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happyyyandcrazyyy · 26 days ago

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love and tattoos (kaz brekker x reader)

summary: in which jesper has a theory and kaz might be the matching tattoos kind of guy.

it’s two small words, a raven and a crow, a broken lock and a key, and a band around their ring finger.

“He has to be drunk, or high, or something, because there is absolutely no way he’s just seen a band of ink around Kaz’s ring finger.”

warnings: brief panic attack (not detailed), mentions of wounds and blood (not detailed, canon typical), set in the future, kaz has worked on his touch aversion

kaz taglist: @the-tpd-bau @ellievickstar @thestudiouswanderer | soc taglist: @ancientbeing10 (if you want to be added or removed from the taglist just dm me!)

a/n: here i am, once again, because apparently im incapable of stopping myself from writing for kaz brekker. i have so many wips but kaz always calls to me😭😭 this one was so much fun to write, it just flowed, and i hope you enjoy it just as much as i did!!

i. a band of ink around his ring finger, part one.

Jesper must be hallucinating, he has to be. He blinks once, twice, looks down at the drink in his hand, briefly wonders if it’s been laced with some sort of drug powerful enough to have his brain imagining things— because Jesper does not have the imagination to be making this up, he wishes he did —and then looks back up. The ink remains in place. Nope, no way. He shakes his head, presses his eyes shut. He has to be drunk, or high, or something, because there is absolutely no way he’s just seen a band of ink around Kaz’s ring finger.

It’s not the tattoo itself that shocks Jesper. Although, maybe it does freak him out a bit, a band around the ring finger can only mean one thing, and Jesper has never believed Kaz to be the marrying type. (Then again, he never thought him to be the matching tattoos kind of guy, and the last couple of months have had him discovering that Kaz very much could be.) No, what makes Jesper spiral is that he’s seen that exact same tattoo on (Y/N)’s own ring finger.

ii. you break, i mend.

Jesper has seen the tattoo on the inside of (Y/N)’s left wrist more times than he can count.

The word ‘mend’ in all lowercase, the typography delicate and elegant, the font somewhat rounded. Jesper has never asked what it means— because everyone in the Barrel has been branded, either by choice or against their will, and Jesper knows the black ink carries memories, promises and pain, he knows better than to ask —but he thinks it’s fitting for her, both the word and the style. Because (Y/N) is a gentle force, someone who provides emotional care to those close to her, a fixer. She loves proudly and deeply, and Jesper has never met someone in this wretched place that is so unafraid to be kind. He doesn’t know what she does to remain untainted, to keep her soul so pure in spite of their line of work. He envies it, sometimes. But then he’ll hear muted sobs through the thin walls, wake up at the sound of screams caused by nightmares, and he’ll wonder if feeling and caring that much is even worth it.

Jesper doesn’t think much about (Y/N)’s tattoo— it’s pretty and it suits her, and, yeah, he gets the desperate need to ask for a backstory whenever he catches a glimpse of it, but never does. There’s nothing more to it. That is until he spies a word on Kaz’s own wrist.

He only sees the tattoo because Kaz takes his gloves off. That doesn’t happen very often, if at all. But it’s the hottest day of summer they’ve had in Ketterdam in years, and they’ve been out in the sun all day, so Jesper is only mildly surprised when they reach Kaz’s office and he takes the black gloves off. What does take him completely off guard, however, is the inked word on his right wrist, partially hidden by the sleeves of his shirt.

‘BREAK’. In uppercase, with jagged and fragmented lettering. Jesper only catches a glimpse before Kaz twists away and the ink is completely sheltered by his clothes, but he’s almost sure the tattoo has some sort of optical effect, makes it seem like the words have been shattered, all sharp and angular lines.

Kaz is saying something and Inej is responding, and it’s probably important and he definitely should be paying attention, but Jesper’s mind is elsewhere because (Y/N)’s delicate tattoo suddenly comes to mind. The similarities are just right there and now all Jesper can think about is how odd of a coincidence it is that (Y/N) and Kaz have mirror tattoos. Same place, but opposite wrist. A single word, one neat and elegant, the other harsh and precise. Jesper does not believe in coincidences, but it can’t be anything else— because believing it to be something else would mean believing Kaz to be a matching tattoos type of person and Jesper would bet his guns against that —so he simply ponders over the possible coincidence, just for a quick second, before Kaz is directing questions towards him and Jesper is forced to shove the information in the back of his mind.

He ends up forgetting about it. Not forgetting forgetting, more so in the way he forgets his debts until there are collectors knocking on his door. The information is there, stored in some corner of his brain, ready to be brought back into his consciousness with just the right push.

The right push comes a Saturday night, two months after he first notices Kaz’s tattoo.

(Y/N) is out on a job. Jesper doesn’t know any of the details— not the target, nor the entry and exit routes, nothing at all —but he knows something is wrong because Kaz has been pacing for the last half hour.

“She should be back by now,” is all Kaz says when he asks. He doesn’t really need to say more. Jesper feels the way his chest constricts, panic slowly building. (Y/N) is never late.

Just as Jesper feels like he’s about to start pacing himself, the door of the Slat opens. She’s got her hood on, doesn’t look up from the floor when she walks in. There’s a certain drag in her limbs, something that tells Jesper that something is wrong, wrong, wrong.

“Where the fuck were you?” The words aren’t directed towards him, but Jesper cannot help but flinch. Kaz doesn’t get like this often, cold and harsh because he’s worried, so the job must’ve been important, high stakes, the type where survival isn’t assured.

(Y/N) looks up, and it’s only then that Jesper notices the blood. It’s everywhere. It drips down the slope of her nose, it trails down her lips. She walks closer and with the change of light he notices that it’s also embedded in her clothes. The most disturbing thing, however, are her eyes. Glassy, distant, unseeing. She’s shaking. Full body tremors.

By his side, Kaz deflates completely at the sight of her. He’s already moving towards her when she whispers brokenly, “I’m sorry.”

The apology goes ignored, “Where are you hurt?” Kaz asks. He reins his panic well enough, but Jesper can still taste the traces of it, they float around in the air.

(Y/N) doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge Kaz as he comes to stand right in front of her, trying his best to assess for injuries. It’s hard when all there is to see is blood.

“I’m not hurt,” she responds, and it’s like she’s in a trance, capable of responding but not truly present. Jesper furrows his brows, catches the concerned look on Kaz face. Does she not realize she’s covered in blood? She raises her hand to gesture at herself, and it’s only when she does so that Jesper notices the blade. She waves it around. It’s stained red, all the way to the handle. “Blood’s not mine.”

Jesper freezes. Kaz stops dead on his tracks, too.

Kaz looks back at him and understanding passes through them. She snapped. Something made her snap.

It seems like she’s just processing it, too, because a second after she mutters those words the knife falls from her hand and her knees wobble. It’s like Kaz had been expecting the sudden crash, because he’s quick to help her down. He grabs her by the sleeves of her tunic and sits her on the floor, back against the wall.

Her breathing begins to come out hard and labored, she clutches at her chest, hard.

“Look at me,” Kaz instructs, but she’s not here anymore. Jesper cannot help the way fear courses through him at the sight of her faraway eyes and the sound of her disordered breaths. He’s only ever seen (Y/N) like this once before, and even then, it hadn’t been this bad, she’d been responsive to Kaz, and very much able to breathe properly. Right now, not even Kaz’s words are cutting through the haze.

The wheezing becomes louder, more intense. The more she panics, the less she breathes, the more Jesper feels like he, himself, isn’t capable of getting air into his lungs. Kaz keeps talking, but she doesn’t seem to hear him.

“I can’t—” Her lips are slowly losing color.

Jesper is still frozen in place, and he can tell that Kaz is also beginning to panic by the way he grabs her clothed hand and presses it against his own chest.

“Breathe,” he orders. Insistent, firm. Kaz’s words leave no room for argument and (Y/N) reacts accordingly. Like it’s instinct to do as Kaz says, she takes in a deep breath, ragged.

“Good girl.” Kaz’s hand, the one that isn’t on top of (Y/N)’s own, pressed against his chest, hovers over her cheek. He ends up grabbing the end of the hood that still partially covers her face. “One more time.”

She repeats the action, another deep breath, interrupted by a brief coughing fit.

“You’re okay, match my breaths.” She nods weakly and does as best she can, eyes shut. The hand that is on Kaz’s chest has become a fist, rumpling his shirt. She holds onto him like a lifeline.

“I’ll get her water,” he finds himself saying.

Kaz doesn’t turn to look at him, “Bring a wet cloth, too.”

Jesper nods and slips out of the room and into the kitchen. He feels like he’s having an out of body experience, his body working automatically on pouring tap water in a glass, on finding a clean cloth. His mind is miles away.

Saints.

It’s disconcerting to see someone as serene and put together as (Y/N) so rattled and distraught. He feels disoriented, like the world has shifted off his feet. He’s never seen her snap so badly that she ends up spiraling into a panic attack. Jesper doesn’t know much about her past, but Kaz had once mentioned something about a complicated upbringing, about being raised as a weapon not a child. He doesn’t want to begin to imagine what he’d meant.

The soft murmur of words brings him back to reality, grounds him and guides him once again into his body.

“Are you with me?”

No response, but Jesper imagines that she must’ve nodded because he hears the soft sigh of relief that Kaz lets out.

It’s quiet for a little while, Jesper focuses on the sound of water flowing through the cloth in his hands, the feeling of it getting damper.

“I’m sorry.” The words come out soft, filled with emotion and embarrassment.

“None of that.”

“I didn’t mean to…”

“I know. It’s okay.”

The silence lingers before being filled by quiet noises. Jesper has heard her sobs through his wall enough times to identify them. His heart tightens painfully.

“It’s okay,” Kaz repeats, softer this time. It’s a tone Jesper has never heard him use with anyone else.

“There were children, Kaz,” Jesper has to strain to make out the words, they’re muffled by something, “little kids. And it just reminded me of… I couldn’t...”

“I know.”

A sniffle, “I’m sorry,” followed by a broken laugh, soft and sad. “I’m a mess.”

Jesper turns off the faucet, twists the cloths to remove any excess of water. He grabs the glass of water with one hand and the cloth with the other and then, just, waits. He knows this conversation is not one he should be present for, he doesn’t want to be present.

It’s a good thing, too, that he doesn’t make his way towards them, because he’s pretty sure he would’ve stumbled and dropped everything at the next words that fall out of Kaz’s mouth.

“If you break, I mend, remember?”

(mend

BREAK)

Jesper places the glass of water on the kitchen counter and blinks once, twice.

Saints be damned.

Kaz might be the matching tattoos type of person.

iii. a raven and a crow

The matching tattoo theory, as Jesper likes to refer to it, remains just that, a theory. Because Jesper has no real way of proving it, not unless he finds the will to ask (Y/N)— which he just can’t do, she’s so open about everything that prodding just feels unfair —or unless he brings his curiosity to Kaz— which might just end up with him losing a finger, and Jesper likes his limbs just as they are, thank you very much. So, for now, it’s merely speculation, something that could be played off as a coincidence. And he thinks it must be a coincidence, right? Matching tattoos are too sentimental for someone like Kaz. (Then again, he has always been different when it comes to (Y/N), so maybe Jesper shouldn’t be that surprised.) And they aren’t matching tattoos, not really, they are more like, well, mirror ones. It’s different. Probably nothing. He might be connecting dots where there’s absolutely nothing to connect.

He can’t help the way he begins to observe more, trying to find anything to sustain or disprove his theory. It’s only natural, he tells himself, Jesper is nothing if not a curious man.

It’s only because he becomes so attuned to them, and whatever that thing is that they have going on, that Jesper notices little things.

“Inej?”

“Good.”

Kaz keeps on making roll call, making sure all of them are there and unharmed.

“Jes?”

“Very much alive,” he grunts in response, letting himself flop into the haystack. His heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest, but at least it’s still beating. He cannot believe a blizzard of all things is what saved their lives.

He looks to his left. Even Inej looks slightly winded. She pats the pocket of her coat, sags in relief immediately after. Jesper does the same, touches his inner pocket, feels the edges of the glass key, and sighs.

The goods are safe.

“Nina?”

“Here.” Her cheeks are rosy. Jesper isn’t sure if it’s because of the dreadful cold or the exertion.

There’s silence after, the room filled by only harsh breaths. Jesper snaps up, looking around frantically, because Kaz is not calling (Y/N)’s name and that can only mean that she’s not there or she’s…

His mind quiets down when he takes in the sight in front of him.

Kaz is not calling (Y/N)’s name because he already has eyes on her. Probably always did.

And that’s when Jesper sees it, a little thing, something that tilts the scales in favor of his theory; the softness in (Y/N)’s face as she listens to Kaz.

(Y/N) is always kind— with battered gang members and hungry street urchins, with the loud customers and even with those who dare gamble against her —but Jesper is just now realizing that there’s a different gentleness when it comes to the way she takes Kaz in. The look in her eyes becomes quieter, more intimate, delicate. She says something, much too quiet for Jesper to hear, and smiles. Kaz shakes his head fondly, responds with a hushed whisper. It’s tender, precious, private. It makes Jesper feel like he’s intruding.

And then something Jesper has never seen before happens. Kaz takes (Y/N)’s chin with his gloved hand, thumb and index fingers holding her. He moves her face around, looking for any visible injury.

There goes another detail in favor of the matching tattoo theory.

Jesper thinks he might’ve just entered some sort of altered reality because what is he even looking at right now. He looks around but Inej and Nina aren’t paying them any mind, too engrossed in their own conversation.

Great, he’s all alone in trying to figure this thing out.

“I’m okay,” he hears (Y/N) reassure.

For the most part, Jesper thinks to himself, because he doesn’t miss the way she’s pressing her hand to her abdomen. Apparently, it hasn’t slipped past Kaz either, because he hums and raises his eyebrows, eyes pointedly trailing down to the wound.

She rolls her eyes at him, even that action looks fond, “It’s not deep.”

Kaz is more tactile with her, Jesper realizes with a start. It’s not a word he would ever use to describe Dirtyhands, but it’s the only one that comes to mind. (And Kaz has gotten better over the years, he has. It’s been gradual, and Jesper has no clue as to how or what he’s done, but he hasn’t missed the way Kaz doesn’t cringe away from the Crows anymore, how he doesn’t pale when someone brushes against him. He doesn’t seek touch, but he doesn’t lose all semblance of control at it either. Still, tactile is farther from what Kaz is, and this? This is huge. This is the greatest display of touch Jesper has ever seen him do.)

“You’ve got it?”

“Yeah, I’ll stitch it.”

His gloved thumb brushes her skin, briefly, before he taps the bottom of her chin gently, in approval, and lets her go.

“I can help you with that,” Nina pipes up.

Jesper turns around, immediately catches the look in the Heartrender’s eyes. Seems like he might not be the only one noticing things.

(Y/N) nods in agreement and Nina follows after her. Jesper decides, after taking only two seconds to ponder on the thought, to trail behind them. He wants to listen in— because he knows Nina won’t be able to keep herself from commenting or questioning and he’s aching to know —but he’s also hoping the Heartrender will take pity on him and heal some of his bruises.

“What do you want?” Nina asks him as they settle on a small corner of the stable. (Y/N) leans against a wooden post as she begins to undress, untucking her shirt.

Jesper simply points at the bruise he can already feel forming on his cheekbone, offering a cheeky smile.

