#i did my best to search profiles and beg. and end notes but i know i probably missed one or two of you

[alchemistc]

Catie's Big Ass bucktommy fic rec (Part One)

So I'm not gonna lie, I have most of these fics priv. bookmarked because I HAVEN'T COMMENTED ON THEM YET AND I FEEL REALLY GUILTY ABOUT THAT. But more than one anon has asked for this and it tickles me pink that y'all like my writing enough to trust in my recs. So. Please, please, be better than I am and make sure to kudos and comment if you enjoy any of these works.

(Guys, there are SO MANY amazing writers in this fandom. So many truly breathtaking fics already. I got two hours into this and realized I was going to need to split this into parts because I have too many things to say about each of these and I want to do them all justice.)

Writers you can trust in:

@rcmclachlan /ao3 : I will sing RC's praises to the moon and back. There is something about the way RC injects humor into the tiniest of lines that makes me want to scream into a pillow until I pass out. You will see more than one of RC's fics in this list.

@kirkaut /ao3: kirkaut is the reason I jumped on this bandwagon. The unhinged spiral into LFJr obsession and the prevalence of well thought out meta and incredibly hot fic drew me in. If you are not following kirkaut, change that now.

@26-cats-in-a-trenchcoat / catfud_ohplease on ao3: Devastating prose. The ability to turn a theme on a dime and STAB YOU IN THE HEART with it. Mac owns my whole soul when it comes to really scratching that itch behind my eyelids for thematic imagery and really creative ideas for fic that aren't just run-of-the-mill smut/angst/fluff.

@devirnis / ao3: Ali only has one bucktommy fic up on ao3 but it is devine and I love it. Ali is also the only writer who has tempted me into reading buddie. This is not an indictment on buddie fandom or buddie fic writers in general, I just tend to be a one ship kinda gal and I don't really dive into fic for a ship I don't vibe with. Ali's writing has made me reconsider this position.

@beefcakekinard / thingbe on ao3: The domesticity. Literally just reread one of Rose's fics this morning and HAD to comment on it again because it made me want to fling myself to Jupiter.

(This is not a comprehensive list, but I just realized how many fics I have already bookmarked for bucktommy and I'm already under a readmore.)

Fics that make my brain go brrrr:

only fools rush in - somnum365 ( @firehose118)

Tommy lets Buck set the pace. Buck is ready for something.

Super hot and all about checking in. I've got a thing for discovering sex with a partner starting out with frottage and this delivers. The characterizations are so great.

Colin Firth Thinks You're Hot - IDontGoHereEither (@herrmannhalsteadproduction)

Buck is late for a special date night with Tommy, but he still stops to help a stranger stuck on the side of the road. Luckily, that stranger is about to help HIM.

Cute as fuck with a super fun guest star. Who doesn't want Mr. Darcy to think your boyfriend is hot?

sad girl poetic thursday night - screamlet

Date night menu: pasta primavera and emotional unpacking.

There's something about the pacing of this that sent me into a tailspin. The stream of consciousness that actually bleeds from the dialogue into the action and vice versa. Hng.

I Was Only Falling In Love - Princessfbi (@princessfbi)

Tommy in crisis mode.

There's a moment in this fic where Eddie has to pull Tommy back from the precipice of something and it lives entirely rent free in my head, forever and ever amen. The firefam taking care of Buck by taking care of Tommy.

let me count the ways - ashesandhalefire

Buck and Tommy in the aftermath of a good evening are chattier than they probably reasonably should be

There is something about this fic that feels like the witching hour is upon you, like you could live in this little pocket world Buck and Tommy have created for themselves forever. The dialogue is fantastic, and the way they communicate with each other is just *chefs kiss*

let's make it cinematic - kirkaut

Tommy helps Buck deal with some of his impotent rage in the face of the Gerrard of it all.

Listen, I do not have a praise kink. This kinda makes me wish I did.

"[...]Everything is.” He circles a finger around in the air. “It’s very spinny.” - this line of dialogue came for my fucking throat.

Sick with it - Mellow_Yellow

what if in an alternate universe babyslut Buck joined the 118 when Tommy was still in his closeted asshole era and they had a torrid affair??

The way this is a little fucked up. The way the characterizations aren't exactly familiar because they haven't aged into what we know them as in current canon. The way you can see in every broken line and every stutter step that Tommy is falling for Evan and has No Fucking Idea what to do with that. Ugh. Best Met Earlier AU I've ever read.

He blinked as Tommy walked by, eyes sliding closed again before he left. He felt a light touch on the top of his head but figured he was imagining it. He couldn’t think of anyone at the 118 who would touch him that carefully. - just absolutely fucking end me they're so good/bad for each other

A Full Body Workout - Persiflager

Tommy and Buck spend a day trying to distract Eddie from the *gestures vaguely* all of it.

The way this is so quiet in the way it shows you how Tommy and Buck care for each other. The way they are down bad but still so hyperaware of the pace they've set, the things they've talked about. The way they take care of their friend here. I'm obsessed with the tone of this one. Also, as a general theme, nothing draws me in more than well thought out dialogue, and this one has some fucking GREAT dialogue.

Your love is better than ice cream - Cecily_v, liminalmemories

An alternative meet-cute, where-in Tommy doesn’t know the 118 and decides Buck is worth it anyway. Buck is confused but figures some things out.

There is so much I love about this AU. How they meet. How their relationship progresses. How it feels glacially slow in comparison to the canon storyline but also how in character they both are. The foundation of their love in this fic is downright eatable.

just couldn't fall til we met - thingbe (@beefcakekinard)

Buck and Tommy spend a quiet morning in together.

This is the one that crossed my dash earlier today and made me eat fucking glass on reread. The closeness. The way they're both so tactile. The blink and you'll miss it hints at a life being built together. Eating this UP every time I read it.

The Premium Twunk Appreciation Society, President: Tommy Kinard - everythingremainsconnected

5 times Tommy almost faints like a Victorian maiden at the sight of Buck’s flesh, and 1 time he can do something about it.

“Hey,” Evan said, shoving Eddie out of the way and filling the screen with his playful glare, “organise bro time on your own time, I’m on the phone with– with Tommy.”

“With who?” Eddie repeated. Tommy didn’t need to see his face to hear the fondness in the mocking. “Who’s on the phone? I didn’t quite catch that.”

- They are so stupid about each other in this fic, please read it and watch steam blow out your ears at how sweet and hot and down bad for each other they are.

desire (i want to turn into you) - chthonicheart

The first time Buck’s really able to bury his face between a man’s tits, he nearly cries.

pwp but with a whole heaping of character study. HOT.

rule four (you were only waiting for this moment to arise) - middyblue (daisyblaine) [@middyblue]

Tommy has doubts.

There is a general mood to this piece that feels heavy in a way I can't quite explain. There was a weight on my chest all the way through this in the BEST way possible. The way Tommy navigates his mind and struggles to trust the little slice of peace he and Buck have carved out is just mindbogglingly beautiful.

Come Fly The Friendly Skies - RC_McLachlan (@rcmclachlan)

Buck meets their rescue mission's would-be pilot and is extremely normal about it.

"Throttling is what I'm gonna do to you if you don't shut up and let the nice man steal a helicopter for us,"

WHEN I TELL YOU I AM INCANDESCENT WITH RAGE over how funny and insightful this fic is.

Every characterization is picture perfect.

Maddie gives great hugs, but she's so small; if she had this guy's build and could basically fold Buck into her like an old blanket, they'd have to pry him out of her arms with the jaws of life.

In the back of Buck's mind, in a place he hasn't discovered, he's already picked out a venue and chosen his centerpieces. He's mentally putting together seating arrangements. This line of Buck's thoughts on Tommy Kinard told me so.

Please read this and join me in trying to destroy RC with my mind (lovingly).

little by little - MediaWhore

Buck & Tommy, during and after the wedding.

There is something so soft and gentle about this fic. The way Tommy just gives in to the exhaustion and props himself up against Buck because he knows he'll be able to take the weight (he wants to take the weight and Tommy knows it). The quiet flirting, the way they take care of one another. The jumpscare of Marge and Phil and how this fic is right at the edges of exploring that but Buck has me important priorities.

“It was badly done,” - the way this is so in character for Ma Buckley and the way it made me want to SHAKE HER TIL HER TENDONS SHATTERED AND SHE CRUMBLED LIKE A SATISFYING CASINO IMPLOSION

Soft and heartbreaking and mending all at once.

while you arranged flowers - newtkelly

Buck’s got a wedding date, but as far as today goes, he’s also got a regular one.

The way I want to wrap this Buck up tenderly and hide him from the people in his life who DON'T DESERVE HIS AFFECTION, HIS LOVE, HIS JOY.

The non-urgency of this, the absolute too-much-too-soon he's dealing with in his own mind while he grapples with the reality of seizing a second chance with both hands and getting to explore himself within the confines of a very lovely, very sweet and kind, VERY HOT man he wants to get on his knees for.

Beautiful prose, excellent dialogue, an insightful character study.

[darling-i-read-it]

Colonel Flag

Rick Flag x fem!reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: pure smut, unprotected smut, jealousy, suicide squad spoilers, let me know if there are more

Author’s Note: what i would do for this to be real what i would DO

Requested: by anon, Just give me more jealous Rick flag I’m begging - with smut

Summary: pure jealous smut

Genre: smut

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

You leaned against the wall, a studying look on your face. You didn’t have notes out like Peacemaker, you figured you could remember everything Waller was saying. And hey, if you didn’t you could ask any of your team.

You were leading the team that Rick wasn’t. Technically they were all part of Task Force X just on different sides of the island. You had the better team. Rick had some weasels and other shitty characters. He did have Harley though, you hadn’t been able to bargain for her. You had a shark who walked and talked, rather poorly at that.

“How come we got pretty lady to lead us and not Rick Flag? I thought he usually did this type of thing.” Your ears perked up at the sound of Rick’s name and the insinuation toward you. It had been Bloodsport who spoke, rather roughly.

“Flag is busy for the time being.” You and Bloodsport exchanged a quick look. “And Y/L/N is as good as they come. Don’t dwell too much on it.”

Waller wrapped up the conversation and started to round up the guards. You were able to talk to each of your team individually. You were leaving later that evening but you still had time to kill. You wanted to find Rick, talk to him before he headed out with his team too.

“Are you sure you’re ready to handle this?” Peacemaker asked. You scoffed and nodded stiffly.

“I’ve done worse.” Bloodsport approached you. He was a little taller than Rick was, you noted. You had heard all about his daughter and why he was here in the first place. “Bloodsport. I hear you’re gonna lead them in the event of my untimely demise.”

“Just don’t die.” You laughed gently.

“I will try my best. You’ll have your daughter back even if I die. Plus, I imagine Rick will get to you somehow too.”

“Flag,” Bloodsport mused. “You work together before?”

“You could say that.”

You and Rick had been dating for ages, since the original Suicide Squad had formed. You had seen him and Harley Quinn for that matter, through every rendition of their lives since then. You ran your hand through your hair and took out some papers from your bag.

“Just be sure you memorize these. Or at least give it a once over,” you said. He took it from you and both of you looked it over. You got rather close but that was in the territory.

Rick walked into the theater room, searching for you in the small crowd of criminals. He found you easily. You were the only one in actual tactical gear. He was about to call your name when he noted how close you were to Bloodsport. He strayed back for a moment, unable to hear what you were speaking about. You laughed a bit. He could hear that. He knew that laugh anywhere.

A tinge of jealousy formed in his chest. He stood up straight. Bloodsport was a handsome man. You had always been known to try and get in with the criminals you worked with just to gain their trust and have a friendship but Rick always wondered if it was something more. He used to tease that you had a thing for bad boys but ended up with the only good one in the bunch.

You turned your head and he saw your side profile. You spoke quietly to Polka Dot Man, a small kind smile on your face. You put your hand on his shoulder and Bloodsport grabbed your arm rather aggressively causing you to turn around again and rejoin the conversation. Polka Dot got closer to you and you were huddled between two of the men on your team.

Rick knew how to be realistic and he knew that they and you meant nothing by it. But still, he felt the strain in his chest.

He walked up behind you and put his hand on your shoulder. You jumped slightly before turning around to meet his gaze. Your eyes softened at the mere sight of him.

“Boys this is Rick Flag.” He gave them each a professional nod.

“I need to speak to you,” Rick said. You noticed the small tinge in his voice. You wondered if it was serious. You nodded stiffly and turned to Bloodsport.

“Look over that. I don’t care.” You turned to Polka Dot Man. “You...just rest up,” you said offhandedly and followed Rick out. He grabbed your arm, practically dragging you away from your team. ��Is something wrong? What is this about?”

Rick was silent. You decided it was probably best not to say anything. You just let him drag you through the many halls of base until you came to a mostly empty hallway. He turned to face you.

“You were getting real cozy with Bloodsport,” he said in his professional military man voice. It turned you on immediately. You were taken aback though.

“I was showing him the plans,” you said. “It wasn’t anything.”

“Yeah?” His jaw set. He looked up and down the hallway, opened the door to one of the large storage spaces and shoved you inside. He locked the door behind him with his key and shoved you against the shelving, knocking a few things over.

“Rick?” He kissed you harshly instead of answering you, grabbing your leg and bringing it up around his waist. You breathed in his oxygen, arching your back at his urgency. You loved it when Rick got jealous. Sometimes you did it on purpose, though today was not one of those times.

He kissed down your jaw, breathing hot air against your skin. You felt him leaving marks in visible places but was panting too loud to really argue. You ran your hands through his hair as he knelt down in front of you, his hands trailing down your waist feverily.

“Who do you belong to?” he asked in a low whisper.

“You,” you whispered.

“What was that?”

“You. I belong to you,” you promised, feeling the pool grow in your panties. You threw your head back against the shelving and cupped his face, forcing him to stand and kiss you. He kissed you sloppily, messily getting your cheeks wet as well with his quick lips. You made a mental note to thank Bloodsport for this.

His hand was wandering. It had passed your boobs and went straight down to your lower half, covered by your tactical gear. He knew how to get that off without even looking. He unhooked it and tossed it aside before sticking his hand in your pants. His cold fingers met your warm cunt. You breathed in sharply, unable to even look at him. He didn’t go slow. Not today. He delved a finger in your warmth and looked you in the face. He had a hand above you, holding him steady, his arm flexing in your face.

“Look at me,” he purred. You brought your face down dreamily, alright nearing your first orgasm. You tried not to look as desperate as you felt but you seemed to be failing because a small smile graced his features.

“Rick Imma...imma..”

“It’s Colonel Flag,” he said. You smiled weakly.

“Colonel Flag,” you breathed as you came all over his fingers. He slowed down after riding out your orgasm and then brought his hand out of your pants. He stepped back and you could see the large bulge in his pants. You could practically feel him inside of you and he could tell that you were imagining it. He could tell as you stared at him, lust in his eyes, that you wanted nothing more than for him to take you right there.

But he waited. Just for a moment. He looked you over, the mess you were with weak legs.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked and there wasn’t a hint of anything but his work voice. You dipped your head.

“I want you to fuck me Colonel Flag.” He took a step toward you and grabbed your chin.

“Louder.”

“I want you to fuck me Colonel Flag,” you practially begged. He couldn’t wait any longer. His cock was starting to hurt. He grabbed the hem of your pants and shoved everything down. You waited as he pulled down his own pants and boxers, revealing that large cock of his. You practically salivated at the sight of it. If you didn’t need him to fuck you so bad you would have gotten on your knees and sucked the life out of him.

You put your hands on his shoulders and he wrapped his hand under your ass, lifting you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist and he wasted no time. He filled you up quickly, not waiting for you to adjust. He usually would but he was in a blind jealous rage. You gasped, burying your face in his shoulder.

He pumped into you, holding you up with his own strength against the shelves. You clawed at his shirt and eventually got it so bunched up that you could feel his skin. You scratched at it, leaving your mark on his body. You moaned loudly and whined in spurts as he pumped in and out of you relentlessly.

“Are you gonna come?” he whispered darkly. All you could do was hum out a yes. “Come for me,” he said. “Come for me.” You nodded and your legs shook under his grasp as you came even harder this time. He was still going and not soon after his own legs started to weaken underneath him but he held you us he pumped his cum into you. You could barely breathe.

When he put you down you could feel the soreness in your legs. It hadn’t even been that long but you would likely feel a light soreness tomorrow. Wonderful. You leaned your head back against the shelving and breathed. He pulled his pants back up.

“Get dressed. Lights up in thirty.” You laughed dryly.

“Rick?”

“Hmm?”

“I fucking love you.”

“I know darlin.”

[bratkook]

cozy thief. (m) jjk

pairing. jeon jungkook x reader genre. smut, fluff, mutual pining word count. 5.1k warnings. roommate!au, cuteness!! lots of kissing & heavy petting, hand in pants action and messy/needy humping from jungkook lol  summary. a rainstorm knocking out your power is the small push needed for confessions to come tumbling out author’s note. requested for #30 from this prompt list! thank you for sending this in 🖤 (requests now closed)

The bubbling water is the only thing you focus on as you rest against the countertop, hands tightly holding onto your fluffy blanket of choice to trap all of the warmth in before it could escape. The rhythmic pattering of rain against the windows has become background noise now, already accustomed to the sound that woke you up hours ago.

It’s therapeutic really, your fuzzy socks sliding along the floor as you pull out your favorite mug, grabbing the hot chocolate mix and mini marshmallows from their rightful spot in the pantry. You don’t even think about the ridiculous electric bill you’ll be getting from how high you currently have the heater cranked up, freezing to death was not worth saving a few bucks. 

Jungkook would agree, loving the fact that he didn’t have to worry about walking around the apartment in a snow coat and scarf. Sure you were currently bundled up as if the place wasn’t maintained at a steady 75 degrees, but from the time spent living together he had grown to learn that the minute there was rain or snow you would pull out the coziest blankets regardless of temperature. 

“Can you make me one too?” He speaks up as he leans against the mini island, smiling when your blanket clad body jumps at the unexpectant sound of his voice. 

The spoon clanks against the mug as you stop stirring the hot chocolate, turning your head back to take a peek at your roommate. “Don’t scare me like that.”

Jungkook laughs now, pulling up the sleeves of his shirt as he rounds the island to grab himself a mug. “What, should I wear a bell around my neck to let you know when I’m nearby?”

“Yeah actually, you sneak up on me all the time. You’re gonna give me a heart attack one day.” 

You eye his mug of choice, a Friends one that actually belonged to you, a little hard to believe considering it was the one he always used without fail. It was admittedly your fault for forcing him to binge watch the whole show on Netflix before it got taken off, but for someone who claimed he couldn’t stand it all he sure did cradle the themed mug with utmost care. 

“You’re easy to scare, can’t blame me for seeing an opportunity and taking it.” Sliding the mug in your direction he rests on his elbows, observing you as you pour in the hot water, mixing the cocoa powder and smiling when you get the first inhale of it. 

“Scare me some more and I’m revoking this mug privilege.” Jungkook knows it's an empty threat, the roll of his eyes calling your bluff so you just sigh, clutching the bag of mini marshmallows and bringing them close. “Yay or nay for the marshmallows?”

“Yay, what do I look like, an animal?” He scoffs, hand urging you to top off his drink with more sweets, a charming smile spreading out onto his face when you slide the mug over. 

Just as he’s about to take a sip you walk off, both hands cupping your drink as you slide your way out of the kitchen. “Wait, where are you going?”

You freeze at the doorway, turning around with a confused face, “To binge watch some movies in the living room? The vent by the couch makes it the best place to get toasty.”

“Mind if I join you?”

The audacity of him to ask as if he didn’t regularly crash your binging parties, still you nod your head before turning back around and continuing your trek, hearing the soft patter of his bare feet against the floor. 

“Why did you beg me to get you those cow slippers for your birthday if you refuse to wear them?” You wonder as you settle onto the couch, adjusting your blanket to circle around your lap as you bring your knees up. 

Jungkook sighs dramatically as he sits beside you, bringing his bare feet up and shoving them underneath the pile of blanket around you, laughing loudly when you yell at the feeling of his cold feet against your silk pajama pants. “Because they’re cute, besides I don’t need slippers because my roommate has the best blankets.”

Accepting your fate you simply glare at him, detesting the way he could look as good as he does while attempting to push your buttons. The smug smile against the rim of the mug shows that he knows he can get away with it, a playful wink being the icing on top as he reaches for the remote. 

You ignore the way your heart skips as he clicks onto your profile, already sorting through your favorite movies, knowing they were starred and saved under your list. As he passes Legally Blonde you gasp, almost undetected but he had been waiting for any reaction to know what to pick. 

“You know, this has become one of my favorite movies now.” He quietly confesses, pressing play and setting the remote down onto the coffee table. 

“Seriously?”

Jungkook hums as he takes another sip, eyes focused on the beginning scenes of Legally Blonde. This was definitely one of your comfort movies, even if he didn’t end up crashing your movie night he could still hear each scene from his bedroom, almost knowing every single line from how often you played it. 

He proves his point as the movie continues, the two of you slowly sinking further into the couch, no longer caring about him using your blanket as makeshift slippers as you laugh each time he recites a line, adding his own commentary as he goes. The mugs of hot chocolate are drained dry, pushed onto the coffee table, freeing up his hands that somehow wind up playing with your own in a mindless motion, slowly tracing down your fingers to gently clasp them together before pulling apart and repeating. 

Just as Elle Woods takes the floor to question the witness, the entire room goes black, Jungkook’s hands freezing on top of yours as you wait for a moment. With the loss of power you instantly feel the warmth begin to fade away, the vent right beside the couch no longer providing you the toasty escape you wanted. 

“It was getting to my favorite part.” He groans out, resting his head back onto the couch, something you can just barely see in the darkness. 

“Fuck is the whole block out of power?”

Jungkook pulls his hand away from yours as he stands up, knocking his knee into the coffee table and laughing as he tries to navigate through the dark living room. His silhouette makes it to the window, peering through it to see if maybe it was just your building that was shit out of luck, but the entire block is in fact dark. 

“Yup, it’ll probably come back soon though.”

After two more hours and another mug of hot chocolate it became very clear that the power wouldn’t be coming back any time soon. Both of your phones lay screen down with the flashlight on as you finish up your drink once more, tightening the blanket around you now that the cold is becoming more prevalent. 

“We’re gonna freeze to death.”

“No we’re not, it's a rain storm not a blizzard outside. We should probably call it a night though, the floors are getting cold as fuck.”

He had still refused to put on his slippers, allowing the cold tile from the kitchen to turn his feet into icicles. “You act like you don’t own socks or slippers.”

Jungkook merely waves you off with a laugh, grabbing his phone from its spot on the counter. “Let me live, good night!” His flashlight sways with every step, illuminating the trail before he disappears behind his bedroom door, leaving you with no other option than to retreat into your own room. 

The door shuts behind you with a soft click, the rapid pattering of the rain against the window filling up the space and its no longer as therapeutic as it used to be now that you can feel the cold it brings with it.

Lighting up the candle on your nightstand, hoping the smell of gingerbread will convince your mind you’re not freezing, you settle into your bed. The feeling of your cold sheets against you has you whining, quickly pulling up the blankets at the end of the bed to warm you up as you ball into yourself. 

It's only a few minutes later that you hear the gentle knocking against your door, the top of your head just barely peeking up from the mountain of blankets as Jungkook peers inside your room. The words he wants to say leave him when he takes note of the way you're being swallowed whole by different patterns. 

“Holy shit, can you even breathe?”

“You wish you were this comfortable.” You laugh, tightening your grip on the blankets and pulling them snugly under your chin. 

He shuts the door behind him as he steps further into your room, smiling when he gets the whiff of your candle. “That's actually why I’m here, can I steal a blanket?”

The idea of parting with even one of your blankets sounds like a sin, a frown etched onto your face as you contemplate it. “If you think I’m gonna give you one of these after you refused to use the slippers I bought you, you’re crazy.”

“C’mon,” he whines, sitting on the edge of the bed and toppling over to bury his face against the warmth, fingers clutching on when you try to wiggle him off of your legs.

“No, if you take one you’re gonna fuck up the balance I have going on right now.”

“Fine,” he grunts, but just when you think he’ll give up he starts to crawl over you, long limbs making their way to the other side of the bed. You feel the cold instantly as he peels off the comforter from the right side, making himself right at home as he slides underneath it in search of warmth. “We’ll share then.”

With the way he shimmies around, finding the best position to get comfortable, you know there's no way you can shake him. He smiles into the sheets when you grumble out a fine and turn over, not trusting yourself to be able to stare at his face from a close proximity and do something you’d regret. 

A soft exhale leaves your lips as you force your eyes shut, ignoring the pounding in your chest as he inches closer so his legs don’t slip out from the blankets. You and Jungkook were roommates, and friends now underneath it all, but before you had crossed into friendship territory you realized you had a teeny tiny crush on him. 

When you had first moved in he had a girlfriend, a girl you rarely ever saw since he preferred to go to her place, so it helped tame down the crush. But once they broke up and he began spending all of his time at home, the small bursts of his personality you would see lit that crush back up. It was always hard to tell if the way he behaved around you was just the way he normally acted or if he maybe had a small interest in you as well. 

Forcing your mind from wandering deeper into fantasyland you nuzzle further into your pillow, pulling more of the blankets with you as you try to fall asleep. Jungkook feels the cold nip at his exposed ankle, huffing and flipping over to look at you with a small smile, the stolen blankets bundled around you nice and tight. 

