Alex are keeping a secret from the team

Words: 3.1k

Warnings: 18+, smut, soft dom!Alex, face sitting, praise kink

“So,” Morgan said, sitting himself down in the chair across from you, “how was that date you went on last night?”

You looked up from the case file, pen tapping against your bottom lip. He wasn’t the only one tuning in to your conversation. JJ was turning her body towards you and Spencer had glanced up from his position on the sofa.

“I didn’t realise I’d told you about that,” was you response.

“You didn’t,” he said, “but Garcia overheard you talking on the phone in the bathroom yesterday about finding the perfect outfit. Apparently you really wanted to impress this girl.”

You had to fight to keep your eyes focused on him.

“She’s worth the effort,” you said.

“So it went well then?” JJ asked.

“I… think so,” you said, hesitant, “I’m just hoping she did too.”

“I’m sure she did,” she reassured you.

You nodding, doing your best to not shift your gaze to the one person you really wanted to look at. You weren’t going to do that to yourself.

“So what did you do?” Morgan asked.

“It was just dinner,” you replied.

“What kind of food?” he continued

“Italian,” you said, beginning to feel like you were in an interrogation.

“What was the name of the restaurant?” he asked.

“I don’t remember,” you replied, “are you trying to figure out if I lied about going on a date?”

“Was it La Mia Rosa?” Spencer asked.

“That sounds familiar.” You nodded.

“That’s because Blake has been talking about going there,” he replied.

You finally let your eyes alight on her. She looked up as if feeling the weight of your gaze. You pressed your lips together, doing your best not to smile at her the way you wanted to, the butterflies erupting in your stomach. She was so beautiful. You had to look away before you did something you’d both regret.

“How do you not remember the name of the restaurant you drove to?” Morgan asked.

“She picked me up from my place,” you replied.

“You let a stranger know where you live?” he demanded.

“She’s hardly a stranger,” you scoffed, then realised what you had said.

“Oh?”

“That’s all you’re getting Morgan,” you said, “I’m not telling you who she is.”

“Why not? Got something to hide?” He smirked at you.

“Yes,” you replied, smiling across at him, “like my entire personal life.”

“Well how about this,” JJ said before Morgan could try and come back with a zinger, “did you at least get a goodnight kiss?”

You felt your cheeks heat and you ducked your head. You couldn’t look over at Alex, not for even a moment, but you really wanted to.

“That’s my girl,” Morgan laughed.

You kept your head ducked, pretending to go over the case file again and again until the plane landed. You weren’t going to give in to Morgan any more than you already had. You weren’t going to say any more than you already had. You weren’t going to give them the satisfaction of being able to guess the woman you’d spent the night with.

You shifted in your seat, spending most of the flight going over the night before. The press of lips against your skin, the tongue tasting you, the fingers making you see stars. You could still feel the simmering desire you’d woken up with, her hands mapping your body as you lounged in bed.

When the jet landed it was all hands on deck, your desire pushed to one side. It felt easy enough to slip back into your usual role, comfortable and familiar. And if your eyes lingered a little longer than normal on a certain linguist then that could be put down to being lost in thought.

Except that night, having stopped in at the hotel to shower and sleep, the flare of hope in your stomach was uncontainable. Freshly washed, in sweatpants and a tank top, you were curled in the bed with a book open in your lap. The soft knock on your door was a relief.

You pulled the door open, lips caught between teeth, a pleased flush spreading over your skin. Alex was standing on the other side, blazer abandoned in her room, enough buttons undone on her shirt to make your mouth grow dry. You held the door open further.

“Come in,” you said.

Her fingers brushed along the back of your hand as she entered the room, not quite looking at you. Something in your stomach tightened and the butterflies become something worse. You closed the door.

“Do you want something to drink?” you asked, “or are you here on business?”

Instead of answering you, she turned around, finally looking at you. There was a smirk flirting at the corners of her mouth. Your breath caught, just for a moment, and you reminded of the moment you’d realised exactly how bad you had it for her.

You’d been out on a case, somewhere in Colorado, on a trail through the forest. Stumbling over a root, her hands had automatically come up to catch you, arms wrapping around your waist. You’d looked up in the afternoon sunlight streaming through the tree branches above, and it was like the heavens had opened up. Lit up in the warm light, you’d realised how beautiful Alex was, holding you up, arms around you, holding you close enough to feel the warmth of her skin. She was smiling, as if she knew exactly the reaction she was garnering, and it had made you breathless. It had yet to stop making you breathless.

“Were you really trying to impress me last night?” she broke into your thoughts.

“You see me all day in works clothes. Can you blame me for wanting to make it special?” You shrugged, “you seemed to appreciate it.”

“Oh I did. I appreciated getting to take it off you more.” She took a step towards you, “you’re so incredibly beautiful.”

The last of your lingering anxiety dissipated. You held out a hand to her, sighing when she took it, drawing you closer to her. With soft fingers, she tucked your hair behind your ear, lingering on your skin until you thought you might be going crazy.

“You were such a good girl today,” she murmured, “not letting on to the rest of the team who your date was with. Keeping our secret.”

Her fingertips trailed over your collarbone. You shivered, your breath shaky, wondering if you could start touching her too. You wanted to, more than you could say.

“Am I really worth the effort, sweetheart?” she asked.

“You’re worth even more than that,” you replied, letting your free hand skim her side.

“You’re really asking for a reward, aren’t you?” She sounded so amused.

“I just want you to know how special you are to me,” you said, “but if you choose to reward that then I won’t stop you.”

“Come here, sweet girl.”

She pulled you in for a kiss, soft and sweet. Tongues brushed together, making your knees feel weak already. You slid your arm around her waist, grounding yourself to her. Her fingers buried themselves in your hair, guiding your head up to kiss you deeper. You whimpered, pressing yourself against her, feeling the vibrations in her chest as she groaned.

Pulling her hand from yours, she placed it on your hip, guiding you back. You took a stumbling step then another, letting her control your direction. The back of your knees hit the mattress and you sat, pulling her with you, not ready to stop kissing her. You would never be ready to stop kissing her.

You crawled backwards into the bed, hands on her, forcing her to follow you. She was kissing you like you were something precious, something within you igniting. Simmering flames curled around your body, desperate for more.

Her lips trailed down your neck, tongue flicking over your skin. You made a noise in the back of your throat, arching up into her. She took both your hands, lacing your fingers together, pinning them to the bed. You moaned her name as she sucked on your pulse point, your blood racing. Barely twenty four hours of being hers and you were addicted.

“So pretty moaning my name,” she murmured into your skin.

She sat back, looking down at you. You squirmed, heat flushing your skin, as her eyes trailed over you. You loved being on display for her, but you wanted her to touch you again. Her tongue dragged along her bottom lip as her head tilted to the side, considering you.

“Alex,” you whined.

“Yes, sweetheart?” she asked.

“I want you,” you said, “please.”

“All you had to do was ask, baby.”

She kissed you again, letting your hands go to trail her fingers down your body. Pushing past the hem of your tank top, her touch was like electricity on your stomach. You arched up, practically begging her. It felt like an eternity for her to pull the shirt from your body, flinging it away.

She drew away again, your whine cutting off as she cupped a breast, thumb brushing over a hardening nipple. She was watching you as she touched you, drawing moans from you, that half smile on her face as you sighed her name. Her own hands were on her hips, fingers digging in.

Leaning down, her hair brushed along her skin. Lips wrapped around one nipple, tongue brushing against it. Your fingers buried themselves in her hair, arching into her mouth. Lavishing her attention on you had you glowing. You had to press your legs together, squirming under her, wanting even more. You knew you were being greedy.

Instead, you let your own hands wander down, unbuttoning the last of her shirt, exposing the black bra underneath. Head bent, mouth still on you, it was impossible to see her the way you wanted to. She let you push the shirt from her shoulders, fingertips trailing down the skin of her arm. Running your hands up her back, you revelled in the feeling of her skin under your touch.

Her lips wandered back up your neck before she sat back, shaking her hair from her face. Raking your eyes down her body, you could have moaned just from the sight. She was so beautiful.

“You enjoying yourself, sweetheart?” she asked.

“Uh huh.” You nodded enthusiastically.

“I could spend all night just on these.” Her hands were cupping your breasts, gently squeezing.

“Alex,” you whined, “please.”

“Please what, baby?”

She began to roll one nipple between thumb and forefinger. You arched up into her touch, your nails scraping down her spine. She smirked down at you.

“Need you so bad,” you moaned.

She let you pull her bra from her body, surging up to press kisses to her chest. Her head fell back as your tongue tasted her skin, finding her own nipples, lavishing all your attention on them. Her own hands were still playing with you but you were losing yourself to her, wanting her to feel good, wanting to please her.

“Baby, this is your reward,” she sighed, “not mine.”

You looked up at her from under lowered lashes. There was a pleasant flush on her cheeks and her eyes were dark. Her back arched into your mouth despite her words and her hips shifted. You let your fingers run along the waistline of her slacks, dipping under just slightly.

“Later, sweetheart,” she said, grasping your wrist, pulling your hands away from her skin, “let me take care of you first.”

She guided you back onto the bed, ignoring your pout. She kissed you, taking her time with you, your indignation fading as she stole your breath. Crawling down your body, she pulled your sweatpants from your legs, looking delighted when she discovered you weren’t wearing underwear. Her fingers ghosted over your core, making you whine again.

“Look how pretty you are,” she said, hands pulling your legs apart, “all spread out for me. So desperate. So needy.”

Her tongue running through your folds had you bucking up against her mouth. Her chuckle vibrated through you, making you moan out her name. Her hands curled around your thighs, keeping them open as she settled herself more comfortably between them.

“Just relax, sweetheart,” she said, “I’ve got you.”

You didn’t have time to catch your breath before she dove in. It was as if she knew exactly how to touch you, to taste you, to make you gasp her name. Your fingers buried in her hair, anchoring yourself to her as your hips rolled against her mouth. It was so easy to lose yourself, eyes closing as you let the sensation roll over you.

She tapped the outside of your thighs. You blinked your eyes open, looking down your body at her. Dark eyes stared up right as she gave your bundle of nerves a soft suck. A curse burst from you. She didn’t let you look away.

When you fell apart it was like wave after wave of pleasure rolling over you. Your fingers tightened in her hair, maintaining eye contact as her name fell from your lips like a prayer. But in truth, you felt as if you were the one being worshipped.