“I’m not a nurse, Fahey.”

“You’re gonna stitch her up!” (Y/N) is watching with amusement and when Jesper points at her she raises one hand in surrender, the other still pressed against her wound.

“Yeah, well,” Nina shrugs, needle and thread in hand, “She’s my favorite.”

(Y/N) chuckles. There’s a broken-down iron chest and she sits on it as well as she can, leaning back so that Nina can work. She winks at him, “Privileges, Jes.”

He pouts.

“Saints,” Nina mutters when she catches a look of him. She’s decided that kneeling by (Y/N) side will be the most comfortable position for her to work. She cleans the wound, pours water over it, and doesn’t turn to him as she says, “If you stop doing that face I’ll see what I can do about the bruise.”

He smirks to himself, “You’ve got it, boss.”

Jesper can’t see it, but he’s sure she rolls her eyes at him.

“Try not to move,” she instructs (Y/N), voice gaining a softer, less teasing edge. The needle pricks the skin.

It’s not a deep wound, (Y/N) had been right about that. It bleeds, but the flow seems to be slowing down. It’s a little bit over her hipbone, but not quite on her abdomen. Judging by the injury, if Jesper had to guess, he would say it was probably caused by a straight back blade.

He had sort of expected Nina to immediately fire away, to start unabashedly questioning, but she doesn’t. She moves her hands in a repetitive motion, closing the skin. Then, she casually comments, “That’s not a crow.”

It’s only then that Jesper notices the ink; just over (Y/N)'s hipbone, only visible because she’d pulled her trousers a bit down to give Nina more skin to maneuver around.

“No, it isn’t,” (Y/N) confirms. She’s got her eyes closed, looks a lot more like she’s sleeping and not like she’s having her skin stitched back together. Either Nina has an amazing ability or she’s somehow managing to dissociate from the pain.

“A raven?”

“Yeah.”

Jesper leans away from the wall to get a better look at it. It’s small, simple, just the silhouette done in thin black lines. He has no idea how Nina managed to identify the bird.

Nina stays quiet for a split second, musing. She keeps her hands steady, thread pulling skin. Apparently, she decides she does not care about decorum— just like Jesper had expected —because she ends up stating, matter-of-factly, “Kaz calls you that.”

Jesper sort of forgets how to breathe. That’s why Nina hadn’t gone on a tangent regarding the touches and the glances, he realizes in that moment. She’d been distracted by something much more interesting.

And she hadn’t identified the bird, she’d just made an informed assumption. Because Kaz does call her that, raven, and sometimes, when he's feeling particularly fond, little raven. He uses it interchangeably with her name and often enough that when Jesper had initially joined the Dregs, all those years back, he’d assumed it to be her name. He’s not quite sure how Nina, who’s been with them for a shorter period of time, managed to make that connection quicker than him.

(Y/N) lets out a breathy laugh, “That he does.”

Instead of further grilling (Y/N) about the tattoo, as Jesper had expected, Nina changes the line of inquiry.

“Why?” She stops sewing and looks up at (Y/N), eyes filled with curiosity.

Oh, she’s insane, Jesper thinks to himself. He sort of wishes he’d have the audacity to ask such direct questions.

(Y/N) doesn’t seem bothered by the prodding, only mildly amused. She chuckles, “You would have to ask him that.”

Not even Nina is insane enough to dare do that. Probably. Nina is sort of a wild card, Jesper can never get a complete read on her.

She proves her sanity by taking the easier route, she whines and pouts, “C’mon. Tell us.”

(Y/N) laughs, louder this time. The reaction is immediate, the wound oozes more blood, and she flinches, moving her hand towards the injury and managing to stop herself millimeters before touching it. It makes Nina get back to stitching.

“You’re bold,” (Y/N) opens her eyes and looks straight at Jesper. There’s something in her eyes, a glimmer that passes quickly, like she knows something that Jesper doesn’t and it amuses her. “Jes would never dare ask.”

“Hey!” He pretends to be offended but isn’t really. She knows him too well.

“You know it’s true.”

He only grumbles in response, hates that she’s right.

Nina is suddenly tense, as if she isn’t quite sure if (Y/N)’s words are meant as a compliment or a reprimand. (Y/N) closes her eyes again, rests her head against the wall and reassures her, “I like that. Your boldness.”

And Nina preens, subtly, but she does. Jesper understands. (Y/N)’s approval somehow comes to mean everything to those around her. She’s like an older sister you’re always trying to impress.

Jesper thinks she won’t be saying anything more, but (Y/N) does.

“Ravens are softer than crows, more playful,” she mumbles quietly. Jesper, who isn’t even far from her, strains to hear, “Gentler, too.” And it’s like she knows exactly where the ink lays on her skin, like she has it memorized, because she manages to avoid Nina and the needle and trace the outline of the tattoo, eyes still closed, “And yet they manage to survive in the same brutal world that crows do.”

The words sink in. Jesper blinks once, twice, shifts on his feet, somewhat uncomfortable. It feels like he’s just gained insight on something much too private, into the feelings and thoughts of Kaz Brekker. Because what she just explained, vaguely and in simple words, has a much deeper meaning, and Jesper doesn’t miss that. It’s how Kaz sees her, an equal. Someone as strong as a crow, as fierce and resourceful and capable, but softer, gentler. That’s (Y/N) to him.

“That’s it?” Nina sounds perpetually unimpressed, but she doesn’t get it. She hasn’t been with the Crows long enough to understand.

(Y/N) smirks, like she knew the words wouldn’t mean much to her, and that tells Jesper something. There’s even more to the meaning of the nickname and she won’t be sharing.

“If you want more you can just ask Kaz.”

Nina huffs and pouts, pulls at the thread a bit harsher than necessary in retaliation. It probably doesn’t even sting, but (Y/N) plays along.

“Ow!?” The smirk remains on her face.

“Sorry,” Nina says, not sounding the least apologetic.

(Y/N) only chuckles, “I really do like your boldness.”

It isn’t until later that night, as Jesper sleeps in the haystack and shivers from the cold, hoping to the Saints that the smell of horse can be removed from his clothes, that realization strikes him. His eyes snap wide open.

The image of a letter R inked in Kaz’s forearm flashes through his mind.

A Raven.

No fucking way.

He has no evidence of it, no evidence that those tattoos might be complementary, but something in his gut tells him they are, and he decides to listen to his instincts.

Great, that’s yet another circumstantial piece of evidence in favor of his theory.

(Jesper doesn’t know, will never know, but he gets it both wrong and right. The letter R that is permanently etched on Kaz’s skin means something else entirely, but he does have the small silhouette of a crow, different from the one on his arm, over his ribs.)

iv. a broken lock and a key

Jesper and (Y/N) stay behind. It’s Jesper’s fault, he’d landed wrong when they jumped off the cliff, too busy on firing his guns to focus on the landing, and the resulting sprained ankle made it hard to keep up with the rest. (Maybe it was sort of Kaz’s fault, too, because who even decides on an exit route that includes free falling off a cliff. Jesper should be used to Kaz’s antics by now, but the man keeps on outdoing himself.)

(Y/N) had quickly offered to match his pace, to keep him company while the rest went ahead.

After a quick discussion Kaz had agreed to it. Jesper hadn’t missed the way they’d said goodbye. Their pinky fingers interlacing with one another.

He might not be completely sure about his matching tattoo theory— denial, really, he’s in denial, and he’s man enough to admit that to himself —but he has absolutely no doubt there is something going on between them. Jesper hasn’t put a name on it yet, he’s not even sure they have, but one would have to be blind to deny it.

Wylan had volunteered too, but Kaz needed him for the next phase of the plan, so he wasn’t really an option. A shame, really, Jesper would’ve enjoyed some alone time with his boyfriend, but he can’t complain, (Y/N) is good company. She doesn’t whine about how slow they’re going, doesn’t mention the fact that, by now, they’re probably two days behind. She keeps the air between them filled with light chatter and that makes it more bearable, makes him feel less of a burden.

On the third day of their journey Jesper wakes up alone. He’s not immediately filled by dread because he’s a light sleeper, he’s sure he would’ve woken up at the sound of any commotion, and he’s even more certain that (Y/N) would’ve had any attacker down on the floor with a gun to their temple before they even had the chance to breathe too close to them.

So, he’s not worried, but there’s something about not having (Y/N) within his line of sight that feels wrong, partly because he’s got no idea where she is, and mainly because Kaz had given him a cautionary glare when they’d ventured ahead, an easily interpreted warning to keep her safe or else.

It’s only when he begins to look around that Jesper notices her knapsack is also missing. He closes his eyes and focuses. Somewhere in the distance he can hear running water. He follows the sound before he can think too much, limping along the way.

Jesper finds her easily. He sort of wishes he hadn’t found her. Because she is showering in the lake and she is completely naked.

“Saints!” It’s a knee-jerk reaction to turn around, eyes screwed shut. “I am so sorry.”

(Y/N) snickers, unbothered, “Relax, Jes. It’s okay.”

And she’s saying that, but Jesper is pretty sure Kaz would gauge his eyes off is he found out he’s just seen her completely nude.

He shakes his head, over and over. Ah, Kaz is going to kill him. He is a dead man walking.

She must be watching him because she lets out a laugh.

“Oh, please.” There’s amusement in her tone, “Nothing you haven’t seen before,” she teases, and Jesper regrets every single thing he’s ever told her about his sexual encounters.

He huffs out a laugh. It’s got nothing to do with that, Jesper isn’t a prude, he’s just trying to process the fact that if Kaz ever finds out he will more than likely lose a finger, or his life. But he can’t say that, that’s a conversation he’s not ready to have, so he settles for, “You’re like my sister, it’s not the same.”

“Fair enough,” she responds. Jesper catches the affection in her voice. He doesn’t think he’s ever told her how she sees her as family and she must’ve known, their bond runs deep, it goes unspoken, but maybe it’s different to hear it out loud.

“It’s my fault anyways, I shouldn’t have left without telling you where I was going,” she disrupts his thoughts. “But you were finally sleeping.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles. Obviously it wouldn’t slip past her that in between the pain on his ankle and the cold of the night he’s been having a hard time falling asleep.

“You shouldn’t be standing for long,” she points out, and Jesper agrees. His leg is beginning to ache and if they’re going to travel long today, he must rest as much as he can. But the idea of walking back to camp and leaving her alone doesn’t sit right with him— even if he knows she’s capable of defending herself, she would probably do a better job than him, given his state —so he limps towards a big rock, back still towards her, and sits.

“You’re gonna keep me company?”

Jesper hums in response, “Talk so I know you haven’t suddenly been kidnapped.”

She doesn’t talk, instead she sings. It’s an old Kerch song, Jesper knows because of the mournful feel. It builds up slow and steady, flows with the morning air. She's got a nice voice. Jesper never gets tired of hearing her.

It’s as he listens, slowly being lulled into a peaceful mindset, that the memory of the ink flows through his mind. It’d been the thing his eyes had zeroed in, the black mark on the back of her neck.

Maybe it’s the soothing music, or maybe he’s slowly becoming more daring, but the words slip out of his mouth without thought, “Is it a key?”

(Y/N) stops midway through the bridge of the song.

“What?” she asks, confusion permeating the lone word.

“On the back of your neck,” Jesper clarifies, gesturing to his own neck.

There’s silence, long enough for Jesper to start thinking that maybe this wasn’t the best idea, before the air is filled with laughter. She chuckles as if he's just said the funniest thing.

She’s still giggling when she says, “I can’t believe you caught sight of it.”

He’s confused by her reaction and settles for responding with a teasing, “I’ve got a great vision.”

“That you do,” she replies. "It is a key," she confirms and then the singing starts again, more of a humming this time around, a much brighter song.

And Jesper must be really really losing the filter between his mouth and his brain— he blames the pain and the lack of sleep —because he finds himself asking, “Does Kaz have a lock, by any chance?”

He’s teasing, but not really. It’s a good enough question, not truly invasive. It gives her room to answer as she wishes.

To his surprise, she says, “Yes, he does.”

His head snaps towards her, momentarily forgetting that she’s naked and that Kaz will definitely kill him for seeing her naked twice. To his luck, (Y/N) is already getting dressed, water dripping down her hair and staining her shirt.

“What?”

There’s a sharp glint in her eyes, knowing, almost playful. A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth, just enough hint of mischief to make Jesper doubt the truthfulness of her words.

“Yeah,” she repeats in mock seriousness, “he’s got a small lock around here,” she points the area around her collarbone, close to where her heart is. “It’s very pretty.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

(Y/N) snickers, “Maybe I am.” She ruffles his hair as she walks past him.

Weeks later Jesper realizes that she had been fucking with him, but not lying. Kaz’s shirt rips during a heist and Jesper catches the briefest glimpse of the image of a broken lock, inked right above his heart.

v. a band of ink around his ring finger, part two.

As if summoned by his thoughts, (Y/N) materializes by his side. She takes a look at his face, follows his line of sight, and snickers.

“Did you finally figure it out?”

He turns to her. Blinks once, twice.

“What?”

She looks highly entertained by the evident confusion on his face.

“I caught you staring at my tattoo sometimes,” Jesper follows the movement of her fingers, watches as she rubs the mend on her wrist absentmindedly. “And then you would get this constipated look on your face.”

Jesper sputters, “I do not look constipated.”

“Only when you’re thinking too hard,” she teases, her smile bright. “So, I figured, well…”

“That I might be losing my mind trying to figure out if Kaz is the matching tattoo kind of person?”

“Yep, something like that,” she takes a sip of her drink. “He is, by the way.” (Y/N)’s not looking at him anymore, her eyes have drifted. He follows her sight and isn’t surprised to find her looking at Kaz. She softens immediately. “All the tattoos were his idea.”

Jesper feels like he’s really entered some other reality. He can’t believe she’s just telling him all this. Does this mean that he could’ve known months ago if he’d just asked?

“And,” he dares ask, because apparently (Y/N) is in a sharing mood, and apparently he's grown bolder. It must be the alcohol. “You’re married?”

He doesn’t miss the way she rubs her thumb against her ring finger, the one that contains the exact same band of ink as Kaz’s.

“Yeah.”

“Actually?”

She pulls her necklace. A wedding band lies there. It’s anything but traditional. Black, probably forged from oxidized steel. Sleek, unadorned and somehow still elegant. There’s something engraved on the inside. Jesper just catches the letter R.

“Got the documents to prove it, too.”

Jesper sighs, astounded, “You never said a thing.”

“We didn’t really keep it a secret, just private.” It sounds like an apology somehow. “It's just, in a place like this," she gestures around, "some things you have to keep to yourself."

Jesper understands.

He shakes his head, still somehow feeling like he’s drugged.

Kaz Brekker, a matching tattoo and marriage type of person. Who would’ve guessed.

“Lovers, huh?”

(Y/N) smiles, before she slips away and makes her way towards Kaz, Jesper hears her whisper.

“‘Lovers’ feels too small a word for what we are.”

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bluerosefox · 5 months ago

Text

Save Her

Guys I came up with a new DPxDC AU where we get Deaged!Dani(Ellie), Mom!Cass, and Dad!Danny.

"Cass... Are you sure you want to do this?" Tim asked one more time before he would put the last code in. He knew she was sure, more than willing to deal with it but he just needed one more confirmation before they all started what couldn't be stopped.