“Steal the blanket again and I’ll put my cold feet on you.” Is the threat he makes as his fingers clutch onto the top layer of blanket and tug it back. It's a threat you don’t take lightly, gaze narrowing as you turn your head to glare at him. 

“You wouldn’t…”

His brows raise up at the challenge, jaw ticking out as he looks at you and before you can even react, he’s attacking, maneuvering himself around until he’s skillfully slipping his cold ass feet underneath the hem of your pants. You feel the cold instantly, a squeal of protest leaving you as you try to kick him away. 

“Who the fuck sleeps with no socks in this weather!”

“Me, which is why I need the blankets you thief!” He laughs out, continuing to try to yank the blankets back now that you were distracted, pulling the soft fabric out of your fists as you start to admit defeat. With a small cheer of success he pulls the warmth up and over the both of you like a little fort, his eyes crinkling up in a smile as he stares at you, now positioned right on top of you. 

Small pants escape your mouth as you slow your breathing, wide eyes blinking up at him as he refuses to move. The bed dips on either side of you as he holds himself up, lips still spread out in a smile, getting wider when he sees the way your eyes flicker down to them before looking back. 

You wanted to kiss him, he knew this, had known of your crush since the very beginning. Jungkook had taken note of the way you would stumble over words whenever you spot him leaving the bathroom with just a towel around his waist, enjoying the flustered look on your face, that being the main reason he did it so often. 

You thought you were slick, letting your eyes trace over the lines of muscle until it slipped behind the towel, but he simply let you get away with it, meeting your flustered gaze with that bunny smile you had grown to love. But as he hovers over you now there's no way he can pretend he doesn't notice the way your starry eyes stare at him, how you subtly lick your lips over. 

With a small tilt to his head he finally breaks the silence, whispering gently inside of the little cocoon he had made. “I really want to kiss you.” 

That gets him the reaction he wanted, the small gasp filling the air as your mouth drops open a tiny bit. “What?”

“Your lips look so soft, wanna kiss them.” His voice drops to a murmur, slow and husky as the words drawl out. 

He wants to kiss you, something you’ve been dreaming of for months, and now your mind is betraying you as it struggles to unscramble the words needed to respond. 

“Can I?” He asks, soft eyes looking directly at you and when you nod your head he tsks in disapproval, “Need to hear you say it love.”

The pet name makes you melt into your sheets, finally giving him a response as your brain releases your voice, “Y-yes, please kiss me.”  

Jungkook smiles in appreciation before slowly inching forward, nose gently nudging against yours as he swoops in. Your eyes flutter shut when the softness of his lips press against yours, kissing back instantly at the first touch, your mind whirling at the intoxicating feeling. Jungkook can feel his heartbeat quicken when you let out a small sigh, your shy hands gaining courage and sliding up his sides until you’re cupping his face. 

He winces at the icy feel of your fingers on his cheeks, the soft breaths of his laughter making you smile in between kisses, teeth knocking together as it begins to turn messy, the two of you just wanting more of each other now that the line has finally been crossed. 

Jungkook lets you bring him in closer, balancing on his elbows as he slots himself between your thighs, the soft smacks of your lips blending in with the light crackle of the candle and the rain from outside. 

A gentle nip of your teeth on his bottom lip earns you the first groan, the second coming when you trace your tongue along the seam of his mouth, slowly licking your way inside until it’s gently tangled against his own. Jungkook can feel his heart thrumming in his ears now, the realization that he was finally kissing you making his entire body warm up. 

The way you had behaved with him, calling him bro, punching his shoulder whenever he told jokes in an act to force yourself from ruining the friendship, made him believe that this would never happen. He didn’t want to come across as the typical cocky boy who swore he could win everyone over but the way you’re gasping into his mouth, fingers moving to grasp around his neck to bring him even closer when he unconsciously rolls his hips into yours makes him feel like he just did. 

Your wishful thinking had been true, the sweet gestures he did in day to day life stemming from the small inkling of a crush, something that had been planted the minute he started spending more time at home and around you. At first he thought nothing of it, chalking it up to enjoying spending time with his new friend, but soon enough he discovered he preferred to stay in with you, join you on your random quests to hunt for a new place to eat at, ignoring any other girl who showed any interest in him. 

As the two of you continue to kiss inside the small makeshift fort, the air becomes stuffy, Jungkook pulling away with a small laugh. “Wait, can’t breathe.”

You let go of his neck and paw the blankets off your faces, the cool air of your bedroom finally being welcomed as you catch your breath. 

“Better?” you question, smiling when he nods at you. “Good, now kiss me again.”

He doesn’t need you to tell him twice, lips cutting off the end of your sentence urgently, feeling the way you smile against him, your leg hooking over his hips like second nature. Jungkook feels like his head is spinning, the way your fingers move to rake along his hair, the soft gasps and sighs passed between you, he feels like a goner, the tipping point being your hips rutting up into his. 

Both of you pause at the sensation, Jungkook moaning into your mouth as your clothed core grinds along the slowly growing erection pressed against you. “Y/N, don’t tease me.”

“Why?” you breathe out, pressing kisses along the side of his mouth and jaw as you repeat the motion, the usual fear of him not feeling the same long gone from your mind. 

He drops himself further until his face is buried in your neck, goosebumps flaring out as his breath hits your skin when he speaks. “I’m trying to be sweet.” he murmurs, kissing your neck softly. 

“You are being sweet,” you whisper, tightening your grip around his hip, smiling when he groans while you once again rut up into him. “Am I not being sweet? Just wanna make you feel good, Kook.”

Of course you were sweet, you always have been, it was the main reason his heart started to skip around you, why he clung onto your mug like a safety net, wanting to keep a small part of you with him. If you wanted to make him feel good he was in no position to refuse, wanting to reciprocate the sweet gesture instead. 

Jungkook lifts his head up, dark waves falling over his face as he stares at you, wanting to see the look on your face as he gives the first roll of his hips into yours. He sees the way your teeth bite down onto your lower lip, pillowing the soft flesh out, mouth opening up to let out a gasp as he repeats the motion. There's never been a time where he’s been more thankful for a power outage than right now. 

“Keep going,” you urge him on, sighing beautifully when he rocks against you again, hips nudging the leg hooked around his waist higher up with each slowly thrust. 

“Fuck, you’re so pretty.” He sighs, taking a moment to fully admire you laid out underneath him, eyes sparkling as you stare up at him, mouth slightly parted as you groan at the small tingles of pleasure starting up inside of you. 

“Wanna feel you.” The confession hangs in the air for a second, the trailing of your hand down his covered chest, fingertips tickling along the sliver of exposed skin above the waistband of his sweats, is what finally brings him back. His moment of admiration being broken as your hands slips past and gently grasps his hardened cock, the expected feeling of his underwear nowhere to be found because not only did Jungkook refuse to wear socks he also refused to wear underwear. 

Your eyes widen at his size, already a nice handful and slowly growing the longer you hold it in your palm. As you give him a small pump you feel the exhaled grunt he lets out fan across your skin, his eyes falling shut as he pants out your name. 

Jungkook gasps as your palm rolls over the head of his cock, thumb rubbing along his slit and dragging the beads of precum down his length. With a shaky hand he trails down your chest, slipping past your pants and underwear. A pleased hum escapes him as he feels how wet you are, fingers sliding along your folds, collecting your arousal before coming back up to circle around your clit. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, hips jutting up at the tiny jolts of pleasure that spark each time his fingers circle around your bundle of nerves. This was definitely not how you thought your night would play out, still partially thinking you’re dreaming with your roommate asleep beside you but each time you blink the visual of his face inches from yours only gets clearer. 

“How's this?” he whispers, eyebrow cocked up as he waits for a response, the tantalizing motion of his hands making your mind scramble once more, back arching up towards him as he applies a bit more pressure. Jungkook knows what he’s doing, the way his fingers find the right rhythm to leave you whimpering only to slow down right after, just because he likes the frustrated look etched onto your face. 

A pout forms on your lips, your hands tightening their hold on his cock as you give him the same treatment, and as you slowly glide your palm down and back up, fingers refusing to go near his tip he groans in vexation. 

“You’re not being nice.” Is what you manage to gasp out just before he picks up his pace once more, lips coming back down to yours in a hungry kiss, swallowing each moan as you let them out. Each pant through his nose is felt against your cheek as your own hands pick up the pace, the two of you working in tandem as the desperation starts to grow within you. 

Jungkook wishes he could see you fully, not cocooned under a mountain of blankets, and for a split second he wants to suggest pulling them off entirely but the way the cold nips at your faces kills that idea on the spot. This would just have to do until the power came back. 

“Ah shit,” he keens out in between sloppy kisses as your hands trail further down to fondle his balls, the beginning feelings of his climax creeping up embarrassingly fast. He couldn’t help himself, for months now he had wondered what it felt like to kiss you so this whole situation put his mind into overdrive. 

You were on the same boat, the warm sensation spreading throughout you as his fingers continue to pinch and roll around your aching clit. “Wait, fuck I’m close,” you whimper out, chest rising and falling rapidly as you pull away from his mouth, a small string of spit connecting you together. 

“Really?”

“Shut up don’t make fun of me,” you protest, gasping when he starts to kiss and suck along your neck. 

“I’m not,” he mumbles, his hips rutting into your palm, fingers fisting the sheets beside you. “I’m close too.”

The whiny tone to his voice has more wetness gushing out, further ruining your underwear and Jungkook feels it as he fingers glide against your skin. That's enough to spur him on, quickening his pace with just the right pressure until your limbs are tightening up, back arching as your free hand clutches Jungkook’s shoulder. 

“Don’t stop,” you plead, and he has no intentions to, smiling against your neck as your hand stutters along his length as the pleasure you feel coursing through you. Each roll of his fingers has you seeing stars in your dimly lit room, whines getting breathier each time until you’re finally coming undone with a cry of his name. 

Jungkook feels the mess you make against his fingers, gently biting your skin as he starts to rut into your palm, the small twitches your body makes as he continues to tease your sensitive nub only making his need to cum grow. 

“Y/N,” he mewls, pulling his hand out of your pants once you hum at your name, your palm trailing up his shoulder and into his hair to gently run through it. “Wanna cum.”

You bite your lips at his words, pulling your own hand out of his pants and he cries out at the loss of contact, face lifting up from your neck and the prettiest pout on his lips that you kiss away. “Cum, use me Jungkook.”

He eyes you for a moment, a subtle nod of confirmation being all he needs to slide down his sweats a bit until his cock slips out, a small sigh filling the air at being released from its confines. He licks his lips over as he grasps his cock, resting it along your core and sighing at the smooth feeling of your pants, the silk slightly cold against him, the small wet patch along it only making him shut his eyes. 

When you widen your thighs for him to slot more easily he starts to rut forward, leaning back over you with his palms beside your face once more. Jungkook pants at the sensation, the gliding of his cock against your covered pussy, the small whines you let out each time he nudges against your clit, it kickstarts his climax once more. 

“Feels good,” he grunts out, head bowing forward and pressing against your chest as he picks up the pace, hips knocking into you each time, beads of precum dampening your silk pajama set and mixing with your own arousal. 

Jungkook doesn’t care how needy he looks right now, humping you like a desperate teenager because that’s exactly how he feels. 

“Yeah, are you gonna cum for me Kook?” you whisper, caressing his hair until he’s looking at you once more, face screwed up as he teeters close to the edge. 

When he nods eagerly you hook both legs around his waist, his mouth dropping open as he moans out unabashedly. “W-wanna feel you fully next time,” he grunts, jostling your body from the force of his thrusts, your pants wrinkling up around your thighs. 

“You will,” you confirm, wanting nothing more than to actually feel his cock without the confines of clothes and blankets. “Once the power comes back.”

He chuckles at that for a second, smiling at you through the dull glow the candle provides but then his face twists up, brows pinching and jaw going slack as his hips grow sloppy. 

“F-fuck,” he drawls out as his orgasm washes over him, hips rutting against yours with less grace than before, spurts of his warm cum splashing along your pussy and onto the small patch of skin above your waistband as he works himself through it. You sigh at the feeling, cupping his cheeks as your thumbs soothe him down. 

Jungkook continues to rock against you until he’s whimpering in overstimulation, panting as he stares down at you with the dopiest smile. He turns his head to kiss at your hand by his cheek before bending down to press his lips against your in a gentle kiss. 

“Did we just get to third base?” he whispers against your lips after the two of you fully come down, laughing when you swat at his side playfully, your own laugh filling the air as he pulls back to stare at you once more. 

Suddenly your room fills with light, the two of you squinting at the brightness, the sound of the heater kicking back is followed by the warmth from the vents beginning to flow through. 

You don’t even have to look at him to know what face he’s making, your promise of letting him fully feel you once the power came back flooding his mind. “No Jungkook,” you laugh, pushing his face away from yours as he inches closer like a child. 

“Why not?”

“Because you ruined my favorite pajamas.”

He laughs freely now, kneeling up until the blankets slide off his body, his eyes staring down at your pants and analyzing the mess the two of you made. “I mean, you ruined them first.”

Okay he has a point, but instead of agreeing you simply raise your foot up and nudge it against his chest until he topples to the side, allowing you to stand up from bed with no fear of the cold attacking you. Jungkook smiles against your sheets as he watches you grab new pants and underwear before slipping into your bathroom, emerging a few minutes later with a pair of snowman printed pants instead. 

“You wanna go finish Legally Blonde?” he asks, head perched up by his hand as he lays on his side, that charming smile on his face. 

“It’s like two in the morning.”

He shrugs, not caring about the time at all, just wanting to spend more time with you, already knowing the two of you would most likely end the night having a discussion about more than obvious feelings after what just happened. 

After staring at him for another moment you smile too, reaching your bed for the same trusty blanket you hand earlier and wrapping it around your body. But as he stands up from your bed you extend your covered up out for him to join you, a smile of success gracing his face. 

“Wow, you’re actually sharing with me.” he coos, leading the two of you back out into the living room. 

“Watch it, I’ll take it back.”

Jungkook simply wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side before you sit onto the couch. “I know you will you cozy thief.”

[little-diable]

Greasy Hands - Spencer Reid (smut)

Written by @playboysbunny​ and little-diable (that’s me - in case you were wondering). Thank you for writing the fluff and letting me have my fun with the smutty part. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: a soft drabble about a broken down car, a confused Spencer and some lovemaking in a garage

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (f and m receiving), unprotected sex

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

“You don’t understand,” she complained, “my dad used to fix everything! Dishwashers, washing machines, radios - anything that broke, my dad could fix!”

Spencer nodded, trying to calm her. 

“I just don’t see the issue in sending it to the mechanic.”

She threw her arms in the air, releasing a frustrated sigh. 

“It just doesn’t feel right!”

Spencer let her emotions settle. (Y/n) paced her apartment, back and forth, his eyes watching her from his leather reading chair in the corner. He kept his eyes on her with a patient expression, as she slowed eventually she stopped in front of the window. (Y/n) held a hand at her jaw as she watched the sunset; she didn’t want to admit what Spencer clearly already knew.

He didn’t push her, waiting for (y/n) to come to her own conclusion. She spoke in a whisper without turning to him.

“It just feels like he’s really gone,” she said. “He’s not here to fix my car and now it’s real. He’s really gone.”

(Y/n) didn’t cry as she had through the months. Her father had passed in the fall and the green of the trees now brought her some sort of hope and solace; things would get better. It wasn’t the changing of the seasons that brought her peace, though. No, that was Spencer. 

She turned to him then and sighed, his expression was understanding and sympathetic.

“We’ll figure something out,” Spencer said, getting up from his chair. He walked across the room and took her in his arms, placing his chin on the top of (y/n)’s head.

They spent the evening together, since she was lucky enough to have him home for a rare occasion. He unfolded the team’s latest case for her over a bottle of red wine, sparing the gorey details, but giving them to her bit by bit as she begged for them. They made dinner together, danced to music she liked, but Spencer detested, but he went along with it anyway, spinning her around the kitchen and reciting all the words to her as he memorized them instantaneously.

Over dinner, she told him the downfall of her day; on the way home from work, her car suddenly started overheating and she ended up in a strange neighborhood she’d never ventured into before. It was an industrial area without a lot of foot traffic. Every window had a set of accompanying bars. (Y/n) felt oddly isolated and out of place. She was uncomfortable and nervous and then she had to walk away from her car to get a signal to call a tow truck.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Spencer scolded her from across the table. “If something had happened to you…” he couldn’t finish the thought.

“What choice did I have?” (Y/n) countered. “Should I have stayed there and waited for you to come and rescue me?”

“I would have,” he replied. “I will always find you.”

He looked at her over the candlelight, his eyes glistening with truth. His words filled her with exultant joy.

They went to bed together, finally reuniting after weeks apart. Spencer fell asleep quickly, exhausted from the case he’d just returned from. He held her in his arms as she drifted off to sleep.

(Y/n) woke up alone and felt the coldness of his absence, frantically searching for a note; he’d always leave a note if he was called to a case and she was still asleep. She patted her hands around in the dim morning light, finding nothing.

She launched herself out of the bed and threw on whatever she could find. (Y/n) ran into the living room in his boxers and his button down from the night before.

“Spencer?”

The hollow echo of the empty apartment made her heart drop. She scanned the room quickly, looking for him. His go-bag was still sitting by the door, his keys and badge on the table beside it. A cup of cold coffee was resting there too, under the faint light from the floor lamp that Spencer had left on. In his leather armchair, there was a thick book she hadn’t seen before.

(Y/n) picked it up and read the cover aloud. “Haynes Repair Manual based on a complete teardown and rebuild?”

It was for her 1969 Chevrolet Camaro, though she was positive she didn’t own the manual. Why would she? She had no idea how to fix anything. 

(Y/n) grabbed the only pair of shoes she had left at the door - an old pair of tall, yellow, rubber rain boots - and ran into the hallway of her apartment building. She rushed down the stairs with the manual still in-hand. (Y/n) ran out to the back alley, where her car and others were in a long string of garages; of course, her garage door was already open.

“Damn!” Spencer yelled, clattering around under her car.

The hood was propped up and the car was up on jackstands. Spencer’s legs dangled out from underneath and tools and parts were scattered about the garage floor.

“Where did you get all this?” (Y/n) shouted.

Spencer rolled out from under the car and propped himself up on his elbow. He was in ratty blue jeans she’d never seen before and a plain white t-shirt. He was covered with splotches of black grease like a child that had been dabbling in finger paints. 

“All of what?” he said, incredulously.

(Y/n) waved the manual in the air above her head. 

“Spencer!” she laughed, “What are you doing?”

He stood up then, tossing the bolts he held in his hand to the floor. He ran a hand through his messy hair, stopping to pull on the roots. 

“You need your car fixed and that’s what I’m going to do! It shouldn’t be this hard, really,” he huffed. “It’s simple mechanics and mathematics, you’d think someone with a Ph.D in both would be able to do it!”

He continued rambling on, kicking the bolts he had scattered, waving his hands as he struggled to explain to her how his brain and his hands seemed to have a disconnect. Spencer carried on like that for a while and she knew best to let him have his soliloquies. But (y/n) didn’t miss a single drop of sweat that ran down his slightly heated skin. 

She couldn’t help but stare, forcing herself to stay calm, trying to drown out the needy longing for her man.

There was something about the way the frustration spurred him on that made her lose her focus. His intensity and passion had (y/n) biting her lip in anticipation. She couldn’t control the feeling that arose in the pit of her stomach. 

He moved back to the car and attempted to refocus himself, reciting the steps of the manual he had memorized as he got back to work. How easy - she thought - it would be to let him bend her over the car, to allow Spencer to run his oil covered hands all over her body.

“You’re staring.” 

The change in Spencer’s tone recaptured her attention, though he didn’t lift his head to make his remark; his eyes were focused on his task, his expression strained from stopping his smirk from spreading.

For a profiler, Spencer had never been very aware of her advances, to the sly glances she’d cast his direction. But now - with her thighs pressed together, her teeth pierced into her lower lip, the soft humming that she trilled while she was lost in her fantasies of him - he knew all about the heat that took over her senses. 

He didn’t need to be a genius to understand her, to know the arousal that was dripping from her folds, about the way her nipples were beginning to harden, uncomfortably rubbing against the material of his button down shirt hung over her body.

She stumbled over her words, nervously pulling a strand of hair behind her ear. 

A small “sorry” left her slightly parted lips, coaxing a chuckle out of him. Spencer rose from his kneeling position, hand reaching for hers, pulling (y/n) in for a messy kiss, tongues meeting, teeth clashing - clearly projecting the lust that kept them both distracted. 

He pulled her in close, resting himself on the side of the car.

“Maybe I should get cleaned up first,” Spencer said, putting some distance between them, very well knowing that he’d lose control soon. 

But the pleading whine that escaped her held him frozen and gaping as she fell to her knees in front of him, reaching for his belt loops. He braced himself on the car behind him. His usually busy psyche suddenly emptied, thoughts instantly leaving his mind as his tongue wet his lips, enjoying the feeling of her warm hands on his clothed bulge as she rubbed him through the fabric.

“Somebody's excited,” (y/n) teased. 

He turned down to her, a wide smile on his pretty face, his eyes glazed over in ecstasy. Slowly - teasingly - she undid his trousers, kissing up his thighs as she toyed with the elastics of his boxers. Her touches burned on his skin, pushing the genius into a dangerous headstate; the blood was quickly rushing down to his hard cock. 

He couldn’t remember his own name, and best yet, he didn’t care.

As her hands grasped his length, Spencer gasped her name - relieved to finally feel her soft skin pressed against his sensitive one. (Y/n)’s thumb circled his tip, smearing the drops of precum that bearded his skin. She couldn’t help but have a taste, lips parted, allowing him to thrust forward, cock disappearing down her throat.

Every moan that left her vibrated on his skin, pushing him closer to his release - but it was much too soon for Spencer's liking. He wanted to fill her up, claiming her, his lover, in the most sinful way, with his seed spilling out of her as she’d cry out for him.

“(Y/n), I’m going to fuck you so good, you’ll-” he moaned, she cut his rambling short as she added more pressure to her movements. 

She couldn’t deny the effect his words had on her. (Y/n) loved to hear his dirty talk and the promises he’d make as waves of euphoria would clash upon him. 

It was no secret that he was close, tightening his grip on her hair, unevenly panting her name. She was eager to push him over the edge - oh, so eager to please him - but he pushed her away before he could reach his peak.

A few moments of silence engulfed them both, the only sound echoing through the air came from the heavy breaths spilling from his lips as he tried to calm himself. 

As if he had heard her thoughts, he reached down, yanked her up by her biceps and turned (y/n) so that she could rest where he had been on the side of the car. His hungry lips grazed her neck, leaving wet trails on her skin as he snapped the hood of the car down with a forceful crash. 

Wordlessly she positioned herself for him, ripping the boxers she had thrown on down her legs, exposing her glistening wetness to his wide eyes. She leaned back as he lifted her onto the car’s hood. 

(Y/n) pledged to take him on a wild ride as she’d beg for her release.

Spencer took in every word, “let me taste you first. I bet you made quite a mess, didn’t you?”

Two fingers of his ran through her slit, spreading her slick on her folds, on her clit. She was addicted to his touch, completely at his mercy. 

(Y/n) was putty in his hands, would do anything he’d asked of her if it meant that she could cum on his fingers. He enjoyed watching her moan for him - she was begging for more, so lost in the fantasy that her words became nonsense.

As he pushed his fingers into her, pumping them in and out of her tightness, her head fell back against the hood as she arched herself off the metal. She was so close, too close, plagued with the wish that this moment and feeling would last forever.

“Feels so good Spence’,” she cried, slurring his name, eyes squeezed shut, her breaths falling short. 

Though just as she wanted to let go, he stopped, smirking at her with the special glint in his eyes. He was toying with her, using her body for his pleasure. Watching her beg for him turned him into a touch-starved, hungry man.

“I will fuck you so good, you won’t remember your own name,” Spencer moaned. 

His words sounded more like a command than a promise, cock ready to rip her in half, to fuck her till she’d cry heavy tears of pleasure. 

Her lips met his in a rather passionate way, tongues fighting, teasing one another, distracting her from the feeling of his cock pressed against her entrance. As their bodies connected in the most intimate way possible, she called out his name, pulling him close, holding onto him for dear life.

Spencer kept his gaze focused on her heat, watching his length split her in half, glistening with her arousal clinging to his skin. She was losing herself in waves of pleasures, slowly forgetting about the world outside, only caring about their love and the pleasure that ran through their bodies.

His pace was ruthless, bruising, keeping her lungs from letting any air flood through them. She was too distracted by the feeling of his cock buried deep inside of her. Sounds of praises left them both as they felt themselves climbing higher and higher, ready to reach their peaks.

“I’m so close.” 

Her words didn’t get a reply. He was focused on making her cum, adding more pressure to the speed of his thrusts as her body moved against the hood. Sweat dripped down her skin, pooling on the small of (y/n)’s back. Their lips connected once again all while she tumbled over the edge, fingernails piercing into his shoulders, as she cried out his name.

The way she looked - sweaty, hair in tangles, makeup smudged - pushed him into the arms of his own orgasm. His release spilled out of him, painting her walls white, claiming (y/n) as his.