She sat back on her heels, wiping at her chin. With shaking hands you reached out for her, landing on her bare waist. She let you pull her towards you, kissing her, loving the way you could taste yourself on her tongue. She moaned into your mouth and you felt as if you might combust. You wanted to touch her so badly.

“I want these off,” you mumbled against her lips, tugging on her trousers.

“You do?” she hummed.

“Mmhm,” you replied.

She crawled off you, standing at the foot of the bed. You rested on your elbows, watching as she slowly unbuttoned them, pulling the zipper down. You couldn’t tear your eyes away. She shot you a smirk before taking her time as she peeled her trousers from her long legs, booted heels kicked off. Left in nothing but her underwear, your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, heat curling in your stomach. This was the kind of sight you could stare at forever.

“Anything else, sweetheart?”

You sat up, reaching for her. She went willingly, pushing your hair from your face, tucking it behind your ears. You traced the lace pattern on her skin before hooking your fingers under it, pulling it down, exposing her to the air. She tilted your chin up, kissing you deeply as she kicked her underwear off.

She climbed back on top of you, crawling as you laid back down. Your fingertips tracing patterns onto her skin, so much skin for you to touch. With fingers curling around the back of her thighs you tugged, urging her further up.

“Are you sure, baby?” she asked.

“Please, Alex,” you replied, “please.”

“Okay, anything you want. Just tap my leg if you can’t breath,” she said.

As she lowered herself onto your face you realised what a privilege this was, to have her right in this position with you. You took a moment, staring up her body, her eyes smouldering as they looked down at you.

She tasted like heaven. That was the best description for it. As she sat fully on you, she was all there was, invading every sense. Your fingers dug in to her thigh as you lapped at her. She groaned and her head tipped back. Finding her clit, you watched as her hand came up, fondling her own breast. The sight made you moan and her hips ground down against you.

She rocked against you, growing faster, making your tongue work harder. You wanted her to feel the way she made you feel, like you couldn’t remember your own name from how good you felt. You barely noticed how difficult it was to breath, so focused on her, watching her chase her high on your tongue.

You tried to taste deeper, more, hoping to commit the moment to memory. It hadn’t been like this the night before, much more traditional. But this was something you’d been imagining since almost the moment you’d met her. There was something about her that was made for face sitting. You could feel her legs begin to tremble.

She came with your name tumbling from her lips, praise mixed together with curses as she rode out her high. You gave her what she wanted, liking the sounds she was making.

You had to help her off your face. Her eyes swept over you, lingering on your mouth. You dragged your tongue over your lips, still tasting her. With her own hands she cleaned the mess on your chin, throwing the tissue into the trash.

She settled back against the headboard, holding her arms out to you. It was a relief to curl against her side, head resting on her chest, listening to the thump of her heart. Her fingers carded through your hair, gently massaging your scalp as you relaxed against her.

“You did so wonderfully, sweetheart,” she said, kissing the top of your head, “so perfect for me.”

“Really?” You looked up at her.

“You were amazing.”

She pressed a lingering kiss to your lips. You melted against her, letting her pull the covers over both of you. Your legs tangled together and you sighed.

“You don’t have to worry, sweetheart,” she murmured after turning off the light, “I think your date went well too.”

The next morning, walking with Spencer back from the diner with a round of coffee for the team, you could feel how hard he was thinking. Rolling your eyes, you looked him over. He was squinting into the light.

“Just say it, Reid,” you said.

“Say what?” He wasn’t looking you in the eye.

“Whatever it is that’s on your mind,” you replied.

“Your date the other night,” he said, “it was with Blake, wasn’t it?”

“What? No. Why would you say that?” You tried not to give the game away.

“I have the room next to yours,” he informed you.

“Oh.” Your cheeks flamed, “I’m sorry.”

“I also figured it out when you said which restaurant you went to,” he said, “Blake has been talking about it a lot but then didn’t ask your opinion on the jet. She’d only do that if she’d been there with you.”

“Can you… not tell the others about this yet?” you asked, “I hate to ask but it’s still really new and we don’t really want to be the butt of the joke right now.”

“Of course,” he said, “but maybe you could be not so loud while we’re in the hotel?”

“You’ve got a deal, Doctor Reid,” you said.

Alex laughed when she found out about the conversation, and then promptly made you break your promise.

Tags: @trippol-threat @theclassicgaycousin

[inafieldofdaisies]

Ship Art | John Seed x Sabrina Donovan | sketch by @felrija ❤️ || a scene from my WIP In Hope Of Tomorrow, snippet below the cut

"I won't lie, I was planning on killing you." "And yet you didn't. Why?" "A change of circumstances."

It felt like at least 2 hours had passed before the door opened again. Sabrina kept her eyes casted downward as a pair of boots came into view, crossing over the threshold, their owner humming a familiar tune. I know this melody. It was the song she sang in the cell. He was there, listening. The realization made her look up, her hazel eyes met John's as he neared, stepping into the light that spilled from the chandelier above. He was wearing jeans, a blue dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up and way too many buttons undone, on top of it was a vest that belonged more in a courtroom than in a bunker in the Middle of nowhere, Montana. "Kept you waiting, didn't I, Deputy?" A dark smirk marred his handsome face, his posture exuding confidence, like he was about to slip into an opening statement any moment. Only in this room he had full reign, assuming the role of judge, jury and executioner. "Probably should consider serving some tea, maybe redecorating your dungeon. Red's a bit on the nose, don't you think? And I wouldn't rate your goon very highly on any scale either." The comment made him chuckle, and she tried to ignore how familiar it sounded, how it pulled on her soul. "Now, I'm not usually late, but someone decided to attempt to derail my Cleansing.", at that he unconsciously went to smooth out his dark hair, making Sabrina realize it's damp. Sabrina narrowed her eyes, the corners of her mouth twitching, "Did someone try to drown you, Seed?" Don't laugh again. And he didn't, sending a smirk her way instead. "Now, Deputy, enough jokes, there are more pressing matters.", his head tilted slightly, his expression almost... giddy. "What's a joke is you thinking holding a Deputy hostage is a good idea, you of all people should know it's far from it. Aren't you supposed to be a hotshot lawyer?", she couldn't stop her sneer. "Deputy-" Sabrina cut him off, "I have a name." "Yes. Sabrina Blythe Donovan.", he said it matter-of-factly, but Sabrina could tell he took pride in that knowledge. It didn't shock her he knew her full name, with Nancy being on Eden's Gate side no doubt information about the whole Sheriff's Department was leaking like a sieve. A dry laugh escaped her, "Next you're going to tell me the name of my first boyfriend." John crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow, "Knowledge is power after all. And, Sabrina, you wouldn't be here if you didn't try to arrest my brother. You all had choice and it led to this." She pushed down the feeling at how familiar her name sounded on his lips, the twinge of longing it caused in her was nothing. It had to be.

"There was an arrest warrant. I was just doing my job. Your brother is a criminal, and now so are you and all of your people." "I'm doing MY job, Deputy. You're a sinner and so are your friends.", he retorted, his words full of conviction as he headed for his torture table. Sabrina froze, expecting him to notice a knife was missing, when he said nothing, she continued, "Why am I here?" The words came out sharper than intended, carrying the tone she used when interrogating suspects back in Portland, the one that got her straight answers and stripped away all the nonsense. John turned, a look of amusement flashing across his face as he leaned against the table, legs crossed at the ankles. "I should be the one asking questions here, Deputy." "Old habits die hard, I was a-" "A detective back in", a dramatic pause, he raised a finger, "Portland. And you left it all behind to work for Whitehorse. Can't wait for you to tell me why." "I'm not telling you shit. I don't know what you think you're doing-" John stalked towards her with swiftness that took her aback as he grabbed the armrests of her chair, the force behind his movement making the wheels skid across the floor. His face had grown serious, piercing blue eyes boring into hers as he loomed over her. "You will talk, confess every sin, no matter how small. I know exactly what I’m doing here."

Their proximity sent a shiver up her spine and she tried to tell herself it was the bad kind. He was so close to a point Sabrina could smell the musky scent of river that clung to his skin. He had indeed taken a dive, her amusement at the confirmation died down quickly. His nearness, the position of his hands as he held onto the chair allowed her to see his tattoos in detail for the first time. In seconds her whole world came crashing down, her blood froze. No. She knew these tattoos, had seen them countless times in her visions, had drawn them over and over to the point they were embedded in her memory. NO. The hand holding hers as the world ended. The man that called her "Butterfly". It was John. John fucking Seed. His voice snapped her out of her thoughts, "Hm. A butterfly." He was looking at her tattoo, at one of the butterflies that wasn't hidden by the strap of her top. As if she needed any more reminders of the tragic realization she had just came to, John said the damned word again as he backed away, "Why a butterfly, Deputy?" He was back to being nonchalant, like the outburst hadn't even happened. All she could do was blink, wishing her eyes were lying to her.

"You still with me, Sabrina?", it had finally hit him she wasn't replying, that she wasn't talking back. Breathe. Focus. Snap out of it. "Wish I wasn't, won't lie.", she tried to hold onto her composure. Silence took over as John went back to his table, picking up a tool, looking it over then placing it down with care and grabbing another one, repeating the process. It felt mechanical, like a show. Her own knife felt heavy in her hands, the tip prickling her skin, a wake-up call. She knew what she had to do in order to get back to Savannah, imagined it in the hours he made her wait on him. Plunging the blade deep, ending a life. But doubt was creeping in... Her plan, the dark path she planned to take, there was a chance she would fail, she had seen him alive too many times. And her most recent vision... from the sounds of that one he was breathing and pissed off. John spoke up again, his attention still on the table in front of him, "My brother's church. Let's start there. You saw something." It wasn't a question, he sounded sure of it. She hadn't been able to hide her distress, even tried to stop the arrest. A new path became visible. A plan with a giant leap of faith. Probably the most dumb and risky decision she has ever made in her life. He wanted answers, and she was going to play along. For now. "I will tell you what I saw, but I doubt you'd believe it, they never do." Another smirk, making her feel nauseous. "Try me, Deputy." "I saw the crash. Before it happened, I mean." "A vision.", he nodded mostly to himself, "Joseph has them." "You believe then?" "They're from God. Of course I believe him." John believed Joseph, not her. She was used to people's scepticism, but she had a way to prove it this time. "There's more, John." Something flashed across his face at her saying his name outloud for the very first time, but the mask was back in place too quickly for her to figure out what. Focus. Her mother was good at selling any con, always knew how to approach a person, what they'd want to hear, which buttons to push.