Cass stared at Tim, her face straight and her eyes firm without a hint of doubt. She nodded in his direction, despite the growing nervousness in her stomach for a second even with Stephanie squeezed her hand in reassurance and support.

Cass turned her gaze to the little girl, no older than thirteen, suspended in a tank full of green glowing goo and asleep. Her vitals showing up on screens near the tank coming from the wires that were hooked up to her inside the tank.

She said her name was Danielle Masters but had also said she wouldn't mind a new name once she was no longer just a clone but instead Cass's new daughter. She had only asked to include her 'dad', a Danny Fenton/Phantom, in her future naming decision too

Cass took a breath and said softly but determined "Save her."

Tim nodded back and entered the final code into the computer.

-x-x-

Basically-

Cass, while in Hong Kong, finds a destabilizing Dani.

Cass see's the desperation and fear Dani is in and helps as best as she can.

She manages to help but they both seem to know the next time this happens will be Dani's last.

Dani is very, very sick at this point and needs help even standing up.

Cass see's and remembers herself at this age and wants to help.

They do become friends and learn each other backstories

Cass goes to the one person she knows who might to be able to help with the destabilizing clone problem.

Tim, Tim is that person. (Because he's friends with Conner, and no doubt knows Conner's DNA and how it works, AND the fact he tried his hand at the whole cloning thing.... Tim told Cass everything once things settled down after his BruceQuest was done)

They fill him in on what is happening and he starts helping, mostly cause Cass asked and because "Clone rights!" (side note, he asked if its okay to tell Conner, when yes, Conner comes over and chats with Dani the entire time whenever he has free time) (the image of Conner sitting at her bedside as they chat is in my head btw)

Tim finds out the reason Dani is destabilizing so badly is because she's not 'complete', she needs a female donor technically because she's female not male (unlike Conner who is stable because he is male with male donors)

They find out that after trying to see of ways to save her that Cass was the closest that could donate her DNA (they also discover there might be a connection between ectoplasm and the Pits, they don't wanna run the risk of asking a LOA member) (If I remember right Cass grew around the Pits for a while and was even tossed in them after a fight with Shiva)

Tim also brings them news that Danielle's body is rapidly destabilizing due to her body/hormones trying to 'mature' her since she is at that age and she has less than a week.

Everyone knows there is no time to think of trying to save her in any other ways.

Tim says that if they do this, they have to technically 'remake' her body to the actual age she is (a couple months old/a few years old? Depends on the writer) and there was a high chance of her not remembering her old self. That the male DNA in her, the one that seemed to be the most is Daniel 'Danny' Fenton's DNA will be considered father DNA and if Cass does this, her's will be the mother DNA. (Vlad's DNA, because he would try to put his own in, would be 'pushed out')

Cass would become Dani's mother.

Both Cass and Dani talk about it.

Cass wants to help her, she had become friends with Dani and loves her like a little sister already but will try to love her as a daughter as well.

Dani wants to live an actual life.

They agree to it.

Tim sets everything up, Conner is helping around/keeping Dani comfortable/happy.

Cass told Steph and Babs whats happening and they're helping/being supportive once they find out everything.

Meanwhile Tim and Babs has Dick, and Damian go to Amity Park to find out whats happening there/bring Danny to her so they can explain what happened to Dani. (Dick and Damian have no clue why just yet but will find out when they get back, but oh boy is Amity a mess between the GIW, ecto-acts, crazy fruitloop mayor/villain ghost, and other stuff)

Cass and Tim tell Jason and he's helping Alfred (who basically already knows) set up a room for the newest arrival. Jason is gonna stick around if to just see Bruce's face when he gets called a 'grandpa' for the first time.

Duke takes this all in stride when told and just goes along with things now because this is life with the Batfam. He also helps with the room and keeping Dani company until the day.

Bruce was on a space mission thus comes home to find a new group of teens with his kids. One (with black hair and violet/purple eyes) is talking about a purple back gorillas with Damian and swapping vegan recipes, another (wearing a red beanie and has glasses) is getting into tech talk with Tim and Babs, a girl with red hair is talking classic books with Jason and giving Duke advice with school and stress, and another boy (one who could pass as one of his own adopted kids) is cracking jokes/puns with Dick, and telling Steph stories about his Rogues(!?).

Bruce isn't ready when Cass comes up behind him, nearly dancing in her spot and hands him something.

He is given a baby/toddler that looks like Cass but had darker hair and bright blue eyes.

He almost faints when Cass signs to him that he's holding his granddaughter, her baby.

He does faint when Cass notices the signs and takes her baby back before he falls over.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #crossover #dp x dc #blue rambles #danny phantom dc #writing ideas #random idea #dpxdc #Dad!Danny #Mom!Cass #Deaged!Dani #deaged!Danielle #Bruce wakes up confused and thinking he dreamed all of that #only to get hit by a wet tiny hand on his cheek #the baby/toddler was on his bed with him and was nomming on her own hand but once she realized he was awake she did the whole baby hit thin #Bruce has to come to terms that he is a grandpa now #He isn't happy when its finally explained #To be fair he left them alone #and they are chaotic #and just wanted to save a kid that finally gets to be an actual kid now #but hey they also discovered the Ecto-Acts. the GIW. evil mayor/fruitloop/evil ghost Masters. etc etc #AND they have new allies in Team Phantom #Also leaving the pairings open. Danny and Cass do not have to get together. They can be friends and just co-parenting

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darkmatilda · 9 days ago

Text

𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: following a certain unsettling experience, you and your husband choose to move to a quiet yet incredibly boring town. in his absence on a business trip, you discover an unexpected source of intrigue and diversion in one of your neighbors — spencer.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x female!reader, cheating (but not really lol), unreliable narrative, violence, attempted murder, inspired by taylor swift's song "fortnight", mention of sex but without a detailed description, nothing in this story is as it seems so read carefully until the end, reader has some backstory because it's necessary to the plot, reader has some disturbing thoughts, just to clarify, i don’t consider her character to be good or a role model. if you’re hesitating whether to read this story, it might be better if you skip it, lol.

𝐚/𝐧: it's kind of an experiment and I'm curious if you'll like it :3

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 8.5k

“Finally…our bedroom.” Richard opened the door to the room with a chivalrous gesture, bowing slightly as he let you enter first. Before stepping inside, you glanced at his face without much enthusiasm. He seemed genuinely happy. It didn’t surprise you. He loved beautiful things, and this house you’d just moved into was exactly that. “I’ve always wanted one like this. Spacious, white. A huge bed. What do you think, darling?”

Your husband’s lips gently brushed against the skin of your shoulder as he stood a step behind you. The tender gesture stirred no emotions in you—just like this bedroom. Or the house in general.

“Why do we need such a big bed if I’ll be sleeping in it alone?” you asked, unable to hold back the bitterness in your voice.

Richard sighed and took a step back. Your words had pulled him out of his own cinematic fantasy—the one he’d been living in since morning. In that fantasy, you were a perfectly happy couple embarking on an unquestionably bright chapter of your lives, and you were his perfectly normal wife.

“It’s just two weeks. A fortnight, as my grandfather used to say. I’ve gone on much longer business trips before.”

“Well, I wasn’t in a completely unfamiliar place then, where I don’t know anyone.”

He tilted his head, clearly reluctant to revisit this topic yet again.

“You won’t be alone. Sarah will be coming by every day, remember? I asked her to take care of you.”

“You hired her,” you corrected.

“Fine, I hired her. She desperately needed a job, and I needed someone to keep an eye on you. Does the fact that she’ll be paid for it really change anything?”

Countless words pressed against your lips. Yet suddenly, you lost all interest in the argument, in the situation as a whole. You said nothing.

Richard studied your face closely, noticing that sudden, dangerous absence in your expression—a telltale sign with you. His lips tightened with concern. Before he could speak, the doorbell rang.

“Could that be her?” he wondered aloud, heading downstairs to let the guest in.

You followed him mindlessly down the stairs, like a shadow. You weren’t entirely sure why. Everything in your existence felt just like this—dictated by someone else or some mysterious force, a whisper lurking at the back of your mind. Never fully justified.

It turned out it wasn’t Sarah. Standing at the door of your new home was a couple.

“Hi there,” said a young woman with a romantic figure and a cascade of black curls. A natural blush on her cheeks softened her sharp features, adding a touch of charm. “We live in the house across the street. We stopped by to welcome our new neighbors.”

“And to apologize for barging in right after you arrived, not giving you any time to settle in,” added the man standing a step behind her, clearly towering over her in height. He looked down at his companion with a faint, probably unconscious smile, and from that alone, you knew they were either married or a long-standing couple. “Someone was a little too eager to meet you.”

She elbowed him, barely stifling a laugh.

“I’m Vanessa. And this is my smug and sarcastic husband, Spencer.”

“We weren’t expecting visitors,” you spoke up before Richard, standing in front of you, could say a word.

There was an unintentional sharpness to your tone—you didn’t want to host anyone. For one, you had just arrived. Your belongings from the previous house had been unpacked by the moving company, but you hadn’t gone shopping yet. There wasn’t any coffee to offer, and you weren’t even sure if the coffee maker was plugged in. More importantly, you hadn’t yet adjusted to the new place yourself and didn’t want to let strangers in until you did.

Vanessa parted her lips, clearly surprised by the edge in your voice.

“It’s all right, sweetheart,” your husband cut in quickly, turning to the woman with an apologetic look. “Don’t worry, you’re not bothering us at all. Actually, we’re glad you stopped by. It’ll be nice to get to know someone in the area, especially for my wife. I’ll be leaving on a business trip soon, and I don’t want her getting bored. Richard, by the way,” he added, extending a hand.

She had very small hands, round like a child’s, but in their own way, charming. Her wedding ring was simple and looked cheaper than yours. The thought flitted through your mind, as did the observation that Spencer had very elegant hands—slim with long fingers—unlike your husband’s. You had an odd habit of paying unsettlingly close attention to people’s hands.

Despite the protest in your gaze, Richard invited them inside.

Vanessa walked in first. They didn’t touch, but there was an unmistakable closeness in all their movements, as if they were two halves of one of those matching necklaces best friends wear in school. It caught your attention for some reason. You knew that you and Richard didn’t share that kind of grace. People didn’t immediately assume you were married when they saw you together. Sometimes they thought you were father and daughter, even though he was only thirteen years older than you and looked young, well-kept. But it probably had more to do with the way you walked cautiously at his side, always slightly withdrawn, as if seeking protection.

“Oh, it immediately reminded me of our house when we first moved in,” Vanessa sighed nostalgically, turning to her husband. The four of you had walked into the kitchen, where the table and countertops were spotless and empty, as if taken straight from a photo in a modern interior design magazine. “It used to look like this too, but then Spencer converted the living room and kitchen into the second and third library. Apparently, one isn’t enough for him.”

“My wife reads a lot too,” Richard chimed in. There was something strange about his tone, a faint, undefined emotion—maybe jealousy, but not entirely. Jealousy over the lightness and ease in their interactions, how their relationship seemed perfect at first glance. Unlike his.

Spencer looked at you, as if seeking confirmation of that statement.

You pursed your lips. The last time you’d read something was…six weeks ago, at best. Books hadn’t brought you joy in a long time, though there was a time when you devoured them relentlessly.

“It’s true,” you admitted stiffly. “I read constantly. One book after another."

When you lied, your voice sounded mechanical, like a robot. Recently, though, all your words carried that same rigid tone, even when you were being entirely truthful, so no one noticed when you veered away from the truth. It was, in a way, convenient. The new neighbor opened his mouth to speak. If he had asked what kinds of books you enjoyed, you would have said something absurd, like The Bible Trilogy or something equally ridiculous. Nothing else came to your foggy mind.

However, he was cut off by Richard, who quickly turned to both of them with a question about their professions. They looked young, about your age. You hadn’t expected them to have impressive careers, but that assumption turned out to be wrong. Vanessa turned out to be a surgeon, and Spencer was a criminal profiler.

Although the lines of his face were arranged in a way that was undeniably pleasant to look at, and his irises carried a warm hue, there was an undeniable sharpness in them. You could feel it, that piercing quality, whenever his gaze landed on you.

You tuned out when Richard started boring them with stories about his work as an engineer. His favorite topic—pride. You just wanted them to leave, even though nothing in their behavior really irritated you. Their love, however, bored you. You had some private aversion to happy relationships, and with the typical jealousy of a gloomy wife, you always wrote them off as doomed. Probably because of betrayal.

“And you, what do you do?” At some point, Spencer interrupted your husband’s monologue, tilting his head toward you. Vanessa, who had been patiently listening, seemed to perk up a little, her gaze now on you.

Richard swallowed, and you saw and heard it.

“She’s not working at the moment,” he said cautiously. Vanessa’s eyes involuntarily dropped to your stomach, but Richard quickly shook his head. “No, it’s not like that. We don’t have children yet. It’s just... it’s about some... health issues.”

A very creative way to convey that not long ago your wife had a nervous breakdown. So severe that you decided to buy a new house in a new neighborhood, hoping it would somehow improve her condition.

Vanessa’s eyes brightened, as if apologizing for bringing up the topic at all.

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. Well, it’s kind of like my Spence. He’s on leave for health reasons too. I made him take it; I honestly think it’s better to take a break and rest than push yourself to the limit later on.”

“But it’s nothing serious,” her husband quickly reassured. “Just migraines. Two weeks, and I’ll be back at work.”

You apologized to them without a hint of feigned remorse. Muttering something under your breath about not feeling well, but in reality, you simply didn’t want to continue this pointless conversation. As you walked away, you could feel Richard’s unwavering gaze on your back. He had never been angry at you for your behavior. He cared deeply, truly. More than anger, you sensed a certain disappointment in his demeanor. In his ideal world with his ideal wife, you stood by his side, holding him by the waist, entertaining everyone with some anecdote from exotic corners of the world, sparking bursts of laughter.

You lay down on the bed, in the cold sheets of the enormous bed. Closing your eyes, you imagined yourself floating on the surface of the endless ocean. There was nothing around you to focus your gaze on. In a way, it was a dream more terrifying than one where a shark would chase you. When you woke up, the sun was setting.

For a while, you lay still, but eventually, you got up and descended the stairs. It wasn’t out of desire, but rather some internal compulsion you had to fulfill. Otherwise, something would happen. You weren’t sure what. Your steps were slow, barely audible. At the top of the stairs, you heard Sarah’s voice coming from the kitchen. The rest of the way, you moved like a born detective, a secret agent, hiding by the entrance, opposite the white (like everything else in this house) wooden cubby under the stairs.

You heard Sarah’s voice again, a faint sound of vegetables being chopped in the background. They must have been preparing dinner together.

"Don’t worry," she said, her voice gentle. "When you leave, I’ll stop by every day to check on her. Are you sure that moving away was really the right solution?"

Richard sighed before answering.

"Well, that’s what the psychologist recommended. He said that a break from the big city and some peace is the best thing I can offer her in this crisis."He paused for a moment, then added, "Thank you for doing this, Sarah. I wish I didn’t have to leave, but my work...This project is incredibly important…"

Sarah was your sister, whom your husband had hired as something like domestic help. She cleaned and made sure you didn’t get the idea of taking a bath with a toaster plugged in under your arm. By the way, they were fucking behind your back. You knew about it and did nothing about it.