She laid her head down and let her body collapse onto the hood of the car as he bent himself over her to rest. Forehead to forehead, they gazed into each other’s eyes as they struggled to catch their breaths. They both shared sloppy, quick kisses and murmurs of “I love you’s” as they laughed breathlessly together in the afterglow.

Spencer pushed himself off the car and straightened his pants again before handing her the boxers she’d stolen. She hopped off the hood and redressed herself as they heard nearing footsteps.

”Hey, pretty boy,” Derek chanted, announcing himself before he walked through the wide open door of the garage.

(Y/n) covered her mouth to hide her wide smile, admired Spencer as he struggled to keep himself composed. 

“Hey, Derek, thanks for coming,” Spencer answered, still struggling to breathe evenly.

“(Y/n), you can go back to bed and rest easy little girl,” Derek laughed. “I’m here now, I’ll take care of you.”

Derek’s taunt was entirely directed at the difficulties Spencer faced with fixing her car, but she couldn’t let the moment pass.

She smiled brightly in Derek’s direction as she walked past him on her way out of the garage, “Oh, Dr. Reid has already taken care of me, Derek. Don’t you worry.”

(Y/n) heard Spencer laugh as she sauntered off. She imagined the look on Derek’s face as the realization hit, but she didn’t look back to see it.

“Pretty boy!” Derek yelled in surprise.

She basked in the sound of Spencer’s laughter.

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[wolvesandpetals]

Postscript. Part 3 of 3.

Loki x Sylvie "Our divorce never went through" Modern AU. Angst, Rated T.

Masterlist of my Sylki fanfics here.

---

Exactly three weeks later, Sylvie walks into his bar. Her eyes drift immediately to the counter, where she spots him bartending, and she gives him a little wave.

[[MORE]]

He waves back, dumbfounded, having no idea how to react when a scene from his dreams becomes reality. She makes her way through the crowd, and takes a seat on a stool in front of him. "One whiskey please."

"With water or something else?" He asks, trying his best to recollect himself and act professional.

She shrugs. "You already know how I like it."

He returns a moment later with her whiskey on the rocks, and she takes a long sip. The bar is busy, and he has to quickly turn his attention to the other customers.

She sits there quietly for the next two hours, watching him work, sipping her drinks, before the crowd thins and he can return his attention to her. "Hello again", she says with a grin.

"Hi." He answers with a low, nervous laugh. "How did you find this place?"

She shrugs. "You know I was always a good stalker."

"That, you were." He says with a grin, remembering the days in the college when she used to grab his phone and go through people's profiles to figure out little things about them. Blackmail Fodder, she used to call it. "So what brings you to my little corner?"

Sylvie knows that if it wasn't for the alcohol in her system from the three neat drinks she has downed, she wouldn't have the courage to say what she's about to say. "I wanted to see you again."

He feels his heart skip a beat. That treacherous thing never listens to logic when it comes to her. "Why?"

"Do I need a reason?" She asks, and orders another drink. He cuts her off, deciding she's drunk enough. He announces last call, intending to lock up early- he has already messed up at least a dozen drinks, and really, how can he focus when she's here?- and she clings to the stool, watching him close up.

He tugs on an ear nervously when it's just the two of them left inside. He has not been alone with her in an extremely long time, and he can feel his body starting to betray him, as he starts noticing how incredible she looks in her skin tight jeans and top, the outfit clearly a deliberate decision on her part. "Let me call you a cab."

"No." She protests immediately, struggling to stand up. He rushes to her side and offers her support, and she steadies herself with a hand on his shoulder. "I'm okay, I'm okay."

"Yes, clearly." He says sarcastically. He reaches for the phone in his pocket, then wonders if it's safe to leave her alone in a cab in her current state.

A very bad idea occurs to him then, one that every single one of his friends and family would scold him for if they knew. "Come with me." He urges her gently, and she follows without a question.

He takes her to his apartment upstairs, and leads her to his room, the one place where nobody except him is allowed- not his family, or friends, or the rare dates he brings over.

She stumbles inside, and the first thing she notices is the photo on his nightstand.

"Shit." He realises his mistake too late.

Sylvie stills for a moment, before walking over unsteadily and taking the photo in her hands. It's one from their honeymoon. They couldn't afford a fancy place, and had decided to take a staycation instead. It's a picture of them in their old apartment, on their old couch, sipping on coffee in their old mugs. She runs her fingers over the glass and the wooden frame, searching for the warmth that resonated in her heart during those days. "Do you still have the mugs?"

"I did, for a while... But they eventually broke." He tells her guiltily.

She can picture him smashing them into pieces out of rage, and she can picture him accidentally dropping them on the floor and being anguished over it. She's not sure which one actually happened.

"You didn't ask for anything in the divorce." He points out. Then a dark thought occurs to him. "Do you want something now?"

She blinks. "I-" she sits down on the bed, placing the photo frame back, but upside down in her inebriated state, and she lets out a bitter laugh. "I don't even want a divorce.'

His heart skips another beat, now on the verge of feeling an emotion that is dangerously close to hope. Seeing her on his bed is not helping things either. "You should get some rest."

He proceeds to leave, but she tugs at his hand and stops him. "Stay with me."

"Sylvie." He scolds. His heart beats ridiculously, and he can't get his hand free from her.

"Please?" She pouts, and his eyes automatically drift to her lips. They are soft and inviting, and he really should leave swiftly.

He steps closer to her, and places a small kiss on her forehead. "Sleep well."

He turns out the light and closes the door shut on his way out, and spends the rest of the night tossing and turning on the couch, images of Sylvie on his bed burning brightly in his head.

---

Sleep does come, around dawn, and when he wakes up it's already past eleven.

Sylvie is in the kitchen in last night's clothes, and she's making pancakes for lunch, like she always did. This is how it was, when she was his.

She gives him a small smile. "Morning."

"Mmm", he hums, picking up the newspaper from the counter, reading the headlines but registering nothing. Words seem to lose all their meaning when he's with her. He watches her go about, her movements very familiar but a distant memory at the same time. Finally, he asks. "You still haven't told me why you're here."

Sylvie tries her best to appear confident and unfazed, when inside, she feels herself shaking. "I... I felt that we left some things unsaid."

Loki winces. "Please don't tell me you want us to scream at each other some more."

She laughs, trying to ease some of the tension. "No, that's not what I mean, at all." She turns the stove off, and finally gives him her full attention. "I know I have no right to say this, and I know I have no right to ask this, or anything of you, and I know you will probably say no, and I understand, but..." She finishes her rambling, and takes in a deep breathe. "I've been kicking myself for the last three weeks for not saying this. I need to say it."

"Okay." He says quietly, ready to hear her out.

"How do you think Thor feels when he meets Sif now?"

"That's an unusual question to keep you occupied for three whole weeks." Loki notes. When he notices her waiting for an answer, he shrugs. They work together, they meet every day. It's not a big deal. "Indifferent, I suppose. That's how people feel when they move on."

"Precisely." She toys with a stray strand of fibre in her jeans. "Do you feel that way when you look at me?"

He really shouldn't answer that. He really shouldn't open himself up to a world of hurt again.

But foolishness is in his blood, and his blood has been rushing to unexpected places when she stands so close that he can smell her intoxicating perfume. He can't help himself. "No."

Her face brightens visibly, and a smile spreads across her lips, a shadow of the woman she was when they first met. "Neither do I. When I look at you, I realise how much I've missed you. How much I... I still..." She can't finish the sentence, but she doesn't need to.

His hands are clenched into a fist next to him, and he's breathing heavily. "You could have called."

"How could I?" She asks, her voice sad once again. "I walked out on you. How could I ever expect you to take me back?"

He closes his eyes, trying to push the bitterness down. "I kept calling you. For months. You never returned my calls. Not once."

"I couldn't." She places a hand on his arm, willing him to look at her. Her eyes mirror his- fearful, hopeful, and tear-stained all at once. "I couldn't go back. I wasn't ready, back then. I needed time... And I... I'm ready now."

He shakes his head. "Wow. This is unexpected."

She takes in a shaky breathe. "Loki, I know you don't owe me anything. But all these years, something has been missing from my life. I always knew, but I didn't know at the same time, if that makes any sense. When you called, and when I saw you, it finally clicked. I... I know what I've been missing. I know what I want. I really do want to try again."

"And what happens if you decide to give up again?" He wonders aloud. "Where does that leave me?"

She closes her eyes, letting the tears fall. "I've spent countless nights awake, picturing you sleeping next to some nameless woman, kicking myself for giving up. I was young, and stupid. But I'm not any of those things anymore. I will fight for us this time, I promise you." She reaches for his hand, and his grip is tight, almost painful, but he doesn't speak. "Say something, please." She begs after a while.

"I don't want to get hurt again." He says, but he tugs her closer, until his arms are wrapped tightly around her and his face is buried in her chest. His voice comes out muffled. "And for the record, I've missed you too."

Her hand finds its way into his hair, and she inhales his scent, the familiarity of it bringing her comfort. When you have love, you only need one other thing- timing. This this time around, she has a feeling they have got that right.

She doesn't know what else to say, isn't sure where to start. But she'll figure it out.

They will figure it out. Together.

"When you're young, you just run, but you come back to what you need."

(The end.)

[world-of-aus]

Strictly Confidential - Part 1

Warnings: 18+ Steamy Wet Dream in the first scene (it’s the dirtiest thing I've ever felt I have written lol)

Series Summary: New publicist managing Barnes CO. by day, Camgirl by night, no way the two worlds could get mixed, right?

Author’s Note: New mini-series! Super excited to kick this one off. There will be fluff, mutual pinning slow burn (squint ya eyes), and of course ANGST! As per all my series there will be a tag-list available, so if you enjoy this part and would like to be notified when newer chapters post you can send me an ask, message, or comment and i’ll have you added. Thank you for reading! Any and all writing mistakes are my own, i can only do so much editing with two tiny ghouls around me.

Find My Other Works Here: Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

 Bucky reinforced his tight grip on Vixens writhing hips, tongue trailing up the inside of her spread thighs. Her chest heaving beneath the fingers that trailed along her exposed breasts. Vixen squirmed beneath his hold, breathy pleas falling from her lips as her hips rolled, searching for the delicious pleasure, only he could bring her. 

Bucky smacked at her hip, vixen's frantic movement faltering, “quit moving or I stop all together, you wouldn’t want me to stop now, would you?”  

A whine falls from her throat, her hips falling back to the sheets below her, head pressing into the silk pillow as she waits with baited breath, “that’s my good girl,” he murmurs trailing his hand down the side of your hip, fingers catching on your lace thong. He trailed his way down the lace, index finger pressing the lace into her slick folds, a low whine spilling from her lips, “please,” she begged hips lifting on their own accord. 

“Please what princess?” He murmurs fingers running up and down her wet slicked panties, “fuck me, I need you to fuck me, please.”   

A groan fell from Bucky’s lips as he moved up her body, his beautiful, beautiful girl, his vixen, always so fucking responsive for him. 

He licks a trail up vixen’s stomach, body quivering beneath his tongue. He stops at her breast, tongue swirling over each one of her nipples, teeth tugging at the taut skin. A hiss falls from her lips, a moan accompanying the sound, her back arches off the bed pressing her breast further into his face.  

“God doll, I could never get enough of you,” he murmurs his lips continuing their way up her skin, he settles on marking up her neck while his fingers hook on the inside of her panties, juices coating his finger as he pulls the material to the side, his cock pressing against her folds. 

“Please,” she moans, “please give it to me,” she murmurs body arching, lips finding his in the low lamp light of his room. Vixens teeth are tugging at his lower lip pulling, a hiss falling from his lips, his hips rolling forward cock pushing into her as he buries himself inside of her warm heat. A low groan falls from her lips, head falling back exposing her neck to him, “always so tight angel, fit like a glove,” he hisses head burying itself in vixen’s neck, tongue dragging over her sweat slicked skin, hips rolling at the sensation. 

He’s pulling back only to hammer back into her, the thrust driving you up the sheets, a squeal of pleasure leaves her lips, her legs hooking around his waist to get him closer, “you were made for me, made to take me,” he grunts teeth nipping at vixens ear, “and fuck do you take me well,” he growled cock pounding into her. 

He fucks into vixen hard and fast, hips setting a bruising pace, his lips find hers, mouth drinking in her throaty moans. A gasp falls from vixen's lips, as she pulls away the need for air becoming too much, “Fuck, just like that,” she moaned low in her throat, “please, don’t stop, p-please don’t stop,” she whined back arching off the bed as her orgasm consumed her. 

A growl tore from Bucky’s lips, “that’s right baby, cum for daddy, cum all over daddy’s cock,” 

A cry, tore from vixens lips, her hands finding there way to the back of his head, fingers curling around his wavy locks bringing his lips crashing to hers. He licked his way into her mouth, tongue tangling with hers, “cum for daddy” she moaned, fingers tugging on his hair. Bucky moaned hips moving quicker, thrusts faltering as he chased after his own release. 

“come on daddy, let me feel it, cum for me,” she moaned, licking a strip up his neck, her tongue on his skin was all it took to have him losing himself. 

“Oh fuck.”

Bucky eyes shot open, a gasp leaving his lips, hips thrusting off the bed, his cock leaking cum, a wet stain appearing on his cotton boxers.  

“h-holy fuck,” he grunted falling back onto the bed, eyes squeezed shut as the aftershocks of his orgasm coursed through him. He’s running a hand through his hair, eyes slipping open as he glanced around his room, this had been the third night she had visited his dreams, not that him, or his dick were complaining.

Bucky eyes catch sight of his surface pro on his nightstand, the Xmodels website staring back at him, he supposed his frequent visits to Xmodels to see her had been the reasoning behind her frequenting his dreams as much as she had, but fuck if she wasn’t intoxicating, and he only knew her from behind that of his laptop screen.

He hadn’t meant to stumble upon her or the website to begin with but when the topic of Camgirls had been brought up at one of there weekly stops at the bar they frequented just before their weekends, well curiosity had killed the cat and he couldn’t help himself.

He had searched through various girls, a scoff at the time leaving his lips as he thought back to how highly Sam and surprisingly Steve had spoken of some of the girls on here. He had almost given up but decided to try to scroll through a few more profiles. He stumbled towards the end of his search, and he wasn’t sure if it was her picture or the name that enticed him more to click on vixens profile, but he would never look back, the way Vixen worked her profile, the content she provided her viewers, he was hooked immediately.

He couldn’t help himself as he reached over, fingers tapping at the screen of his surface pro, Vixens profile greeting him, the latest chat showing it had now ended. God he couldn’t get her out of his system, silky voice, her body, the way her fingers looked slipping into her slick folds, her breathy moans god, he groaned dick twitching in his already stained boxers.  

His phone ringing on his nightstand next to his laptop pulls him from his stupor, a groan but this time one of annoyance leaves his lips as he grabs the device sliding the green button across the screen.

“this better be good Rogers,” he mumbles into the line, throwing the sheets from his body.

Steve chuckles on the other end of the line, but he sounds anything other than amused, “nothing I ever tell you is good,” he answers, “but if you must know you and I were supposed to conduct a meeting with your newest publicist.”

A sigh is leaving Bucky’s lips as he slips from his bed, feet carrying him to the bathroom, “I really don’t see the need for a publicist Rogers what exactly is the poor-”

“Her names y/n,” Steve murmurs and Bucky can practically feel the eye roll through the phone.

“I knew that,” Bucky muttered pulling off his cum stained underwear; cum cooled and dried on his skin, he pulled a face, “all I’m saying is I don’t think I need a publicist, why would one even be suggested?” He questions moving towards the shower, fingers moving the knobs as water streams down from the faucet head.

“Are you really just getting in the shower?” Steve questions incredulously, ignoring Buckys question altogether.

“It’s what I do every morning, what’s it to you punk?” Bucky chuckles putting his phone on speaker as he steps into the shower.

Steve groans, and Bucky can see him with a hand to his head, eyes shut in agitation, “oh I don’t know Buck maybe it’s the small fact that it’s 9:30 in the morning and you were supposed to be in your office two hours ago.

Bucky's eyes widen, feet nearly slipping from under him as he scrambles to grab his phone to see indeed that it was 9:30, and not 7:00, the actual time he should have been up.

“son of a bitch!” he growls grabbing his soap, squeezing an unnecessary amount on his palm as he worked it over his body, specifically the part that he’d gotten dirty from this morning's dream.

“So, I take it I'll see you in your office in an hour?” Steve questions.

“Wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else,” Bucky shouts out over the sound of the water running over his body.

“He thinks Steve’s hung up but then his voice is ringing out over the speaker again, “and please be on your best behavior, you’re meeting your new publicist, and don’t be an ass and run her off like you did the other one,” Steve warns.

“No promises, but I'll try, now hang up the fucking phone so I can get moving you’re making me waste more time.”

“Uhuh,” Steve murmurs a chuckle sounding on his end, “see you in the office pal, don’t be late.

Jokes on him, he already was.

Bucky arrived at the office fifteen till the hour that Steve had given him, he was sweaty, and a little out of breath, but that was likely due to the workorder for fixing the only working elevator in this damn building not being submitted. He hasn’t even stepped foot onto the floor and Steve is already there coffee in hand, leaning against the receptionist desk.

Bucky holds the eye roll at seeing Steve smirk, “you know I thought you wouldn’t make it, was certain you’d go past the hour.” he grins passing Bucky his coffee.

“I’m beginning to regret ever saving your scrawny ass from your back alley fights, they should have punched you around some more, seems they didn’t get your head back in place after the first punch.” Bucky grumbles, grabbing the coffee with greedy hands as he moved towards his office Steve trailing beside him.

“You and I both know I could have taken them, you just happened to come around at a bad time,” Steve grins.

Bucky can’t help but to look at his best friend now, he’s definitely no longer that same scrawny teen that would pick fights with guys twice his size, no, now he was the one who was being picked on, by guys smaller than him.

“You’ve come along way punk I can tell you that much,” Bucky chuckles taking a seat at his desk, “so about this publicist, tell me again why it is I need her, I didn’t need the first one, why are you all so pushy about this one.”

Steve’s waving a finger at him as he takes a seat across from Bucky, “that’s one thing I've always liked about you, and I'm sure the very reason your father passed his business down to you, as soon as you're at work, it's strictly business for you,” Bucky rolls his eyes, a grin pulling at his lips, “anyway,” Steve drawls, “ the reason we  have suggested getting you a publicist is to build up the company,” Bucky raises a brow, a gesture for Steve to continue. “Having someone around you to learn about the company, to see what it takes to run this company, to know the company inside and out, hell it would be good for us, we could bring more people in, have more people know about us, know about you.”

“I think enough people already know enough about me,” Bucky mumbles behind a sip of his hot drink.

Steve rolls his eyes, “the only you they know, is the one who has a girl leaving his home every other morning, and that’s not a publicist work that’s well, I don’t need to elaborate on who’s doing it is.”

Bucky waves a hand at him, taking another long sip of his coffee, an ‘ah’ leaving his lips, “I honestly don’t see the need for one, I think our company is thriving and doing just fine without one,” Steve’s face falls lightly, “BUT, if it’ll keep you guys off my back, I'll meet her,” Steve’s picking up again, “you won’t regret this trust me she’s-”

“I only said I would meet her Steve;” Bucky buts in, “I didn’t say anything about actually letting her work under me, like I said it’s completely unnecessary.”

Steve’s rolling his eyes, as he stands, “well I guess its something,” he replies, “I’ll go get her.”

Bucky raises a brow at his comment, “she’s already here?” he questioned.

Steve looks at Bucky from where he has his hand on his office door, “she’s been here since 8 Buck, now if you’ll excuse me, I don’t want her wasting another minute waiting for you.”

Bucky waves him off watching him depart through the office door,  he rubs at his face, he really didn’t think he needed somebody to manage the publicity of his company, he thinks it was doing just fine on its own. There was an abundance of employees, and an even higher abundance of customers, he was doing just fine, he was really only doing this to get Steve off his back.

Besides the last girl that Steve had tried to bring on as his publicist as well didn’t end to well, why would this one be any different?

A knock on his door, has him looking up, Steve popping his head through, “Mr. Barnes, I would like to introduce you to y/n.”

Bucky's breath catches in his throat eyes going slightly wide, pants slightly constricting as he takes in your form gliding in through his door.

Fuck it couldn’t be.

Vixen.

Part 2

WordofAUS Forever Tag-list: @cap-n-stuff-main​ @bucky-cinnamonroll-barnes​ @kseniiafirebrace @sideeffectsofyou

[apiratewhopines]

Thanks to @teamhook for the artwork! So fancy!

Midnight

Chapter 4 — The Ball

Summary: In which our heroine feels exposed

Chapter 4 of 7 on AO3

“Some day, when I’m awfully low

When the world is cold

I will feel a glow just thinking of you”

-The Way You Look Tonight, Fred Astaire

Having spent several days eating her way through Misthaven with one eye on the lookout for black sedans, Emma was glad to be heading away from the town and the emotional memories the sight of a pub or gas station would cause. She wasn’t sure why one innocent night with Killian Jones continued to dominate her thoughts and hijack her dreams, but she feared seeing him again would push her over the edge.

That didn’t keep her from wanting to though.

On some level, she knew he had probably already forgotten her. Perhaps he did before the night was even over. Some other passenger might be walking around his place now, wearing his shirts and eating his pancakes.

Because when she dreamed about Door Number One, they always had pancakes for breakfast.

Despite her stubborn heart’s refusal to cooperate, the last couple of days had not been wasted. Arthur turned out to be a man of his word. Like a crazy fairy godmother who sprinkled cold hard cash instead of pixie dust and magic, he kept her supplied in the finest clothes and the chicest accessories. At the same time, he made sure her social calendar buzzed with invitations from a who’s who of Misthaven’s finest and wealthiest families. Events that inevitably threw her together with Lance more often than not.

It was at a garden soirée the previous day Lance had pressed to drive her out to Camelot, Arthur’s sprawling estate just a couple of hours away. Figuring the sooner she got the weekend over with, the better, she remained elusive only long enough to be convincing and then accepted his offer.

She already figured out Lancelot du Lac was a man who enjoyed the chase. She also discovered underneath his rakish exterior was someone who desperately wanted to find love while at the same time being deathly afraid of it. Normally, Emma wasn’t one to psychoanalyze. Still, the funny thing about rich people’s parties was that they were actually very dull, and she had nothing to do but regret not kissing the Captain before they parted ways or come up with profiles on the personalities she encountered.

Psychoanalysis seemed like the safer option.

Now she was waiting in the lobby of the Ritz for Lance’s foreign sports car to arrive so she could finally shake the dirt of this town off her feet. She hoped she could shake the lingering sadness as well. It was doing things to her. Things like making her hear the Captain’s voice in crowds.

“Swan! Swan! Emma, if you don’t turn around this instant—“

Excitement and abject horror battled for supremacy when she realized it wasn’t her mind playing tricks on her. As if in slow motion, she turned in the direction of his voice and her eyes met his across the vast space. Then she watched as Killian Jones began to sprint toward her, pushing people out of his way none too gently while managing not to crease his startlingly posh blue suit. This wasn’t the flirty Uber driver of a few nights ago, all leather and innuendo. Sure he had the same sex hair and twinkling blue eyes, but this man exuded power and authority and, quite frankly, looked more than a little pissed as he closed the distance between them with frightening speed.

Unaware of the drama playing out, one of the valets rushed to her and announced breathlessly, “Baroness, your ride has arrived.”

“I… I’ll be right there.”

Emma couldn’t break eye contact with him. His face was just as she remembered it, as it should since it was less than a week ago when she last saw him. He had dark circles under his eyes and looked frantic to get to her. He seemed to know she was contemplating an escape and he paused briefly, not caring who heard him when he called across the remaining ground between them, “So help me, Swan, if you run again, I swear I will—“

She didn’t hear the rest of what he said as a herd of visitors passed between them chattering loudly in some foreign language, the group taking photos of the architecture and potted plants as if they were worthy of remembrance. She had a brief opportunity to step out unseen under cover of the mob separating them. To forever give this man who haunted her the slip.

Or she could stay.

God, did she want to stay.

—

The estate was as lovely as one would expect. Ancient oak trees lined the drive and gave way to topiaries precisely cut into fantastical shapes as the car approached the main house. Lance regaled her with tales of the vast land Arthur inherited, the numerous homes on the property, and the complete absence of any cell or internet services once you crossed the boundary.

It seemed old man Soberano convinced himself the emerging technologies were a way for the government to spy on people and had forbidden, by way of his last will and testament, any cell towers or fiber lines from ever crossing the property. It was why as coveted as an acquaintance with the family was, people often grumbled when they received an invitation to the country estate rather than one of the other properties throughout the globe. The ancient landline phones served as the communication system for the large estate and the only connection to the outside world.

Of course, most of his ramblings went in one ear and out the other because she was too busy wondering why Killian had been at the Ritz in a suit that looked like it was made for him. She would know. After all, she was now in possession of a wardrobe filled with custom pieces and carefully tailored lines.

Was it a fluke encounter or was he still searching for her? He would give new meaning to the phrase ‘no stone left unturned’ if his sole reason for coming to the premier hotel in town was to look for the broke woman he gambled on and lost. Literally.