"Say his name. Look him in the eyes and sell the idea, make him think it's his own, darling. There's always an offer a man won't be able to refuse, one he'd throw himself in the deep end for, willingly. And when he's about to sink, you offer a hand, pledge your loyalty. He'd be a goner before you know it."

A part of Candice lived in Sabrina, and for once she let it take over.

"I will tell you what's coming, but I will need something in return.", her voice sounded unshakeable, certain, the exact opposite of how she felt inside. John didn't break her eye contact, nor interrupted her. Sabrina got up from the chair, discarding the ropes as her hands dropped to her sides. "You've been untied this whole time, Deputy?", his eyes shone with amusement again. She took a few steps until she stood almost in front of him, her hand holding out her knife. Surrendering her weapon. "And you had a knife?" When he made no move to take it, Sabrina placed the blade on his "work" bench and walked back, sitting down in the chair and rubbing her wrists. "I won't lie, I was planning on killing you." "And yet you didn't. Why?" "A change of circumstances."

[hpalways]

hiaa <3 I would like headcanons for pomefiore with a fem mc who is usually rude and daring with other people but when she is with them she becomes somewhat shy and blushing hehe that's all thkm :))

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Characters: Vil Schoenheit, Rook Hunt, Epel Felmier (separate) x Fem!Reader

Description: You were always blunt and straightforward -- or how others would often like to describe as rude -- with most people, but for some reason when it came to them, you became a whole new person. Was it because of their gracefulness and elegance? Or was it because they liked you as who you were? (headcanons)

Vil Schoenheit

When he first met you, he was intrigued and liked your confidence. He did not see it as rude and as someone who held much effort himself, he had a good first impression when it came to you.

He heard about your unfortunate reputation and somehow could relate himself to you. From the time when he took roles for shows and dramas there had been assumptions about him from the start. It was frustrating back then, so knowing made him feel less alone in his experiences.

For some reason, meeting him left you restless and shy. He was the housewarden and was indeed beautiful. Was that the reason why you felt like this or was it something more?

Sometimes he would notice the darkening in your [skin color] cheeks. He would question you whether you wore blush that day and would obliviously touch your face. This only caused you to warm in the face even more, pulling away as your heartbeat pounded.

"My my, what a beautiful shade. What blush are you wearing?"

And you would reply, "I-It's not a blush."

His presence also made you want to dress better as well. Almost as if you wanted to impress him. You would stand embarrassed in new clothes, waiting to hear a remark. And he would be satisfied.

"This is quite well. You don't look half bad, [Name].

Rook Hunt

Your loud personality had caught the attention of Rook and from then on, he had watched you from the distance, curious about the person you were.

It did not take you long to notice him observing you, especially from his unique aura and the way he presented himself, including the hat. When you first caught him, you were not pleased, giving him an earful.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" you said to an unfazed Rook.

Somehow, his casual answer to your threatening tone brought a change: from then on, he would come to you with questions and also just to talk to you. This led you two to get closer, leaving you to unshell yourself and you realizing Rook was someone you genuinely enjoyed being around with.

No longer were you so rude to him as you often were to others, you were soft with him, laughing with the enigma that was Rook. You started to feel shy towards him too, embarrassed by the compliments to you that often slipped from him all the time.

"Quelle beauté! You are, that is."

You would avert your eyes. "No, I'm not." And with that, he would only continue to shower you with more compliments until you stopped protesting self-consciously.

Epel Felmier

Epel didn't really liked you as first. He noticed how straightforward and sharp you were and was annoyed by it. Maybe it was because your personalities could be so similar. After all, two lefts don't make a right.

But when you had overheard someone calling him 'cute' one day and confronted the person for making unnecessary remarks, he saw you in a new light. You had seen through his frustrations, when not many had. And once again, perhaps it was due to how similar you two could be. You had a fair share to other labeling you as well.

His quiet character approached you and surprisingly, the two of you connected wonderfully.

You grew fond of him and found his strong spirit and temper familiar. His insecurities of his looks only made you hold him in higher regards, because you thought him wonderful.

He would sometimes stare at you for a moment, kind of analyzing you and that made you flustered. You would break away with pounding in your ears, confused by your uncharacteristic actions.

It was difficult to look at him without feeling so nervous now. Something about his mysterious aura but him slowly opening up to you was driving you insane.

"S-Stop staring at me," you would say to him.

He would tilt his head, smiling at me. "Why should I? Give me one reason and I might do it.

[sequinsmile-x]

Stained Glass Windows - Chapter Sixty Seven

Life was complicated, but they wouldn't have it any other way.

-x-

Hi besties <3

As always, the love for this version of them means the entire world. I miscounted earlier when I said the next chapter was 68, it is in fact 67 haha

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this and I hope it is worth the wait/what I've put them through the last couple of chapters. Please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 2.2k

A full list of warnings for the fic can be found on the Series Master List.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

“I’m fine.” 

Emily grunts as she tries to sit forward, she’s frozen in place, pain radiating outwards from her left shoulder forcing her backwards as the nurse standing next to her, a woman who had introduced herself as Julie, continues to clean the wound on her forehead. 

“Emily,” Julie says, the calmness in her voice somehow making Emily’s headache worse, “You were in a car accident. You have an acute concussion and your shoulder is dislocated. We’re waiting for the doctor to come and reset it,” she leans in closer and looks at her forehead, “And it looks like you’ll need stitches. I’ll inject some local anaesthetic so it doesn’t hurt.” 

She growls in frustration, batting Julie’s hands away from her, “I don’t have time for that. I need to go pick up my daughter.” 

She woke up as she was being put in the ambulance, her vision blurry as she desperately tried to clear it by blinking, her unfocused gaze fixed on the wreck of her car. Her entire body hurt and she knew from experience that she would have bruised ribs, an all too familiar ache in her chest. 

“Don’t worry about that, Bella.” 

She turns her head to look at the doorway of the trauma room and her head pounds at the movement, the pain momentarily worse, her vision going blurry again until it refocuses on Dave.

“What are you doing here?” She asks, trying to sit up again before Julie stops her with a gentle hand on her good shoulder, “Where’s Lily?” 

“We heard about the crash,” he says as he walks further into the room, “Garcia figured out it was you.”

“How?” 

He chuckles as he sits on the seat next to her bed, “I think none of us should ask that question,”  he says, his smile turning into a smirk, “Plausible deniability and all that. And don’t you worry about Mini Bella, JJ picked her up and she’s taken her back to hers. Right about now, Lily is probably making JJ and Will decide if they ever want another kid or not.”

She scoffs, “Lily is perfect,” she grumbles, wincing when Julie injects local anaesthetic into her forehead, “They’d be lucky to have a kid just like her.”

“Okay,” Julie says, smiling at her as she cuts over their conversation, “I’ll let that anaesthetic settle in for a couple of minutes and go get everything I need. Your father can stay here with you.” 

Emily and Dave are both stunned into silence as Julie walks out of the room. The moment they are alone Emily looks at her friend and the shocked look on his face makes her burst into laughter, the sound immediately turning into a groan as the pain in her ribs and shoulders immediately gets worse. 

“Fuck,” she grumbles, resting her head back against the bed, “Fuck that hurts.”

“That’s why you shouldn’t laugh at people,” Dave grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Sorry,” she replies, pressing her lips together, “Dad.”

“I am only 14 years older than you,” he complains, “Only 8 years older than your husband.” 

The smile slips from her face at the mention of Aaron, dread filling her chest, her lungs expanding outwards with it and making the ache worse. He’d be so worried if he found out about this, if he knew she was hurt and he was on the other side of the world. He could barely handle it when he was next to her, as if it physically hurt him to see her in pain. She knew that felt, she was the same when the roles were reversed.

“Don’t tell Aaron,” she says, pressing her hand to her dislocated shoulder, the temporary immobiliser scratchy against her skin. Dave raises her eyebrows at her and she sighs, “You know he’ll panic. And he’s in Pakistan,” she says sadly, “I don’t want to worry him.” 

She wanted him with her more than anything. Wanted him to play with her hair like he always did when she was sick or hurt, wanted to snuggle up against him, his embrace warm and safe. But she couldn’t have that, couldn’t have him so this was better. 

She could tell him when he was home, and deal with any fallout of keeping this from him then. 

“Emily-”

“Please, Dave,” she says, smiling sadly, “Promise me you won’t call him.” 

He sighs and nods, “Okay. I won’t call him.” 

She groans, her head pounding as she rests it back on the pillow. She closes her eyes and blows out a frustrated breath when it doesn’t make any difference in the persistent headache. 

“Last time I was in a car accident I found out I was pregnant with Lily,” she says idly, smiling softly as she thinks about her little girl. Dave chuckles and it makes her open her eyes, the way she frowns at him pulls at the cut on her forehead and she raises her good hand to press her fingers into the temporary dressing over the wound, “Why are you laughing at me? I’m injured.” 

“Sorry Bella,” he says, clearing his throat in a desperate attempt to hide his amusement, “it’s just I think you’re the only person I know who can say the phrase ‘last time I was in a car accident’ and be completely serious.” 

Her response is cut off as Julie walks back in with a doctor, “This is Doctor Mundy,” she says, “He’s going to reset your shoulder and I’ll stitch your forehead, and then we’ll get you set up in an inpatient room.” 

She frowns and starts to shake her head, “No, I can’t stay here overnight. I’ve got to get my baby.” 

“Emily - you were unconscious for around 30 minutes,” Doctor Mundy says, his kindness and politeness never wavering, “We know your husband is away, so if there is no one at home who can keep an eye on you other than an infant I’m going to have to keep you in at least overnight.” 

She sighs and turns to look at Dave, “Can you call JJ? See if Lily is okay?” 

He nods and stands up, “I’ll be right outside.”

“Thanks,” she says, smirking at him, “Dad.” 

He raises his eyebrows at her as he pulls his phone out of his pocket, and it pings indicating he has a test, “You’re on wafer thin ice.” 

He turns and heads out into the hallway and reads the text message he received and he smiles

Hotch just called, he’s on a plane home. 

He sighs and shakes his head, “She is going to kill me.”

___

It’s late when he gets to the hospital. 

It helped that his body clock was 9 hours ahead of DC time, that his brain thought it was 10 am. He hadn’t slept on the plane, too anxious despite JJ’s assurances that Emily was fine, and he knew he wouldn’t feel any better until he saw her. 

He’d stopped by at JJ’s on the way to the hospital to see Lily. He’d sat in JJ and Will’s spare room and stared at his daughter, asleep and content in the carrycot they’d set up for her. She looked bigger, impossibly grown up considering she was still a few weeks shy of turning 11 months old.