The reasons were mixing in your head, but the most important one was probably that without Richard, you would have nothing. Money, a house, the possibility of spending most days sweetly doing nothing. Besides, you didn’t really feel bothered by it. For most of the time, where he stuck his dick was absolutely indifferent to you, even if it was your sister. For the rest, you wanted to slit both of their throats.

But we all have our own inner battles, right?

You walked into the kitchen, and they fell silent immediately.

The next two days felt almost fairy-tale-like, as if every time the sun set, creatures straight out of folklore surrounded your house, camping outside the windows. Richard, by your side, became a kind of magical amulet—a form of protection against them all. His departure would be like violently ripping that amulet from your neck, leaving you exposed to danger.

You were getting used to the new house. For a moment, you felt so alive, so present, that you even started questioning whether bringing the porcelain dinner set from the old place had been a good idea. For a solid fifteen minutes, you told Richard how you thought it was too elegant, too plain. Too much of a match for the rest of the decor, all designed in the same style.

He listened, a smile on his face, happy that your thoughts weren’t drifting into strange, distant realms. And when you were done, he whisked you away to buy a new dinner set with cobalt floral patterns. You felt good.

The next day, he left for his two-week business trip—a fortnight, as he called it.

The first day was lonely; you wandered aimlessly through the vast new house. The next two days seemed not to exist at all.

“You can’t keep doing this.” Someone’s presence loomed just behind you as you lay face down on the bed, your face buried in the pillow. “You can’t spend your days like this. It’s not helping, really. You need to… you need to try doing something,” Sarah explained. She pulled the blanket off your body, like a mother waking a child for school.

You didn’t respond.

“Come downstairs. It’s already afternoon, and I bet you haven’t eaten anything, right? Honestly, I don’t even want to ask how long it’s been.”

And I bet you spread your legs for my husband, right? The thought pushed itself to your lips, but opening your mouth felt like too much effort. After about fifteen minutes of her continued talking, you let her drag you downstairs. You sat in a chair at the table, where you had a clear view of the neighbors’ house and driveway. It was almost identical to yours—white, two stories tall, with a mailbox planted near the road that stretched through the neighborhood. The only thing that set it apart was a trail of pink roses climbing along its white fence.

Sarah began preparing a meal. She was always an excellent cook. She had a thing for Asian cuisine—hearty soups with intense aromas.

You ate in silence. Sarah asked if you had called Richard, but you dismissed it with a snort. After that, she said nothing more and started cleaning up after the meal without a word. You kept your absent gaze fixed on the neighbors' driveway when suddenly a car appeared there. Spencer got out, wearing a polo shirt, and went to the trunk to pull out, as it turned out, bags of groceries.

He had no idea you were watching him, though if he had good eyesight, he could have seen your face in the window across the street. The entire conversation with him and his wife filled your mind again. You remembered that Vanessa worked as a surgeon almost all day, while he spent his days alone at home. Just like you and Richard. Did he feel romantically lonely, or abandoned like a dog that’s loved but you want to kick every time it pees on the carpet? The kind of dog that gets shown in family pictures but is asked to get off the bed and not lick you because it disgusts you?

You were curious if they had sex. He and Vanessa. She was probably tired when she got back and didn’t feel like it. Did he accept that, or secretly bring someone home when she wasn’t around? He seemed to love her, but that didn’t mean he could deny his human needs. Maybe he missed intimacy. You probably did too, but you didn’t want it from Richard. In bed, he was too proper, like a porn actor following a script.

"Maybe you can help me?" Sarah asked, washing dishes at the sink. Lost in thought, you didn’t even hear the sound of the running water.

Spencer came inside.

"That's why Richard hired you," you reminded her coldly.

"It’s not about that," she sighed. "I don’t know, maybe it’s just my opinion, but doing nothing drives people into even deeper depression. Believe me, you’d feel better if you had something to focus on. I don’t know, a job, a child, responsibilities. A goal." She paused for a moment, placing the dishes on the shelf. Her hands touched your new porcelain. You were planning to throw it out once she left. "Okay, maybe I’ll sound harsh, but... are you really not coping?"

"Do you think I'm pretending?"

"No," she added quickly, with real concern. "I don't think so, it's just... you know, I just remembered. When you were a child, you were like this too. Our parents gave us chores, and you didn't do your part. You used to drift off somewhere with your thoughts...you were a bit lazy.”

A strange hum filled your head as you returned to your body, the kitchen was filled with darkness, and your cheek rested on the kitchen table. Only after a moment did you realize that Sarah must have left hours ago, and you, unable to move, had fallen asleep in the same spot where you had been sitting. Your body was stiff, and you didn't want to move it to avoid pain or numbness.

When you opened your eyes again, the morning sun gently caressed your face.

A certain sense of unreality gently embraced your body, kissing every part of it. For a moment, you lay there—or rather, sat—with your head resting on the table, your gaze fixed on the view outside the window. The neighbor's house, the pink roses, the driveway. The mailbox, to which Spencer approached with a sleepy step, dressed in a loose T-shirt and gray checkered pants. Even from afar, you could see his brown hair was messy, which only added a charm to his already quite handsome face.

Without much thought, as if guided by some higher command in a system you physically couldn't resist, you sprang to your feet and stepped outside. You were still wearing a flowing white nightgown that reached just halfway up your thigh, with lace trimming. Though it was spring, the mornings were cold, but you didn't feel it, just as you didn't feel the roughness of the concrete driveway beneath your bare feet.

"Hey, neighbor!" you shouted at him, approaching your mailbox. You acted as it felt so natural to you, as if you did this every morning just like him. You glanced inside; there was only a newspaper.

Spencer furrowed his brow in surprise, but waved, a brief, uncertain smile appeared on his lips. You shoved the newspaper under your arm without even looking at the headline and crossed the street to approach him. You felt both more alive than ever before and fleeting, as if the breeze could blow you away at any moment, and you would become nothing more than a cloud of dust just before his face.

“Morning,” he greeted aloud, crossing his arms, one of them holding a newspaper against his chest. For a moment, he stared at you, lost in thought, before finally shaking his head. “I’ll admit, I’m... a little surprised to see you. I thought you and Richard had both left, I didn’t see you around…”

“Oh, I just wasn’t feeling well,” you waved your hand dismissively. Your tone was light, not as tense as it had been the first, and last, time you’d spoken with him. He seemed to notice the difference, narrowing his eyes slightly as he studied your face.

“I hope you’re feeling better,” he expressed, his concern sounding sincere and kind.

“Definitely. I’m just a little bored now. Not much to do in the new house, new neighborhood,” you added with an ironic undertone that only you could catch. As if you were even trying to do anything. You remembered Sarah’s words while doing the dishes.

Spencer, however, couldn’t know you were lying, and in a way, you believed your own words. He gave a short chuckle.

“I get that all too well. The doctor recommended I take a break from mental work, and I have no idea what I could do,” he said. “Vanessa comes home late during the week, and she just collapses. I guess I’ll have to push through until the weekend.”

You laughed, not because his words amused you, but because it confirmed your earlier theory. They weren’t having sex. There was no chance of it.

“Ah, poor things. The both of us, I mean,” you sighed. “Well, since you can’t work mentally, I suppose you’ll have to spend your time physically. In some pleasant way.”

“Yeah, I guess that would be the best,” he responded.

A silence fell between you. You didn’t know what else to say to keep the conversation going. Why did you even want to keep it going so much? Was it a lack of male attention, or something else? Spencer’s gaze briefly flickered toward his house, likely signaling that he wanted to go back inside but didn’t know how to show it. But suddenly, his eyes dropped, and his lips parted in surprise.

“Y-your foot…”

A pool of blood stretched out beneath you, on his driveway. Surprised, you let out a stifled cry, not feeling any pain and having no idea where it came from. Spencer snapped out of his shock, his head swiveling side to side as a sense of control began to settle into his movements.

"You’re barefoot, you must have stepped on something, a sharp stone or glass," he reasoned logically, eyeing your feet. Then, he sighed. "Damm… there’s quite a bit of it... a-are you okay?"

"A little dizzy," you groaned.

The sight of blood always made you lightheaded.

He quickly rushed to you, making sure you wouldn’t fall. One of his hands, slender with long fingers—something you had once noticed—rested on the small of your back, and you could feel it through the thin fabric of your nightgown.

“C-could you take me to my house...?” you asked, slipping further into his arms. “I need to lie down... I don’t like... I don’t like blood...”

“Of course...”

And though his house was much closer, he followed your request. The fact that you were disturbed by the sight of blood, rather than the actual loss of it, seemed to calm him a bit. He tried to guide you, draping his arm around you, but soon realized it was pointless. He froze for a moment, uncertain. Then he sighed and lifted you in his arms, supporting you beneath the knees.

"Thank you so much... neighbor," you mumbled into his chest.

A moment later, you were half-sitting, half-lying on a chair in the kitchen, while he pulled one to sit across from you. Small bloodstains from your foot marked his gray pants, but he seemed completely unfazed by it. You weren't sure if there was a first aid kit at home, so he told you to wait and went to your bathroom to fetch it.

With a focused expression and his lower lip slightly protruding, he began treating your wound. He seemed to have experience in this. You didn't feel any pain at all; you were focused only on a few things. On your stretched-out leg, resting on his lap, and what was between your legs, revealed by the short nightgown.

You never slept in lingerie.

You carefully analyzed his face, wondering if he noticed it.

Maybe not, because he was too focused. Maybe he did, but he was trying to play the gentleman.

You pretended to let out a short groan of pain to draw his attention. His gaze lovingly fell on you... and then it landed right there. He quickly looked away, the corner of your mouth trembled.

“Thank you for taking care of me, Spencer,' you said. “My foot, actually. Is it something serious?”

He swallowed, though your limb was already fully bandaged and dressed, he didn’t take his eyes off it. As if he were afraid to look elsewhere.

“‘N-no,’ he replied hoarsely, nervously. He cleared his throat, trying to get rid of it, then straightened his head. His gaze held so much awkwardness. And you were absolutely sure that there was also some degree of desire in it. ‘It’s… it’s a shallow wound, it just bled a bit heavily. I disinfected it… there’s probably no need to go to the hospital… unless… unless you feel like you need to, of course, that depends on you.’”

“There’s no need,” you reassured him with a brief nod. In contrast to him, your voice was calm, refined. You straightened up in your seat and reached out, brushing your fingers against his forearm. He flinched. “How can I repay you?”

"Repay?" he repeated, with confusion. Then your eyes met, and if he had been standing, he would likely have taken a step back, pushed away by everything that was in your gaze. He swallowed again. "You don’t have to repay me, it’s... just a neighborly favor. And I... I need to get going."

He fought with himself, but if he didn’t want you, he wouldn’t have allowed you to touch his forearm like that, running your nails along it. Suddenly, as if struck by an electric shock, he jumped up from the chair, your injured leg dropping to the floor. You wanted to scoff, but held yourself back. At first, you watched him leave the kitchen, then you turned your gaze toward the window, where he soon appeared, heading toward the house. His steps were slow, suspiciously slow.

A sense of triumph filled your body as you slowly rose from the chair, standing on your healthy leg. You waited, watching, until he turned.

You slipped the sleeve of your nightgown off your shoulder.

He didn’t turn around, though he stopped.

You slipped another one.

He stood still, his shoulders moving up and down.

The nightgown slipped down along your body.

He chose that exact moment to glance back toward your window, toward you. You saw his eyes widen, his gaze unsure of where to land. For a long, intense moment, you simply stared at each other.

Until he finally moved, gave in, and returned to your house.

Well, in a similar manner, the following days unfolded.

Every morning, you waited by the window like a ghost. Spencer, like a good neighbor, would approach the mailbox, pull out the newspaper, and pretend to examine the front page. But in reality, he was just waiting to catch a glimpse of you in the window of your house. You didn't need to give him hand signals, wave, or call out. You simply hobbled to your bedroom, knowing the front door was unlocked.

And after a moment, he would join you.

Your bodies collided with the bedding. Always in the same wild way, impatient and thirsty for the closeness of another person. His hand slid between your legs, a short moment later, caressed your lips, brushing against your lower lip, gently tugging at it. It was like an intense memory, suddenly haunting you in the middle of, say, a store aisle, pulling from you an involuntary gasp, even though weeks or even years had passed since that moment.

Those moments when you were together were that wonderful memory. The act itself, and the moments after, when you lay curled up facing each other. The rest of the days, the hours between your next meeting, were like that store aisle with shelves full of milk with various fat contents. Being among them, all you could do was return, return with your thoughts.

That Friday, you were sitting with your knees resting on his chest.

Your finger traced a path from his collarbones down to his lower abdomen and back again, and Spencer watched your movements, his lips slightly curled in amused curiosity.

"What are you thinking about?" he wanted to know.

He reached for your loose hair, gently pushing it over your back to see you better. To see all of you.

"Do you feel guilty for cheating on your wife?" you asked. "The beautiful, loving Vanessa? With your sick neighbor?"

Spencer was silent for a long moment, though he did not look away. If he had, it would have carried some shame, some guilt. But he didn’t.

“Desire is like a whirlpool that takes you down, with no possibility of return. Gustave Flaubert, Madame Bovary " he quoted softly, instead of directly answering the question.

"A guy who quotes classic literature after having sex with me," you chuckled. "Now, that's a first. But how does this relate to my question?"

"It relates in this way," he replied, "that desire is not something I have control over. It's a force that strikes unexpectedly, and although a person is often aware of the consequences it brings, they can't resist it. And I desire you."

"So you mean to say that cheating on your wife isn't your fault? Because you had no control over it?"

"Of course, it's my fault. And every sin is something a person eventually regrets, that's just how it goes. But I'm not there yet. I'm still too dazzled and enchanted by you. So, to answer your question, no, I don't feel guilty. Not yet. What about you?"

A strange feeling filled your body as you listened to his words, compliments, and devotion. It was as if you were swaying to the delicate sounds of some magical music, played live by a brilliant composer. Instead of answering, you returned to tracing the same path on his skin, starting from his neck and moving downward.

He inhaled sharply. This time, you did it with your lips.

Both of you, fully dressed, walked down the stairs. You wanted him by your side all day and night, but you couldn't have him. Not only because he had to go home in the evening when his wife was returning from work. He had other duties too, like grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning; he couldn’t devote all his time to you.

Your hand rested in his, but then you stopped suddenly, alarmed by a sound. A car pulling into the driveway.

"It must be Sarah," you thought right away. You had spent much longer in bed that day than usual, completely unaware that it was already afternoon and your sister was coming over to check on you. Spencer straightened up, surprised, and before he could say anything, you pushed him toward the cupboard under the stairs. You hadn’t had a chance to look in there yet, but it seemed like the best hiding spot. "Get in there, quickly...!"

Barely had the cupboard door closed when Sarah entered. She was holding a paper bag with groceries, nearly dropping it when she saw you.

“What are you doing here?”

Your eyebrows shot up.

“This is my house.”

“Shit, right,” she sighed, nodding. “Sorry, I just always found you in bed at this time, and… never mind. It’s good to see you on your feet. Want to help me cook?”

Without waiting for an answer, she headed for the kitchen. She moved through the house as if it were hers. Slowly, you followed her, wondering how to signal Spencer to cautiously leave the cupboard and return to his place. Though maybe that would be too risky? The cupboard door was visible from where Sarah was chopping vegetables for dinner; she would have to turn her back. Better for him to stay there until she left.