“Darling, I feel like you haven’t heard a word I said the whole journey,” Lance gently complained as he helped her out of the low seats of the car and up the grand stairs leading to the front door. He appeared genuinely distressed at her distance, and for the first time, she felt a twinge of guilt for the ridiculous game she was playing.

“I’m sorry. I had some bad news right before we left, and I’m a bit distracted,” she explained, allowing Lance to take her hand as they approached the Soberanos who were waiting for them in the foyer. Their linked hands did not go unnoticed by either of their hosts, although to widely different responses.

Learning she was at the opposite end of the mansion from Lance, the group moved to the second floor together. The servant leading them turned to Lance and said helpfully, “Good news, Mr. du Lac, we found the cuff link you lost on your last visit. It was in Madam Soberano’s sitting room.”

Sheepishly, he looked to Emma as if ready to offer an excuse. Unable to keep a chuckle from escaping at the crazy situation, she patted his arm and said, “The wind must have blown it in.”

With that, the group separated. Arthur replaced Lance at her arm and smiled indulgently at his protege. “You’re quite good. You have him eating out of your hand, and you’re not even trying.”

“I’ve met his type before. The less I try, the more he will. He’ll be begging me to divorce my husband and proposing before the end of the night at this rate,” she joked.

“You don’t know Lancelot du Lac,” Arthur argued. Their leisurely stroll through the second-floor gallery allowed her to see pictures of his ancestors back to the Norman invasion, but she noted there was none of him or his beloved wife who he was fighting so hard to keep.

“Well, you don’t know Emma Swan. He tried to give me an emerald the size of a baby’s fist today.” She had been tempted to pocket the jewel, but some small part of her knew what she was doing was wrong and robbing the man blind when she had no intention of ever returning his affections wouldn’t make it any better.

“Excellent! I won’t even deduct it from your pay if you promise to take him for all he’s worth and break his heart, dear. It will do him some good.”

“How are you still friends with him? Knowing what he’s doing with your wife. I can’t figure out if you’re the most understanding man in the world or absolutely crazy.”

Sighing, he sat down on one of the numerous benches that lined the gallery floor and patted the seat beside him. Emma didn’t know precisely how or when it happened, but he had become almost a friend after the deal was struck. She spent as much time with him as she did Lance and, despite the fact she thought he was extremely odd, she had grown fond of him. “Because I think he was trying to make her happy at first. I told you she wasn’t the only one to make mistakes. This whole thing is my fault. It was my foolish pursuit of wealth that drove her to this, endlessly trying to carve my name into the family tomes as one of the best empire builders in the dynasty. If I had been there for her, if I had just listened when she tried to tell me what she needed…well, we wouldn’t be here having this conversation.”

“I hope for your sake this works.”

“And I hope for your sake, the next time a man tries to give you an emerald, you keep it.”

“How do you know I didn’t keep it?”

“Because I think I’m starting to know Emma Swan,” he explained with a wink and smile before pulling her up and taking her to the east wing. Dropping her off at her room, he teased, “Get some rest, dear. Cinderella needs to be at her best for the ball.”

With a sardonic grin, she countered, “Hard to be at your best when you know every Cinderella has her midnight.”

Hours later, after a nap and a fortifying drink, she shrugged into her form-fitting green dress like it was battle armor. She was joking earlier when she said a proposal would be forthcoming, but she had no doubt Lance would make a proposition of some kind. The trick would be to keep him on the line without actually following through with anything.

She left her room as late as possible to avoid spending too much time around the pampered elite who were her housemates that weekend. While she had met a fair few during her crash course in Misthaven society, Arthur was the only one she didn’t mind having a conversation with, but he was unlikely to abandon Guin’s side to keep her company. Especially since it would put a damper on Lance’s pursuit.

Her destination was the expansive, three-tiered back deck, illuminated by thousands of clear fairy lights and a fair number of fireflies, the faint breeze carrying the briny smell of the ocean that lay only a few feet beyond their well-tended lawn. The men in tuxedos added a dashing contrast to their partners’ colorful evening gowns and cocktail dresses. A string quartet was playing off to the side; the beautiful melody drifted through the party in a way that enhanced the romantic atmosphere to a point it made her hurt.

She was surprised to see Arthur standing alone through the wall of windows. She stopped to take in the scene, complete with busy waitstaff and tables of food.

She couldn’t wait to get away.

“Alright, Guinevere, you want to talk, let’s talk. I have a few serious words to say.”

Silently moving until the curtains partially hid her, Emma watched as Lance and Guinevere made their way toward the patio. Guinevere’s eyes were red and she was fretting with a handkerchief gripped tightly between her hands. “As if you had two serious words in your whole vocabulary, Lance.”

“I could make a very noble speech. Tell you we were just two ships passing in the night, but the truth is, Arthur is my friend. I don’t want to break up a happy marriage. We’ve been playing with fire, but it’s better to end this now before someone gets hurt.”

“Funny how none of that mattered until the baroness showed up. I know you think you are in love with her. I can see it in your face every time she is around. You’re behaving like a schoolboy. You’re a darling, but you need to be careful. We don’t know anything about her. All we have is her word that she is who she says she is. I’ve asked around; no one has ever heard of her. Maybe her hair is dyed, and maybe she’s poisoned three husbands. Sidney told me there was some man calling her a swan and chasing her at her hotel today. It had all the staff talking.”

“You’re jealous, Guin.”

“Terribly. Fun, isn’t it?” The woman rushed from the room, tears flowing freely now. Emma didn’t move from her hiding place, instead waiting until he had joined the party before she followed in his footsteps.

—

As she predicted, Lance made sure he was her partner for most of the night. She followed Guin’s movements with alarm, knowing the woman was on edge and fearful of what she may do if she felt she had nothing to lose. Her glance met Arthur’s when she saw his wife and Sidney go inside, heads close together and a look of shock crossing Guin’s face. The other man nodded at her and trailed after them at a distance.

She wasn’t sure what possessed her to let Lance lead her away from the party into the formal gardens spreading north of the patio. Perhaps she was tired of having to put a fake smile on her face, or maybe she was simply tired.

He kept a steady stream of conversation going, mostly unanswered on her side, and navigated them down an old stone path to a large fountain surrounded by benches and meticulously pruned rose bushes. “Please don’t interrupt, dear, but suppose we were to follow this path all the way to the garage and take my car for a ride through the countryside.”

“Oh, the make-believe game! It’s always been one of my favorites. But why stop at the countryside, Lance? Why not go on a tour of the moon while we’re at it?”

“I asked you not to interrupt,” he teased, pulling her arm through his and continuing to amble further away from the house. “You see, this isn’t some random trip. We have a particular place we are heading. A little estate by the lake where an opinionated old dame lives. It’s twenty ’til midnight. If we leave now, we can make it as dawn is breaking.”

Intrigued despite herself, she asked, “And what business would we have at this chateau by the lake?”

“I want you to meet my mother. To introduce you to her and tell her that I’ve met the one. Then the pale light of dawn will shine on the first day of our lives together.”

He was serious, and she felt like the lowest of human beings when she joked back, “I doubt the day will be the only thing breaking when that bombshell drops. Were we going to share the news with my husband before or after our visit?”

Before he could respond, Arthur called out from behind them on the path, “Baroness Jones, I believe you promised me a dance.”

He reached them seconds later with a pointed look at her. Although he was the picture of sophistication, she could tell by his quick pace something had happened. “A midnight dance as I remember.”

“Of course, please excuse me,” she murmured to Lance, who looked like he was about to protest as she took Arthur’s arm and allowed him to guide her back to the house. Keeping a calm expression on her face, she smiled and nodded to the people they passed and waited until they were out of earshot to ask, “What’s happened?”

“It’s midnight, dear. The ground has opened under our feet. That horrible friend of Guin’s, Sidney, did some digging and found out there is no Baroness Jones. They plan to make an announcement any moment now. I’m sorry I brought you into this mess, Emma.”

They reached the dance floor Arthur installed on the deck specifically for the party, but neither felt like dancing. Instead, they hovered along the back wall and waited for the troublesome pair to return from their scheming.

Sighing, she nudged his shoulder. “It was bound to happen sooner or later. We never really stood a chance at this working.”

“But we were so close. I could feel Guin changing, turning back to me. Now I may as well help her pack her bags,” he replied, grabbing two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and handing one off to her. Clicking his glass against hers in a mock toast, he muttered, “Here’s to wasted years and endless torment.”

He downed the entire glass and, when she only took a sip, he reached out and downed hers as well.

She wasn’t sure what he had to be upset about. She was the one who was going to be exposed as a charlatan, forced to exit under the judgmental gazes of a house full of people who would dine on the story for months to come. Just as she was about to point out it could be worse, she saw Guin descend the stairs with Sidney hot on her heels. “Here we go.”

“I’ll stand by you as best I can,” Arthur promised, his hand coming to rest in the small of her back as if to provide some physical barrier against what was about to happen.

“Ladies and gentleman, may I have a moment of your time? As you know, Arthur and I pride ourselves on providing the best of entertainment at our parties, and I think you’ll find tonight’s will not disappoint. I have a story to share that I think will delight and amuse you. Under our roof tonight, we have a guest claiming one of the oldest names in European aristocracy.”

A murmur started in the crowd, musicians laying down their instruments, even the waitstaff and caterers ceased what they were doing. It seemed as if the entire universe held its breath waiting for Guin to continue. She could tell the woman enjoyed every moment of it.

“I don’t know how many of you are familiar with the heraldry of Cambridge nobility, but let me assure you that in all of England, there is no—“

From the patio entrance, the footman interrupted in a booming voice to announce the arrival of a late guest of note. “Baron Killian Jones.”

Emma had to grab Arthur’s arm to keep from falling when her knees buckled. In the soft light, the Captain looked like a fantasy. His dark hair mussed in a way that looked intentional, but she knew it resulted from repeatedly running his hand through it when he was frustrated. He was outfitted in a tuxedo, the crisp white shirt making his stubble seem even more dangerous in the moonlight. He surveyed the crowd looking for her, supremely unconcerned he had the attention of the entire party.

Arthur looked at the mysterious stranger and then took in her aghast expression and whispered, “Do you know him?”

At that moment, Killian’s eyes met hers and the heat she saw there made it difficult to think, much less speak. “Yes. Yes, I know him.”

“Right. All hope isn’t lost then,” Arthur said with forced cheerfulness as he disengaged her death grip on his arm and went to greet their visitor. In a loud voice, so nobody would have to strain to hear, he said, “Welcome to my home, my dear Baron. It’s been a long time since we’ve met.”

Despite the fact the men had never laid eyes on each other before, Emma observed the Captain as he quickly assessed the lay of the land and responded, “Yes, years and years. I hope you don’t mind me trespassing on your hospitality. I only just arrived in town and the hotel staff informed me my wife was spending the weekend here. I couldn’t wait to see her.”

“With such a charming companion, no one blames you,” Guinevere said smoothly, giving Sidney a look meant to quell any further talk and rushing to meet their newest arrival. “She’s kept us all so diverted this past week.”

Giving the woman a slight grin, he nodded. “I’m sure. She’s nothing if not diverting.”

Moving away from the Soberanos, he took the stairs two at a time until he was standing in front of her, mouth twisted in amusement and eyes on fire. He seemed to drink in the sight of her from the artless way the curls were falling down her back to how her hand was white-knuckled from holding on to a nearby chair.

“You found me.” Somehow her words sounded like both an accusation and a thank you. Her eyes searched his face for some clue as to why he was there.

“Did you ever doubt I would?”

Before anything else could be said, he pulled her into his arms and crushed his lips to hers. Plundering her mouth, not caring they had an audience numbering in the hundreds, he shifted his grip, one hand making its way to her hair and cradling the back of her head. The other drifted lower, moving her body until it pressed against the long length of his. The thin fabric of her dress allowed the heat of him to soak through to her skin which suddenly felt tight and she was desperate for more contact.

She leaned into him, allowing her hands finally to comb through the hair that had haunted her dreams. The silky strands provided a contrast to the rough drag of his facial scruff against her cheek, the feeling of him in her arms doing exactly what she wanted almost pushing her into sensory overload. She didn’t think, who could when faced with such an onslaught, her body moving on instinct. She moaned into his mouth, tongues tangling and tasting of champagne and need.

A throat cleared in the distance and reality came crashing back. Reluctantly, Killian pulled back, resting his forehead against hers and breathing unevenly.

With quiet wonder, she asked, “What are you doing here?”

“I was hungry to see my little wife.”

@teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @stahlop @motherkatereloyshipper @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @klynn-stormz

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Broken Mirror: Final Part

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: ~1.3k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill, and angst

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated.

Feedback is gold, and it’s the only currency I take

“What the hell was that? Why did he say that he knows what to do next? Is he gonna hurt my daughter?” Evan was the first to speak.

“He was grandstanding.”

“You don't know that. You--you can't possibly know that.”

“Mr. Davenport, I have learned more in the last five minutes than in the last twenty-four hours.”

“Oh, really? Well, I don't understand. Why is he focused on you right now?”

“Because we are interfering in his relationship with the girls,” you answered.

“He said he knows all about you.”

“He profiled us, Mr. Davenport.”

“Why would he do that?” Cheryl asked.

“To show us how smart he is.”

“Often times the best profilers are the unsubs themselves. They're the ones able to walk into an arcade full of children and pinpoint the boy or girl that can be led out quietly,” Spencer explained.

“But he made a mistake, because he gave us something he didn't expect,” you smirked, looking at the other agents in knowing.

“Which is?”

“He told us how to find him,” Gideon smiled.

Of course, right when the calls ended, Vincent shows up and pretends like he has Evan’s back. The glares coming off of you were very strong as he moved about the house as if he didn’t have Trish locked away somewhere nearby.

“You said you knew how to find him, that you were gonna save my daughter. Why don't you get out there and do something? What are you--Everybody's standing around here, looking--”

“Mr. Davenport--”

“Don't condescend to me. Don't patronize me,” he interrupted Gideon.

“Evan, Evan, Evan,” Vincent swooped in to save the day. “Everybody is doing the best that they can. Come on. Come on. Take a break, come on.”

“For the suspect to know that much about us he has to be one of us,” Derek said.

“I'm gonna have Garcia do a search of the New Haven FBI field office. The guy we're looking for knows this house and knows the family.”

“There's seven hundred agents in New Haven and another seventy in satellite offices. Davenport knows quite a few of them,” Spencer spit out.

“While we're narrowing the list, Cheryl can't stay here. If he's one of us, he has access and weapons, and you bet he's got a strategy.”

“So who can we trust?” Derek asked.

“No one. We need to get Cheryl to a safe house.”

“And limit the amount of agents she comes in contact with.”

“Don’t let it be Vincent,” you whispered to Hotch when Gideon moved about the room to select who would go with Cheryl to the safe house.

“Look,Y/N--”

“I don’t care if you believe in what I can do or not, but I know something is wrong with him. I don’t mean to disrespect you or anything like that, but all I’m asking is that you have a little faith. Can you do that? For me?” you asked, begging the older agent with your eyes.

Apparently it didn’t matter what you said because Vincent went with Cheryl, Derek, Elle, and a few others. Hotch tried to make the point that Elle and Derek would be there, but you didn't stay to listen. You were angry at the fact that despite what Derek said about you being part of the family, no one was treating you as such. Hotch said you were on the team, but he wasn’t making you feel like it at all which is what bothered you the most. The only thing you could do without jeopardizing your career was sit with Spencer and monitor what could be controlled. As soon as Elle and Derek arrived at the safe house, she called you since she thought of something important. Placing the phone between yours and Spencer’s ear, you let him listen in. It was better than putting her on speakerphone to let everyone know what you three were talking about.

“They did a bug sweep right when we arrived.”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Yet, the unsub seems to know all about us. Hey, Reid, do you know what non-local interaction is?”

“What are you getting at?” he asked.

“How can he be holding Trish prisoner, and still know exactly what we're talking about?” she wondered.

“I know what you're saying. It seems like he knows what's going on here the moment that it happens.”

“It’s what I’ve been saying this entire fucking time,” you hissed quietly.

“There's gotta be a listening device.”

“They swept the room when we got here,” Spencer stated.

“Then they brought in their own equipment.”

“Gideon, come here,” you announced. Once the older agent approached, you voiced Elle’s opinion. He decided the best thing to do was to do a bug sweep on the new equipment, and low and behold, there was a bug placed inside their machine. Looking at Hotch, you didn’t say anything but the look in your eyes was enough.

“Agent Shyer called you by your first name,” Gideon said to Evan. “You know him that well? He works out of the New York field office.”

“I know his father. We've met socially on occasion.”

“Has he been here before?”

“A few times. Why?”

“He’s the one that has Trish and you handed Cheryl over on a silver platter,” you announced.

“Y/N, can I speak with you for a moment?” Hotch asked, bringing you to the side.

“Look--”

“I don’t appreciate how you’ve been acting lately. I know you’re new to this, but we work together as a team.”

“I get it, Hotch. I’m new and I can do things you’ve never seen before. I truly don’t mean disrespect, but I’ve been living with this… thing… my whole life. Never once has it let me down. I’d like to think that my teammates have my back when I tell them who our unsub is. You want to punish me for being a little frustrated, fine, but please consider what I have to say next time so we can avoid all of this.”

“We’ll talk more about this when we get back to the office,” he said with a stern tone, leaving your side to go help save Trish and Cheryl since Derek wasn’t answering his phone.

Once Cheryl was found unharmed, Vincent gave the location of Trish which wasn’t far from Evan’s house, just like you said. When Hotch saw Vincent in cuffs and both young girls fine, he apologized for not listening to you, and you apologized for not handling things better. There was no need for a conversation once Hotch promised he would work on believing you when you tell him things.

The family of three were reunited, and you stood by Spencer and Gideon’s side to watch their happiness. Trish was taken away on a stretcher, and Cheryl and Evan went with her in the ambulance.

“Hey, how did Elle get Shyre to give us Trish's location?” Spencer asked.

“I imagine she found some creative way to persuade him.”

“What do you think--”

“You know, you just don't need to ask so many questions. Let's just enjoy the moment,” Gideon interrupted, making his exit.

“I have a question for you,” you said, turning to face him. “What did our date mean? I mean, I don’t want to be one of those girls who demands a relationship or whatever, but I just wanted to know if it’s something you want to do again? Maybe we can do something you want to do. I can’t imagine sitting through four hours of horror movies with me sleeping on your shoulder would be considered a fun time.”

“I actually do have something in mind. Do you know Russian?”

“No, but I’d be willing to learn for you. Photographic memory so I can’t forget it,” you told the truth, knowing what he wanted to do was to watch a film in Russian. You didn’t know a lick of Russian, but if it would make him happy then you would do it.

“There is a showing of my favorite movie this weekend. Do you want to go with me?”

“It’s a date,” you grinned.

"When love is in excess, it brings a man no honor, nor worthiness." - Euripides

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[akvtsuki-ari]

Sweetheart (Ch.1)

Warnings: Mentions of BDSM and bunch of other kinks but nothing sexual in this chapter lol. Sub!Spencer and Femdom!Reader 

Length: 5.3k 

Authors Note: this is hands down the most self-indulgent shit ive ever wrote but do i care? the answer is no dsjk  but this that series i had planned where the reader introduces spencer to proper BDSM and all that. hoping to make this fic kinda informative also lol. also im uploading this fic on ao3 as well. also no tags for this fic bc its really specific and ill probably be writing for it for a while! sorry about that

Plot Summary: Spencer Reid just wanted to be.., well, you know. He doesn’t expect to find much when he signs up for a BDSM dating website but somehow he manages you and he couldn’t be more delighted

Spencer Reid was certainly a lot of things. He was a lover of the arts, someone who had a particular affinity for 15th-century literature, a magician at best, a theater nerd at worst, and a teacher when life called for it. He loves the world even when it's really dark and he loves sleeping in even more. He loves his friends and they love him too - even when they pretend that his random facts annoy them. Spencer Reid was a friend, an FBI agent, a genius with an IQ of 187, and a son to a mother he loves wholly. He was a lot of things and for the most part - he knew a lot about what he really loved to do. He supposed that it's been like that his whole life.

It's not everyday that he discovers something new about himself. About everything else? Always. He loves to learn, but about himself? There's never all that much on the frontier.

It's hard to say, because of that, when Spencer discovered he was a sub. It's difficult to pinpoint a specific time and place, or even how the pieces got put together. He just remembers how it felt when it hit him, like a freight train going 100 miles an hour into a concrete wall. Or a plane crashing onto an island. Or like a fly hitting the glass panes of a delivery truck. He remembers the feeling when he was deftly reminded of this fact. Spencer Reid was a sub - through and through and he wasn't really sure what to make of it.

Surprisingly to most of his direct peers, Spencer wasn't a virgin. He'd had sex with 2 people who he'd been kinda friends with at some point, but it always got a little weird after that. The second time though, the girl ended up choking him a little bit when she got off and Spencer thought he had died. Not in a bad way, more in a "I'm so turned on by this I feel like I've genuinely gone to heaven," sort of way. He didn't think it was possible for a sexual encounter to make him feel like that but it did. It didn't stop after that either, which was the most agitating part. 

Spencer doesn't consider himself a sexual person. Sex is about intimacy and companionship, and hopefully love when he finds that someday. Sex isn't necessarily about pleasure but that wasn't an easy lesson to learn.

Spencer just wanted to understand - so like any great genius he participated in thought experiments. It's normally a female superhero/supervillain that crosses his mind (he has an affinity for Poison Ivy), and he just kinda imagines what it would be like if they did what she did. The choking turned him on, but it wasn't enough. Through that, he figures out that he had more than a choking kink and that he was more than a little interested in a partner having complete access to him. He thought about it for weeks and the getting off was working for him but he couldn't get the fantasy out of his head. He wanted more - he wanted someone to fulfill his wishes.

It was too much for him to ignore. Those months of being able to hold off through masturbating are over and he's just sorta itching. Aching to act on those impulses with another person who can give him what he needs, and he doesn't want it to be transactional. Maybe it's too ideal to want a partner out of such an endeavor but was it so wrong? To want real affection and romance from someone who could also overpower him wasn't a crime and he'd be damned if he pretended to want any less. Spencer was just searching, even if it was rather desperately. 

So, when Spencer finds himself on a BDSM dating site and he feels like his life is in shambles, he can only blame himself. It's not something he'd normally do but he's getting a little more than relentless about it but he also just wants to see what's out there. He's so out of it was it happens, it felt like he was being possessed as he made a fake email and wrote out his account information. Definitely blaming it on possession, he thinks. 

It's too late to go back, as he scrolls through tons of profiles of rather intense looking people. He's not surprised, this is where people go to express themselves. They're entitled to that, it just sucks since he's just not ready for such levels of intensity. He wonders if he's in too deep yet, but he figures he'd hit that mark a long time ago and keeps scrolling through profiles. There wasn't much to go off of, many people not choosing to use photos for the sake of anonymity, which was good for Spencer. He clicks onto his own profile, reading his own bio carefully.

USERNAME: DOC187 

SUB/ SWITCH / DOM 

M / F / O

FETISHES: N/A

BIO: Interest in a dominant female companion. Completely inexperienced.

Spencer feels ridiculous, but he doubts anyone would even message him. He doesn't have much on his profile and he keeps things short for that purpose. He wanted to stay as low to the ground as possible - more curious to explore what was going in the world than to find anything legitimate. He scrolls through hundreds of profiles, mostly of people who were BDSM vets looking for new connections or fun. Some people catch his eye but they don't match his interests so he doesn't bother.

Except, one profile. The bio was beyond interesting to Spencer.

USERNAME: MISS—LILAC

SUB / SWITCH / DOM 

M / F / O 

FETISHES: Sadomasochist, Degradation, Humiliation, Pegging, Overstimulation, Edging, Crossdressing, Exhibitionism, Mutual Masturbation, Dacryphilia, Shibari/Gags/Bondage, Wax Play, Impact Play, Breath Play, General Sensation Play, Discipline, Collaring, Begging. Willing to try most things. 

BIO: Interested in submissive males of any experience level. Helps if you're interesting and like to read and watch indie films. Looking for genuine connection and plenty of good banter. Curly hair is nice too. lol.

Before Spencer can think about it for too long his mouse clicks over that stupid little message button next to your profile. Spencer shakes his head at his own existence as he types you a message. Says you're online right now, but Spencer's sure he won't get a response for a while.

DOC187: Seems I fit who you're interested in. I even have the curly hair.

Spencer chews on his nails anxiously before he sighs at himself. He has no clue what's gotten into him belle before he can think he sees your 3-dotted bubble pop up. He feels his body wracked with nerves.

MISS—LILAC: I'm guessing you like to read and watch indie films too?

Spencer smiles. You seem interesting and the fact that the two of you were just talking normal was making Spencer happy.

DOC187: Indeed. I'm a sucker for 15-century literature and anything in Russian and foreign language. You?

MISS—LILAC: 15th century huh? I'll assume Chaucer. And Russian? You're interesting, doc. I'm more modern and English, hope you're not deterred.

Spencer smiles, surprised that you recognize an author as niche as Chaucer. He shakes his head at your commentary. He almost forgets that both of you are on a BDSM dating site and the irony doesn't escape him.

DOC187: Deterred? Never. I think you're rather interesting too, Miss Lilac.

MISS—LILAC: Ever the gentleman doc. I'm hoping you won't run away if I ask you more personal questions.

Spencer swallows. He types back quickly.