He somehow tore himself away, telling himself that Lily was safe and content and that he’d see her in the morning. 

He needed to see his wife. 

It’s easy enough to find her and get into her room despite the time of night, and he’s almost entirely sure that’s got everything to do with whatever Dave had told the nurses before he’d left. 

He pauses in the doorway when he sees her. Her left shoulder was in an immobiliser and arm was her arm strapped over her chest. The white bandage on her forehead was clearly covering some kind of cut, but it didn’t cover the bruise that was poking out from underneath it, spreading from her forehead down her cheek. 

Her hair was slightly longer, the haircut she'd got after having Lily out of necessity that she’d never liked growing out. Her bangs were almost entirely gone, and he found himself wondering if that was a choice, or if it had just happened. If it was a side effect of raising their daughter alone when he was gone, time to do things like getting a haircut a luxury she didn’t have. 

He walks into the room and sits next to her bed, but he hesitates reaching for her hand, not wanting to disturb her, all too aware of how light a sleeper she is. In the end, it doesn’t matter, she wakes up anyway when his chair scrapes against the floor as he sits down.

“Dave,” she grumbles, her eyes not open yet as she turns her head towards him, “I told you to go home. I’m….” she trails off as she opens her eyes, her breath catching in her chest as her eyes meet Aaron’s. He looked like he’d lost some weight, the clothes she’d bought him a little loose on his frame. He had a beard and a tan, and in any other circumstance, when her head wasn’t pounding and the painkillers the doctor had talked her into weren’t making her nauseous, she’s sure she’d want nothing more than to jump him, “You’re not Dave.”

He chuckles and leans forward, wrapping his hand around her good one and kissing her cheek, “No, I’m not.” 

“What are you doing here?” She asks, not quite believing that she was looking at him, sure she was dreaming until she feels his skin against hers. 

He was never as warm in her dreams as he was in real life.

“Well,” he says softly, purposely keeping his voice quiet, well aware that her head must be pounding, “When you get a call saying your wife is in hospital you do everything you can to make it to her side. Even if you’re in another country.” 

She groans, “I’m going to kill Dave.”

“Not Dave, sweetheart,” he says, standing up and encouraging her to sit up a little so he can climb into the bed with her. He’s careful so he doesn’t jolt her shoulder, his hand keeping it still so he can slip in behind her, “JJ called.” 

She grumbles as she settles against him, “If Dave thinks he’s getting out of this on a technicality he’s mistaken,” she turns her head to press her face against his neck and she breathes him in, a sense of peace she hadn’t felt since she’d last seen him washing over her, “You didn’t have to come.” 

He frowns and curls his finger under her chin and encourages her to look at him, “Of course I did,” he says, stamping a kiss against her lips, “And when you’re feeling better we’ll be talking about the fact you were planning on not telling me about this.” 

She groans and kisses him, “I didn’t want to worry you.” 

“I’m your husband, Em,” he says, holding her a little tighter, “We both know if this was the other way around you’d be yelling at me,” he says and she avoids eye contact, her lips pressed together. He sighs and decides to let it go for now, “I stopped by JJ’s to see Lily on the way here.”

She smiles at the mention of their daughter, “Yeah? Was she okay?” 

He nods, “She was sleeping. She’s grown so much.” 

She hums and reaches for his hand with her uninjured one and links their fingers together, “It has been two months,” she smiles sadly, “She can sit up without support now,” she says as she looks at him, “And she can stand. Kind of,” she chuckles, “She does it for a few seconds and then falls over.”

“Kind of like her Mommy after one too many margaritas,” he laughs, but it catches in his chest, the reality of what he’d missed settling in his lungs, the seeds of regret that had been planted the moment he’d Emily and Lily them behind starting to flower, “Anything else?” 

She thinks of Lily’s sweet voice, how the only word she’d truly mastered so far was Dada and, on occasion, ‘Gio’ when she pointed at Sergio. Emily smiles sadly at her husband, can see how he’s struggling already. They had a lot to talk about, so many things to go over, and right now she could spare him more pain. 

“No, nothing else,” she says, pressing her face back into his neck, “God my head hurts.” 

“You should get some sleep, sweetheart,” he says, lifting his hand and cupping the back of her head, scratching lightly at her scalp before he starts to run his fingers through her hair. 

“You’ll be here when I wake up?” She asks, and he swears he feels his heart break. He nods and turns his head to kiss her forehead.

“I’ll be here,” he says, continuing to run his fingers through her hair, knowing it lulled her to sleep, “I promise.” 

She hums and settles into him, “I missed you, honey.” 

He rests his cheek on the top of her head, tightening his grip on her, holding her close in the way he’d been missing for weeks, “I missed you too.” 

-x-

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[thechatsmeouch]

Ladybug Blues

Chapter two- Her Role

Adrien walked the halls with a knot in his stomach, unable to shake the strange way Marinette was acting.

"Hey, man, you okay?" Nino asked, noticing the way his friend was struggling.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Adrien lied, forcing a smile. "Just a bit tired, that's all."

He glanced at Nino, then away. "You know, I just can't shake this feeling that something's wrong. With Marinette, I mean."

Nino shrugged. "Maybe she's just having girl problems. You know how that goes."

Adrien nodded, but he didn't look convinced. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. His feet dragged on, and with each passing moment, his worry grew. He couldn't stop thinking about Marinette, and the way she had been acting. Something told him that he needed to find her.

He opened his locker, to see a slip of paper resting at the bottom of it. His name was written on it in Marinette's familiar script. His heart skipped a beat as he reached for it, feeling a mixture of hope and fear wash over him. He glanced around, making sure no one was watching before opening it.

He clasped a hand over his mouth as he read the note. His heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. Adrien blinked back the tears that threatened to form and grabbed his phone from his back pocket, dialing Marinette's number. It rang and rang, but she didn't answer. Panic starting to set in, he hung up and tried calling again, over and over, but each time it went straight to voicemail.

"Plagg, something is definitely wrong with Marinette," Adrien said, his voice thick with worry. "I can't shake this feeling that something terrible has happened." He took a deep breath, his hands trembling. "I have to find her."

Adrien booked it out of the school, his stomach twisting with anxiety. He transformed in an alley along the way, scanning for any sign of Marinette. The streets were quiet, and the normally bustling city seemed to wear a somber air. He tried calling her again, but her phone was still off. He raced to her house, hoping she'd be there. He knocked a few times on the trapdoor, giving up after several seconds of silence. He thanked whatever god existed for her leaving it unlocked.

He lowered himself onto her bed, careful not to get his dirty boots on her perfect sheets. Scanning the room for her, he caught a glimpse of the same glittery ink that he'd just read. With trembling hands, he picked up the slip of paper on her desk.

His eyes misted over. She must have been struggling for so long. He knew what she was planning, and he couldn't let her go through with it.

"Marinette, please," he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I love you. I need you. We can work this out together." He reached for his phone, dialing her number once more. It rang and rang, but she didn't answer. Desperate, he left a voice mail, pouring out his heart to her, promising her that everything would be all right.

He left her room just as it was before and stood on her balcony.

"Please, please don't let me be too late." Chat Noir begged as he leapt off of the railing, vaulting across Paris as fast as he could. His heart was racing, and he could feel the desperation building inside of him. He knew he had to find Marinette, that there was no time to lose. He could see her in his mind's eye, the way she had looked when she had given him that kiss. He pushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand.

Finally, finally he found that beautiful mess of raven hair, standing on the edge of the Pont Neuf, teetering over the Seine.

"Marinette!" He shouted, leaping across the rooftops, ignoring the protests of his burning muscles. "Marinette, wait!"

But she couldn't hear him, and she let herself fall back.

Down, down, down... Splash. The cold water enveloped her, dragging her under.

No... No, she couldn't do this. She couldn't leave him. She couldn't leave him all alone... Chat Noir must have been screaming, the way his throat stung. He sprinted as fast as he could, diving headfirst into the river.

"Marinette!" he shouted, barely able to choke out her name through the water. He searched frantically, his fingers brushing against her hair, her jacket. She was slippery, but he held on tight, refusing to let her go. Finally, he managed to pull her up onto the shore, her body limp in his arms.

He coughed and spluttered, trying to catch his breath as he cradled her against his chest. "Marinette, please be all right," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "Please."

He waited, for a sound, for her to cough up all the water she'd inhaled, but there was nothing. His heart raced, panic rising in his throat as he cradled her against him. "Marinette, please," he whispered, tears streaming down his face. "Please, please don't do this, I-I love you!" He didn't know how much time passed, but he didn't want to lose her. He couldn't.

The universe must have known it had lost someone precious, because it began to rain. Raindrops pattered against Marinette's pale, now bluish cheeks. The warm blush that used to spread across them was no longer present. No matter how tightly Chat Noir hugged her to his body, she would remain cold. He couldn't let her go, couldn't let her slip away from him. They sat there, on the muddy riverbank, the water lapping at their feet, as the sky above them darkened and the rain fell harder. He shivered as he sobbed into her hair, kissing the top of her head as he begged her not to leave him, to just come back and they'd work it all out.

"Help," Chat choked out, the words barely audible over the rushing water. He looked up, his eyes wild and desperate. "Please, help!" He knew that someone had to hear him, had to come.

The rain continued to fall, the sky above them growing darker and darker. Marinette lay limp in his arms, her eyes closed as if she were in the middle of a nice dream. He pressed his cheek against her cold, wet hair, refusing to believe that this was it. That she was really gone.

Finally, someone came along. A woman, walking her dog, who took one look at Chat Noir, curled up against Marinette's limp form, and immediately dialed emergency services. Chat Noir couldn't tell her much, except that they'd been in the river, that Marinette had tried to leave him... But he didn't know why. He just kept repeating her name, over and over, as if by saying it enough, she would come back.

Time seemed to slow down as the paramedics worked on Marinette, trying to revive her. Chat Noir clung to her, refusing to let her go, even as they tried to pull him away, asking him questions he couldn't answer. He could only stare, numbly, as they loaded her body into the ambulance. They hadn't even bothered to turn the sirens on.

Chat Noir landed in his bedroom with a thump and released his transformation. He fell backwards onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling, and tried to remember the events of the day before. The river, Marinette, the water, her limp body in his arms... It felt like a horrible nightmare, something that couldn't possibly be real. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the memories, but they were burned into his mind, impossible to forget.

Adrien ignored how he shivered in his soggy, wet clothes. He didn't care about anything now that she was gone.