Actually, he didn’t even need to hide. You could just tell her that he came by to borrow something, like normal neighbors do. But just the thought of hiding him sent a pleasant shiver of excitement down your back. You entered the kitchen, watching your sister in silence.

“How’s your leg?” she asked over her shoulder, putting the newly purchased groceries into the fridge. “I see you’re walking normally again.”

“I take very careful steps and try not to put too much weight on it,” you replied, slipping further into the room.

You weren’t sure how to act; your gaze kept drifting behind her to the cupboard under the stairs, where Spencer was hiding.

Sarah seemed to be watching you more closely whenever she wasn’t chopping or stirring something. She probably sensed that something was off, even if she couldn’t pinpoint what.

A quarter of an hour passed, then half an hour. Meals prepared by your sister were never the quick kind.

“Fuck,” she suddenly exclaimed, her words preceded by the sharp sound of shattering glass. She had dropped one of the plates—the ones you and Richard had bought right after moving into this house. She glanced around the kitchen as steam billowed out of the pot on the stove. “Do you have a dustpan or something?”

You opened your mouth but said nothing. The truth was, you didn’t know. You didn’t cook or clean; you spent your days in the bedroom or by the window, waiting for Spencer.

Sarah caught herself, realizing how pointless her question was.

“Wait, Richard mentioned the previous owners didn’t clear everything out of the cupboard,” she said suddenly, pointing toward the very place in question.

Your entire body tensed.

Before you could react, shake yourself out of it, or get a grip on the situation, she was already opening the door. You stood frozen, your eyes wide, bracing yourself for her surprised scream when she stumbled across a strange man inside.

You felt odd, like you were waiting for a carnival vendor to hand you a stick of cotton candy. Like…excited, rather than terrified at the prospect of your secret being exposed.

Sarah returned holding a dustpan.

“See? It was there. They really did leave a lot of stuff behind. Richard needs to check it out when he gets back,” she said, pausing abruptly to scrutinize your expression. “What’s wrong?”

You only shook your head, unable to say a word.

The moment Sarah drove away, you practically sprinted to the cupboard.

Spencer burst into laughter at the sight of your astonished expression.

“God, you have no idea how scared I was when she came in. But I hid behind the door, and she didn’t even notice me,” he explained, placing a hand on his chest as if only now beginning to process what had just happened.

A moment later, you threw your head back, laughing uncontrollably. And as you let yourself sink into the hysteria, you pressed your lips to his, pushing him back against one of the walls. He drew in a surprised breath, momentarily breaking the kiss, but quickly dove back into it.

There was always a certain urgency in the way he treated you. As if he truly believed this might be the last time you’d see each other. The pace he set felt like a challenge, one you were determined to meet.

You allowed yourself a brief moment of respite, tilting your head back in satisfaction, as one of his fingers began tracing circles around your nipple. His entire hand slipped under the thin fabric of your nightgown, the other was sliding up from the opposite side. Oh, it was marvelous. The darkness that enveloped the cupboard contrasted with a single, narrow beam of light streaming through the slightly ajar door.

He knelt before you, your knees softening, buckling more and more with every passing moment.

You didn’t even need to close your eyes to feel consumed by that sensation. It seemed as though there was only one, specific point on your body, and the rest of you barely existed—like oxygen molecules in the air around you, invisible and undetectable to others, and even to yourself.

You let out a moan, not sweet, but more of a scream, cutting through the space.

At that moment, your gaze once again fell on that one illuminated strip in the dark room, a strange glow reflecting light off itself. The axe head, resting against one of the walls, much like you in that moment. Except that it was more stable and upright, its back not arching backward.

Well, it didn’t have a back, but you get the metaphor.

On weekends, Vanessa didn't work.

Spencer hadn't visited you for a while.

You spent those two days with your cheek pressed against the kitchen counter, watching your neighbor water the flowers. The thick roses with pink buds, their color matching the flush of effort on her cheeks as she gripped the heavy watering can. She wore tight black pants and a t-shirt, the complete opposite of your airy shirt. On a daily basis, you didn't wear anything else. Why would you? It was comfortable and provided easy access. All you had to do was slip your hand underneath.

Sarah noticed the deterioration in your condition and told you to call Richard. She probably hoped that hearing his voice would act as a cure for you. You didn’t need him; you had your own. You had your own miraculous move-on drug. It worked reliably, the only downside being that its effects were temporary.

The long-awaited Monday had come again, and you were afraid Spencer wouldn’t show up. But he did, as usual, holding a freshly retrieved newspaper from the mailbox. He always forgot to take it with him afterward, and a pile had already started to accumulate in your bedroom. Later, on Friday, you were lying naked in bed. You reached for one of them and tried to make a paper airplane, but you couldn’t remember how.

Spencer sat on the bed, the blanket wrapped around his hips, leaving his chest exposed.

"Show me," he asked, extending his hand towards you.

You followed the command, lying on your side with your head resting on your hand, watching his movements. He looked down, focused, his hair falling over his forehead. It was longer than Richard's hair, and you liked it, along with the untamed nature that always accompanied it. You would wish he never came back from that business trip. His plane could crash somewhere in the ocean or in the jungle, where he would be torn apart by wild animals.

Vanessa wasn't an obstacle, you imagined yourself approaching her from behind while she was watering the flowers. Then it would be just the two of you. You could never leave the house, never leave that bed.

"Ta-da," Spencer said, throwing the finished paper airplane so it rolled across the bedroom like a car on a circular racetrack.

You laughed, a sense of carefree joy filling you.

"I feel like a child again," you sighed, lying on your back. "Like I can dream again."

After a moment, Spencer joined you, placing a tender kiss on your shoulder and closely watching your profile.

"Don't you have any dreams?" he asked, surprised.

You paused for a moment. Yes, you had one. It involved stopping time, literally grabbing the hands of the universe’s clock and holding them in place. Right there, in that very moment. But out loud, you decided to say something else.

"I used to dream of moving to Florida. But I don't know if that even qualifies as a dream. A dream should be something out of our reach, or something that can’t be fulfilled. Something we can think about with excitement every night before going to sleep. And I, well, theoretically, I could move there. What about you, do you have any dreams?"

Spencer thought about it for a moment.

"By the way you put it, I guess I don’t. I’d like to buy a new car, but it’s not something I think about with excitement before bed," he said with a short chuckle, but suddenly his amusement faded, his unreadable gaze fixed on you. You turned your face towards him, gently studying his features with your fingers, starting from his lips. A short sigh escaped them. "Then… I think about you."

You kissed him gently, as if slipping a pill onto your tongue. Again, I thought of all those damned seconds, slipping away like the air from a punctured balloon. Like life, from a dying person. You wished there was a way to seal that hole or perform CPR so that the man could still survive. To make time stand still.

Suddenly, a sound broke the silence. The landline phone, sitting on the cabinet by Spencer’s side—well, actually, Richard’s side—rang.

You didn’t want to answer it, so you asked him to reach for it and hang up the call. But then it rang again, the sound felt like a personalized version of a spiked boot, kicking your head.

"Give it to me," you said with surrender, taking the phone from Spencer. "Hello?"

"Hey, babe. Everything okay? You haven't said a word," Richard's voice came through on the other end, sounding lighter. Like he was well-rested. Well, he had the chance, being far away from his fucked-up wife. Or maybe he just masturbated at the thought of Sarah, and it put him in such a good mood.

You glanced sideways at Spencer, signaling that it was your husband. For a moment, he didn’t move, but after a while, a somewhat arrogant expression appeared on his face, and you were curious about what it meant.

"You know I don’t like talking on the phone," you replied briefly.

Spencer positioned himself in front of your bent legs, gently spreading them apart.

"I know, but... I was still worried. Although, Sarah also called me saying you were feeling better." His lips touched the inner part of your thigh, you closed your eyes. Your breath had to stay steady. "Well, then she called again, saying that you were feeling bad again. I had no idea what was going on. Maybe you’ll tell me, hm? Have you settled in the area? Have you even talked to the neighbors at least once?"

You pulled the phone away from yourself, inhaling sharply as his tongue found its place exactly where it should.

"Spencer Reid, you absolute sadist," you said almost silently.

He laughed, his breath tickling you.

"Babe?" Your husband's voice came through louder.

You pressed the phone back to your ear.

"Hm? What were you asking? I can't talk right now," you said, sliding one hand into his hair, gently gliding it through the strands. At one point, your fingers tightened on them as the rest of your body tensed.

"Okay, fine," he said, not even sounding disappointed, more like he was tired of the conversation. And likewise. You wanted him to hang up already—his presence, even though miles away, filled you with a palpable disgust. "Oh, but one more thing. I hope you'll be happy."

Impatiently, you rolled your eyes, and at the same time, a moan slipped from your lips. You quickly covered your mouth with your hand. Richard remained silent—he must have heard it, but probably took it as a sign of curiosity toward his words.

The silence on the other end was almost theatrical.

"I’m coming back sooner," he finally declared. "We finished the project much quicker than we planned..."

You shot up to a sitting position, and Spencer jumped back from you, startled.

"When?" you managed to force out, the word laced with pure fear.

"Well, my flight is booked for today’s evening in my time zone..."

You hung up. An indescribable pain spread across your chest, as if someone had shoved a sharp instrument into it and left it there.

"What's going on? What happened?" Spencer asked, concern filling his voice as he moved closer to you, gently cupping your cheek.

You usually loved his touch; normally, you would close your eyes and surrender to the gesture. But you couldn’t. The realization that it was all going to end—that it was going to end tomorrow—made you push his hand away. For a moment, you stared into space, trying to steady your breath, but you couldn’t. It seemed like it would stay like this forever.

"I think it's time for you to leave," you said, your voice showing no emotion.

Maybe if he had sensed the despair in it, heard it crack, he would have stayed. But no, your command was cold, and it made him dress quickly and leave the bedroom almost immediately. You buried your hands in your hair, a high-pitched sound escaping your lips as you tore one of the newspapers into shreds.

Then you tore another one. And then all of them, into really small pieces, among which you curled up like a paralyzed person, lying still for the rest of the day and night. You remembered all the last beautiful days, your conversations with Spencer. Dreams of a plane crashing in the jungle.

Luckily, Sarah didn't visit you that day; she would have found you in a very strange state. First, in absolute disarray. Then, around four in the morning, wide awake like a junkie. Walking around the house, up and down the stairs, through the kitchen, even the bathroom, thinking and planning. What could you do? What was left for you?

You baked a cake. Your sister was right when she said that, as a child, you neglected all the chores your parents gave you. You never learned to cook, you only knew how to make the simplest chocolate cake.

The hands of the clock. To grab them and stop them. So that Richard would never come back, and Spencer could stay with you forever.

You sat at the kitchen table, even though it was Saturday. Spencer didn’t check the mailbox; he usually slept in on weekends. In fact, for the first time, you didn’t even wait for him.

You waited until Vanessa, as usual, began watering the roses by the fence.

And then, you went to the cupboard to get the axe.

Even then, you remained in your nightgown. The same one you wore when her husband had bandaged your foot. When it all began. A woman in lace, gripping an axe almost bigger than she was, what an unusual sight in a suburban neighborhood so calm.

At first, Vanessa didn’t even notice you approach, and when she did, she didn’t stop watering the flowers. She simply raised an eyebrow in surprise.

Meanwhile, your head was filled with a buzzing sound. You became increasingly aware of the weight of the axe in your hand. And then, the quiet, mundane neighborhood was pierced by a woman's scream.

Sarah found him smoking a cigarette outside the psychiatric hospital, inhaling the smoke so deeply as if he hoped it would give him lung cancer immediately. The sight surprised her.

"You smoke?" she asked, immediately realizing how stupid the question was. What did it matter whether he smoked? She probably would too if she found herself in such a situation.

Richard flicked the ash.

"I started again," he replied briefly.

For a moment, they stood in silence, struggling to find words in such a situation. Sarah stared at her shoes, still unable to grasp it all. Her own sister had tried to kill their neighbor, an entirely innocent woman, while she was watering flowers in front of her house. Because of... oh, that was probably the strangest part of it all. And it was what decided that instead of a cell, she ended up in a hospital under close observation.

She had convinced herself that, in her husband's absence, she had started an affair with her neighbor. And that led her to attempt to get rid of his wife.

"Did you see her?" she asked.

Richard shook his head in denial. He seemed exhausted, as though he had aged at least ten years. And had endured a series of life tragedies, including a war.

"I don't even know if I can," he replied, making a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. He suddenly took a deep breath, his exhale trembling. "Do you know what the police found at our house? A cake. She baked it for me, supposedly as a welcome, even left a note with my name on it. She stuffed it with rat poison, do you understand that? She wanted to kill me. She wanted to kill me too."

Sarah was speechless. She covered her mouth with her hand, her fingers trembling, unable to control them for quite some time. They stood in silence for a moment, not knowing what to say, as she tried to recall the past two weeks. She analyzed her sister's behavior, only now realizing how twisted it had been. She had thought she was suffering from loneliness, not from... all this madness in her mind.

“Richard,” she managed to say his name carefully. The question she wanted to ask wasn’t particularly polite, but she had to know. “Why... why didn’t you send her anywhere after her last breakdown? To a hospital where they could take care of her?”

“Would I have to tell my parents that my wife ended up in a psychiatric ward?” he replied, voice low.

“Maybe now you wouldn’t have to tell them she tried to murder someone,” she snapped, a surge of anger rising within her towards him.

He rubbed his face, still holding the cigarette in his hand.

“Damn it, Sarah, I’m sorry... you’re right, God, I know you’re right. I regret so much that I did nothing back then, didn’t react... I... I fooled myself, thinking it would pass. That we’d move and it would get better,” he said, his voice breaking slightly.

He tried to touch her shoulder, but she pulled away. For a long time, she had the feeling that her sister’s husband was trying to get closer to her in some way. He wasn’t pushy or disgusting, nothing like that. If he had been, she wouldn’t have accepted his offer to work for them at their house. But sometimes, she had the impression that during their conversations, he tried to flirt with her. For birthdays and holidays, he gave her expensive gifts, occasionally touching her briefly, but quickly pulling away when he noticed her gaze. Sarah had been with the same girl for three years, the one she was planning to propose to. Besides, she would never do that to her sister.

“Sarah,” he said, pleading. “Sarah, what am I supposed to do?”

Well, this wasn’t something she could advise on. Maybe no one could. However, she didn’t want to leave him hanging, without a conclusion, without reflection, before she went inside to see her sister for the first time since that incident. She looked at the barely glowing cigarette in his hand.

“Be grateful that woman survived,” she finally replied.

The cigarette butt fell to the ground, and she stepped on it with her shoe.

tag list: @she-wont-miss @mggslover @kakamixo @nyeddleblog @dylanobrienswife0420 @wmoony

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

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #matilda's recs #spencer reid x oc #criminal mind #doctor spencer reid #spence reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

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obbystars · 4 months ago

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When Mother Was Here

Synopsis: Kill him. Or let him bleed.