DOC187: What kinds of questions?

MISS—LILAC: If it's okay, you're real name and what you do. My names Y/N, and I'm a florist. I live in DC and I love romance novels.

Spencer smiles. He appreciates you laying down the path for him, knowing the stakes.

DOC187: My names Spencer and I work for the FBI. I also live in DC, and I love magic.

MISS—LILAC: Magic? I'd love for you to show me sometime.

Spencer swallows. Part of him feels like it's a stupid idea to ask you out so early but if you asked, he'd likely say yes. He decides to wait it out.

DOC187: I'd be more than happy to show you.

MISS—LILAC: I suppose you could send me a video but that's not the same as seeing the magic in real life, now is it?

Spencer is smiling like an idiot at this point. He shakes his head a little, jittery.

DOC187: Infinitely better live, I would say.

MISS—LILAC: Seems like I've found an excuse to ask you on a date then. Saturday's work for me but I'm sure it depends on you, FBI man. Before that, I'm gonna drop my number and I'll be expecting your call. (XXX-XXX-XXXX)

Spencer giggles. It's a little out of range for things he's used to doing, giggling aloud for someone else is certainly new. Spencer picks up his phone and dials away, anxious to call you but excited nonetheless. He heard you pick up the phone and his heart catches in his throat.

"Hello?," Your voice is smooth, and a little bit lower than he was expecting. It sounds pretty.

"Hello, Y/N," Spencer says back. He heard you laugh on the other side and can't help the way his heart flutters.

"Lovely to talk to you doc,"

"Still Doc? Not Spencer?" Spencer questions. You smile on the other side of the line.

"Doc seems to fit you. But, for the sake of formality, hello Spencer,"

"I like Doc too, but it feels like I should have a nickname for you as well. Only seems fair," Spencer says laughing quietly.

"If it's your prerogative you can call me Miss Lilac, or just Miss but..." you trail off for a minute. Spencer squints.

"Miss is a title, you know? Doesn't seem fair for you to call me that when I haven't earned it from you yet. I'm sure we'll get there but for now you can just call me Y/N," you say softly. Spencer blushes bright red, his voice betraying him as he speaks.

"O-Oh, well um - where does the name Lilac come from? Normally people go with their names when it comes to stuff like that," Spencer says shyly. He heard you laugh on the other side of the phone and blushes again, grateful you can't see him.

"I love the language of flowers and flowers themselves. It's a way to speak that not many people know - but I like the meaning and look of lilacs. White lilacs represent purity, so that was a bit of irony, but light purple lilacs mean first love," you say carefully.

"First love?," Spencer asks. You bite your lip for a moment.

"I joke that BDSM is my first love since it's such a big part of my life. Not as big as some but not small for certain. It gave me much needed confidence so I joke that it was my first," You say lightly. You hear Spencer giggle on the other side and you smile.

"What about your username? Any significance to DOC187 that I should know of?," you readjust your seat on your couch as you talk. Spencer grows a bit embarrassed.

"I normally introduce myself as Doctor Spencer Reid for work, not a medical doctor but I have three PhD's," Spencer admits. You raise your brows but hear the hesitation in his voice.

"Very, very impressive doc. What about the 187? It could be a plain ol' number but my guess would be otherwise,"

"That's my IQ, actually. I don't think intelligence can be boiled down and quantified like that but I couldn't think of anything else," Spencer explains.

"So you're a certified genius with 3 PhD's? To say I'm impressed is an understatement. Anything else impressive you'd like to tell me before I totally pick your brains," you say a little shocked.

"You wanna pick my brains?," Spencer asks. You wanna laugh at the irony of such a silly question from such an intelligent man but you refrain.

"Who wouldn't?," you say incredulously. Spencer smiles shyly.

"The only other thing is that I can read 20,000 words per minute," Spencer says trying to deflect. Your jaw dropped before but it manages to unhinge a little further.

"There's a lot to get to know about you Doctor Reid,"

"I'm sure it's the same for you," Spencer replies.

"Guess we'll have to find out won't we?," you say smiling.

Damn, Spencer got lucky. Hopefully he'd get to find out soon

_____

"Reid, are you listening?," Derek's voice snaps Spencer out of his entranced state. His smiling expression snaps up to look at Derek who looks a little exasperated.

"Sorry, what was that?," Spencer asks back. Derek puts down the case file they were working on. They had just finished a case and needed to complete some paperwork before submitting it for review and to be used in court. The job was given to him and Morgan and Spencer was evidently distracted.

"Alright, kid - what is up with you? All case you've been checking your phone non-stop and spacing out, all smiles and giggles. C'mon now kid, seriously. You got a little lady at home waiting for you or is there something else I don't know about?," Derek interrogates. Spencer doesn't really know what to make of it, though it's not really in his interest to hide you, it hasn't really come up with anyone on the team yet so it was proving difficult to decide what to do. The smile on his face manages to appear again as he starts to think about you, the tips of his ears red.

"Reid," Morgan says again, with a small look of irritation.

"Her names Y/N," Spencer blurts out faster than he can't think. Derek gives him a huge grin, holding his hand out to dap Spencer up. Spencer just looks at it confused for a second before getting the memo.

"'My man," Derek says chuckling. Before Spencer can continue Prentiss, JJ, and Garcia walk in. Hotch is the only one missing, and Spencer's a little grateful.

"What are we celebrating in here you guys?," Prentiss asks first. Spencer goes to say something to move away from his sudden confession but Derek is quick to cut him off.

"Our boy genius over here got him a little lady," Derek announces. The whole team erupts in questions and Spencer wants to bury himself.

"Congratulations, Spencer!! How long have you two been dating?," Prentiss asks.

"You guys are so dramatic. It's only been two months but no first date because well..." Spencer trails off. JJ just nods her head.

"Duty calls, I'm guessing" JJ finishes. Spencer nods deflated hearing Emily draw a breath between her teeth.

"That's tough, Spence,"

Just as Spencer goes to give a response back he gets a text from you that makes his day a little better. It's a selfie of you at work, a picture your employee must've taken of you in a room full of new flower deliveries. You're giving Spencer a toothy grin as you hold a bunch of gardenias in your hand.

Y/N 🌸: *image attachment* 

Gardenias// You're lovely + Secret Love <33

Spencer cannot control the way his whole face bunches up in a smile, as if there's no one else in the room with him. Everyone just looks at him surprised, Garcia giving him a side-eye.

"How can you guys trust this stranger? We don't even know who she is! I haven't even run any background checks on her," Garcia complains. Prentiss nudges her side.

"I don't know if it matters - look at how hard he's smiling over there," Prentiss says. Garcia reluctantly looks and can't help but sigh.

"Okay well he seems really happy but still! We don't even know her," she pouts.

"I'm sure we'll meet her soon," JJ snickers at Spencer's lovestruck expression. Derek leans over Spencer's shoulder and raises his brows.

"Is that her, kid?," Derek asks. Spencer nods, simply staring at the picture you sent. Derek whistles when he sees you - you're genuinely stunning and he's surprised to say the least.

"Hot mama, pretty boy - how'd you manage that?," Derek asks, dumbfounded. Emily rolls her eyes.

"C'mon Derek, I'm sure - oh wow," Emily leans over Spencer's shoulder to see you and is met with the same reaction. JJ and Garcia are quick to follow thereafter, both looking equally as surprised.

"She's..." JJ trails off. The rest of the team just nods as Spencer grins ear to ear.

Spencer 🐻: Beautiful, as always.

Spencer ignores the rest of the team as they look at each other in disbelief.

Y/N🌸: Me or the flowers, Doc?

Spencer🐻: Both, but mostly you.

"Wow, Spencer you're really -" Prentiss starts

"You're whipped, kid. I mean seriously whipped," Derek finishes, nodding in agreement. JJ can't help but smile, giving Spencer a small pat on the back.

"She seems lovely, Spencer. How'd you two meet?," JJ says. Garcia stands around looking rather suspicious. A blush creeps onto Spencer's neck as he's reminded of how you two met.

"Online," Spencer says shortly. No one decides to question it, and Spencer thanks every god he can think of.

"Have you two FaceTimed yet? How can we know she's not, I don't know - catfishing you? Or scamming you in some other cyber criminal way?," Garcia sounds distressed. Spencer gives a small smile.

"We fall asleep over FaceTime every night," Spencer admits. Penelope's expression falls, and Prentiss gives a smile.

"That is disgustingly cute," JJ says laughing.

"Okay, well - I'm still running a background check on her," Garcia says stubbornly "But, I'm happy for you,"

"Thanks Garcia," Spencer mumbles out as he texts you again.

Y/N🌸: I wanna see you, love

Spencer blushes red as he reads your message. The word love makes his whole face hot.

Spencer🐻: I can't take a selfie for my life

Y/N🌸: You're with your team aren't you? Get them to take a picture of you.

Spencer wants to fold away, not ever really being the picture type, but how could he ever deny you.

Spencer🐻: How could I ever say no to you?

"Hey guys, can one of you take a picture of me for Y/N?" Spencer asks embarrassingly red. The whole team sends him a look of surprise.

"I'll take it Spence, try not to look as uncomfortable as you do right now," JJ says. The whole team refrains from laughing as Spencer gives an awkward smile. He thanks JJ who hands him back his phone before texting you again.

Spencer🐻: *image attachment* You owe me one

Y/N🌸: you're stunning as always. hadn't seen you in so long I almost forgot what you looked like.

Spencer🐻: stunnings an interesting choice of words.

Y/N🌸: I said what I said, doc. 

Spencer can't help but do a little giggle, that causes the whole team to give him a look. Morgan just shakes his head, shrugging. Emily, JJ, and Garcia just look at each other before the room draws into a subtle but comfortable silence as Spencer just smiles, totally unaware of how whipped he happened to look. He didn’t seem to mind either way. 

___

"How was work?," Spencer asks over the phone, kicking his shoes off as he looks into his fridge for something to eat. He hears you sigh on the other side of the line.

"Busy today - wedding season is coming up so tons of calls for centerpiece designs and costs. It's going well though, business couldn't be better," you say, clearly tired yet content. Spencer gives a small smile and feels relieved that things are going okay for you.

"That's really good. I'm glad you're feeling alright," Spencer replies. You ease into the couch as you talk to Spencer, relaxing by the second. 

"What about you, FBI man? You have an okay day?," Your voice is full of a gentle concern that Spencer appreciates.

"Yeah, just paperwork and JJ said that we shouldn't have any upcoming cases this week to be worried about so I have the weekend off," Spencer says without thought.

"Have any special plans for the weekend?," you say cheekily. Spencer, still not having caught on, shakes his head for a second.

"No, why?,"

"Hm... well - would you like to go on a date with me then Doctor Reid?," You ask, giggling. Spencer's eyes widen in realization as he facepalms for a moment.

"Wow, I didn't even think... yes - yes I would love to go on a date with you Y/N," Spencer says laughing at his own misfortune. You shake your head instinctively, but the growing smile and even further growing adoration makes it hard to sit still.

"Hey, Spencer," you say, butterflies filling your stomach.

"Yeah?"

"I really like you,"

____

Saturday comes quicker than Spencer can really understand. You told him not to worry about what the days plans would be but he can't help it. Anxiously awaiting you in front of the cafe that the two of you were supposed to meet at, in a part of town Spencer hasn't really seen before. You said that you'd lead the way and the irony isn't lost on him.

"Spencer?," Your voice is small, as you call out to what you think is Spencer Reid. Of course, you'd seen him before but to see him in person like this was still so unfamiliar. His head shoots up, eyes searching for you. He's delighted to have found you, certainly that was true as he walks towards you. Your arms envelop him in a friendly hug and he can't help but find himself sinking into. You smelled sweet, like fruit and flowers (which makes sense, the more he thinks about it)

"Lovely to finally meet you, Y/N,"

"Same goes for you, doc. Would you like to be informed of our plans for the day, or do you prefer the element of surprise?,"  You ask smiling. Spencer laughs at your question.

"Details would be appreciated, but I get the feeling you're not gonna give me those."

"You're right! It's a trick question, since it's a surprise. But, promise it'll be good,"

"I'll take your word for it then," Spencer says with a small smile. You hold your hand out for Spencer which he accepts, locking his hands with yours. The affection makes him feel full of warmth, as you lead him away for the day you had planned for the both of you.

___

Spencer underestimated how well you knew him. He really, really did. It's hard to explain since Spencers been on a date before but this was so profoundly different. He's a little touched, but beyond that he's just.. surprised? Every date he'd been on before this, he'd have to play the gentleman but it never seemed like the other person was interested in just him. It was always casual small-talk over dinner, or a mid-day coffee date or something else that just felt mundane but this was beyond Spencer's imagination.

The first place you took him was a bookstore - which was in Spencers mind already a winner for best date he'd ever been on. You walked inside with him and told him he had to pick up a book for you and you had to pick up a book for him and to say his heart absolutely fluttered would be an understatement. He picked up up a copy of "The Screwtape Tales," by C.S. Lewis for you, and you gave him a copy of Shel Silverstein's "Where The Sidewalk Ends." For you, you got a glimpse to see what Spencer's sense of humor was and you gave Spencer a piece of your childhood. Both equal but opposite forms of intimacy. The only thing was Spencer had to wait to read his book because it's relatively shorter than yours and he reads 20,000 words per minute.

The next place you took Spencer was an indoor butterfly garden. Does he have to explain why that's a good date? He heard you talk about all the scientific names for the different flowers and why they attract butterflies and he wasn't sure he could crush any harder on you if he tried. A particular moment sticks out to him on which a butterfly landed on your shoulders and just stayed there like it didn't want to leave. Spencer's eyes were fixated on it the whole time - and he had never wanted to be a butterfly in his life before but he figures there's a first time for everything.

The last place, where the both of you were at now was just a small coffee shop, locally owned and supported by the community here. You told Spencer that when you started up your shop, you'd come in here to work on big orders before you'd expanded enough to have employees. Spencer admires your work ethic, much more than he could ever anticipate as he sits down at a small booth, totally covering the both of you as you return to the table with a little plate of banana bread and two iced coffees. Spencer pouts as he looks up at you, watching you flash him a grin.

"I could've helped you carry this over," Spencer complains gently. You roll your eyes.

"Maybe next time doc," you say softly. You hold back your commentary often on the date, and Spencer pretends not to notice for your sake but he'd be lying if he said he didn't wanna know. You always had something sly to say but you'd kept it from him so many times now he figures it's better if he didn't ask.

Spencer looks at you as you push a plate of banana bread towards him. He looks at you with curious eyes before reading your clearly excited face and laughs. He picks up a piece and examines it, before taking a bite. If it tasted as good as it smelled then he would be more than obliged.

The involuntary moan that escapes Spencer's throat makes you choke with laughter. Shit, you weren't kidding when you said this was the best banana bread in the city. Spencer just looks up at you like he's about to cry with joy as you double over in giggles.

"I know," You say softly, taking a bite yourself eyes filling with joy "I ordered some more for us to take home - you're welcome," you say with confidence. Spencer smiles because that is genuinely thoughtful, but it was more endearing to see you pretend it wasn't. He just shakes his head, a blush arising to his face as he looks at you. You're staring at him with intent. He quirks his brow at you in question.

"I had a good time today, Spencer" You say warmly. You only called him Spencer when you were saying something affectionate and a bit serious. He gives you a toothy smile.

"I haven't been on very many dates, but this was easily the best one I'd ever been on," Spencer says honestly. You grin ear to ear, hands carefully holding Spencer across the table, running your thumb over his knuckles for a few seconds. You couldn't say for sure whether it was too soon to ask him to be your boyfriend, but you'd be damned if you said it didn't cross your mind.

Spencer was mind-numbingly unaware of what good boyfriend material he was, but beyond that - what good submissive boyfriend material he was. It was driving you nuts, but you knew this was all new for him and you didn't wanna freak him out. Even when guys say they're interested in being submissive, they're still often times uncomfortable with you being fully dominant. Dominant in public and in bed, if you will. You wanted to pay for dates, and buy him flowers, and make him feel special too - at least on the occasion. That role came naturally to you, that let me make you feel owned type affection that only a dominant person can give. It scared men off - out of relationships, and you totally got why - but you liked Spencer too much as a person to risk iit.

Spencer holds your hands together, gathering your attention. You looked at him spaced out and he gives you a look of concern.

"You okay?," Spencer asks. You nod, chewing your lip in debate of whether or not you should express your concerns. Spencer just tugs on your hand and looks at you intently.

You sigh, looking at Spencer softly.

"I'm okay I just really like you," you say a little exasperated. Spencer laughs but is filled with relief.

"I'm glad to hear that. What else is on your mind?,"

"I really like you - like in an, I want you to officially by my boyfriend way and I hope it's not too soon but I'm just, worried I guess," you say nervously. Spencer can't help the way his heart beats in his chest when he hears you say boyfriend. God did he want to be your boyfriend.

"What're you worried about?,"

"I'm worried about freaking you out. I can be a lot since I'm... you know?," You say nervously. Spencer looks at you  to continue.

"I'm more than just dominant in bed, and for a lot of guys it's not their thing and that's their right but I like you so much. I really don't want that to happen if I ask you out now and you realize that it's not for you," you say in clear upset.

Spencer looks at you in disbelief. You were worried that he was gonna freak out over that? That you were too dominant for him? It feels like such a silly concern but the expression on your face tells him you're speaking from experience.

"I mean, it's all kinda new to me but, well - I do like how you treat me? It's a nice change, I can't imagine myself getting tired of it, or of you. I really like you too," Spencer tried his best to reassure you without totally embarrassing you. You smiles at Spencer but your face is still full of doubt.

"If that ever changes, I'll tell you but I'd really like to call you my girlfriend," Spencer finishes. You can't help the warmth that spreads in your stomach at the offer. You just nod, looking up at him. You stand and walk to Spencer's side of the booth, sliding in next to him, leaning your head into his shoulder for a few while seconds. You sit back up, and Spencer turns to you.

"Hey, doc," you say softly. Spencer hums in acknowledgement.

"Can I kiss you?," you ask softly. Spencer chews his lip and nods, looking down at your lip. You're wearing lipgloss and it makes them look pretty - you are so pretty to Spencer.

Kisses are their own language, Spencer figures. The way someone kisses you can tell you a lot about who they are - so, when you put your hands on the side of Spencer's face, pulling him closer to you with such care and adoration - Spencer can feel what you were referencing earlier. The word Miss rings out in his mind, the way you pay attention to him with your hands. He feels your lips press against his, slowly gliding your fingers in his hair, thumb brushing agains the side of his cheek. Your other hand rested on his inner thigh and he has to think about anything other than that not to get hard. Spencer didn't get how much he'd been thinking about touching you until you'd do with no hesitation and he lets out a small whine. You pull back and Spencer has to catch his breath.

His lashes blink up at you and you're absolutely beaming.

"You're cute baby,"

Baby? Spencer wants to cover his face when you say it. You kiss him again and he can't help but feel flush.

You were Spencer's girlfriend and then some and he couldn't be more happy.

[xenteaart]

Diplomacy Failure

Summary: The Master and you have an established friendship, a bromance - you’re basically partners in crime. One day the Master comes up with this grand robbery scheme but it takes him months to plan the whole thing out properly, and by the end of it - he’s getting way too impatient and reckless. That’s where you step in.

Warnings: none, pure fluff again

Pairing: Dhawan!Master x Reader

Note: This was supposed to be a short thing so I decided not to create a whole ass backstory around it. The main reason why I wanted to write this was because I usually see MC being mostly submissive in fics (not that there’s anything wrong with it whatsoever) and I craved some diversity so here it goesss. 

Huge thanks and lots of love to my incredible beta @wonders-of-the-multiverse​ i love you to bits <3

The last few months have been hard to say the least. After years of knowing the Master you’d grown accustomed to his severe mood swings, but this was something else. 

Most of the time you never really bothered to get to know all the details of his typically complex and intricate schemes. You simply trusted him with those and did what he asked you to do, not taking any liberty to make your own decisions because he did know better. He was the one spending restless days and nights planning everything out after all, so you never really questioned anything. Until today. 

He was getting impatient and it wasn’t a good thing at all. 

The Master had an impressive set of skills, the ability to wait and execute slow-burn plans exceptionally well being one of them. However this time, he got way too invested in what he was doing, his near obsession leading you to believe it had something to do with the Doctor in the long run.

As for now, he needed to get his hands on something “very valuable and very important” and he was planning to steal it, of course. It was no common robbery though, the ship you were now finding yourselves on was huge. No, massive, so simply threatening a few creatures with his TCE and acquiring the object wasn’t a viable option. The ship’s obscenely advanced security systems were not working in your favor either.

The two of you were pretending to be a regular married couple, mere visitors to the event and so painfully ordinary in your nature as to not draw any attention. Keeping a low profile was essential.

The Master called from somewhere below the console where corridors led to the wardrobe room, and since you weren’t occupied with anything even remotely important you joined him right away. You were happy to merely see him and talk to him considering he now preferred the company of a thousand papers with all sorts of layouts, schemes, his own scribbles and something else in Gallifreyan that you had no way of understanding. 

“What’s that?” you asked, a little taken aback by his excessively fancy suit. 

“Your dress is right there, try it on and see if it fits,” he said casually as he looked in the mirror, ignoring your question and waving his hand at the sophisticated purple dress that was laid out on a nearby sofa. 

Ah. Matching outfits. He could never resist the drama of it.

You looked at the dress, the decoration on it exquisite and lavish. A quiet sigh escaped your lips as you tried not to laugh too loudly.

“If that’s for tomorrow, we’re not wearing that.” you uttered, not even trying to hide your amused grin at this point.

“What? Why?”

“Because we need to be wearing this,” you pointed at a horrendous blue suit and a dress of the matching color, the shade and design of both so ugly and simplistic that the clothing wouldn’t look good on either of you. 

A displeased frown flitted across the Master’s features.

“Come on, we need to look pitiful. Men of wealth love playing charity and chatting with lower class people, helping them out with whatever. It makes them feel better about themselves, boosts their ego.” you elaborated, your words heavily accompanied by expressive hand waving and vocal shifts.

He blinked a couple of times and looked at himself in the mirror again, trying to make peace with the idea of this fashion crime you were both about to commit.

The first step of his plan was relatively easy - he was doing the networking and you were doing the smiling as the two of you were slowly getting closer and closer to higher rank guests that were usually a little too drunk and clueless to not accidentally give away the information you needed most, that being - where the security control room was located. Getting a sample of some rich and wasted guest’s DNA was also part of the job since they all had unlimited access to all parts of this ship. As of now, you were getting a feeling you were never even going to make it to that point. 

The Master wasn’t very good at tolerating stupidity, especially when nobody knew and feared who he was. To all of these arrogant and self-absorbed upper class assholes, he was literally a peasant. Little did they know. 

You could see his hand playing with the TCE in his pocket as he was seriously considering whether to take it out and end this shitshow here and now. That would probably feel really good for a couple of minutes but then both of you would be captured and very likely executed on the spot because no matter how intimidating and dangerous the Master was - the quantity of creatures on the ship would be an undeniable advantage on their side. Plus, he’d spent so much time on plan A, there wasn’t any room for plan B, you figured.

Granted, dying wasn’t something the Master was ever afraid of. But you were human with no spare lives, so his impatience would mean very bad news for you.

“Don’t you want to take a break from this?” you asked timidly, standing in the doorway and not daring to let yourself into the Master’s working space just yet since knocking on the door did nothing to catch his attention. 

He was rapidly glancing all over the papers, his mind being evidently busy with something of more significance than your presence. 

“I can get you some coffee if you like? Or... anything at all, really,” you made another attempt at starting a conversation but it was met with silence once again, except this time you noticed hints of irritation in the way he was making notes and moving things around his table, mercilessly digging his pen into his notebook and purposely making a lot more noise while searching for something buried under these piles of paper.

“Yeah, no worries then.” you sighed as you saw yourself out of the room. 

You were getting fed up with this.

As you were standing next to him and contemplating your options, you felt the air around you change a little. It was an insignificant shift but you were particularly sensitive to emotional fields people and other creatures tended to create, and right now the atmosphere did not feel friendly.

You looked at the Master and then back at the greenish humanoid looking creature he was talking to. The conflict was clearly starting to develop, filling the space around you with tension and unease. 

You were so close to the control room, you couldn’t let that happen. There were only a few more floors you had to pass in order to get to the royalty hall where your main mission would be taking place. 

“For Christ’s sake.” you thought to yourself, recognizing the familiar burning anger in the Master’s eyes as he was slowly losing his already weak grasp on his temper and reaching for his pocket, his actions now fuelled with proper intention of making the man pay for his disrespect and bad manners.

The problem with the Master was - no matter how brilliant and clever his ideas were, his emotions and temper would always get in the way. You had to learn it the hard way by nearly getting killed a couple of times because of it in the past. But pissing off a few soldiers and running away was one thing, and acting hostile on a space station sized ship with no quick way out was a completely different story. 

“I am so sorry, sir, my husband suffers from this terrible condition,” you spoke as you looked at the Master intensely, doing your best to wordlessly communicate with him and beg him to stay silent, “where he gets unreasonably aggressive when he’s upset.”

The man’s expression was now plagued with confusion but it was a good sign, you thought. He was paying attention.