At some point, Plagg convinced him to get into the shower and hang his clothes to dry. He didn't know when he fell asleep, maybe sometime after four in the morning.

The sunlight streaming through his window hurt his eyes as he stared at the clock, internally screaming. He couldn't go to school like this. He couldn't see anyone. Not after what had happened. He should have been there sooner. He should have saved her.

Finally, he forced himself out of bed, not bothering to change out of his pajamas. He didn't want to wear anything else. His room was a mess; clothes and belongings were strewn about, (He'd completely broken down after his shower and destroyed his room.) and there was a damp spot on the carpet where he'd tracked water in the night before. He picked up his phone, debating whether or not to call anyone, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He didn't want to talk to anyone about her. Not yet.

"Hey Kit..." Plagg mumbled, nudging his head against Adrien's cheek. "They'll need you today, you should be there." His voice was barely a whisper.

Adrien didn't respond. He just stared at the ceiling, feeling hollowed out. His eyes were red-rimmed and puffy from crying, but there were no more tears left. He felt empty, as if there was nothing left inside him.

The boy sighed, and finally, he peeled off his shirt, changing into a dark hoodie and sweatpants. He couldn't face the idea of going to school, not with her gone. He couldn't face anyone. But he knew he had to. He owed it to her to face the world, to keep living. Even if it felt like his heart had been torn out of his chest.

Right before he could open his door, Gabriel opened it.

"Adrien," he said, his voice soft and (surprisingly) worried. Gabriel stepped forward, tentatively, and gently took his shoulder. "I have bad news."

Adrien turned his head away, unable to look at his father. He knew what was coming.

"The Dupain-Cheng's called this morning." He began, voice quiet. "There was an accident yesterday... on the riverbank. Marinette, they identified her," He paused, unable to meet Adrien's gaze. "They're going to need you to identify her body too. They want you to come to the morgue today."

Adrien felt like he'd been punched in the gut. He knew it was coming, but hearing the words made it all so much more real. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He could only stare at his father in horror, his mind reeling.

"D-did they say... when?" he managed to choke out.

Gabriel winced, nodding his head. "They want you to go to the morgue this afternoon. I've taken the whole day off, so I can take you there if you need me to."

Adrien looked at his father. "Not... Not Gorilla, or Nathalie?"

"No, I thought it'd be best to... Accompany you, during this... Hard time."

Adrien brought his gaze to the floor. He felt like he was made of glass, like one wrong move could shatter him into a million pieces. He wanted to be alone, to process this on his own. But he knew that wasn't possible. Not now.

"Yes, Father." He mumbled. "If it's okay, I'd like to walk to school today." He spoke. "It'll give me some time to... clear my head."

Gabriel nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving his son. "Very well, I'll be there to pick you up at lunchtime."

Adrien trudged along, looking up to the sky. It was dull and gray, matching his mood perfectly. He walked to school, his mind a million miles away. The world around him seemed to move in slow motion, as if time had stopped entirely.

He stopped when he got to Marinette's parent's bakery. It was closed, a letter on the door stated they'd had a family crisis.

He didn't even remember getting to his locker, or how he managed to get to his first class. All he could focus on was the constant ache in his chest, the feeling that something was missing. The world around him seemed so empty without her.

Alya sobbed in her seat while Nino rubbed her back, offering whatever comfort he could. The classroom felt too small, too stuffy, too quiet. It was as if the world had stopped spinning. Adrien couldn't focus on anything but the hollowness in his heart. He couldn't stop thinking about Marinette.

Adrien sat next to Alya, placing a hand on her shoulder and giving her an understanding look.

She looked up at him, sniffling. "She- Marinette... She loved you so much, you know." Her voice broke, and she turned away, unable to meet his gaze.

Adrien swallowed hard, feeling a lump forming in his throat. "I loved her too." He said, his voice barely audible. "I wish I got to tell her."

He reached over and took her hand, squeezing it gently. "I know you're hurting too, Alya. We'll get through this together."

The familiar clicking of heels grabbed everyone's attention. Lila strode into the room, her chin held high. When she felt the energy of the room, she quickly altered her face to match it, scrambling over to Alya, who still cried quietly.

"Oh, Alya, don't tell me Marinette attacked you, too!" Lila exclaimed, feigning surprise and concern. "You poor dear. Whatever could have made her do something like that?"

Adrien felt his blood boil at Lila's insincerity. He wanted nothing more than to slap her across the face, to make her see how cruel she was being. But he knew that wouldn't help anything. So he simply squeezed Alya's hand a little tighter, hoping to offer her some comfort.

"Lila, please," Alya sobbed. "You know that's not true. Marinette was always so kind to everyone."

Lila's expression didn't change, but Adrien could see the anger in her eyes. "Well, she certainly didn't show you any kindness today," she snapped. "I mean, why would she attack you out of nowhere? It doesn't make any sense."

"She's dead, Lila." Adrien said numbly. "She's gone, and you're still trying to drag her name through the dirt!"

Lila's expression faltered. "What?" she stammered, trying to hide her surprise. She looked around the room, scanning the shaking shoulders and tear-stained cheeks.

"It was your fault." Alya finally managed to choke out, looking up at Lila with red-rimmed eyes. "You and your stupid lies, you drove her to it. You made her feel so alone and confused. You made her think that she couldn't trust anyone."

Lila recoiled as if she'd been slapped, her expression shifting from shocked disbelief to anger. "Me?!" she shouted. "You can't blame me for this! You all abandoned her, none of you were ever her friends if you believed every little thing I said, you should blame yourselves!" Her voice broke on the last word, and she began to sob uncontrollably, covering her face with her hands.

"Just shut up, Lila!" Adrien shouted, taking everyone by surprise. He could feel his control slipping. "You don't get to act like you're the victim here! You knew what you were doing, and you didn't care who you hurt!"

Alya's eyes widened, and she looked at Adrien with a mixture of shock and understanding. Lila's face twisted in anger, but she didn't say anything.

The tension in the room was palpable. No one wanted to touch the subject of Marinette's death again, but they couldn't help but feel the weight of her absence. They had grown so accustomed to her presence, her gentle smile and her kind words. Now, the silence that had replaced her felt deafening.

The teacher walked into the room shortly after the outburst, a somber expression on her face. "Good morning, class," She sighed. "As I'm sure you're all aware, we've received some terrible news... Yesterday, Marinette Dupain-Cheng... Passed away. I understand it must be difficult for many of you to be here today, so I'm allowing you all to have a free period. The guidance counselor's door is open for anyone, all day today and for the next two weeks."

She looked at Adrien, Alya and Nino. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

There was a collective murmur as the class began to file out of the room. Some students exchanged hugs or offered words of comfort, but most just seemed lost in their own thoughts, unable to process the reality of what had happened. Lila didn't even bother to say anything, just got up and left the room without a word.

Alya and Nino exchanged glances as they left the classroom, their hands clasped tightly together. They walked in silence, lost in their own memories of Marinette. Adrien lagged behind, struggling to keep his composure. He felt as if a part of him had died along with her.

The trio laid in the courtyard, laying their heads on their bookbags as makeshift pillows as they talked. Adrien stared at the gray sky and wished it would rain. He released a heavy sigh.

"I would do anything to bring her back," Adrien murmured, his voice hoarse. He raised his ringed hand, staring at his miraculous. 

He could bring her back. Ladybug would understand, right? He just needed an excuse to see her, then he would explain everything.

Right on cue, a shrill scream cut through the air, echoing across the school grounds. The sound of footsteps running away from the source of the noise followed shortly after. Adrien shot up, cursing Hawkmoth for using Marinette's death as fuel for an akuma. He quickly excused himself, telling his friends to get to safety before scrambling to an empty area to transform.

Meanwhile, in the girl's bathroom, Alya gripped the black and red box in her hands. Tears stung her eyes as she remembered the note Marinette had written.

Guard them with your life, Scarabella.

She slowly picked the spotted earrings from the cushion they resided on, feeling a terrible ache in her chest as she held them in her hands. The weight of the black and red earrings seemed to grow heavier by the moment, like they were bearing the burden of the world. Tears streamed down her face as she pushed them through her earlobes.

A bright flash of pink nearly blinded Alya. Tikki emerged, hovering in front of her face, her eyes glowing with concern. "Mari- Oh... Alya? Are you okay?" she asked, her voice shaking slightly. "Where's Marinette?"

Alya blinked, trying to focus on the little pink creature. "She's... she's gone," she managed to whisper. "She died." Tears streamed down her face as she clutched the box that once contained the earrings to her chest. "She left her miraculous to me, Tikki, but I don't know if I can do it... Not after what I caused."

The small bug looked at her with wide, innocent eyes. "Alya, I'm so sorry. I can't even begin to imagine how you must feel. But Marinette... she believed in you. Even when things were really, really hard, she never gave up on you. And she never would have wanted you to give up on yourself, either. You have to do this, for her."

Alya wiped the tears from her face, taking a deep breath to steady her shaking hands. She nodded slowly, feeling a spark of determination ignite within her. "You're right, Tikki," she said, looking up at the creature. "I'll do it. And I'll make sure her miraculous is used for good."

Chat Noir was growing tired as he blocked attack after attack. Ladybug should be here by now! He glanced around, finally seeing a blur of black and red. He smiled for the first time today, at least he still had his Lady. His partner appeared before him, landing on the ground gracefully. "Thanks for the save, Chat," she panted. "Sorry I'm late, let's get this over with!"

Except, it wasn't his partner. His heart shattered as he saw Scarabella, not Ladybug, standing before him. His fists clenched in anger and sorrow as he remembered yesterday's awful events. He didn't think his heart could break any more, but it did. Marinette wasn't wearing her black studs when he pulled her out of the water.

The black studs she wore every single day.

Images of Marinette and Ladybug crossed his mind, how stupid he was for not seeing it sooner.

A broken sob escaped his lips as he collapsed to his knees, his fists still clenched in anger and despair.

Scarabella's features twisted into a mask of confusion and pain, her heart aching for her partner. "Chat...?" she managed to choke out, her voice trembling.

Chat Noir didn't respond, his gaze fixed on the ground as he tried to compose himself. His mind was spinning, trying to process the impossible truth that not only was Marinette gone, so was his Lady. He felt hollow, as if all the pieces of himself had been torn apart and scattered to the wind.

He looked at his ring again, then to the earrings Scarabella wore. He'd bring her back, no matter what it took.

Previous

[kit-williams]

Barn Anon. Just delete if too sad. I'm crying.