Notes: Sebastian Solace x GN!Reader / NO ROMANCE IN THIS ONE / Based off of Zeal’s recent post of a scrapped idea / Angst, hurt no comfort, no happy ending / Sebastian backstory spoilers / Violence / Repeated deaths / I suck at writing people fighting, sorry :( / Spot the Gabriel Ultrakill reference / Short (sigh…)

Credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

(OUGHHHHH ZEAL I WISH YOU KEPT THIS IN THE WORKS I don’t think you guys know how fast I RUSHED to make this after I saw the post)

Your orders were simple. Kill Z-13, The Saboteur. Otherwise known to you as Sebastian Solace. For once, they equipped you with a weapon but it wasn’t one that’d prove that effective. At least, not one that’d give you such an advantage against the mutant so that you wouldn’t use it against the guardsmen and other staff. You were still an EXR-P, after all. An expendable. They don’t expect you to accomplish this, but it was the EXR-P that was able to find him because he lets them find him.

You figured you’d have an advantage as he may not be expecting you, an EXR-P, to be armed. Maybe even surprise him. However, that turned out to not be the case. Of course, you weren’t the only one tasked with this. Urbanshade needs him to die.

He had killed you just as quickly as the others, but you surprised him the moment he turned his back to you. He heard faint shuffling and the sound of bones cracking behind him and turned back around. Suddenly, you were standing again as if he didn’t just crush your skull into the ground. The blood was there. The cracks on the floor were there. The blood dripping down your head and onto your prisoner uniform was there.

He stares at you in complete shock for a moment, then he lets out a growl.

“I don’t care how many time you come back,” he stands up straight, “I will break you again and again, paint the walls red with buckets of your own blood! I will rip you limb from limb until even the other expendables start to cry for mercy!! I will ENJOY tearing you apart no matter how many times I have to!!”

Sebastian continues to kill you and you continue to get back up on your feet not a moment too soon. You were practically drenched in your own blood, so were the floors and walls with how gruesome some of your deaths had gotten.

You know he’s getting slower and desperate as you kept coming back and continued to manage a hit. He was running out of ammo for his shotgun and his own blood was starting to spill onto the floor. You soon spot a dead guardsman that still had his gun. It was likely it was still loaded. You weren’t sure if you were allowed to, but do or die over and over and over again. It wasn’t like they told you that you couldn’t do it, but as long as it meant the target is killed, then they shouldn’t stop you.

The gun was loaded. If you die now, he’ll take it off of your cold hands. Maybe even break it so you can’t use it. While you could finish the job without it, it’s always better to have something more sufficient for the job.

At one instance, he had managed to grab you but managed to hit him in the head with the weapon Urbanshade had provided to you. You narrowly missed your kill-shot, however, and only hit his shoulder. Still, it was a hit.

The fight’s gotten to the point Sebastian was trying to find a way to get away from you. It didn’t matter how, he just needed to escape and get somewhere safe. His recent failed attempt had you managing to aim your shot to hit his arm. You persisted and aimed your gun as he was making a break for it again.

Click.

Your eyes widened. Of course…

Seeing as you had run out of ammo, Sebastian took this chance to run. You returned to the guardsman still lying right where you found him and reloaded the gun. You looked to where Sebastian had fled to and break into a run. The trail of blood was enough to help you track him down.

You feel exhausted as you continue down the dark hallways. You were practically limping, almost literally dragging yourself to try and catch up to Sebastian. You eventually stumble upon a dimly lit room. You recognized this room. The trail leads into the vent. Yes, you know this room.

As you emerged through the other side, you hear someone sobbing. You spot him in the corner, and the sight made you freeze. You don’t know why you froze, or why you lowered the gun.

“M..mom…?” You watch as he reaches out with a trembling hand. To you? It seems like it, but it’s not you he’s seeing, “Are… Are you there..?”

The grip on your gun begins to falter. Your hands begin to shake as you listen to his cries for a mother who wasn’t here. Begging for her to come back. Maybe you’ve forgotten who exactly you were standing in front of. You’ve read his document. Judging by the years listed of when everything happened, you don’t think you’d be surprised if he was still with his family. His mother.

Someone who was accused and sentenced to death for murder, a murder he was not guilty of. It was only because of the official statement made of his execution that this information was not relayed to him or to his family. His family does not know he’s alive, nor do they know he’s not guilty. All they know is that their son was a murderer.

Why can’t you do it? Put him out of his misery. It should be easy. It’s mercy. End his suffering. They’ll kill you if you don’t do it. He’ll kill you again if you don’t do it. If not you, someone else.

You can’t move.

#🌑 // the moon provides #sebastian solace #roblox pressure #pressure #sebastian solace x reader #pressure roblox #roblox pressure sebastian

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vrystalius · 2 months ago

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NSFW Alphabet — Kokushibo

An NSFW alphabet all about the Upper Moon One.

Pairing: Kokushibo x gn!human!reader

(Spoilers for his backstory during E=Experience, no mentioning of any descriptions of reader’s body)

A = Aftercare (what is he like after sex?)

Kokushibo is silently attentive and affectionate. He won’t really talk about what you two just did or verbally check on your condition, but would tend to you with small gestures. Only his main two eyes would be open, as a sign of vulnerability and trust, while draping either his signature haori or the bedsheets over you, keeping you warm. His cool hand would gently brush over skin, massaging sore areas here and there. His face sometimes would be buried in your neck, taking deep breaths and engraving your smell and comforting warmth into his memory.

If Kokushibo ever speaks, it would be to ask you about how you’re feeling and doing right now or if you need anything, like human food or water. Sometimes, rarely, he’d whisper quiet love declarations or promises of eternal devotion.

“You look ethereal, love. Here, take my haori. I want my scent marking you.”

B = Body part (his favourite body part of his and yours)

Kokushibo takes incredible pride in his sculpted body. It rivals that of gods and he loves to show it off, especially to your eyes. He’d flex his forearms whenever grabbing something that is out of reach for you, the sleeves of his haori deliciously sliding back to his bicep to reveal those heavily trained muscles to you. Whenever he trains, Kokushibo makes sure to do it without wearing anything on top to show off his beautiful back and front muscles, especially his chest and shoulders. He loves pressing you down onto the mattress and watch your eyes widen at the sight of him slowly flexing his muscles. It is slightly intimidating to you, but he enjoys demonstrating just how incredibly strong he really is.

His absolute favourite part on you is your soft, delicate and vulnerable neck. It takes all of his self control to not just lean down and take a large bite and to nibble on your delicate skin. The thought of you drawing blood or squirming under him stirs some kind of predator instinct within him that makes him want to ravage you in full.

“Roll your head for me, I need to bite your neck.”

C = Cum (anything to do with cum)

Upper Moon One can control his body at the fullest, wich also includes his bodily essence. It satisfies him the most to see his cum on your thighs and stomach, watching it run across your warm skin. Sometimes, he’d wipe a little off with his finger and offer it to you by holding it against your lips, waiting if you’ll deny or accept this gesture. All six of his eyes would be focused on the white streaks decorating your skin.

Kokushibo also really wants to cum inside you. Perhaps it’s his human desires and life he long forgot about stirring back to the surface, taking over his instincts and desperately wanting to stuff you full with his essence and just watch it seep out. But he hasn’t voiced this desire yet.

“My essence suits you. It makes you look more beautiful being decorated by it.”

D = Dirty secret (a dirty secret of his)

It’s not a very sexual secret but a dirtier secret nonetheless; Kokushibo secretly enjoys observing you during everyday things. Bathing, undressing, eating or just sleeping, it just feels very intimate observing you do such things. What will you do if you knew? Perhaps you’re knowing that your lover is observing in secret and just don’t want to invite him to join you in the warm bath, but he’s fine with that. Kokushibo is content watching you enjoy yourself.

Sometimes, he hopes to catch you during more… intimate moments. He wants to catch you with your hand between your legs, trying to recreate the pleasures he gave you over and over. If he ever did catch you during a moment like that, Kokushibo would not hesitate to pounce and ravage you completely.

E = Experience (How experienced is he?)

Despite being married and having a child and a pregnant wife during his human years, he barely had intercourse with her. Kokushibo, or Michikatsu back then, never really paid attention to his late wife anyway, being distracted by the chase of power. Sex with her wasn’t that enjoyable either. It was just a tool to generate heirs.

Kokushibo doesn’t remember his human years or his past, so to himself, he’s technically still a virgin. He never bothered to waste thoughts or time on doing activities like that. As a demon and Upper Moon One, he has much better things to do. Muzan wouldn’t approve of these things either, so he never sought after getting experience in the sexual department. That of course changed after falling head over heels for you.

“You’d like to.. what? Why would you want to sit on my face? What pleasure would that give me?”

P = Position (his favourite positions)

1. Mating press

It’s again stirring something deep inside of his mind pressing your knees against your chest and stuffing his length over and over inside of you, holding eye contact and closely watching your reactions to bullying your cervix. He would loudly groan when you squeeze around him, giving your thighs an encouraging spank. You would have the perfect view of his godly body and his length driving in and out of you with ungodly speed.

2. From behind

He particularly enjoys pressing his chest up against your back, his arms on both sides of your torso keeping you down against the mattress. Sometimes he may hold you by your neck or pull your head, whipping your head back so he can breathe and groan against your ear, muttering praises or teases to make you squirm even more.

G = Goofy (Is he more serious in the moment? Or humorous? etc.)

Kokushibo is anything but humorous during sex. At least not intentionally. If you ever giggle or laugh at something he did or is doing, he might get offended or very confused. What is so funny about making love to you, hm?

H = Hair (How well-groomed is he?)

He keeps himself well groomed to both pride himself further and make the experience more pleasant for you. Kokushibo takes care of his body very well anyway, so why not go the extra step and trim his pubic hair while he’s at it? Surprisingly to you, the rest of his body is cleanly shaved as well. It just makes him feel better, feeling you glide your fingers over his cool skin, feeling the muscle beneath without the disturbance of hair in the way.

Kokushibo also doesn’t really care if you shave or not, he just prefers it if you do. It feels nicer to him to have smooth skin against smooth, but again, he doesn’t care that much.

“Dear, I want you now. You don’t have to shave beforehand, I don’t care for that right now.”

I = Intimacy (How is he during the moment? Romantically.)

Kokushibo isn’t verbally romantic, meaning he doesn’t whisper sweet nothings and affections into your ear, but he lets his gestures speak for him. Leaning his forehead against yours to savour the moment, his hands lingering on your waist for a moment, his eyes softening ever so slightly when taking in your form. He loves you dearly but struggles to express it with his words, so your lover would try to compensate with gestures and touches during sex. Even if it doesn’t feel very lovely being manhandled like that.

“Hah… you’re doing so.. so well for me. Good job. Good… gods, I love you.”

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He is very clinical when it comes to masturbation. He doesn’t do it for pleasure but to release pent-up frustrations or desires he has been bottling up. His strokes would be quick, almost aggressive and borderline abuse on his own body, that’s how quickly Kokushibo wants it over with. Of course he’d prefer to just have sex with you, but if you are unavailable for whatever reason, he’d make it at least a little enjoyable for himself by imagining you right here, with him, masturbating alongside or maybe just watching him. Having your eyes on him while pleasuring himself like this, fuck. That thought is intoxicating. And also the exact reason why he always finishes so quickly after barely even starting.

The pleasure would be brief- almost non-existent. Kokushibo feels a little humiliated at the fact that he resulted to such measures, just because he misses you. How far had he fallen from grace, all because of you?

K = Kink (one or more of his kinks)

1. Marking

Sinking his teeth into your skin, leaving marks, bruises and hickeys. That’s what makes him loose himself in pleasure. Sometimes, Kokushibo’ll bite too hard and draw blood. He’d lick it all away, savouring your flavour of your metallic life essence. It makes his demonic part of him go a little feral, wanting him to bite harder, deeper and more, but he wont. He’ll need to satisfy himself by eating a meal after all of this.

He’d be very surprised if you decide to mark him. Your bites will heal very quickly, but Kokushibo appreciated your gesture. A small smirk would grow on his face at your adorable attempt to leave a mark on him.

2. Praise

Making you moan and squirm is one of the greatest pleasures you can ever give to him. Making you feel good and hearing you express it is almost as satisfying as becoming the strongest demon after Muzan. Kokushibo doesn’t want to hear obvious praises like about how good it feels or what a good job he’s doing, or god forbid you try calling him a good boy (he will stop mid thrust and leave you be to take care of your own needs without him. He does not need to be belittled like that). Your lover wants to hear you moan, whimper, maybe even scream or mumble incoherent sentences. That’s when he knows he’s doing a good job.

“Bite me harder. Try it.”

L = Location (favourite places to take you)

Of course, it would he inside the walls of the Infinity castle, hidden away from prying eyes. Kokushibo likes taking his time with you, so he’d preferably do it in a private space rather than outside in the nature. Besides, it’s much comfortable doing it on tatami mats or the ceiling of your bedroom (he attempted to try something new) rather than grass or a wooden trunk. If you insist on doing it somewhere a little more public, he’d oblige.

M = Motivation (What turns him on, gets him going?)

The thought of being domestic with you weirdly turns him on. He never expected to think like that, but watching you “wifely” things is calming and relaxing to him. And is turning him on.

He might silently sneak up behind you, his hand sliding up your robes or shirt, feeling your warm skin, trying to distract you from whatever mundane task you’re doing and trying to turn your attention to him. All six of his eyes would be focused solely on you.

What also turns him on is you being vulnerable around him. Trust is a very important factor to Kokushibo, especially how you trust him. He is a demon, you are a human. If he’d like to he can slice your throat or slap your head off your shoulders in less than a second, yet you sleep beside him every night as if he doesn’t eat your kind to keep himself sustained and get more powerful. So, it also arouses him seeing you carelessly slip into his arms, kiss his cheek or grin so happily at him. Gods, you’re killing him.

N = No (something he wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Kokushibo is a very loyal man would never dream of betraying you in any way. So, things like cucking or swinging is an immediate no. (Although, humiliatingly enough, the fantasy of Muzan taking you in front of his eyes did cross his mind once)

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving)

Receiving

He’d prefer to receive rather to give. Feeling your throat squeeze around his length, your gagging reflex fighting against the intrusion, your doe-eyes looking up at him and your tongue teasing his base sends him places. All of his eyes would be tightly shut to spare you from the sight of his eyeballs running back into his skull. His jaw would be clenched shut. If he didn’t tense it so hard, it would be agape and drooling.

Giving

He prefers to receive but watching you moan and try to escape his sweet, sweet assault on your most sensitive area. His tongue would be teasing your bud, sucking and gently biting, testing to see what you like the most. Kokushibo would he a messy eater, your essence running down his chin while he is completely intoxicated by your taste. He just wants to delve deeper and deeper, but his tongue only reaches so far. Perhaps he manipulate his own flesh to make it longer, would you like that?

“You taste heavenly. I am starting to feel hungry for-… never mind.”

P = Pace (Is he fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)

At first, his pace would be slow and sensual, savouring every thrust and vein gliding against your gummy walls. His eyes would be closed in concentration, trying to remember every detail on how you feel. His hands would be tightly gripping your thighs, pulling you closer against him. Kokushibo’d lean over you, his chest pressing against yours or your back, groaning.

Approaching his climax, his thrusts would start to get faster and more desperate, chasing his own climax after providing you with yours. His hands would move from your thighs to either your arms or shoulders, pressing you down against the mattress to hold you in place to make sure you can feel every single thrust in the fullest.