“He’s just frustrated we can’t yet afford to lead a life like yours, sir. Isn’t that right, darling?” you patted the Master on the back, your voice now so sugary sweet it made you want to vomit, but you were committed to your little act and nothing could stop you.

“Please forgive our jealousy, we simply wish to be more like you but it pains us to realize we’re a long way away from that,” saying this made your skin itch, and you were pretty sure the Master’s eye was twitching a little. You looked at him briefly and noted he was indeed… puzzled. 

Your flattery seemed to work wonders on the man’s self esteem, though, his facial expression momentarily switching to pity and its default arrogance mixed with pride. 

You tried not to make eye contact with the Master as you were escorting him away, your hand wrapped around his elbow. Your heart was beating a little too fast for your liking, and your main concern for now was peacefully leaving the floor and avoiding any more fuss on the way because, honestly, you were getting angry yourself.

---

“What the hell was that?” was the first thing he asked you as soon as you both entered the TARDIS safely, the two of you still slightly out of breath from your usual cardio on your way back; the desired object sitting securely in the Master’s pocket.

“I was actually going to ask you this exact same question, how convenient.” you snapped, kicking off your heels and making your way to the console barefoot, the cold metal floor having a soothing effect on your aching feet.

The Master gave you a grim look as he took off his ridiculous and evidently uncomfortable jacket, and swiftly marched towards you. His intimidating aura rarely had any impact on you and you didn’t even flinch at his intrusion of your personal space. You knew all too well he would never hurt you deliberately. 

“I did not allow you to intervene.” 

“You should have seen your face, darling,” you said mockingly, maintaining intense eye contact as if it was a competition on who looks away first. 

“You should have heard your voice, such sweetness and flattery I was worried you were gonna kiss his ring at the end of your speech or something,” he spat out his words with grimaced disgust. 

The two of you stared at each other in complete silence for about half a minute, and your facade dropped first. You burst into laughter, giggling obnoxiously at the memory of the Master’s pure and sincere confusion. You’d never seen him so baffled and mad, the funniest thing of it all being the fact that he had to comply and play along. It made you a little proud of yourself.

The corner of the Master’s lips twitched, his stubbornness and denial still fighting his urge to crack up, but a couple of moments later he finally joined you. Any trace of annoyance was long gone, and a wide smile took over his person as he laughed out loud with you. 

“Idiot.” he commented, still chuckling and grinning while also unbuttoning his lousy shirt. You both wanted to get out of those trashy clothes as soon as possible. 

You suddenly went quiet. With no further talking you simply stepped forwards and hugged the Master tightly, burying your nose in the crook of his neck.

“I’ve missed you.”

He hugged you back, resting one of his hands on your head and ruffling your hair, so very aware of how much you hated it. 

“Missed you too, fool.”

[kbstories]

impression//expression

“It’s not like Kirishima had come all this way to U.A. to immediately break the promise he made to himself upon arrival.

It’s just that Bakugou is as feral as they come, and the moment Kirishima recognizes it’s fear he felt crawling up his spine that day, he makes it his personal mission to face it head-on until it’s gone.”

(Or: Being friends with Bakugou Katsuki is anything but a linear experience. Kirishima Eijirou would have it no other way.)

Tags: Kirishima POV, Developing Friendships, Kamino Arc, Kidnapping & Aftermath, Hurt/Comfort, Bakugou Gets A Hug

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Content warning for kidnapping, aftermath of violence. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9.

***

Nitro!! (Baku 💣💥)

i’m gonna die (sent 19:08)

no seriously i’m this 👌🏻 close to losing it bro (sent 19:08)

aizawa’s voice is so zzzz and it’s like sir,, i’m begging,,,, (sent 19:09)

a little bit of energy. just a little bit (sent 19:09)

A nudge to his side, somewhat urgent.

shit brb (sent 19:10)

“Dude.”

Kirishima keeps his voice down to a hiss, shooting a glance at Aizawa’s turned back just in case. Hidden behind his pencil case, his phone shows Bakugou has read his messages – near-immediately, as always – before Kirishima locks the screen. His own face is reflected on sleek, innocent black.

Next to him, Kaminari is looking at him like he’s lost his mind. “Don’t dude me, dude”, he whispers back. “Texting in Aizawa’s class? D’you have a death wish?”

Next to Kaminari, Mina leans over her desk, clearly curious and uncaring of her notes crinkling quietly under her elbows. “You? Kiri, paragon of wholesomeness and sunshine, breaking the rules? Lemme guess, it’s because of Bakugou.”

Next to Mina, Sero joins the fray with a muted headshake. “So brave yet so reckless. Truly inspiring.”

“You can say that again. That guy’s scary, man.” That’s Kaminari again. He leans in conspiratorially, nodding at Kirishima’s phone. “You got Blasty’s number? How? He almost bit my head off when I invited him to the 1-A chat.”

“Uh, yeah? We’re besties. But guys…”

If they were anywhere else, Kirishima would let out a whine. All he wanted to do was keep himself awake by texting his bro, is that such a crime? Especially since Bakugou’s the only one of ‘em who is actually allowed out there, where the fun stuff is happening. It’s downright cruel to have a new challenge dangled in front of their eyes like the juiciest steak only to be dragged away to the equivalent of plain steamed broccoli. Or something.

Point is: Kirishima’s bored enough he could cry and Aizawa, bless his insomnia-plagued soul, is making it about a thousand times worse with his monotone mumbling while he continues to write whatever-the-fuck in chalk to illustrate his point.

Three mouths open simultaneously in what Kirishima knows will be a too-loud bout of teasing – a frantic gesture of his hand to shut up, shut up, shut up has identical grins bursting on his friends’ faces.

Grins that disappear the instant the familiar sense of Aizawa’s quirk washes over them. Uh oh.

Aizawa doesn’t even have to say anything. Not even a brief pause registers in his lecture yet Kirishima snaps to attention so hard his buttcheeks clench as he furiously scribbles down what’s on the board. Some sort of… diagram? (It’ll make sense later, Kirishima hopes. And if it doesn’t, there’s always his equally draconic tutor-slash-best-friend he can poke into helping him eventually.)

After a semester at U.A., everyone in 1-A is whipped enough that not a single word is breathed between them for a good fifteen minutes. Aizawa talks, they take notes.

Then the adrenaline wears off and Kirishima finds himself drifting once more, fingers automatically flicking the home button. There, over Crimson Riot’s confident grin, three new messages.

Nitro!! (Baku 💣💥)

pay attention (received 19:14)

ffs (received 19:14)

hope aizawa murdered your ass (received 19:16)

No surprises there. Well, the fact that Bakugou has deigned to reply just before a training exercise kind of is, and he even triple-texted which makes a sappy part of Kirishima’s brain think he must’ve rubbed off on him over the past months. The day Bakugou Katsuki discovers emojis can’t be far off now and it will be Kirishima’s greatest achievement to date.

He bites his lip to suppress an amused noise at that. Ignoring the incredulous stare from Kaminari to his right, Kirishima types.

Nitro!! (Baku 💣💥)

haha! i lived bitch (sent 19:32)

minus the bitch askdjfhsk sry (sent 19:32)

i’m just tired af lol (sent 19:32)

how’s things on ur end tho? (sent 19:34)

no asses left unkicked i’m sure (sent 19:34)

👊🏻💥💥 (sent 19:35)

Kirishima gets about a solid second to feel good about furthering his pro-emoji agenda before his phone is snatched away by rigid, white cloth. Wide-eyed, his gaze is met by a flat expression that exudes more exhaustion than any human should rightfully have to feel.

“Kirishima”, Aizawa says, as calm as ever. “How kind of you to lend me your attention.”

Lord have mercy. Whichever hell Aizawa is about to unleash on him, Kirishima will be in it for a while. And when that’s over, it’ll be Bakugou’s turn to have a field day with it.

Somehow, Kirishima is actually looking forward to that last part.

*

Then, a voice rings out in their heads. Aizawa jumps into motion. The villains strike.

Afterwards, all Kirishima can do is stand there and watch the forest burn. His phone is silent, held between fingers that won’t stop trembling no matter what he does. He unlocks, checks, locks, only to do it all over again a few minutes or seconds later.

Around him, everything is spinning out of control. Reality is too loud, too bright, already overwhelming where it waits to be acknowledged beyond the soothing green interface of his chat with Bakugou.

The messages are still there. Marked read until they aren’t, and Kirishima stares at that subtle difference like it’s the last thing tethering him to the ground. Blue tick, his best friend is fine. Grey tick–

Bakugou let Kirishima take a photo of him, once. Kirishima had complained about his profile picture being that creepy default silhouette, especially once they started texting on a daily basis. So Bakugou sighed and leaned over the tiny table of the café, his chin propped on one hand and his coffee in the other. He’d kept still just long enough for the shutter to go off and called him a clingy bastard right after.

In the soft morning light, there’d been something warm in his typical glare. It’s still there, tucked away in the top left corner of the screen. Fond, red eyes, looking straight at Kirishima ever since.

Higher and higher, the flames reach for the sky with greedy, cobalt fingers, bright enough to take the stars with them. And Bakugou?

Bakugou is gone.

*

Nitro!! (Baku 💣💥)

hey (sent 23:01)

it’s a long shot but (sent 23:03)

are u there? (sent 23:03)

these are going thru so ur phone is on and i thought (sent 23:08)

idk (sent 23:08)

please respond man (sent 23:37)

please (sent 23:58)

katsuki? (sent 00:40)

*

Nitro!! (Baku 💣💥)

fuck (sent 3:24)

*

Bakugou Katsuki

um (sent 6:13)

the pros asked for ur number to track it and stuff so i gave it to them (sent 6:13)

turns out almost nobody has it?? so like (sent 6:20)

if u want a new one after all this it’s on me (sent 6:21)

pls don’t be mad haha (sent 6:21)

fuck that actually (sent 7:05)

be as mad as u want baku (sent 7:06)

u can do whatever ok? when u come back (sent 7:09)

free pass. i won’t guard this time (sent 7:09)

just come back (sent 8:00)

they’re looking for u so u gotta come back (sent 8:02)

* 

Baku 💣💥

sry i just (sent 19:55)

ok still going thru (sent 19:55)

that’s good right? (sent 19:57)

i need it to be good (sent 20:05)

yeah (sent 20:06)

*

Baku 💣💥

it’s saturday (sent 2:33)

please be ok (sent 4:46)

i miss u (sent 5:00)

*

Baku 💣💥

we’re on our way katsuki (sent 12:45)

just hold on we’re coming for u (sending…)

wait (sending…)

oh (sending…)

*

Bakugou is quiet.

When all is said and done, injuries patched up and police statements given, Kirishima waits and Bakugou looks… tired. Small. Glancing back at the precinct with eyes a little too wide, a little too hesitant to truly belong to him.

Whatever he’s searching, if he finds it or not – Kirishima can only guess as Bakugou’s shoulders slump further and he mutters, “Let’s just go.”

In retrospect, he was probably talking to his parents. The Bakugous came for their son in a car as expensive as they come, white with chrome highlights and an interior clad entirely in tasteful, beige leather; it’s an aesthetic that’s the antithesis to Katsuki’s. Their expressions are full of love, though, brows drawn in concern carefully left unspoken. His father opens the back door for him first, going for his own in the front, while his mother ruffles Bakugou’s hair within the one-second-window he allows for the touch before shrugging it off.

“Welcome back, brat. We missed ya.”

Familiar phrases laden with far too much weight. From the outside in, it’s just that: Mildly exasperated parents picking up their kid after some school thing that dragged on into the night, or perhaps a late hangout with a friend. No one acknowledges the nightmare-ish three days they’ve left behind by the merit of time passing and the world spinning on and nothing else – the countless people injured or dead, an entire district torn asunder in a conflict much bigger than any of them, especially Bakugou.

Bakugou, who shuffles onto the backseat without saying much of anything. It’s only after Kirishima trails after him and Bakugou’s eyes meet his own over his shoulder that Kirishima realizes that’s what he’s doing.

Then Bakugou’s gaze softens and he kicks the door of the car open wider. “Um”, Kirishima pipes up, the noise of keys clinking together drawing his attention to one Bakugou Mitsuki. “Is it okay if I…?”

She snorts and ruffles his hair, too. “Kid, after what you did tonight, a ride home is the least I can do for ya. C’mon.”

Kirishima bows politely, a mumble of “Thanks, ma’am” waved away immediately. A moment later, Kirishima’s hand is being grabbed and he’s dragged inside. “Get a move on”, Bakugou mumbles, staring pointedly until Kirishima rights himself and digs for the seatbelt with his free hand. The click of the clasp snapping in is oddly loud in the ensuing silence.

It doesn’t last. The moment the engine purrs to life and the lights go off, a heavy guitar riff screeches from cleverly hidden speakers in perfect surround sound and Kirishima jumps. He’s the only one in the car to do so.

“Whoops, my bad”, says Bakugou’s mom as she turns the music down the slightest amount, her smirk – so familiar and yet not – clearly visible in the rear-view mirror. Next to her, Bakugou’s dad chuckles and shakes his head.

Bakugou himself is turned towards the window, the hand against his chin barely hiding the tiny smirk there. Kirishima lets him have it. Anything that’ll replace that lost expression from earlier is good in his books.

“So. Eijirou, right? Nice to finally meet ya.” Mrs. Bakugou checks in with him via the mirror. Her hand rests on the gear selector. “Where to? We’ll bring you home first. I’m sure your parents are worried.”

And oh fuck, Kirishima hasn’t even thought that far ahead yet. When he snuck out of the house a lifetime ago, all his mind was able to process was getting to Bakugou, saving Bakugou, bringing Bakugou back. As much as both his mothers are angels in their own right, they’re also easily worried and twice as buff as him. There haven’t been many occasions which called for them to throw down for their son but they totally would if given half the chance.

If they catch wind of even a fraction of what Kirishima got up to tonight, someone will have to pay. Kirishima’s willing to bet his most prized, limited-edition Crimson Riot figurine that that someone will end up being all of U.A., nationally famous pro heroes or not.

Before any of that can make it out of his mouth, Kirishima’s hand is squeezed and… Oh. Bakugou’s still holding it. Their skin isn’t touching; Kirishima’s sleeve has been pulled down to prevent that.

(It’s one of those things Bakugou does, tracking who and what gets in direct contact with his sweat and how to neutralize it in time. It makes Kirishima’s chest ache that, despite everything that happened, he is still aware of small things like that.)

“He’s crashing at ours tonight”, Bakugou tells his parents rather gruffly. Still looking out the window like there’s nothing unusual about that at all, and Kirishima gapes at him in complete and utter surprise. Bakugou’s grip only tightens.

“Got a problem with that?”

Just like that, Kirishima finds himself able to process speech. “Nope! Not at all. Uh, that is– Mrs. Bakugou, Mr. Bakugou, can I?”

Bakugou’s parents look similarly caught off-guard. To their credit, they merely blink and look at each other, shrugging. Again, it’s the mother who speaks. “That’s Mitsuki and Masaru to you, kid. Let’s go home, then.”

And that’s that. They set off, the car’s movement a quiet thrum that’s drowned out by complicated drum solos and vocals barely scraping past outright growling. Any other day, Kirishima would’ve been ecstatic to finally get to meet the Bakugous. He’d hoard bits and pieces of knowledge about them – such as the fact that Katsuki’s taste in music runs in the family, what the hell – like a dragon does gold coins. The notion that Bakugou invited him to their first sleep-over ever would be the biggest treasure on that pile, for sure.

Because Bakugou Katsuki is anything if not cautious: with his quirk, with his time, with his trust. Because, after days of pacing his room and worrying himself sick and crying until exhaustion took him out, their plan worked.

They pulled it off, Bakugou is back and alive, and Kirishima’s allowed to stay by his side a little bit longer.

He’s here because Bakugou wants him to be and that… feels better than Kirishima can properly put into words. So, no, he doesn’t boast about it, he doesn’t have the energy to – but Kirishima notes and appreciates it nonetheless, relief forming a ball of warmth and light that radiates within him like a tiny sun got stuck between his lungs and his heart. Bit by bit, it melts the tension off Kirishima’s bones until all he can grasp is the steady presence of Bakugou’s hand in his and how heavy his eyelids feel.

Kirishima could sleep for a week straight and still crave a nap afterwards. Probably.

There’s something he has to do before he crashes, though. With a gentle squeeze, he frees his hand to grab his phone and winces at the dozens of unread messages and missed calls that greet him. Both the group he has with his family as well as the one for 1-A have been running hot most of the night, reducing his battery to a pitiful 12%.

Opening up the chat with his moms, Kirishima scrolls to the bottom of the increasingly worried barrage of texts and hesitates, his fingers hovering over the keypad. Once he starts typing, he’ll have about a minute before shit really hits the fan.

💪🏻Kirishima Power 💪🏻

guys i’m so sorry!!! (sent 21:58)

i know ur worried and stuff and i swear i’ll explain later ok?? (sent 21:58)

 just wanna let u know i’m safe!! staying over at baku’s tonight (sent 21:58)

he’s here and safe too (sent 21:58)

🙏🏻🙏🏻 (sent 21:59)

He pauses then, reading that last part over and over again. Safe. Safe, safe, safe. A smile cracks Kirishima’s lips apart and it remains there, steadfast through the flood of new messages rolling in.

*

Bakugou’s room is both everything Kirishima expected it to be and at the same time… not.

It’s huge, for one, the typical bed-wardrobe-desk setup expanded by a couch and a beanbag, a TV with a variety of game systems hooked up to it, a handful of shelves filled to the brim with books and manga and oh, a whole freaking drum set taking up a corner by itself. The walls are plastered with band posters and signed set lists and – less blatant but still there – the odd All Might merch Kirishima knows Bakugou would strangle him for mentioning, so he doesn’t.

What comes out of his mouth is: “Dude! I didn’t know you played drums. That’s so cool!”

Everything is kept in the triad of black-orange-green Kirishima recognizes from a certain hero costume. A few discarded shirts aside, it’s really tidy. So much so that Kirishima feels ashamed of the state of his own room just by seeing this.

The feeling is compounded by Bakugou picking up those shirts and throwing them in the hamper first thing, a quiet tch indicating he’s annoyed by it. Kirishima isn’t up to outing himself as an unrepentant walking mess in comparison – instead, he makes a beeline for the bookshelf with the manga, eyes drawn to a row of covers he’d recognize in a heartbeat.

“Wha– I’ve been looking for these for ages! They’re sold out every time I try to catch up on ‘em.”

A short glance at Bakugou is answered with a shrug and an eye-roll: It’s Bakugou-speak for do whatever the hell you want. Kirishima pulls out the volume he stopped at and leafs through it.

It’s meant as a distraction for Bakugou, a space for him to drop the put-together façade and breathe without people constantly fussing over him. It’s honestly what Kirishima would rather be doing right now (exploring his best bro’s room be damned) but it’s not what Bakugou needs. Well, what Kirishima thinks he needs.

It’s hard to get a read on him without the constant snark and pointed glares. With some dinner in their bellies and Bakugou’s parents now safely downstairs, the expression that fits nowhere on the Angry Bakugou Face catalogue is back. Kind of uncomfortable and so… absent.

Kirishima is really starting to hate that expression.

It’s entirely accidental that Kirishima actually gets into reading. One chapter turns to three, turns to five, and the troubles and worries whirling ever-tighter in his chest ease for a bit until–

Woosh. A soft, balled-up something knocks against the back of his head. Kirishima startles and almost drops the manga, a vaguely alarmed noise stopped short by the sight of Bakugou in sweats and a well-worn, black shirt. His hair is wet. Wild as ever. At Kirishima’s feet: A similar outfit including a towel.

“Bathroom’s that way. Leave your clothes out by the door, I got special detergent for the nitro. Shampoo and shit’s in the shower, there’s a toothbrush for you by the sink. Use it.”

Kirishima opens his mouth.

Bakugou sighs. “It’s just a fucking toothbrush, Kiri. Wreck it for all I care.”

Kirishima closes his mouth. He nods. His phone is quickly dug out of his pocket and set aside, then he slips out to shower.

A good fifteen minutes later, he opens the door to let out a gust of steam and sees his clothes are gone. The hallway is empty, half-lit by the light coming from downstairs. The Bakugous have been as nonchalant about their spontaneous guest as Bakugou himself; even so, Kirishima tries not to linger or make too much noise as he sneaks back to Bakugou’s room.

“Baku. I’m back.”

Bakugou gives him a grunt of acknowledgement from where he’s fitting some sheets over the couch, folded out to provide a decently sized bed. There’s a pillow and a pile of blankets next to him, wrapped in fresh linen as well. It’s unlikely he’s stopped doing stuff since Kirishima left and if he is about ready to crash in five to ten minutes, he can’t imagine how Bakugou is doing right now.

Y’know, the guy who just survived being kidnapped by Japan’s newest and most notorious villain menace. No amount of pretense can make that simple fact undone.

Kirishima pads over to help, the offer to take over already on his lips but– Too late. The last corner is already being tucked in and laid flat with grim-faced efficiency. Left with nothing else to do, Kirishima sits down on the very edge, eyes downcast and fingers fiddling with the hem of his borrowed shirt. There’s some sort of band logo on it, an English word written in that typical death-metal-font that looks like someone dumped a bunch of white sticks in a pile and called it a day.

It’s soft. A little loose and frayed around the edges.

“Hey, Baku?”

Taking the blankets, Bakugou dumps them in Kirishima’s lap. “Mh?” He makes to step away and Kirishima doesn’t think, just reaches out and catches the back of his shirt.

“Dude, seriously. Just… sit down for a minute. Please?”

And Bakugou… listens. He stops, he frowns at Kirishima for a moment like he’s trying to figure out what his deal is, he sighs like he’s been presented with the world’s most aggravating puzzle – and then he tells Kirishima to scooch. “What? I’m not gonna sit on the fucking floor”, he says.

Kirishima can’t keep the relief off his face as he gladly makes room on the couch, leaning against its arm and tucking his legs in. Once Bakugou has settled, cross-legged with an elbow propped on the backrest, Kirishima throws the blanket over both of ‘em. Might as well get comfortable while they still can.

“Okay.” He steels himself with a long, slow breath. “I know you hate this kinda thing and we’re both tired and… stuff. Still, though: Are you okay?”

Bakugou gives him a look, which– Okay, fair. It’s a dumb question with an obvious answer. Kirishima doesn’t back down, though, humming to buy himself some time to rephrase.

“Like… It’s fine if you’re not. Okay, I mean. And if you’d rather go the fuck to bed and not think about this for a while that’s fine, too. But that was pretty rough and you’ve been, um, quiet. And stuff. So, I’m kinda worried. Y’know?”

Kirishima pauses. A bit lower, he mumbles: “And I missed you. So yeah.”

At some point, he dropped his gaze to his hands, limp and useless in his lap. Kirishima swore not to be a coward anymore but it’s hard, to speak and ask about things in full awareness he has no fucking clue what he’s doing.

All he wants is for Bakugou to be okay. That’s all that matters, at the end of a day like this.

“I’m not”, Bakugou says, tentatively. Like he’s making up his mind as he goes. “I’m not gonna waste your time with ‘I’m fine’. I’m not. This shit’s fucked up.” And again he sighs, sounding so fucking tired Kirishima’s heart squeezes in sympathy.

“I haven’t slept in three fucking days; my shoulders are killing me from using my quirk and sitting chained to that stupid chair and whatever the fuck else. The League scouted me specifically because they thought I’d make a good villain and fuck them for that. Fuck them. But it’s just… It’s whatever. It doesn’t matter.”

Whatever Kirishima expected, it’s not that. He looks up and into Bakugou’s eyes and–

He can’t mean that, can he? Kirishima searches his face for evidence to the contrary, traces the tension around Bakugou’s mouth and the exhaustion smudged under his eyes and the line between his brows, growing deeper under Kirishima’s scrutiny. It all reads defeat. It hurts.

They won, right? A childish voice within Kirishima can’t help but cling to that even as he looks back down. They won, and things are supposed to get better when you win.

“People got hurt. People died, Kiri. Heroes, too.” Bakugou takes a shaky breath, a hand going to his hair and rubbing it roughly. “Fucking… Best Jeanist was there and nobody at the precinct wanted to tell me if he’s alive or dead or what. All of Kamino Ward is fucking gone and All Might–”

Bakugou’s voice cracks right down the middle and it hurts. Like there’s a beast tearing through Kirishima’s chest to rip out his heart and throw it to the floor, stubbornly beating as it bleeds out.

Kirishima wants to say something. Anything. All he can hear is Bakugou’s breathing but it’s all wrong, off-rhythm and thread-bare and upset, and any doubt what that means is erased as Bakugou’s hand clenches on the sheets and he sniffs, wet on the exhale.

“Baku–”

“Don’t. Kiri, don’t–”

He’s always been like that, ordering him around and demanding things when politeness dictates to ask for them instead. His tone is as close to pleading as Kirishima’s ever heard from Bakugou, though, and it twists him up inside to the point he feels distantly nauseous.

“Don’t look.” Bakugou isn’t supposed to sound like that. Not now, not ever. “Okay? Don’t f-fucking– Don’t look at me right now.”

“Okay”, Kirishima says. “I won’t.” His own voice is a mess as well, trembling all over the place. “I won’t, Nitro. I won’t.”