He watches as his human slowly takes each step, his armored hands at her side, ready to catch her if she slips. If her feet fail her once more. He sighs to himself, if it were up to him, his Susan wouldn't be leaving the house so often. However the other Space Marines that had aging or had humans that had passed were of the opinion that encouraging an elderly human to go out and maintain social connections was good.

He pauses when she does, thankfully this break was because she wishes to chat with a friend in the small town. Castle felt the slightest bit of annoyance at his Susan's children. After her first fall, they had originally all came back to the small town to care for their mother. However it seems that they thought that he alone was enough for their mother. That since he's here and taking the role of caretaker, they need not visit. Over time the visits dwindled. Foolish. Could they not see that what she wants the most was their company?

At least her grandchildren take the time and effort to come by more often. He knows most of them are now living in cities around the country. One of them was even studying to be a doctor! He always knew they were smart children. Smart but more importantly kind and caring. Two of them would be dropping by tomorrow. It is why Susan wanted to go out today, she had muttered about wanting to bake muffins for the kids.

He hunches over as he follows her in the small supermarket, luckily the isles are wide enough for him. He is quick to pull out a trolley for her. With familiarity born out of decades of companionship, plucks the various items and boxes off the shelves before she could even read them off her shopping list.

There was that sweet smile of hers that always reached her eyes. Even through his armour, he can feel the warmth of her hand on his arm as she jokes about how he always knows what she needs. Yet it only brings a stab of pain as he continues to help her with her grocery shopping. What will he do once she passes?

There's no hiding the wrinkles or how her hands are no longer as steady, how she needs to take more breaks or cannot move as fast as she once could. He was once able to ignore it, pretend that his Susan isn't getting older, that she will always be young, youthful and energetic.

The beeps of the cashier scanning the items and bagging them. he takes every single bag as she speaks to the cashier, not allowing Susan to take even a single one. They walk back to her home, he walks on the outside of the sidewalk, eye on the traffic in case anything happens. then she stops suddenly and he's alarmed when she suddenly crouches down. He tilts his head curiously when she seems to pluck something.

Susan stands back up and in her hand was a single yellow flower, small and dainty. He holds still when she reaches up to tuck it in his armour. That sweet smile once more. She speaks but he's not listening. A gentle tug on his arm and he continues walking back to her house with her. He's vaguely aware of her speaking about some of the town's gossip to him. All he can think of is how cruelly short human lives are. To a Space Marine, their humans are only a small part of their life. But to their adopted humans, they are easily their whole lives.

The sun shines on and the birds chirp their merry songs. Susan opens her umbrella to shield herself from the sun's glaring rays. The shopping bags rustle as he walks and tears flow, hidden under his helmet.

Why are you like this?

NOPE NOPE NOPE not gonna use my powers for angst today

I will publish this because this is something that should be shared

[sovonight]

ust natha | xan/radri, bg2

—✧—

—

Radri: Xan… are you alright?

Xan: "Am I alright"? How can you find the words to ask such a question, given where we are?

Xan: Being trapped beneath the ocean was terrible enough, but we have escaped that confinement only to be doomed in the Underdark. We are surrounded by drow who may discover and kill us at any moment. I have not seen the sky in far too many days.

Xan: No. No, I am not "alright".

Radri, tentative: Perhaps, there is still a way��

She offers him her hand, thinking there's at least one thing she can do for him—but Xan turns away from her.

Xan: I cannot, Radri. Not while my reflection is not my own… not while I will wake only to see the Underdark's ceiling above us, a barrier from the sun and the stars.

She tells herself this makes sense, but that can't stop a sharp spike of rejection from piercing her heart. Xan doesn't even flinch; he can't feel her, anymore. That, more than his lack of reaction, plunges her heart further into pain.

Radri: …Okay.

Radri: I'm sorry, Xan. I'll get us out of here, soon. I promise.

Xan, tired, empty: Save your promise, Estel'amin. There is no point.

—

She is still awake when Xan slips, at last, into reverie. Xan is curled up on the bed beside her, his back to the wall, his face partially concealed by the uneven barrier of his bent arms, the whole of him arranged to escape notice. It takes her a moment to dissect the sense of unease she feels at seeing this, and realizes that eerily, she thinks this is how she found him in Mulahey's lair.

It has been a long time since she has felt so helpless to comfort him. Seeing him, yet not being able to feel him, makes her feel like she's back in the past, when they were tentative lovers, and before that friends, and before that strangers. Perhaps their connection was always meant to be brief; perhaps she will never feel him again.

She turns her face to the side, letting her tears soak into her pillow. No, she can't get lost in those thoughts—when one is tired, one no longer thinks clearly, and when she wakes in the morning, everything will surely feel better. Trying to ignore the terrifying, heavy weight that she has carried into the Underdark, she closes her eyes and tries her hardest to focus on brighter times.

—

When she wakes, she half expects to see the inn's wooden ceiling above her, and a pit forms in her stomach when she sees the dark, spidery architecture of Ust Natha spread out above her instead. Her hand is empty, as is the room; a familiar ache fills her heart, but there is no one there to feel it.

She jumps at the sound of the door opening, ready to school her expression into something—well—meaner, but it is only Xan.

Radri: Oh—You surprised me.

She wonders if he catches the disappointed lilt in her voice—and wonders if she wants to hide it. Xan does not react.

Xan: The others are prepared to leave.

Radri: …And you?

Xan: Little else is more torturous than lingering in this place, waiting to be discovered. I am eager to leave, as well. If you are ready…

She isn't. But she doesn't need to be an enchanter to read the mood: everyone is antsy, uncomfortable, discontent, like Xan. As terrified as she is of playing the role of Veldrin, she must.

Radri: Just give me a moment.

She delivers the words with a reflexive smile, which Xan only stares at for a moment, before he steps forward and brushes a thumb down the corner of her lips, guiding her smile back into nothingness.

Xan, quietly, reminding: A false smile of this kind has no purpose here.

Despite knowing that it's only to ensure their safety, she can't help but feel relief that he's still willing to touch her.

Radri: Any more advice for my new role?

Xan: (sigh) This may be the only moment in which I think, "if only Viconia were here."

Xan: All I can suggest is to follow their orders, stay out of their notice, and speak only as needed.

Radri, joking, self-deprecating: Ah, my specialty.

Xan gives her a sadder look.

Xan: It is only temporary, Estel'amin...

Radri, quiet: Yes... everything is.

—

(The memory she visits in reverie is this one. Xan had shown her the stars in reverie when they were blocked in the waking world, and she had hoped to do the same.)

[shewasverynice]

Fandoms: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga)呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Anime)  MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS

Major Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con 

Full warnings on Chapter links post

Major Characters: Original Characters, Gojo Satoru, Getou Suguru, Nanami Kento, Itadori Yuuji, Hakari Kinji

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ Chapter 24 ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Boe lurked in the shadows, her eyes narrowed as she scanned the streets ahead, slipping through the alleyways like a ghost. The tension in the air was thick, cursed energy seeping through the city like a festering wound. She could feel it, pressing against her senses like a weight. But that wasn’t what was bothering her the most. No, it was Sarah. She could sense her friend’s cursed energy in the distance, heavy and chaotic, stirring up everything around her. And Boe knew—if she could find Sarah, maybe they could still pull this off. Maybe there was still time to get what she wanted.

Avoiding both Yaga’s faction and the Kamo wasn’t easy. She had to be quick, silent, and above all, smart. One wrong move, and she’d be caught, but Boe wasn’t about to let that happen. Not now. She slipped around another corner, hugging the shadows as she felt the cursed energy surge again. Closer now.

And then she saw her.

Sarah stood at the end of the alleyway, her familiar form unmistakable despite the ravages of battle. Boe slowed as she approached, taking in the sight of her old friend. Sarah had lost a sleeve, her skeletal arm now fully visible, the bone gleaming ominously in the low light. It was a grim reminder of everything she’d been through—and everything they still had left to do.

Boe grinned as she stepped out of the shadows, walking up to Sarah without hesitation. “Long time no see ya crazy bitch,” she said, her voice low but teasing.

Sarah’s lips twisted into a half-smile as she returned the greeting, the two women exchanging a quick, casual half-hug. “You’re still alive,” Sarah noted dryly, "I knew nothing like this could take your stupid ass down."

“Nah, of course not,” Boe chuckled, then glanced at Sarah’s arm, “And you… look the same.”

Sarah shrugged, her skeletal hand flexing casually, “I’ve looked worse.”

Boe’s grin widened. "How’s the revenge tour going?” she asked, resting her forearm on her shoulder and leaning over.

Sarah’s expression soured slightly. “It’s gotten stale, honestly," she shrugged, "I thought at least a few of the Gojos would be more of a challenge, but they’re all weak. Satoru was the only one with any bite.”

Boe raised an eyebrow. “Big dick himself, huh? Did you get him?”

“Not yet. I was having too much fun fucking with him,” Sarah admitted with a glint of frustration in her eyes, “But I will.”

Boe nodded, sensing the familiar fire in her friend’s voice. “What do you think about going after the Kamo next?" she asked, "We could take them down together.”

Sarah’s eyes lit up at the suggestion. “Oh, I’m absolutely in," she said, her tongue dragging across her teeth in a devilish smirk, "They’ve been on my list for a while, anyway. They’re just as responsible as the Gojo clan was, working with QN to use me like some kind of lab rat.”

Boe was about to bring up Geto—she still wasn’t entirely sure what his role in all this was—but before she could speak, something made her freeze. The air shifted, a familiar presence approaching. Heavy footsteps echoed down the empty street, and both women turned as Satoru Gojo stepped out from around the corner.

He stood there, bathed in the dim streetlight, his face unreadable, though his stance radiated confidence. His head was tipped back, eyes hidden behind his signature blindfold, but Boe could feel the weight of his gaze on them. He didn’t flinch or falter as he stepped into their path, and Boe could see the whiskey stain on his sleeve, his posture far more sober than she expected.

“You should get the hell out of here, Boe,” Gojo said, his voice low but filled with authority.

Boe felt Sarah tense beside her, but she didn’t respond immediately. Instead, Sarah stepped forward, her skeletal arm flexing as she scoffed. “Go back to hiding, Gojo, before I tear you apart again," she said, waving him off.

Gojo didn’t even blink. “I’m not hiding,” he said, a faint smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth, “And I’m not going to let you do this.”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed, her cursed energy flaring as she took another step toward him. “What do you think you can do to stop me?” she chuckled, "Need a reminder of what I can do?"

Gojo let out a dry laugh, the sound carrying an unsettling weight. “I’m the strongest, remember? I’ll stop you, Sarah. You don’t get to destroy everything just because you’re angry.”