Q = Quickie (his opinions on quickies)

Kokushibo dislikes them. He will comply if you ask for one, but he’d rather take his time savouring you properly. When’s the next time he’s going go be able to make love to you like this? Muzan may send him on another months long mission, away from you. So, Kokushibo needs to savour you every time instead of fleeting pleasure. Besides, do you even get time to enjoy the things he’s doing to your body when doing it so quickly and forced?

R = Risk (Is he game to experiment?)

Kokushibo is cautiously open to experiment with you. He is nervous about being pushed outside his comfort zone but he’ll try to be open to whatever you like. Sometimes he wonders if he and his body is simply not enough for you and that’s the reason you may need outside factors to come up for the pleasure he is not giving you. While experiment with things like restrains or toys, your lover will try extra hard to pleasure you with his own body alone instead of using the things you’ve brought as a way to demonstrate you that his body is plenty enough to make you cum. No need for other things, right?

“Why do you need this… thing.. shaped like something I already own myself. Am I not enough for you?”

S = Stamina (how many rounds can he go for? how long does he last?)

As a demon, Upper Moon One at that, it feels like Kokushibo has infinite stamina. It almost feels like he stops thrusting into you over and over so *you* can recover, not him. You never saw him exhausted after however many rounds of sex, you lost count after the fourth one. It feels like this man never cums. His face remains unmoving the whole time, only closing his eyes right before he finally finishes. It’s almost a workout to make him finish and it feels like he enjoys making you work for it. You know that Kokushibo can control his body in and out in fullest, so he can decide whether to cum or not consciously. That way, he can tease you in whatever ways he pleases.

T = Toys (does he own toys? does he use them?)

No, no toys. The closest he has to one of those are silk restrains to use on you.

U = Unfair (how much does he tease?)

Kokushibo loves to tease you. He’ll withhold himself from sliding himself right in, waiting for you to beg for it, sliding two of his fingers in to encourage you further. Sometimes he’ll lean over you, asking you exactly what you want and only obeying your wishes if they align with his own, or driving you so close to your orgasm only to take it all away and to wait for you to whimper and sway your hips as a way to try and coax him back. Such an adorable human.

“Tell me what you want dear. You want me to stop, is that it?”

V = Volume (how loud is he, what sounds does he make)

Typically, Kokushibo is rather quiet during sex. You’ll occasionally hear deep grunts or huffs while he’s especially focused on his movements. He prefers to channel his energy into reaching his own and your pleasure rather than moan too loudly. Sometimes an occasional curse or moan would slip out from his lips, but he’ll quiet himself quickly afterwards to not embarrass himself any further.

However his breathing will get noticeably heavier when approaching his climax, his jaw clenched and eyes shut tightly. Those are the moments where you can coax loud moans from his lips by pulling him into a kiss.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for him)

Kokushibo is oddly obsessed with your scent. He gets off to the scent of your sheets, clothes, and just your skin. He wants to make sure his rubs onto you so other demons know that the first Upper Moon has you under protection and that you are his and his only.

Once, your lover stole one of your most worn shirts or robes and kept it close to himself while being off on a mission. It’s not to masturbate or anything, it was just to keep it close. It was comforting to have your smell be near him while being apart from you.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes…)

It matches the rest of his body; large and intimidating. You needed a lot of prep the first time taking him in fully. He was patient but not exactly gentle. He is cut and nearly trimmed, his length is just as thick as the sheath of his katana, a little thicker.

Y = Yearning (how high is his sex drive?)

Kokushibo has a very high sex drive, but barely acts on it. He finds himself wanting you all the time, catching his stare linger on your assets more than once. Your lover is very good with control but even he struggles to not court you every time you undress for the evening. He loves you dearly and just wants to show it, badly. Kokushibo is hyper aware of your behaviour and every move, trying to guess if you’re in the mood as well.

Z = Zzz (how fast does he fall asleep afterwards?)

Some kind of protective instinct starts blossoming inside him once he sees you lay beside him, all tired and spent. Kokushibo wont fall asleep or go into a meditative state without savouring your appearance and this moment. You just gave him the greatest gift of all times again and continue to give it to him and now you’re sleeping beside him. His arms would tightly wrap around you and hold you close while his eyes (all six of them) stare at your sleeping face.

Kokushibo will only slip into a meditative state once he started feeling fully relaxed and assured that you’re okay and asleep, safe in his arms.

“I love you, dearly. You can sleep now, I’ll keep you safe. I promise to you.”

🎃

Hope you all enjoyed this! I’m surprised I managed to finish it in one sitting and a day. I worked for around four hours on it and I hope this was nice XD But anyways… I’m kind of worried I post too much outside my fics, like maybe people get their hopes up when seeing I posted just to see I uploaded a picture of my plushies :,)

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <3

Here’s my event masterlist 🎃

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rhysandsfavwhore · 2 months ago

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Sweet Dreams

Rhysand x fem!reader

content; stressed and clingy Rhys (i honestly dont know why i like writing about a stressed clingy rhys for), fluff

notes; okay ik this doesn’t completely match up with Rhys’ backstory but its okay☺️

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Ink covers his tanned hands as they grip onto the desk, a result of days and days worth of paperwork. He was writing back to all the courts, gathering plans and information on Hybern.

However, it seems he doesn't have a responsibility of taking care of himself. The pile of uneaten food on the floor directly below his window, his sunken eyes and haunted look is all proof of that fact.

As his childhood friend, you were especially worried for him. He isn't himself. granted, he witnessed and been through much more, but looked like he had lost it.

“If you wanted to see me, you should have just asked.” Rhys sighs, attempting to straighten the mess that is his desk.

“And would you have let me? See you, that is.” You respond, crossing your arms at him. You had made her way in here after claiming his window was ‘broken.’

“I've been busy.” He offers.

“Right.” You nods, her gaze distant, understanding his pressure and mounds of work to get through.

“You know, I think your window is broken. Food always seems to be falling from it.” You says, your brows raising. “You want to explain this to me?”

“No.”

“Rhys.”

“No” He corrects coldly. He then watches her straighten, and feels a twinge of guilt. He takes a few deep breaths, closing his eyes and slowly opening them again.

"Rhys..” you try again, hoping to get anything more than one word from him.

“That will be all, Y/N”

“Rhys, wait-”

“That will be all ”

“Let me help you fix the window. Please. It doesn't have to stay broken.” You says. something in your expression tells Rhys your not just talking about the window, anymore.

“I'm afraid it's beyond repair.” he replies, barely above a whisper.

“oh Rhys” you say, walking over to him and running a hand through his hair. “nothing cannot be fixed”

He allows himself to close his eyes after you run your hand through his messy hair, and he practically melts into your touch. He’d miss this. He’d miss you. He hadn’t seen you all week.

“How can you be sure?” He counters, and it’s almost a challenge.

“because that ‘window’ is not broken, it just needs a hand, and thats what I’m here for.”

He can’t find the strength to fight you on it any longer. He’s tired, both mentally and physically. He can feel the bags under his eyes weighing him down.

He leans into you for comfort, placing his head on your chest and wrapping his arms around you. It was a move he hasn’t done since he was a young child, and the memory of his childhood days was almost enough to make him cry.

All he could manage was a weak “I’ve missed you.”

“ive missed you too Rhys” you said, your voice almost breaking. after everything you’ve seen him go through, you couldn’t understand why this hit so hard, but you didn’t want to pry.

Rhys holds you tighter, his grip desperate and needy. Your familiar warmth was almost enough to make him gasp. He’d missed you so much, being cooped up in his office all day just left him with his own thoughts, and he almost drowned in them.

He needed you, here, now.

“shh, im here” you cooed, running fingers through his hair.

The simple, yet affectionate gesture was enough to make Rhys eyes water. He wanted to speak, wanted to say anything to express how he was feeling, but he was afraid that if he even opened his mouth- he’d burst into tears.

So he stayed like that, his arms around your middle and his head pressed against you, listening to your heartbeat. The steady rhythm was like a metronome, and he found himself getting calmer with each thump. This side of him was one he was embarrassed to show, one even you and only seen on few occasions.

you pressed a kiss to the top of his head and allowed him to stay comfortably resting on you, not wanting to disturb he one moment of peace he has had in days.

Rhys felt warmth bloom in his chest as you kissed the top of his head. It was something you used to do all the time when you were kids, and the action itself was enough to bring a few tears to Rhys’ eyes.

“Thank you for checking on me,” He mumbled out the words into your shirt. “I’ve been really out of it, lately.”

“i know, i know. come on you need some rest” you said before taking him by the hand and leading him to his bedroom.

Rhys, while a bit surprised, lets you lead him over to his bed without protest. You could see the exhaustion in his weary eyes, he needed sleep, and he didn’t even realize it.

When you reach the edge of the bed, he stops, and seems to hesitate before laying down. He’s still holding your hand, and makes no move to let go.

you stand, unsure weather you should pull away from his grip or not. “ill go grab you some water, get some sleep” you say, deciding leaving him to rest was your best option.

Rhys’ hand gripped yours tighter in reaction, and you could see a hint of panic in his expression. “Don’t go.” He muttered.

He really did look like a lost little kid at the moment. His hair was messy, his eyes were tired, and his clothes disheveled.

You smiled slightly at him and gave a small nod and you lay on the edge of the bed, slightly propped up against the headboard, unsure what to do.

Almost as if he were magnetized, Rhys quickly moves over to you, and lays down on the bed next to you. He doesn’t let go of your hand, instead he intertwines his fingers with yours.

He can’t bring himself to move his gaze away from you, he looks at you with the eyes of a man starved; who finally found some water. He just needed you now.

You gently ran his free had down the side of his face giving him a sweet smile.

Rhys leaned into the soft touch of your hand against the side of his face. He couldn’t help but close his eyes for a second, savoring the feeling of your fingers on his skin. Every little touch sent his heart racing.

He opened his eyes after a moment, and gave you a weak smile. “You always used to do that.” He muttered out the words just loud enough for you to hear, “Whenever I couldn’t sleep.”

“i know” you gave him a soft smile and kept your reassuring movements going.

Rhys was practically purring at the feeling of your fingers against his skin. The combination of it and his exhaustion was making his eyelids feel incredibly heavy.

He moved himself closer, until his head was rested against your chest. He could hear the rhythmic thump of your heartbeat through your shirt, and it almost made him yawn.

You were shocked at how close he got to you. a part of you relaxed knowing that you always wanted to be more than friends but scared to tell him and thought maybe, he now felt the same, but you brushed the thought aside knowing he needed his friend now, not a girl pinning over him.

He shifted on the bed, until he was resting mostly on top of you. He wrapped his arms around your midsection, his grip desperate and almost needy.

He was silently begging you to stay with him, even if he didn’t realize it. He buried his head against your chest, and let out a shaky breath.

“get some sleep Rhys” you sighed, smoothing your hands down his back.

Rhys could feel the steady rise and fall of your chest as your hands move up and down his back, the sensation was hypnotizing.

He couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer, and he found himself drifting off to sleep. He mumbled something, but it was inaudible with his face buried into your shirt.

As he drifted off, you whispered, so quite you could hardly hear yourself, “i love you Rhys” hoping he was asleep.

But he wasn’t asleep, and he’d heard.

He felt his heart flutter in his chest, and a warm feeling began to bloom in his chest. You loved him. You loved him?

He didn’t speak, and he didn’t move. He pretended that he was asleep. He wanted to hear more.

“i love you Rhys, i always have” you whispered, thinking out loud as you ran your hands through his hair, thinking this is the closest you will every get to being more than a best friend to him.

The words echoed in Rhys’ head, over and over again. You loved him. You always had.

He could’ve laughed, he certainly wanted to. Had he really been that dense?

He could feel your fingers running through his messy hair, and it was enough of a distraction to keep him from exploding with emotions right there.

“sweet dreams Rhys”

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#acotar #acotar x reader #acotar x you #fem!reader #rhysand #rhysand oneshot #rhysand x reader #a court of thorns and roses #fluff #rhys acotar #rhys x reader #rhysand fluff #acotar fluff

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dwreader · 6 months ago

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the bdsm game between loumand is actually one of the most interesting things this season if the fandom wasn’t completely brain dead and so eager to assign the worst possible reading to every scenario. look at when and how this game was established - in episode 4, armand is flexing his power as maitre, is cruel to claudia, scolds louis like a vampire daddy (even calling him a fledgling at the dinner table), all of which upsets louis and makes him weary of entering into a serious relationship with a big powerful vampire again. then he shows up with flowers to beg for forgiveness and shares a traumatic backstory, as louis says textbook lioncourt behavior. but armand desperately wants to prove that he’s not like lestat and while he can’t change the fact that he’s 100x more powerful than a baby vampire like louis, what he is willing to do and what lestat would NEVER do is put on a show of submission to make louis feel better. lestat hid his powers for decades in an attempt to make louis feel more at ease but never in a million years would he actually even pretend to submit. even his “how can i say no to you” is more about how he’s such a generous vampire sugar daddy buying his wife a big present to say sorry. but once he’s asked for some extremely basic adherence to house rules he just says fuck you, I’m your maker and you’re MY fledgings. there is never any attempt to pretend he’s not in charge because his ego is so big that even the display of submission would kill him. standard alpha male toxic masculinity. contrast that to armand’s nice guy routine.. he’s willing to be seen as a coward who couldn’t stop his coven’s plotting bc it makes him seem less threatening. we’ll see if that pans out.

obviously we know armand’s submission is just an act but the reason why both louis and armand need it is clear. armand wants to hang onto louis at all costs and there are just simple biological facts they can’t change (he’s powerful, louis is much less so). so this game is started to put on the illusion of an even playing field so they can be in this relationship without all the baggage of power. what makes it scary is that it masks the true power dynamic. “maitre in the bedroom only when it’s hot or convenient” makes louis lower his guard and successfully convinced him that this was different from lestat, that he has armand wrapped around his finger and will never be a victim again. 2.05 already threw cold water on that but the ending of 2.06 just threw another bucket on us.

#vampterview #iwtv

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featherstorm2004 · 4 months ago

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AFO is such a fascinating character to look back on in recent years now that we know about his backstory and real motivations. Like I remember the days when people were hyped to see him break out of prison and were in awe of him as this cold mastermind. Like people were actually scared of him back then.

And now it's like oh yes that's AFO our feral son and wet cat, he is completely pathetic and in desperate need of love and affection. He's as self-aware as a ton of bricks and has the emotional intelligence of a toddler on good days. He desperately needs therapy and some antidepressants but he settled for comic books and larping instead.

*sigh* what a wonderful character lol.

#all for one #afo #mha afo #bnha afo #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha #bnha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #bnha memes

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shitposting-fox · 28 days ago

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Personal head cannon: the reason Okarun gets depressed in his yokai form is due to the lingering effects of Turbo-granny and the location-bound spirit. Spoilers for the manga will be under the cut!

This is due to a few things:

1. The backstory of the tunnel, yokai, and spirit

2. "Dandadan" as a word's potential meaning (major manga spoilers at that point!)

First, the spirits. We've already seen with Momo her ability to view the past of a yokai (Arco Silky) and we know Seiko was aware of the ongoing history behind the tunnel both Turbo-granny and the location-bound spirit where in.

With a combination of the curse, it's not a far stretch that the lingering emotions from the deceased may be having a subtle effect on Okarun.

While it's not been very overt, we've seen how the origin of a yokai is important to how they act. Those who are more vengeful will be more likely to attack whereas those who are from grief may try to protect (albeit a violent way).