You’re safe, is what he wants to tell him. It’s okay, you’re safe now. That’s not what Bakugou is asking of him. Kirishima can’t stop himself from crying because it’s always been hard not to when the people he loves are doing it, but… He tries. For Bakugou, he’ll always try.

Through eyes heavily clouded by tears, he sees Bakugou’s hand tighten, knuckles going white and bloodless. Painfully tense, and Kirishima can’t stand the sight of that, either.

He shuffles a little closer to place his hand over that fist, careful to only touch the back of Bakugou’s hand. Kirishima whispers, “I’m here”, and Bakugou audibly swallows. He lets him slip his fingers in-between his own.

Holding on, just as he did in the car and when they met in mid-air, that desperate instance that decided whether he would make it out alive or not.

Bakugou holds on even as he breaks for good and his shoulders shake with his sobs. As he continues to breathe in gulps of air that sound strangled and desperate, through tears that leave a pattern of uneven dots on the blanket. By morning they will be gone without a trace: The sun will come up, the world will continue to travel around it, and time will reveal the road they walk on as they walk it, step by step by step.

Just because it’s meant to pass doesn’t make this moment any less real. Any less important. Kirishima sits there and listens to his best friend cry. He remembers days spent without him and the mad dash to save him. He thinks of dumb questions and obvious answers.

It’s hard to tell if this is one of them, so he gathers all his courage and asks: “Katsuki. Can I hug you?”

Just like last time, Bakugou doesn’t say anything. He laughs, a watery, humorless thing – and he pulls at Kirishima’s shirt to crush him to his chest. His arms wind around Kirishima’s neck, Bakugou’s face pressing against his hair where Kirishima won’t be able to see him.

It’s fine. Kirishima’s great at hugs; he can totally work with that. Clenching his eyes shut, he adjusts his grip around Bakugou’s waist so he can rub his back, following the bumps of his spine. Up and down, over and over. Bakugou goes boneless in their embrace, not about to let go anytime soon and neither will Kirishima.

Eventually, Kirishima tucks his head against Bakugou’s shoulder, blinking sleep from his eyes. Safe. He doesn’t fight the sharp-toothed smile on his lips. Bakugou mumbles, “Fucking sap”, nearly drowned out by their collective sniffling.

It sounds a whole lot like thank you. Kirishima’s smile only grows.

>>Chapter 5

[thanks--for--listening]

atlas

are we surprised I caved and wrote angsty wandavision fic? no. not really. also because I was too slow to get this done before 1x05 we’re gonna just forget about that episode right now. (also on ao3)

~

Nobody touched her when it was over. An army of agents, and all they could do was stare.  

The battle had been quick enough. If she was being honest, she didn’t remember most of it. Newscasters would report about a red sky, booming thunder but no rain in sight. Before, that type of attention might have sent her heart racing, might have caused a panic over the delicacy of her public perception. Not anymore. She didn’t care about what they might say. She didn’t care about whoever was behind it, the puppet master pulling her strings. She didn’t care about anything at all. 

—

Cracks had been building since the start. Wanda wasn’t so blind that she couldn’t see them. Dinner. The beekeeper. The imposter. It had lived in her, the pressure, the weight of the walls she refused to let crumble. 

She’d patched them up as best she could. Every hole, every slip, she’d fixed with a spark of red. When bandages weren’t enough, she’d held the world together herself, thrown it onto her back without a second thought. Any pain she had to endure would be welcomed, if it meant salvation. 

But when the curtain fell and the lights dimmed, when the credits began to roll and the actors took their bows, the undeniable truth couldn’t be ignored: her world was bleeding out. And she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to save it. 

—

Interrogation rooms were their own kind of deception. She’d spent enough time in them to know that nobody was ever on her side. Promises made were nothing but lies cloaked in pleasantries that would crumble the minute Wanda opened her mouth. And despite their claims, nobody would ever listen to anything they couldn’t use against her.

She was only vaguely aware of the man sitting in front of her. Suit that screamed government, grey hair that couldn’t hide the youth underneath. She didn’t have to hear him — he’d follow the same script as the others. He’d say he only wanted to ask her some questions, would talk in his most neutral voice, would do his best to keep either fear or disgust or both out of his eyes. When she didn’t answer, he’d get angry. The volume would increase with every lack of reaction, until she could feel his spit on her cheeks and his fists pounding against the table.

It wouldn’t work. All their notes and profiles and desperate attempts to figure her out, and they never learned. She’d spent two days waiting to die. When hunger gnawed at her gut, when fear shook every bone in her body, when an exhale could have brought the whole building crashing down around her, she’d survived. When the only thing standing between life and death was her strength of will, it became a power of its own.  

Threats of making a home out of a prison cell she’d lived in before fell flat at her feet. The straightjacket’s embrace was too familiar to cause the discomfort they hoped for. Her eyes had watched the world disintegrate into nothing. Her body had been torn apart and put back together by the same hands. Over and over and over again she’d let her heart attach itself to another’s, only to end up shattered, pieces jagged and sharp and as dangerous as the rest of her.

Rock bottom had its perks; there wasn’t a single thing these agents could say or do to make her life any worse.

—

Chaos came quickly. She wasn’t sure if everyone else could see it. There was a buzz in the air, a mimicry of the white noise that indicated a lost connection. Standing in the middle of the street, she could see the houses flickering, their occupants an artificial type of calm. They were all watching her. 

He was watching her, too. The facade had faded, the concern of people seeing his real face forgotten entirely. He wasn’t one to panic often, but she could see it in his eyes. They didn’t search for anyone or anything else, didn’t hunt for a culprit the way she had. They just stayed glued to her. “Wanda.” The desperation was quiet. She wasn’t sure anyone else would have noticed it. “You have to make it stop.”

“I’m trying. I don’t know how.”

“What do you mean you don’t know how?“

“I mean, I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know how to stop it.”

“But—but before, you always—“

“That was different! The small stuff was easy, but this...something’s wrong at its core. It’s out of my hands.”

He looked like he didn’t want to ask. “How? How could that be possible?”

“Because,” she said, fighting the voice in her head that demanded she keep her mouth shut. “I didn’t put us here, Vision.” 

The words felt like a confession. It wasn’t her. It never had been. She could fix it, could adjust the world she lived in, but she hadn’t created it. And she certainly wasn’t behind its destruction.

“Then—then we can just leave. Let it fall apart. We’ll live outside, go to a new town, buy a new house. Start over.”

She shook her head. “We can’t.”

“But why—“

“You can’t.” God, she was so sick of crying. The walls tried to close in on her, as if they could feel her heart tightening. She pushed them back, forced air into her lungs and refused to let go. 

“Wanda.” Even now, his voice had a softness, a gentle touch that she hadn’t found anywhere else. “Am I...did something happen to me? Before we came to Westview?” 

The pressure grew, and she couldn’t keep a shout in as her grip tightened on their reality. 

“Wanda, you have to tell me. Please.”

She’d never regretted anything about their relationship. She’d cursed the circumstances, condemned fate and bureaucracy and everything else that kept them apart, but never the bond itself. Not until now. All she wanted to do was look away, but her eyes met his against her will. It was like they were drawn to him, like something cosmic was tying them together. Not even their world collapsing could stop it.

“You—“ her voice shook, the images coming too quickly for her to block out. “You asked me to do it. To destroy it.” The light had been blinding, had robbed her of seeing his face one last time. He’d promised her he felt no pain, but he’d forgotten where her powers came from, the energy source that fueled them both. And in the moment before the blast, when it sent out a desperate plea, a last-ditch effort to avoid combustion, she’d felt it. Even with Thanos to her left, even with the fate of the world in her hands, she would have hesitated. She would have done anything to stop that feeling, to keep him and the stone intact.

It didn’t give her the chance. 

“The stone.” He said it like he remembered. She prayed he didn’t. 

“You begged me. You said it—it had to be me. There was no one else.”

The look in his eyes didn’t change. Even in her worst, even when she’d turned her power against him, he’d never held an ounce of fear toward her. “And did you?” 

She nodded. “I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want to, but I did, and then...and then he—“

The sky nearly collapsed; saving it was agony. He reached for her when she screamed, tried to protect her from the threat he couldn’t feel. Wanda wanted nothing more than to run to him, but she couldn’t let go. She wasn’t sure what would happen to him if she did.

He frowned. It looked all wrong on him. “You can’t hold on for much longer.”

“Yes, I can.”

“If it isn’t you, then there’s someone else behind all of this. And I don’t think they’re going to stop until Westview is no more.”

She shook her head. “I can fix it.”

“It’s draining you. I can feel it. I can feel you.”

A shiver went up her spine. “Don’t say that.”

“The boys, the town — can they survive outside?”

“I don’t know!” The barrier pulsed. Billy, Tommy, their neighbors, they were safe so long as they were here. She could fix anything inside these walls; it was outside she couldn’t control. “I don’t know,” she said quietly, more to herself than to him. “I don’t know.”

—

They left her alone for a while. As if they thought solitude might drive her mad enough to give them some kind of confession. As if they thought she still had a sound mind to lose. 

Wanda didn’t care. If she closed her eyes, she could relive the moments she longed to go back to. Vision holding Tommy for the first time. Sharing ice cream in the park. Billy falling asleep in her arms. It wasn’t the same, but it was better than staring at nothing. Better than remembering reality. 

She didn’t move when she heard the door open. It didn’t matter that he’d come back; nothing he said or did could pull her from where she longed to be. The sound of the chair screeching against the floor didn’t phase her, not when she could replace it with his endearingly pitiful singing, echoes from his desperate attempt to distract his boss’s wife. 

“Hey, neighbor.” Her eyes betrayed her, snapped open at the familiar voice. Her hair was different, and she wore an outfit that made it clear she was with whatever group had cleaned up the mess. None of that mattered — she’d recognize those eyes anywhere. They’d belonged to an ally once. A friend. 

The collar around her throat vibrated at her body’s instinctive call to her powers. Those eyes had also belonged to an enemy. 

“I should probably start with an apology.” If she expected Wanda to react to her words, she didn’t let it show. “Although, to be fair, that town pulled me in without giving me much of a choice in the matter. That probably should have been my first clue that it wasn’t your doing.”

Wanda held her tongue. She was a prop, a familiar face being used against her. The good cop in relation to the bad cop she’d met earlier. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of breaking her. 

And yet, the temptation grew, ever so slightly. It was the first time since the fight that she’d seen anyone from Westview. 

“I should also tell you that everyone from that suburban nightmare is alright. I mean, they’re disoriented as fuck, but they’ll survive.”

The question sat heavy on her tongue, itching to come out. She refused to let it. 

Her face softened. “We don’t know anything about the twins,” she told her, answering the very thing Wanda couldn’t ask. “It’s like they just...disappeared. Like they never existed. I’m sorry.”

She shut her eyes again. She didn’t want to think about that, about who else she may have left behind. Who else died with Westview. 

—

“Wanda.” 

“I can fix it.” Her arms were locked above her head, her effort covering their entire town in red. “I can fix it, Vis. I can fix it.”

“You’re the strongest person I know. You’re the strongest person on this planet. But some things just can’t be fixed.”

“No, I can do it. I can stop it.”

“Someone’s doing this to us, Wanda. They’re trapping all these people in here.”

“No. This isn’t a trap. It’s our home.”

“It’s not.”

“Why can’t it be?” The desperation was palpable, but she couldn’t find the energy to care. “Does it matter that we didn’t create this world? It gave me you. It gave us our family.”

“Darling, if I— if I can’t live out there, then it isn’t real.”

“Bullshit. We’re real, aren’t we? Our love for each other is real. Our love for our boys is real.”

“Yes, but—“

“This life, it can be our reality. I can make it our reality.”

“And what about everyone else?” He pointed behind them, motioned to the rows of houses that lined the street. “Does our reality become theirs as well?”

“I—I don’t know. I didn’t bring them here.”

“But if you fix it, if you build Westview’s walls back up, they’ll be trapped with us.”

“I don’t care.”

“I know you do.”

“No, I don’t. I don’t care about anybody else.”

“You’re a hero, Wanda. You care about helping people. You have a good heart and you fight for what’s right. And that’s why you have to let it go.”

Her knees threatened to buckle underneath her. “Why?” She yelled loud enough for the forces of the universe to hear her. “Why do I always have to lose everything to save everyone else? Why does it always have to be me?”

“I don’t know. I know everything else in the world except for why you constantly have to hurt the most.”

She stared at him, memorized every inch of his face. It was a habit she’d developed years ago, when their meetings were few and far between. A temporary fix to tide her over until she never had to stop looking. 

The tears hadn’t stopped since the collapse began, but she felt them fall even faster. “It isn’t fair.”

“I know it’s not. But you have to be the hero, Wanda.”

“What’s the point? What’s the point of winning if I’m only going to lose you?”

“You can save everyone else. All our neighbors and friends. Our boys. I’m not worth hurting them. I’m not worth you hurting yourself.”

“You are.” She begged him to hear her, to believe her. “You’re worth everything.”

“I can’t be.” The desperation she’d monopolized slipped into his voice. “You can’t let me be.”

It was an impossible ask. He was blessed with ignorance, with the gift of the sacrificed. He gave his life, but she had to live with it. To watch him die, twice, and be expected to move on and be okay. 

“Please don’t ask me to do this,” she pleaded, her voice bargaining with him even when she knew it was fruitless. “I can’t—I can’t lose you again.”

He put his palm on her cheek, and she melted into it. “How can you lose me if I’m already gone?”

“You’re not gone to me.”

“And I never will be. I promise.”

She looked up, stared at the red that continued to spill into the sky, forming a dome all around them. Her strength, materialized. When she’d signed up for it, what felt like lifetimes ago, she’d been desperate for some kind of control. Something she could use to protect herself, her brother, her home. A reason to never be afraid again.

“I don’t want it.” It wasn’t the first time she’d thought it, but it was the only time she’d felt confident in the feeling. “I don’t want this power anymore.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true. This...this curse, all it ever does is hurt people. All I ever do is hurt people.”

“You have never hurt me, Wanda.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I have. I’ve thrown you so far into the ground I don’t know how you ever came back up. I’ve changed your perception, your thoughts.” She took a breath. “I’ve killed you, Vision.”

“You’ve also given me more joy than I ever thought possible. You’ve given me our family. You’ve given me time, Wanda. Time to experience everything life has to offer. I have never felt more human than when I’m with you. I can’t begin to explain what that means to me. ”

“What good are my powers if they can’t save you? What good am I if I can’t keep you?”

He brought his second hand up, held her face in his palms. “Darling, our life here has felt like a fairytale. Even in its flaws and imperfections, it’s been bliss. But our story has to end. Like every story does.”

Her voice got caught in her throat. “It’s too short.”

“The best tales often are.”

The pressure increased. Any more and she knew she’d be on her knees, crumbling under the weight of the world. Atlas reimagined. 

Her mind tried to balance the scales, the consequences of holding on and letting go. Every calculation only ended in pain. If it was only hers, if he had asked her to let him stay, then maybe...maybe she’d be able to make the choice she wanted to make. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard.

Wanda closed her eyes, gave herself a moment she didn’t have. He’d suffered enough at her hands. 

“Billy,” she whispered. “Tommy.” They’d split up, gone to different ends of the town to try and keep it in one piece, but she knew somehow they’d hear her. 

In an instant Tommy was by her side; not ten seconds later, Billy joined them. 

“I’m putting everything I’ve got into it, Mom, but it’s hardly making a difference.”

“I haven’t found a weak spot yet,” Tommy added, “but I’ll keep looking. There’s got to be an error somewhere. Something we can fix.”

She wasn’t sure she could stand it. Staring at them, she could see her and Pietro, not just in their powers but in their personality. Their determination, their empathy, their passion. Wanda sent up a prayer to anyone who might listen for then to have the future her and her brother had been robbed of. 

“Boys,” she said, her breathing becoming more labored with every passing second. “Hold onto your father.”

They hesitated, gave each other a look before they moved from her side to Vision’s. Looking at him, she saw the understanding in his eyes as he put his arms around them. 

“No matter what happens,” he said, “this family has been my greatest light. And you have been my shining star, my love. My anchor in a world I was never meant for. They may not see you the way I do right now, but they will.”

She could have lifetimes and never find the right words to express how much he meant to her. “You will always be my compass,” she told him. “My guide when I’m losing my way. Loving you is the best thing I’ve ever done.”

It wasn’t lost on her that they’d never exchanged vows, never had a ceremony to profess their love for one another. The world and its cruel sense of irony, giving them the chance only in their conclusion. 

“Mom,” Billy said. “We’ll see each other again, won’t we?”

If there was any part of her heart that had yet to shatter, it imploded at his words. “I promise you that one day, we’ll be together again. I won’t let anything keep me from you two.” 

She wasn’t sure if it was a promise she’d be able to keep, but she made it anyway, and meant every word. Throwing a last ditch effort into the ceiling above her, she straightened her knees, stood up as tall as she could. 

Her eyes met his, for maybe the last time. He’d always felt real to her. Not just a vessel but a soul, one that lived and breathed even when his body didn’t. In a world that had never cared for her, he made her feel safe. She wondered if she’d ever find that feeling again. 

His hands weren’t on her face anymore, but she swore she could still feel him. “You are everything that is good about humanity, Wanda. Never forget that.”

Five seconds. That was how long she gave herself to look at him, at the three of them. Her family. The only thing that mattered. She couldn’t keep them, but she could give herself this one thing. This last moment. 

Wanda let go. She threw herself forward, into their open arms. “I love you,” she whispered, closed her eyes and put herself on repeat. I love you. The world sparked like a cut cable. I love you. The ground beneath them trembled. I love you. The warmth, the weight in her arms, dissolved into nothing but air. I love you. I love you. I love you. 

—

“You know, I understand where you’re coming from. Why you’d stay.”

Neutrality be damned; Wanda let the glare through, let her know exactly how she felt about that assertion. The agent before her had taken a sick kind of pleasure in letting her know how twisted her delusion was, how weak she must have been to not only fall for it, but fight for it. Had she put an ounce of effort into listening to his words, she might have shown him exactly what that weakness looked like. 

“I’m serious.” The agent formerly known as her neighbor kept going. “You were blipped, weren’t you?” Wanda’s face must have reflected her confusion, because she elaborated. “You disappeared. Woke up and realized the world had kept spinning without you on it.”

She didn’t give anything away. It wasn’t a real question. 

“I was, too. Closed my eyes next to my mom’s hospital bed and opened them to find it empty.” She looked up at her, and Wanda could see the tears in her eyes, the pain hidden behind them. It was unnerving, how familiar it felt. “I’ll never understand it. How a person can be fine one day and gone the next. How quickly they can be taken away. How the body can rebel against itself and take the mind and soul with it.”

A voice echoed in her mind, her brother’s teasing just minutes before his last breath. He’d laughed that afternoon. The sound haunted her, snuck into her dreams even now. She didn’t think she’d ever stop hearing it.

“The people who survived, they don’t really get it. How awful it is, making up for lost time. Everyone else has moved on, but for me, the pain was so...fresh. It still is. So, yeah. I don’t blame you. Hell, if I had been in your position, I’d probably do the same thing.”

Wanda wondered what the point of it all was. Whether hearing about her grief was supposed to make her open up, cry about her feelings and bond over their shared trauma. She’d tried that before. It didn't make her feel any better, knowing that other people suffered. Especially since their grief always felt like a luxury compared to hers. A singular loss, a life without constant disapproval from people who held fractions of the responsibility she was chained with. It only reaffirmed what she already knew to be true: the world had a unique and bitter vendetta against her. And it wouldn’t let up until she cracked underneath it. 

“I’m not telling you to make you feel bad, or to try and say that what I’ve been through can compare to what’s happened to you.” Wanda wondered for half a second if they trained them for this, a powerless type of mind reading. “I just want you to know that there’s someone on your side here. Someone who doesn’t think you’re a villain.”

The word made her heart skip a beat. He’d used its antonym with pride. When the world couldn’t make up its mind about her, he’d never had a doubt. If he could hear it, the one-sided conversation, he’d be beaming. Proof, he’d say, of someone who shared his point of view. Proof that he’d been right. Proof that she wasn’t a lost cause.

As she got up and turned toward the door, all Wanda could see was his face. His desire for her to become everything he thought she could be. His love for her in all her messiness, in her broken and angry and scarred state. His need for her to trust that someone else would see her the way he did. 

“I’m guessing,” Wanda said quietly, freezing her in place with her hand on the doorknob, “your name isn’t Geraldine.”

She glanced back at her with a mix of curiosity and amusement. If she heard the way Wanda’s voice had cracked, the hoarse consequence of the sobbing and screaming that had led her through the fight, she ignored it. 

After a few seconds, she smiled. “Can’t say that it is. But it did have a nice ring to it, didn’t it?” Not-Geraldine turned back, reached into her pocket and slid a business card across the table. “Captain Monica Rambeau. Nice to properly meet you.”

Wanda watched her go, waited until the door shut behind her before glancing down at the card. She memorized it the way she used to memorize faces. It was more than a plan for the future, a place to land should she crash and burn — it was hope, a sign that a future existed at all. A reminder she hadn’t realized she’d needed. 

She counted seconds. When enough time passed, she let her head tilt to the side, closed her eyes and only opened them when she felt the familiar red glow. The shock from the collar stung for a moment before it snapped, falling to pieces at her feet. The jacket followed, it’s straps undone with ease. Confinement was fine, for a while, but time was a resource she refused to waste anymore. Not when she still had promises to keep. 

[loki-hargreeves]

Geralt of Rivia x Vampire!Reader - The Prize of Blood [PART 1]

[PART 2] Warnings: angst, mild gore, vulgar language, mentions of blood, guilt, hurt/comfort Word Count: 5,5K Summary: You have accompanied your old friends Geralt and Jaskier on a mission, guiding them through an enchanted forest to a mage who is in hiding. Geralt needs to find the mage, because of her knowledge of destiny and the law of surprise. During the few days you spend together, you and Geralt get closer to each other. One night, you disappear. You get taken by a vampire, but Geralt stops it from killing you. Geralt doesn’t find you until it’s too late, the vampire has bitten you. The only way you could stay human is by getting help from the mage. You must find her before it’s too late to reverse your changes. Author’s Note: This is the first time I’m writing for the Witcher fandom, so please excuse me if I make mistakes! Enjoy! :) Also I know how vampires work in the Witcher universe, but I have chosen to ignore one simple fact for the sake of the story

THIRD POV

It had been quite an ordinary day. Y/N was currently working at a pub in a small village which was the perfect cover up for her past life. Nobody knew her, which was exactly how she wanted it to be. She woke up, got ready for the day and got to work. Sure, the pub wasn’t fancy, but she met plenty of interesting people and they always slipped a few secrets that they should’ve probably kept to themselves. Whenever people would stay at the village overnight, they ended up at this pub. It seemed to attract everything from commoners to mages, knights and even criminals.

So far, no one had recognized her as the human woman who cast spells. She was expelled from her kingdom after she was caught and as Y/N had left, the king had sent two assassins after her. After a battle she nearly lost, Y/N had no choice but to kill the men. It was the first time she killed people and she didn’t fancy it, but she was left with no choice. People believed her to be evil and after she killed for the very first time, she sure felt that way. Y/N had felt terrible about it until she met Geralt and Jaskier for the first time. Somehow, the Witcher had made her feel much better about herself.

The day had been quite ordinary until Geralt and Jaskier waltzed through the heavy wooden doors. Y/N nearly dropped the empty mug she was right about to fill with ale. It had been at least three years since she last saw the two of them and she feared the day would never come again on which their paths would cross. Quickly, Y/N filled the mug and handed it to the weary customer. Then she dried her hands on her skirt and nearly ran towards the duo she so dearly cared about. “Geralt! Jaskier!” She wanted to catch their attention, saying their names ever so cheerfully and possibly grabbing the attention of the customers as well.

A head of long, white hair turned first and a moment later, Y/N stood right in front of him. Geralt’s golden eyes looked at her from under his dark hood and he seemed relieved to see the woman. “Y/N, it’s nice to see you,” Geralt let the tiniest smile slip.

A loud gasp made both of them turn to face Jaskier. “Y/N! Now tell me this isn’t destiny at its best. We were looking for you all over this village and now you just appear out of thin air right under our noses! How convenient is that?”

He hadn’t changed at all. Jaskier was still the same old chatty and cheerful him that he was three years ago.

A chuckle left Y/N’s lips as she pulled Jaskier into a hug. “It’s nice to see you too.”

“Unfortunately, we’re not here for fun. We need your help,” Geralt revealed, hating to break the happy reunion.

It was strange to hear that from the Witcher. Frankly, it worried Y/N. He rarely needed help so she knew this was likely something as dangerous as it was three years ago when they first met. “Follow me then,” Y/N knew right away that it had to be serious if they came to her for aid. She let go of Jaskier and decided to lead them to a table that was more private than the spot they stood on, right in front of the door, in everybody’s view. They reached the corner booth and she let them sit by the tiny window. Y/N sat down next to Geralt.  “What can I do for you?”

Jaskier looked at Geralt nervously, probably expecting him to explain it to Y/N. He didn’t enjoy being the bringer of bad news, not when Y/N was the one to receive them.

Geralt wanted to keep a low profile. He felt several eyes on them, but it was loud enough in the pub so he hoped they wouldn’t hear him if he spoke quietly. Asking for help didn’t come easy for him, but he had no choice, “We need to find a mage. We’ve been told she is hiding in the enchanted forest. We would get lost by her spells if we went in blindly.”