Sarah bared her teeth, her energy crackling around her like a storm. “You’re nothing but a hypocrite, Satoru," she hissed, "Don’t pretend you care about anything but yourself.”

“I care,” Gojo replied, his voice dropping, “I care about what happens next. And I’m not letting you tear down everything just because you think you have nothing left. I’m not letting you turn this city into rubble.”

Boe watched the exchange in silence, her mind racing. She could feel the tension mounting between them, cursed energy swirling in the air like an invisible battle waiting to explode. But as she looked at Gojo, she could see something different in him. His usual arrogance, his usual playful facade—it wasn’t there. He was deadly serious.

Sarah sneered, “You can’t stop me.”

“I don't want to, but I will fight you, Sarah,” Gojo said, his tone softening slightly, "I’m not going to let you do this. You can hate me all you want. You can try to kill me again if it’ll make you feel better. But I’m not going to stop until you do.”

The two stared each other down, neither backing away. Boe shifted uncomfortably, glancing between them. She knew Sarah’s rage was a force of nature, but Gojo wasn’t budging. He really wasn’t going to let her do this, and Boe wasn’t sure if that was because he still cared—or because he just didn’t know when to quit.

Boe could feel the intensity in the air shift as Gojo’s cursed energy surged. Her instincts screamed at her to get out of there, to slip away before things escalated beyond control. She wasn’t about to stick around for whatever was about to go down between Gojo and Sarah. She was smart, and she knew when to leave. Sliding back into the shadows, she moved swiftly, careful not to draw any attention as she disappeared into the alleyway, leaving the two of them to their impending clash.

Back on the street, Gojo’s eyes gleamed from behind his blindfold, the faint glow of his cursed energy flickering like a flame in the dark. Without a word, he pulled the blindfold down, revealing those cold, calculating eyes of his. His gaze locked onto Sarah, sharp and focused, his entire demeanor different now. The air around him was heavy, dangerous. This wasn’t the Gojo she had fought before. This was something else entirely.

Sarah, always perceptive, felt the change immediately. Her fingers twitched, reaching behind her as she slowly drew a longsword from the scar on her back, her eyes never leaving Gojo. The cursed energy around him was suffocating, unlike anything she’d felt from him before. She knew she couldn’t underestimate him this time. The last fight had been one thing, but this? This was the pressure one expected from the so-called “strongest.”

Her grip tightened on the handle of her sword, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to still. Then, without hesitation, she charged.

Her speed was blinding, but Gojo was faster. He darted in like lightning, shattering her blade in his grip with a swift, effortless motion. Sarah, unfazed, swung her foot at him with a roundhouse kick, but he deftly dodged, moving with that same unsettling grace. He struck back, his palm slamming into her chest with such force that she tumbled backward, skidding across the pavement before righting herself again.

Blood dripped from her nose, and she wiped it off with her thumb, a smirk playing at her lips. “So, you’re finally serious.”

Gojo didn’t respond. He just came at her again, faster than before. The two collided in a blur of strikes, cursed energy flaring violently around them, sending shockwaves through the street. Fists and feet, elbows and knees—each strike was met with equal force, both fighters refusing to give an inch. The ground beneath them cracked and splintered as they moved, their cursed energy tearing through the air like a storm.

In a sudden, fluid motion, Gojo leaped back, raising his fingers as his cursed energy pulsed. “Limitless Void,” he intoned, his voice calm but deadly serious.

The space around Sarah seemed to distort, pulling her in like the gravity of a collapsing star. But she wasn’t going to let him have the upper hand. Raising her own fingers, she uttered a single phrase, her voice low and dangerous. “Danse Macabre.”

The clash was immediate. Gojo felt the shift in energy before he even saw it—a domain, one he hadn’t anticipated. The limitless void of his domain began to envelop Sarah, but she was far from helpless. From the cursed energy she unleashed, ten massive skeletons materialized, their burned-black bones gleaming in the moonlight. Each one was armed with a different, grotesque weapon, and their empty eye sockets seemed to glow with a faint, malevolent light.

Gojo’s eyes widened slightly, surprised to see the skeletons completely unaffected by his domain. They moved through the void as if it didn’t exist, their hulking forms immune to the sensory overload that should have frozen them in place. They couldn’t sense the information his void should have flooded them with—and that made them dangerous.

Without missing a beat, the skeletons attacked, their massive weapons slicing through the air with lethal precision. Gojo moved with impossible speed, dodging their strikes as he tried to close the distance between himself and Sarah. But the skeletons were relentless, swinging their swords, axes, and spears with a mindless fury that forced Gojo to stay on the defensive. He narrowly avoided a massive cleaver aimed at his head, twisting out of the way just in time.

Sarah stood at the center of the chaos, her grin widening as she watched Gojo struggle against her summons. “You didn’t think I’d just let you have your way, did you?”

Gojo didn’t respond. His focus was entirely on the fight, his mind working through the possibilities, analyzing the situation with surgical precision. The skeletons couldn’t be affected by the Limitless Void, but that didn’t mean they were invincible. He just had to find the right angle.

He ducked under another swing, flipping backward as a spear narrowly missed impaling him. He could feel the cursed energy radiating from the skeletons, each one imbued with enough power to be a threat on its own. But Gojo wasn’t the strongest for nothing. He just needed an opening.

Dodging to the side, Gojo thrust his palm forward, releasing a pulse of cursed energy that shattered one of the skeletons into pieces. Bones clattered to the ground, but the remaining nine were undeterred. They pressed in on him, their attacks relentless, but Gojo was already moving, his fingers raising again as he prepared another strike.

This wasn’t going to end with mere brute force. He’d have to outmaneuver her, outthink her. And he would.

The air was thick with the oppressive weight of cursed energy, making it difficult to breathe even a block away from the battle between Gojo and Sarah. The sky overhead seemed to vibrate with their sheer power, as if the very fabric of reality itself strained under the intensity of their fight. Panda, Inumaki, and Itadori moved quickly through the streets, their focus on evacuating as many civilians and sorcerers as they could before the destruction spread.

“shake,” Inumaki muttered under his breath, his cursed speech cutting through the chaos as he motioned for a group of sorcerer students to move out of the danger zone.

Panda, his massive form towering over the group, was ushering people out with urgency. “Let’s go, hurry up! We don’t have much time before this whole area becomes a battlefield!”

The streets were already showing signs of strain—cracks snaked up the sides of buildings, windows shattered in sudden bursts from the tremors. The sound of Gojo and Sarah’s battle echoed across the city, their strikes loud and violent, like distant thunder rolling through the air. Even from where they were, they could see the flashes of cursed energy, the clash of power as the two fighters tore across the rooftops in a blur.

Itadori wiped sweat from his brow, his face grim as he helped an elderly couple into the evacuation zone. “This is insane," he huffed, "I’ve never felt cursed energy like this before. It’s like the whole city is going to collapse.”

Panda nodded, his expression serious. “We’ve gotta keep moving," he said, "Okkotsu and Todo are handling the other side of town, but it’s not enough. We have to get everyone out before this gets any worse.”

Behind them, the fight raged on. From the rooftops, Gojo and Sarah’s forms darted back and forth, their movements impossibly fast and fluid. Every strike was precise, every blow calculated. Gojo zipped in close, his knee aimed directly at Sarah’s chest, but she was ready for him. With a swift motion, she grabbed his knee and twisted, redirecting the force of the attack.

But Gojo was just as quick, using the opportunity to grab her arms and throw her over his shoulder with a powerful toss. Sarah flipped through the air, her body twisting gracefully as she righted herself mid-flight. Drawing a bone-white bow from her scarred arm, she fired a sharpened arrow of bone directly at Gojo’s back. The projectile sped toward him with deadly precision, but it bounced harmlessly off the invisible barrier of Limitless.

Gojo smirked, his eyes gleaming with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. “Nice try,” he called out, his tone mocking.

Sarah narrowed her eyes, her smirk fading as she realized the extent of his defense. “You’re actually using Limitless this time, huh? Getting serious for once?”

He shrugged, his cocky demeanor sliding into place, his confidence growing as the battle progressed. “Gotta make it interesting, right?”

Sarah’s lips curled into a sneer. “You’ll screw it up eventually.”

Gojo’s smile widened, his voice dripping with arrogance. “Are you sure about that?”

Before she could respond, Gojo raised his hand, his fingers curling as cursed energy swirled around him. The air itself seemed to pull inward as he prepared to unleash his Blue technique, the ball of light forming at his fingertips. The buildings around them began to creak and groan, debris and shattered glass pulling toward the gravitational force of the technique.

“Cursed technique: Blue,” he intoned, and the energy ball launched toward Sarah with terrifying speed.

Sarah’s eyes widened as she leaped out of the way, narrowly dodging the blast. “Idiot!” she snapped, but before she could finish her insult, a chunk of debris from a nearby building came crashing down on her from above. She cursed under her breath, moving swiftly to evade the falling rubble, but Gojo was already on her again.

With a burst of speed, he slammed her hard into the ground, the force of the impact sending tremors through the city. Sarah groaned, pain shooting through her body as she gripped the ground beneath her, her fingers clawing at the cracked pavement.

She didn’t waste a second. Pulling a dagger from her scarred arm, she stabbed upward, the blade finding its mark as it plunged into Gojo’s side. His eyes flashed with pain, but he didn’t falter. Instead, he gritted his teeth and grabbed the blade, holding it in place as he backed off. He stepped away, allowing the distance between them to grow before pulling the dagger out with a swift motion.

Blood dripped from the wound, but Gojo didn’t seem fazed. His cursed energy flared, and within seconds, his reversed cursed technique kicked in, healing the wound almost instantly. He grinned at Sarah, his confidence never wavering. “Nice shot, but it’s not enough.”

Meanwhile, Panda, Inumaki, and Itadori continued their work, but the ground shook violently beneath their feet as another shockwave from the battle tore through the city. Inumaki glanced up, his eyes wide with concern as the cursed energy of both fighters flared to dangerous levels.

“mentaiko,” Inumaki said, his voice low and tense.

Panda’s face was set in a grim expression as he nodded. “Yeah. We’ve gotta move faster.”

Itadori glanced up at the rooftops where Gojo and Sarah’s fight raged on, his heart pounding in his chest. “They’re holding nothing back.”

“Gojo-san won’t lose,” Panda said, his voice filled with determination, “But that doesn’t mean this city is safe.”

They pressed on, knowing they were racing against time—before the fight escalated beyond anyone’s control.