While Turbo-granny is in the maneki-neko and her powers are in Okarun, there's a chance that the feelings that helped form those powers may have a subconscious effect on him. Hence, the general depression but extreme protectiveness.

Spoilers from the manga below!!

We saw him literally get on all fours like a guard dog, and push his body to the breaking point repeatedly. Going with the assumption the deceased are subconsciously effecting him, it makes more sense why the protectiveness is amped up too.

Many of the girls were probably desperate for someone to save them, anyone, and that urgency could translate into the need to protect the others (especially Momo) as a result.

The second reason I have this theory is because of the potential meaning of "dandadan"!

This one is a lot more flimsy so bear with me here. While I've already wanted for manga spoilers I'm gonna mention again MAJOR SPOILERS for the manga.

Alright so! Dandadan as a word is similar to だんだん or "dandan" which often translates to "gradually".

I don't know very much about Japanese wordplay besides a few from songs (Love Ka, song based on the Japanese word for frilled shark and the English word love), so I could be completely wrong in this guess. But I feel like the word could be an original creation for implying the gradual change of an individual due to surrounding yokai and spirits

Before I get into the Shinto rambling, I'll mention the big point that got me thinking this was the effects after Okarun lost his powers. He still excelled is a lot of sport areas and, while it could be attributed to him working out consistently, there's also a possibility he has some... Influence, let's say, from a certain yokai.

We haven't seen much of him yet after all of this, so it could be very wrong, but the way it was brought up seemed to imply a greater importance than just normal athleticism.

Now for the Shinto rambling!!

To keep it pretty short: the body plays a major role in Shinto. We've seen it with the golden balls (strong life force amped up by a yokai) plus the give and take of various yokai forms (physicality for Okarun, hair treatment for Aira).

Shinto itself has the body on a pretty high importance. Most Asian religions tend to have more focus on the body, weather it be on asceticism (bodily denial) or purity

Dandadan has shown a lot of Shinto aspects already, from the existence of Yokai and Kami to the various interacts people have with the world.

Since the body is important, it's not too far a stretch to assume the continued themes of religion and the body are going to continue through the rest of the series.

While it may not be as overt as Okarun attempting to get the rest of his genitalia back, it's still likely to appear as a major plot point.

Hence, the potential implications of "dandadan"

I could be remembering wrong, but I believe at one point Count Saint Germain even asked someone if they knew the meaning of the word, which implies it may be crucial to his current purpose in the story

We already know there's a large group of aliens who want to steal the yokai and Kami abilities so they can take over Earth and colonize more planets, and many are looking into ways of stealing them.

With the introduction of Kouki and people's powers being able to be stolen from a direct injury, we can reason that the current goal is for the aliens to find a way to get more people's powers to be then transfered to themselves.

If we go under the assumption dandadan is the gradual bleeding over of powers and/or merging of aura to where it allows a human to gain more supernatural powers they wouldn't have otherwise, it makes sense that Count Saint Germain and/or the invading aliens are attempting to find a way to utilize this ability

Of course this could be completely wrong, but it's been rotating in my brain for a while. Wanted to get it out there somewhere lol

#dandadan #fox.txt #long post #okarun #dandadan okarun #ken takakura #dandadan ken #turbo granny #count saint germain #dan da dan #dandadan analysis #analysis #my writing

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onlyangel4 · 5 months ago

Text

desperate times call for desperate measures. toto wolff. part 3.

sugar daddy! toto wolff x reader

you are a struggling artist trying to live instead of just spending every moment worrying about money. toto wolff is the loneliest rich man in the world, when you find each other you are exactly what the other needs.

warnings- 18+, cursing, discussions of financial struggles. family problems in backstory. sugar daddy relationship. age gap relationship (reader is around twenty five. smut. protected sex. praise kink. oral (male receiving).

part 1 // part 2

“babe what the fuck”, anna basically screamed down the phone. you were currently in the bathroom at the ritz recounting the last hour to your best friend and it was safe to say that anna was just as shocked as you. “you got fingered in the fucking ritz and now you are going to spain, this is fucking mental”, she spoke and you laughed softly, “what about your passport”

“toto noticed that I kept it on the rack near the door, he got his driver to swipe it when i answered the door, he has it all planned out”

“and your clothes?”

“he told me not to worry about it, whatever that means”

“schatzi, we have to get going”, toto spoke through the bathroom door.

“anna, I’ve got to go”, you spoke to your friend

“okay, keep me updated on all the madness, i love you”

“i love you too”, you spoke before hanging the phone up. anna was right, this was complete madness but it was also exciting. you had not been on a plane in years, it was going to be an adventure. yes you should probably be more cautious about going on a date with someone that you had just met in person for the first time ever. but your gut trusted toto, it told you that you were going to be safe with him. deep down you knew that he would never hurt you. and if he did then anna would kill him, that you knew for sure.

you opened the bathroom door and were met by toto stood there a knowing smile on his lips.

“you heard all of that didn’t you”, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, wishing you hadn’t put your phone on speaker.

“yep I heard it all”, he chuckled, “don’t be embarrassed babygirl, i found it cute”, he spoke as his arm wrapped around your waist and he began leading you over to the exit, where his driver was already waiting for you both.

toto held the car door open for you letting you get into the back seat before he walked around the other side and got in the back with you. toto was the happiest that he had been in a very long time. there was something about being with you that made the worries of his life disappear. he was not thinking about race strategies or driver relationships all he was thinking about was you and how much he wanted to get you out of that dress.

the drive to the airport was quiet but in the best of ways, you had your head rested on toto’s shoulder and he had his arm wrapped around your shoulders, his fingers tracing meaningless patterns on your shoulders. it was intimate and you were both in a shared feeling of bliss. you knew this was crazy but it was also exactly what you wanted, you wanted someone to look after you. someone to actually care about you, someone to distract you from your monotonous everyday life and toto was exactly that. he seemed to know everything that you craved and it was handing it to you on a silver platter.

when the car halted you followed toto outside, “oh wow”, you spoke with a small laugh. you were too enamoured with toto to realise that the car had pulled onto the tarmac at the airport, “I’m used to having to wait hours to go through security”

“you don’t have to worry about that when you are with me darling, when you own a jet you get special perks”

“I wouldn’t know”, you laughed softly as you followed toto up the steps to the jet. Yeah this was probably the most mental thing to ever happen to you. if someone told past you that you would end up on a private jet you would have laughed in their face.

you had never even seen pictures of the inside of a private jet so being stood inside of one was mental, it looked huge and it was just for you and toto. you had no idea that people lived like this. while you were aggressively budgeting to make sure you could afford rent people like toto were just spending money like it was nothing, funding a spontaneous flight just because they wanted to go on a trip.

you sat down next to toto, his hand found your thigh quickly as he looked into your eyes, “tell me more about yourself schatzi?”, he questioned softly, “i have heard about anna and tom but you never really told me about your family”, he spoke softly as the plane’s engine turned on.

“well there isn’t really much to talk about”, you explained, “i haven’t heard from my parents since I was eighteen, i have an older brother, luke. i see him every few months, we aren’t super close but we keep in touch. He is married and I have a niece, olivia”, you spoke.

“my parents stopped talking to me when I decided to go to art school, they told me that art was worthless in the real world and that they would not be able to support me if i did it full time. So they completely cut me off, i survived off pennies, i had two jobs when i was in art school. Just to keep me afloat”, you spoke. you felt a little silly talking about your poverty to toto, he would never be able to understand what you went through in that time in your life, not knowing when your next meal will be. all so you could pursue your passion.

“thank you for sharing that with me”, toto spoke softly rubbing your thigh as the plane made its way down the runway. “i have been lucky enough to never be in that position but I do know it must have been difficult. i know you still struggle with money but you have some a long way. you have your own place, not many people can say that at your age”, he spoke and you smiled softly. His words warmed you, there was just something about hearing him acknowledge how far you had come. it was music to your ears.

as the plane took off your hand found his and gave it a squeeze, “i hate this bit”, you spoke and he nodded, he moved his arm so it was around you, pulling you into his chest, his frame enveloping your body. protecting you. it was a simple action but it made you relax in an instant, instead of worrying about the plane you were focused on the sound of toto’s heart in his chest. it grounded you.

toto looked down at you, your once rigid form now relaxed in his arms and he felt his heart swell. this was supposed to just be a simple sugar daddy dynamic between you both. feelings shouldn’t be involved but toto couldn’t help his mind from wondering what it would feel like to wake up next to you ever morning. to have you around for every race weekend. to be able to rant to you about the troubles with the team. to be able to listen to you yap on about art. He was thinking about the mundane things, things that he was sure other sugar daddies did not think about. toto watched as you looked up at him with your big doe eyes, eyes he would do anything for.

“thank you”, you spoke softly, “i have hated taking off ever since I was younger”

“that is okay doll, i totally get it”, he smiled slowly pulling away but keeping his arm around your shoulders.

you weren’t sure when you fell asleep but you woke up to toto gently pressing kisses to your temple, “we just landed schatzi, time to wake up”, he smiled as you began to stir in his arms, yawning yourself awake.

“i slept through the whole flight”, you giggled

“you slept through the whole flight”, he chuckled softly. toto spent most of the flight typing away on his laptop. being careful not to move too much and disrupt you from your slumber. every so often he would look down at you and smile, you seemed very comfortable in his presence and that was all he wanted.

you stood from your seat stretching your legs for the first time in a couple hours, there was a town car waiting for you both on the tarmac and toto took your hand leading you over to it, “so i was thinking we could spend tomorrow exploring the town, tonight we can just settle in the villa, it is already eleven”, he spoke and you nodded softly.

“whatever you say boss”, you spoke making him genuinely laugh, a sound you would not get sick of.

the drive to his villa had to be only ten minutes, you were too focused on playing with toto’s hands the whole journey just running your thumb over the back of his hand, fiddling a little bit. toto was just laughing at you doing so, “you are like a kitten”, he spoke and you smiled bashfully, “sorry i can’t help myself, i tend to fiddle with things when i’m nervous.”

“do i make you nervous kitten?”

“you have no idea”

toto was going to reply but the car halted signalling that you had arrived at the villa. he got out of the car and then went to your side holding the door open for you.

as you got out of the car you were met with the sight of one of the biggest houses you had ever seen, “toto what the fuck, this place is huge”, you gasped your eyes looking at it, trying to take in the magnitude of the building in front of you. “i have seen schools smaller than this”

toto found your wonderment incredibly endearing, the ways your eyes search around the outside of the building, taking in every detail of the chic, white villa. “come on schatzi, there is more inside for me to show you”, he spoke as he unlocked the massive door showing you inside.

the villa was a dream of architecture, high ceilings open plan, it was exactly what you imagined when you thought about the perfect home. “yeah you can never see my apartment if this is what you are used to”, you joked but there was a bit of truth behind your words. toto was used to luxury, he would surely hate your hole in the wall apartment.

toto walked behind you, his arms wrapping around your middle, pulling you against his chest, “let me show you the bedroom kitten, there is a surprise for you”, he spoke and you giggled. “hasn’t this whole thing been enough of a surprise mr wolff”, you joked and he just shook his head playfully, leading you up the sweeping staircase. once at the top he pulled you into the bedroom, it was bigger than your entire apartment, “how do you not get lost in a place like this, i think I’m going to need a map”

“don’t worry doll, I will be your tour guide”, he chuckled, “open the cupboard”, he instructed.

you did as you were told approaching the walk in wardrobe and opening it and you gasped, it was all kitted out with clothes, all in your size and all colourful just like what you tended to wear, hues of pink and purple alongside some classic white linens. “toto”, you spoke looking back at him, “you did not have to buy me all of this stuff”, you smiled softly, “but thank you”

“well i wanted to keep this trip a surprise so I couldn’t ask you to pack a bag and as much as i would love for you to be naked this entire trip, I had to buy you some clothes, i hope i picked alright”, he explained.

you smiled walking over to him wrapping your arms around his neck, “you picked perfectly”, you spoke pressing a kiss to his lips. the kiss started of as an innocent one but it quickly became more. both of you deepening the kiss, his hands moving to your ass gripping at it making you gasp allowing his tongue to explore your mouth. your hands travelled to his hair tangling in it before you decided that he was wearing too many clothes for your liking. your hands travelled to his torso finding the buttons and making quick work of them, pulling the white fabric from his body.

you knew toto was well built but you did not expect his stature to be crafted by Greek gods. He slowly pulled away from the kiss, “like what you see kitten?”, he questioned and you were quick nod. his hands found the straps of your dress pulling them down, letting the fabric fall down at your feet, leaving you there in just a pink thong, “and i like what i see”, he mused with a chuckle as he watched you step out of your dress.

you kissed him deeply as your hands played with his belt unbuckling it, pulling it from around his waist and chucking it down on the ground, you pulled his zipper down and then pulled the elastic of his boxers down, revealing his already hard cock. “been ready for you since before we got on the plane darling”, he spoke.

“well let me treat you for being so patient”, you mused sinking down to your knees. your hand wrapping around his cock bringing your lips to his tip pressing a kiss there before opening your mouth and taking all of him. his hand came to your hair, gently guiding you up and down his shaft. “such a good girl for me”, he moaned out. the praise went straight to your core, wetness beginning to pool. a neediness for him igniting within your core as you hollowed your cheeks out taking all of him. “look at me princess”, he commanded and you did as you were told, eyes meeting his and he let out a low moan.

“babygirl i need to fuck you. now.”, he spoke guiding your head off of him and pulling you to your feet. Toto moved to bed you over the bed. he reached over to the bedside drawer finding a condom, ripping it open and putting it on. all while you whined with a need to be filled up by him, “be patient doll, it will be worth it”, he mused teasingly as his hand found your clit rubbing circles on it, “look at you all ready for me already”, he smirked softly.

toto then used his free hand to line himself up with your entrance. He then thrusted all in at once hearing you whine and moan out for him, “fuck baby you are so tight”, he praised softly as he then began to thrust into you from behind his hand reaching for you right tit, finding your nipple twisting it in between his fingers. relishing in the way you moaned for him and your back arched allowing him to get deeper in you. “such a good girl”, he whispered as he kissed your neck. toto continued like this for a little while, playing with your body like a remote. knowing exactly what to do in order to make sure you felt good.

toto felt you tightening around him, a tell-tale sign that you were close to your orgasm. “babygirl if you keep on squeezing me like that I won’t be able to last much longer”, he groaned.

“please toto, cum with me”, you practically begged.

his thumb came back to your clit, rubbing it again as he bucked his hips. It did not take long for both of you to finish, a low groan leaving his lips as you moaned out. your legs going to jelly. toto hooked an arm around your waist to hold you up before you collapsed on the bed. he then slowly pulled out of you and then removed the condom. he guided your body down onto the bed pulling the covers over you.

“i will be right back okay sweetheart”, he spoke softly as he left the room. he came back with a tray containing two glasses of water and a cloth. he popped them on the bedside table before getting into bed with you, he kissed your lips softly as his hand moved in between your thighs gently cleaning you up as he whispered words of praise into your ear making sure you knew just how good you had been. he held you against his chest just holding you. it was silent but that not uncomfortable it was a warm blanket of silence enveloping the two of you. your own little bubble.

safe to say you both slept dreaming of the other.

taglist: @camelliaflow3r @sinners-98-world @eonchy

#f1 x reader #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #toto wolff smut #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff #mercedes f1

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