The air crackled with energy as Gojo and Sarah’s battle escalated to a fever pitch, the space between them a warzone of raw power and brutal strikes. They moved faster than most could follow, darting across the crumbling rooftops with the grace of seasoned predators. Each strike was calculated, and yet wild—Gojo’s flawless precision against Sarah’s frenzied, unhinged assault.

Gojo narrowly dodged a devastating punch from Sarah, her skeletal arm slicing through the air with a ferocity that forced him to reinforce Limitless in that brief moment. His fingers twitched as he manipulated the space around him, a thin barrier of cursed energy blunting the force of her blows, but he was painfully aware of the toll it was taking. His breath was labored, the battle pushing even him to his limits.

Sarah lunged at him with an open hand, her sharp nails extended as she aimed for his throat. Gojo barely managed to sidestep, but she was fast—too fast. Her foot lashed out in a brutal kick that caught him in the ribs, the impact reverberating through his body as he gritted his teeth. He retaliated with a palm strike aimed at her chest, but Sarah blocked it with her skeletal forearm, laughing maniacally as the shockwave from their collision sent cracks through the rooftop beneath them.

“Is that all ya got, Gojo?” she taunted, her voice wild with glee, “Is this really the best you’ve got?”

Gojo didn’t answer, his expression tightening as he focused on the rhythm of the fight. He knew Sarah was unhinged, but she wasn’t fighting without skill—her attacks were erratic but devastating, forcing him to stay on his toes, constantly adjusting Limitless to defend against her strikes. Any attempt to use techniques beyond hand-to-hand combat was too slow; he couldn’t afford the brief pause without taking a hit.

Their fists met again in a deafening clash, cursed energy sparking violently between them as they fought for control. Sarah’s grin widened, her fingers curling around Gojo’s wrist in an attempt to twist him off-balance. For a moment, it seemed like she had the upper hand, her strength overwhelming, but Gojo spun with the motion, using her momentum to flip her over his shoulder. She hit the ground hard, the impact sending shockwaves through the street below, but she recovered quickly, rolling back to her feet with a mad gleam in her eyes.

Gojo’s mind raced as he considered his options. He knew that if he could get off a Hollow Purple, it would be enough to seriously damage her, maybe even end the fight. But finding the opportunity was nearly impossible with the pace of their battle. His fingers twitched, the telltale sign of him preparing to activate his technique, but Sarah was relentless. She charged at him again, her fists a blur as she swung at his face.

He ducked just in time, feeling the rush of air as her punch missed by millimeters. Gojo retaliated with a powerful kick to her stomach, sending her skidding back across the rooftop. She coughed, blood spraying from her mouth, but the crazed grin never left her face. She was enjoying this far too much.

Gojo tightened his stance, his eyes narrowing as he prepared for her next move. That was when he felt it—a sudden surge of cursed energy behind him. The skeletons.

He’d momentarily forgotten about the summoned skeletons from Sarah’s domain, thinking they were nothing more than an afterthought after the initial summoning. But now, as he focused, he realized the truth: Sarah had deliberately pushed him back toward them, maneuvering him into their range. His eyes flicked to the side as he caught sight of one of the towering skeletal figures raising its massive sword, the blackened blade gleaming with cursed energy as it swung toward him.

Gojo cursed under his breath, splitting his attention between the skeletons and Sarah. He dodged the first skeleton’s attack, the sword crashing into the rooftop with enough force to shatter the stone beneath it. But the brief distraction gave Sarah the opening she needed. She lunged at him with a scream of rage, her skeletal hand raking across his chest as she tore through his defenses.

He winced, feeling the sting of the shallow wound as blood seeped through his shirt. Gojo’s mind raced—he needed to create distance, to get some breathing room. But Sarah wasn’t giving him any time to think. She pressed the attack, her laughter echoing through the air as she swung at him again and again, forcing him to dodge and weave through a barrage of punches and kicks.

Gojo managed to deflect one of her strikes, his hand catching her wrist as he twisted her arm behind her back. But before he could capitalize on the move, one of the skeletons lunged at him from behind, its spear aimed at his spine. He barely had time to react, twisting out of the way just in time to avoid the fatal blow. The spear grazed his side, a searing pain shooting through him as he stumbled.

Sarah used the opportunity to break free of his grip, spinning around to kick him in the chest with bone-crushing force. Gojo was thrown back, his body slamming into the side of a crumbling building as he gasped for breath. His vision blurred for a moment, but he quickly shook it off, his determination hardening.

This was getting out of hand.

He looked at Sarah, who was panting heavily, her skeletal arm still dripping with blood from their earlier exchanges. She was powerful, more so than he had initially anticipated, and her unhinged nature made her unpredictable. But Gojo was still confident. He was the strongest, after all.

“I’ll give you credit,” he muttered, wiping blood from his mouth, “You’ve gotten better.”

Sarah laughed, a low, guttural sound that sent chills down his spine, “Better? I’m just getting started, Satoru."

Gojo’s eyes flicked to the skeletons, still lumbering around the battlefield, their weapons ready to strike at a moment’s notice. He couldn’t let them be a distraction any longer. He needed to end this—and soon.

With a sharp breath, Gojo focused, manipulating Limitless with precision as he darted forward. He deflected a swing from one of the skeletons, the cursed energy around him shimmering as he moved with inhuman speed. His eyes locked on Sarah, his mind calculating the exact moment he needed to strike.

But Sarah wasn’t going to make it easy. She charged at him again, her eyes gleaming as she aimed for his face. Gojo ducked, narrowly avoiding her attack, and delivered a brutal punch to her stomach, sending her flying back. But she twisted in mid-air, landing on her feet with a crazed grin.

Gojo felt the pressure of her cursed energy building again, the weight of it suffocating. He couldn’t afford to be reckless. One mistake could cost him everything.

In that moment, he saw it—a brief opening. Sarah was off-balance, her movements slightly slower from the wear of battle. Gojo’s fingers twitched, his cursed energy flaring as he prepared to unleash Hollow Purple.

But just as he began to gather the energy, one of the skeletons lunged at him again, its massive sword cutting through the air. Gojo cursed, forced to split his attention once more as he dodged the skeleton’s strike. The momentary distraction allowed Sarah to recover, and she was on him again, her claws aimed directly at his throat.

Gojo barely managed to raise his arm in time to block, his Limitless barrier absorbing the blow, but the force of the attack sent him skidding back. He gritted his teeth, his mind racing as he tried to find a way to turn the tide of the battle.

Sarah’s maddened laughter filled the air, her bloodlust palpable, “You’re not going to win this, Satoru. You can’t stop me.”

Gojo’s eyes narrowed, his determination unwavering. “We’ll see about that.”

The battle had become a grueling test of endurance, both Gojo and Sarah locked in a savage dance of survival. Blood dripped from their wounds, their clothes torn and their bodies scarred from the relentless onslaught of each other’s attacks. Every injury was met with the flash of reversed cursed technique, the rapid healing keeping them on their feet, but both of them knew—it wouldn’t last forever.

Gojo’s breath was heavy, his chest heaving as he dodged another wild swing from Sarah. His side ached where she had cut him earlier, and even though his cursed energy had healed the wound, the pain lingered, gnawing at the edges of his stamina. Sarah’s skeletal arm lashed out again, this time aiming for his face, but Gojo parried with a burst of Limitless, barely managing to avoid the razor-sharp claws.

"Still think you can stop me, Satoru?" Sarah snarled, her voice dripping with venom. Her eyes, wild and filled with fury, bore into him as she lunged forward, her movements faster than before. Gojo could feel the desperation in her attacks now, the strain beginning to show in the ferocity of her blows.

“I know I can,” he grunted, countering with a knee to her ribs. The impact sent her skidding back, but she recovered in an instant, launching herself at him with a feral grin.

Gojo blocked the next strike, his muscles straining with the effort. Sweat dripped down his face as he focused hard on maintaining Limitless, manually manipulating it with every attack. Each time Sarah got closer, Gojo could feel the sting of her cursed energy lashing out against his defenses. He could tell she was starting to tire—her movements were still fast, but there was a ragged edge to them now. Just like him, she was pushing the limits of her stamina, relying on her anger and hatred to keep her going.

He knew what he had to do.

Gojo’s mind raced, calculating his options. He could feel his own exhaustion creeping up on him, the constant healing and battle taking a toll on his reserves of cursed energy.

"Her domain... If I trigger mine too soon, they'll just clash again," he thought to himself, "But if I wait, if I wear her down enough, I can--"

His thoughts were interrupted by Sarah’s scream of rage as she swung at him with her skeletal arm, the bones sharp like blades. Gojo barely ducked in time, the force of her swing causing the air around them to ripple. He countered with a sharp elbow to her jaw, sending her stumbling back, but she was relentless. She wiped blood from her lip with the back of her hand, smirking as she charged at him once more.

Gojo gritted his teeth, bracing himself for the next exchange. They clashed again in a blur of motion, their fists and feet colliding with bone-shattering force. His body screamed in protest, every strike reverberating through his bones, but he couldn’t afford to slow down—not yet. Not until she was too tired to fight back.

Sarah’s laughter echoed through the street as she fought, her voice tinged with madness. “You think you’re still the strongest? You think you can beat me?”

Gojo’s eyes narrowed, focusing on the rhythm of her attacks. "Just gotta tire her out," he reminded himself, "I just have to outlast her."

The problem was, he could feel his own energy waning too. His body was running on fumes, and despite the reversed cursed technique healing him over and over, the exhaustion was starting to creep into his limbs. He knew Sarah was feeling it too. She was fast, but her strikes were becoming more erratic, less precise.

Gojo winced as Sarah’s claws grazed his arm, cutting through the fabric of his shirt and drawing blood. He responded with a quick punch to her gut, but she caught his wrist, twisting it as she attempted to throw him off balance. He used the momentum to spin out of her grip, landing a solid kick to her side that sent her stumbling back.

They stood across from each other, both panting heavily, eyes locked in a fierce stare. The ground around them was littered with debris, the buildings behind them crumbling under the weight of their cursed energy. Tremors shook the city as their battle raged on, neither of them willing to give an inch.

“You’re not going to win this,” Gojo said, his voice low but resolute.

Sarah’s grin widened, her eyes gleaming with malice, “Maybe not. But I’ll sure as hell try.”

And with that, they charged at each other again, their strikes coming harder and faster than ever before. Gojo’s focus narrowed, his determination burning stronger than ever. He was going to save her. He had to.

All he needed was the right moment.

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