“You want me to guide you?” Y/N smiled as excitement began to bubble in her veins. Sure, she had enjoyed her stay in the village, but she felt like she had stayed for way too long. An adventure like this was exactly what she craved. It made her wish to leave right away, but she didn’t want to be too eager.

Jaskier was now meddling with his lute, pulling the strings either in search for inspiration or just for the sake of it. “We were hoping you’d like to come with us. The last time you did, you came in handy.”

“I came in handy,” Y/N raised her eyebrows playfully. Jaskier sure knew what to say.

“Oh, come on! I don’t know what it is about you and how you become immune to spells, but that’s exactly what we need. Besides, I see that you want to come. You can barely stay in your seat,” Jaskier smirked as he noticed how excited she was by her body language. But he had to speak so loudly, making people eavesdrop on their conversation now.

Geralt didn’t like that. “Jaskier, shut up!” He growled, hoping he would for once in his life try to keep a low-profile.

Y/N giggled softly, feeling overjoyed by their company. It didn’t mean she would be easy on them. “What’s in it for me?” She wondered and rested her jaw on her palm, eyeing Geralt with a soft gaze.

Her question seemed to take him by surprise, as if he didn’t expect it. Last time, she had practically begged them to take her with them. Now she seemed much harder to get. The change in her made Geralt happy for her. Someone like her should stand her ground. “We’ll pay you.”

“How much?” Y/N kept playing this game, glancing at Jaskier who was following the situation closely.

“How much are you asking for?” Geralt wondered. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was fairly nervous that she would decline for whatever reason. He had no idea what they would do if she wouldn’t take them to the mage.

That’s when Y/N couldn’t keep a straight face. “I’m not going to take your coin, Geralt! Of course, I’ll help you. You’re my friends.”

Friends. Geralt didn’t like that word, but he wasn’t going to argue with her about that. He was glad she was coming with them.

“I knew it!” Jaskier chirped, happy as a bird.

“We should leave at dawn,” Geralt declared bluntly. It would be safer to leave early, for the nights were the most dangerous.

Y/N stood up from the booth all of a sudden. “Let me grab you two something to drink. It’s on the house! We can talk more over drinks,” She suggested kindly.

Geralt watched as she walked through the pub towards the small bar. As he noticed how the dirty old men looked at her, he felt his gut twist in anger. Their eyes lingered on her body a little too long. Suddenly, Geralt noticed how a group of soldiers pointed at her and whispered. He clenched his strong jaw as he witnessed this. How long had she worked here? In Geralt’s mind, the place was a disgrace, full of scumbags. But on the other hand, he couldn’t blame them too much. Y/N was a sight for sore eyes, and she was beautiful – inside out.

“Hello? Geralt? Is anybody in there?” Jaskier poked the Witcher’s shoulder after a brief silence. Geralt tore his eyes off Y/N and turned to face Jaskier who had a smirk growing on his glee face. “You still fancy her, don’t you?”

“How many times do I have to tell you to shut up, Jaskier?”

Somehow, that seemed to be a confirmation to Jaskier. “So, you do! This is amazing, Geralt. I could totally see by the way you looked at her. That said, do you think these people would mind if I played a little something for them?”

Geralt would be lying if he said he truly wanted Jaskier gone. Whatever it was, friends as Jaskier liked to call it, they cared for each other. But he would also be lying if he said Jaskier never got on his nerves. Right now, he didn’t mind if he would grab his lute and perhaps to entertain the villagers. “Hm,” Geralt hummed and decided to look out of the window, ignoring him. Just like that, Jaskier got up and a few moments later, he was pulling the strings and singing a tune Geralt knew a tad too well.

Toss a coin to your Witcher…

Y/N returned to the booth with a tray and tree pints. She seemed to enjoy Jaskier’s performance since she mouthed the lyrics too. As she sat down next to Geralt, she handed him his drink. “That tune gets stuck on my brain. It’s catchy.”

Geralt took a large sip of his ale, watching Jaskier who was resting his foot on the table full of strangers. If it wasn’t for the women that seemed enthralled by him, Geralt was certain the men around the table would’ve knocked him off already. “Once you hear it as many times as I have, you wouldn’t say that.”

             Dawn arrived soon enough. Y/N owned a small house in the village where she had taken Jaskier and Geralt. because she lived alone, she only owned a bed and a couch. For the night, she had slept next to Geralt as Jaskier took the couch. Three years ago, they shared a bed as well, but it felt much more intimate now that they were under her roof in her home. The bed wasn’t too big. Geralt, on the other hand, was huge. They slept so close that Y/N could feel his body heat dancing on her skin. His mucky scent filled her lungs and somehow lulled her to sleep. It awoke feelings she had tried to bury long ago.

By the time morning came, Geralt was already awake, sitting on the bedside. Y/N rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and focused on Geralt. Seeing him confirmed that she hadn’t been dreaming. They were actually there. “Good morning,” She muttered tiredly, yet she was happy.

Geralt was already fully dressed, she noticed. “Good morning, Y/N,” Geralt replied. Just like that, he got up from the bed. Y/N watched for a while as Geralt shook Jaskier awake. “Get up, Jaskier. It’s time to leave.”

Y/N decided to get dressed and fill her bag with anything she suspected they would need. Everything ranging from food to potions. Geralt didn’t question her at all.

Roach was in her backyard. Y/N’s neighbor was an elderly woman who also owned horses, which was quite convenient. After paying her, the woman agreed to look after Roach until they would return. According to Geralt, the enchanted forest would scare the horse too and he didn’t wish to put it through such stress.

Just like that, they were on the go.

                  The first few hours of the day seemed fine. Y/N guided them further into the enchanted forest that was rich of tall trees and beautiful plant life. The flowers might’ve looked harmless, but Y/N and Geralt knew some of them were toxic. A sniff of the wrong flower could make someone hallucinate very vividly, keeping them from reaching the heart of the forest where the mage was likely hiding. Jaskier was just about to grab some berries, until Y/N stopped him.

“Jaskier dear, unless you want to see your worst nightmares unfold before your eyes, don’t eat those berries,” She told him ever so calmly.

Jaskier dropped the berries on the ground and hurriedly walked away from the bushes. “Is anything edible around here?”

“Once we reach a pond or a lake, we could fish. The living prey is safe to eat. Keep your eyes open for fruit trees. If we’re lucky, we’ll find these fruits that resemble peaches, but they’re much sweeter,” Y/N told Jaskier like it was common knowledge for a human to know.

Geralt was impressed by her knowledge. For an ordinary human, she knew things she shouldn’t have. It was why she was so often on his mind. Geralt loved knowledge. He would’ve loved to know more of her and how she ended up being the woman she was now. “We should get as far as we can before nightfall. This can take a few days,” Geralt reminded them. This wasn’t a one-day trip.

After walking for a while, Y/N’s curiosity got the best of her. “Why are you after this mage?” She wondered innocently.

Jaskier nearly choked on thin air. It made Y/N wonder if she had said something wrong. “Well you see, Geralt and I visited Cintra and got in cahoots with the royal family. Long story short, Geralt ended up saving a princess and her fiance, husband, whatever. He lifted a spell and for his reward, Geralt here proclaimed the law of surprise! Can you believe that?”

Y/N was surprised as she listened to Jaskier. The law of surprise? Why would Geralt choose that? She didn’t know he believed in destiny whatsoever. “And how does that tie in with whatever we are doing here?” She wondered furthermore.

Geralt didn’t seem too keen to explain. It seemed like Jaskier was doing a wonderful job at that already, so he let him continue. “The princess got pregnant after that. Thanks a lot, Geralt! And after the child was born, the queen tried to kill Geralt. It seems like she’s hiding something, besides the obvious. Then one day we overheard these lovely gentlemen talking about this mage. Apparently, she knows all about destiny, the law of surprise. Hopefully, she also knows the answers to Geralt’s questions. He thinks the child is in danger, or something.”

Jaskier’s story nearly shocked Y/N. It was the last thing she had expected! Geralt had a child? A Witcher had a child! It blew her mind to think about. It made sense why Geralt would go through such a hassle to find a mage. Whether Geralt admitted or not, he cared for the child. “So, you have a child.”

“By the law of surprise. Now Jaskier, I think you’ve said enough,” Geralt seemed upset for some reason. Clearly, he didn’t like to talk about it too much, so Y/N decided not to push his buttons.

Just in time, Y/N noticed the glimmering water, hiding behind a row of pine trees. The sun was shining brightly above them which Y/N noticed by the calm waves that reflected the golden rays. “Hey! We should stop. There’s a lake over there!” Y/N pointed at the water that was nearby. It was the perfect distraction from the conversation they just had.

The three of them turned to their right and walked towards the lake. Geralt would’ve liked to continue, but he knew that his companions would get hungry and thirsty much faster than him, so it was only fair to take a break. Once he ignored the fact, they were in an enchanted forest full of traps and dangers, it was quite a beautiful day. The sun was shining, it was warm and so far, it had been rather peaceful.

But Geralt couldn’t relax. He knew that if he lost focus, even he could get trapped. The enchanted forest’s spells could sneak into his head and make him wander off into the distance and never return to Jaskier and Y/N. It was the same for Jaskier, which was why Geralt had to keep him in sight at all times. Y/N on the other hand seemed to be unbothered by this. She could probably walk through the enchanted forest all on her own without getting lost. How? Geralt had no idea, but he wanted to know.

After a while, they had caught fish and Jaskier filled their bottles up with water from the sweet lake. They continued their journey much further into the forest. Hours passed and it got dark. As the sun disappeared from their sight, the air around them felt much colder. The shadows were darker, offering shelter to whatever dangerous creatures lurked around. Geralt knew they had to seek shelter for the night. They ended up stopping by a cliff that kept the wind from blowing through their clothes and making them cold. There were trees all around them and it felt safe. Geralt set up a bonfire as Y/N and Jaskier made the beds for the night. It felt almost too calm when the three of them sat around the bonfire and cooked the fish from earlier.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I can’t wait to hit the hay!” Jaskier mumbled and yawned right after he finished his sentence. He had barely slept last night, since he spent so much time at the pub. It was understandable that he was tired. They had been walking since dawn.

“How are we going to sleep?” Y/N wondered as her eyes lingered of the flames that offered them heat and safety from certain predators. “I mean, to be safe we should keep close. If any of you two wake up in the middle of the night, I want to notice that. If you get lost from my sight, I can’t assure I’ll be able to find you.”

“Wait- what?” Jaskier suddenly didn’t sound as tired as he did a moment ago.

Geralt knew Y/N was right. He didn’t like the idea, but to be safe, they would have to sleep right next to each other. Hopefully, Y/N wouldn’t mind being sandwiched between the two of them. “I have rope with me. We could tie our wrists together. It should alarm anyone if we got up, right?” The Witcher suggested wisely.

“That’s perfect,” Y/N smiled. She seemed relieved now that she heard Geralt’s suggestion.

“Did you imply that the forest could make us wander off into the distance?” Jaskier still didn’t forget what Y/N said.

So, he didn’t know. “It can do much more than that if it sees you as a threat,” Y/N confirmed what Jaskier feared. The man didn’t look too excited anymore.

“Great!”

 As they got to bed, Jaskier fell asleep like a child. It meant that Y/N and Geralt were the only ones awake in the middle of an enchanted forest. It was a full moon night which meant it was cold. The blanket they had struggled to keep her body warm and she hated it when she felt how she trembled.

“Are you cold?” Geralt wondered with a soft voice.

“A little bit,” Y/N admitted. She knew there was no use in lying.

What the Witcher did next was surprising. He raised his arm and the blanket, “Come here,” He offered her to warm up right next to him.

Y/N’s heart leapt to her throat and she had to look away from him. Had he no idea how flustered he just made her? She nodded and then shifted over, immediately noticing how much warmer she was by his side. Geralt wrapped the blanket tightly around them and then he rested his arm on her waist, checking her facial expression to see if he had gone too far. She didn’t seem to mind. With that in mind, Geralt traced small patters on her stomach.

“Geralt?” Her voice was so small now. They were close enough that they could whisper and hear each other. He hoped he hadn’t gone too far.

“Hm?” He simply hummed, encouraging her to go on.

Y/N seemed shy for some reason. Her body was relaxed under his touch, so Geralt didn’t suspect it was that. “I missed you,” She finally admitted ever so quietly, but Geralt was certain he heard right. Three years ago, they parted rather unfortunately. They had been close. He knew it was unfair how things ended back then, but he believed they hadn’t lost that spark.

Her words made his heart swell. For someone who was known of having no feelings, he felt a lot right now. “I missed you too, Y/N.”

Geralt was the last to be awake. Y/N and Jaskier were fast asleep right next to him and surely enough, they were tied to each other by their wrists. Hopefully, they wouldn’t be attacked during the night or else they would find themselves in a clumsy situation. The full moon hung heavy above their heads as twinkling stars were scattered all across the dark sky. The fire was keeping them warm. If it wasn’t for the dangers Geralt knew of, he would’ve enjoyed the day. But he struggled to relax when he knew that the enchanted forest was full of threats.

He shifted his gaze from the moon to Y/N. She was right next to him. Her soft body was pressed against his chest and she seemed quite comfortable being so near to Geralt. She had fallen asleep very fast as Geralt had wrapped his strong arm around her body ever so safely.

Hoping to catch some sleep, Geralt nuzzled his face closer to Y/N. Her sweet scent pushed through his nostrils and it was almost scary how it relaxed him. Slowly, but surely, he fell asleep next to her. Geralt believed sincerely that nothing could harm her when she was in his arms. But nothing made sense in an enchanted forest. Anything could happen.

When he awoke, it only took him a few seconds to realize Y/N wasn’t in his arms. Jaskier was snoring lightly and Geralt realized that the rope was cut. Panic jolted him up on his feet and he searched their surroundings, hoping to see Y/N nearby. When Geralt realized she wasn’t around, he felt sick. Anger, worry and even fear spiked in his veins, making it feel like his blood was turning into ice. He knew she wouldn’t just leave them like this! Something was wrong. Geralt didn’t understand how he hadn’t woken up when she had! Was it the forest?

Afraid to leave Jaskier alone, Geralt woke him up. “Get up, Jaskier! Y/N’s gone,” He informed his travel companion almost in a panic.

Jaskier got up and looked at the piece of rope that hung lazily from his wrist. “What happened?” He wondered as he took it off. It only took a moment for Jaskier to feel frightened. “She’s gone?! Oh no, this is bad. This is really bad, Geralt!”

“Don’t you think I know that?!” Geralt growled. He didn’t like to raise his voice, but he was so worried and angry at himself for letting this happen that he couldn’t help himself. Without Y/N, it was only a question of time before the forest would possess them. They had to find her! “Fuck!”

An ear-piercing scream caught the two men’s attention. It didn’t come too far away, and it definitely sounded like Y/N. Without hesitation, Geralt ran off into the direction of her scream and Jaskier was fast to run after him. “Wait for me!”

Geralt, whose pulse was always extraordinarily calm, was now much harder. He looked all around him in a rush, barely acknowledging Jaskier who was struggling to keep up with him. She’s in danger, was the only thing that he chanted in his head. Geralt wasn’t sure if he could ever forgive himself if something happened to her now. It would be all his fault!

“Y/N!” Geralt called her name, his raspy voice echoing throughout the forest. Some birds that had rested were startled and they flew away from Geralt.

The smell of blood surprised him. It was fresh. It smelled like her and it made him sick to his stomach. Geralt took a sudden turn to his left and followed the scent of blood. He pushed his way through bushes. The spikes tore his clothes and his skin, but he didn’t care. Geralt had only one goal in his mind and it was to find Y/N.

Finally, he made his way through the plants and he found her. Y/N was forcefully pushed against a tree as some creature had dug its teeth deep into her neck. Tears were rolling down her face and she could hardly breathe because of the pain she was under.

It was a vampire!

“Get the fuck off of her!” Geralt growled angrily and ran towards the vampire. He noticed right off the bat that it was a higher vampire, easily someone you could mistake for a human. It smiled viciously at Geralt as it pulled its sharp teeth from Y/N’s neck that was now oozing with crimson red.

Geralt attacked the vampire swiftly and luckily, it let go of Y/N. He nearly grabbed it, but the vampire was fast. It dodged the Witcher’s attack and then ran towards Jaskier, possibly seeing his next target.

In a hurry, Geralt grabbed a silver dagger and he threw it towards the vampire, watching as the blade sunk into its back. The creature screeched in pain and fell on the ground clumsily. Geralt was ready to kill it, but he knew vampires were hard to kill. They were able to regenerate. Even if he cut his head off, that bastard would slowly but surely be fine. It didn’t mean Geralt couldn’t make it squirm in pain.

From his bag, Geralt grabbed a tiny bottle of vampire oil. “You should’ve kept your fangs away from her,” He said in a low voice, sounding haunting to Jaskier who was now by Y/N’s side, pressing his hand on her bleeding neck.

“How could I not taste the blood of such a special little mortal, hm? Not only is she a virgin, but there is something magical. She tasted so delicious!” The vampire grunted in pain, but it didn’t stop him from mocking Y/N.  Geralt pulled the dagger out of its back and stepped on its shoulder blade, keeping the vampire from getting up.

A special little mortal. A virgin. Geralt felt disgusted by the vampire for revealing that about Y/N. It was her private matters and this fanged lunatic was talking about it as if being a virgin was simply an ingredient of its meal. “You’re a higher vampire! You don’t need blood to survive. What were you thinking?” Geralt wondered as he poured vampire oil on the silver blade. The vampire could smell the oil and all of a sudden, it tried to free itself from Geralt’s grasp – hopelessly.

“Forgive me, Witcher! She was too tempting to resist!” It seemed ready to beg in order to be set free.

Geralt’s rage was too great in order to have mercy for this vampire. The consequences it had now put on Y/N’s shoulders were unforgivable. Without hesitation, Geralt grabbed the vampire’s dark hair and pulled it against his chest. “Crawl back into the little hole you came out of and never, I mean never ever get in my sight ever again or else I’ll be sure to mutilate you, so it takes centuries for you to regenerate!” Geralt threatened the vampire with a burning passion, surprising Jaskier who had never heard Geralt this enraged by a monster.

An eye for an eye, Geralt thought as he pushed the sharp blade, coated in vampire oil, deep into its neck. The vampire tossed and turned in pain as the vampire oil took effect, bringing great pain upon it. It cursed in an unknown language. Geralt couldn’t find pity for the creature that could’ve easily killed Y/N for no good reason! He retreated his silver dagger and then got up, watching as the injured vampire made its great escape. Once it was gone, he rushed to Y/N’s aid. His anger was faded and was replaced by deep worry.

Y/N was crying uncontrollably. Her entire body was shaking in fear and from the shock as blood poured out of the bite marks on her neck. Geralt noticed that she had put up a fight as well. her palms were bleeding and she had skin underneath her nails. There was a bruise forming on her cheek and on her knuckles. The sight of her was heavy on his heart.

Silently, with his mind full of guilt, Geralt got down next to her and decided to tend to her wounds. He grabbed a bottle of dark liquid from his bag, popping it open and then he put the neck of the bottle on Y/N’s lips. She didn’t resist it as Geralt made her drink some of the nasty liquid. As she had drunk enough, he pulled it away. “This will hurt,” He warned her, feeling sorry for what he was about to do. Y/N grabbed Geralt’s wrist and he felt how warm her blood was against his skin. It sickened him. Then he poured the rest of the liquid on the bite mark, watching how her skin bubbled around it and the blood made a fizzy sound. At least, the bleeding stopped, and her wound was clean. She wouldn’t bleed out. She whimpered in pain and her nails dug into Geralt’s wrist, which he didn’t mind at all. It was nothing compared to the pain she felt.

Jaskier could hardly look at her. He had witnessed terrible things, but it hurt much worse to see a friend in distress.

Once Geralt was done tending her wounds, he pulled the frightened woman into his arms. Her body rested on his lap and she hid her face against his chest. Geralt was beyond relieved that they found her, but he felt physically ill because of the guilt. He was the one who dragged her into this forest. If he had let her live peacefully, she would be fine! It seemed like whenever Geralt cared about someone, something bad happened to them.

Y/N sobbed against his chest for a while, until she finally began to calm down. It took her a while to realize she was safe. The pain in her neck eased and she allowed her body to relax against Geralt’s. He saved her.

“We’re leaving,” Geralt made up his mind.

Despite her pain, Y/N decided to argue against that. “No,” She whispered, sniffling as she caught her breath. “We can’t l-leave now.”

“You almost got killed!” Geralt protested angrily, but it was clear his anger was directed at himself.

Y/N locked her eyes with his. For a moment, she wished she could just hold him, kiss him and tell him that everything is alright. She didn’t want him to dwell in guilt. After all, he had saved her. It was all that mattered!

It was clear Y/N wasn’t going to say anything, at least not yet, so Jaskier joined the conversation. “We’ve come quite far, Geralt. If she wants to continue, perhaps…perhaps it’s not too silly of an idea. What are the odds of another vampire attacking us?” Jaskier had been alarmed too, but he somehow managed to see the bright side of any situation.

Geralt clenched his jaw, holding himself back from snapping at Jaskier.

Y/N took a deep, shaky breath, “He’s right, Geralt. I’ll be fine.”

“The hell you will! Once the changes are beginning to take place, you’ll wish you’d be in the safety of your own home – not here!”

The changes?

“What are you talking about, Geralt?” Y/N was almost too afraid to ask him.

His golden eyes softened up and it almost looked like he pitied her. He braced himself to explain it by holding onto her a little tighter. This wouldn’t be easy to deliver. “You were bit by a higher vampire. You didn’t die. The poison is already in your system and it reached your heart only a few seconds after his teeth sunk into you. Y/N-,” Geralt stopped, struggling to finish what he was saying. She looked at him with wide eyes full of fear. She even held her breath in anticipation as she listened to the Witcher. “You’re going to be a vampire, Y/N.”

“Woah!” Jaskier bit his fist in order to shut himself up. Geralt shot him a nasty glare and the man had to take a few steps back.

Y/N felt her entire body stiffen on Geralt’s lap.

She would become a vampire?!

The realization struck every nerve in her body. She felt terrified! Every rumor and tale she had ever heard of them would now become her life. Would she too crave blood? Would she ever be able to stand under sunlight again? She had so many questions running in spirals in her head, but not a single word left her mouth.

Geralt noticed how shock took control over her entire body. The poor woman could hardly breathe properly.

“I’ll take you home. You don’t have to see us ever again if that’s what you want,” Geralt offered reluctantly. The last thing he wanted was to walk away from her again, but he understood her wishes if it was what she wanted. All of a sudden, Y/N wrapped her arms around Geralt’s neck, pulling him into a tight hug.

“P-Please don’t leave me! Not…Not again, not like this!” Y/N pleaded almost desperately. She didn’t want to be alone again nor did she want to go through major changes alone. Y/N knew that Geralt knew what was happening to her body. If only he could guide her though it.

“Guys,” Jaskier tried to get their attention. At first, neither of them heard him. 

Geralt ran his large hand up and down her back in a calming manner as she held onto him for dear life. 

“Guys!” Jaskier tried again, only gaining the Witcher’s attention. “Can’t the mage help Y/N?”

Jaskier was a genius! There was a chance a mage could remove the inevitable changes that could take control over Y/N. If anyone could do it, it would have to be a mage. It would be worth a shot, right? 

[PART 2]

A/N: Yay! Here’s my first ever the Witcher fic! If you’d like to be tagged in part 2, let me know :) Your feedback would mean a lot to me! Especially now that I’m new to this fandom.

[myheartrevealedocs]

Untouchable- Ch 4: The Popular Kids (S1E10)

Summary:  A Spencer Reid x OC fanfic that retells select episodes, starting in season 1, from the point of view of Lydia Ambers, a forensic scientist.

Warnings: death, murder of teens, swearing, death threats

Ch 3 | Ch 5

~ ~ ~

A few weeks later, Lydia was woken by a call from her sister. She did her best not to sound shocked as she picked up, but Rebecca always seemed to know what she was thinking. Lydia considered herself a very good liar until Beck was around.

“Hey Beck, how have you been?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you back, okay?” Right out of that gate, she was pissed. But Lydia felt some relief to know that she wasn’t calling because something was wrong. “You know that I’m just frustrated you left again.”

“I know,” she replied. “How’s school?”

She could hear her sister huff on the other side. “Boring. I don’t see what mom expects me to learn there.”

Lydia grimaced slightly when Rebecca said ‘mom’, but quickly recovered.

“College is good for you. It’ll help you figure out what you want to do.”

“You know how often I change my mind. I don’t understand how I’m supposed to just… decide my whole future. And if school didn’t help me the first 12 years, what’s another four going to do?”

“You have more freedom in college,” Lydia reasoned, but it was just more fuel to the fire.

“Which you obviously took and ran with,” she grumbled.

“Beck, I went to Santa Cruz. That’s barely an hour away.”

“Yeah. And then as soon as I thought I was getting you back, you hopped on a plane to DC. And I wanted to follow you, but mom keeps insisting that I go to community college first.”

“Sonia is just trying to look out for you,” Lydia explained. “I mean, what are you going to do when you get here? Have me take care of you?”

The other end was silent for a minute. Lydia felt guilty, knowing that implying her sister was a burden really wasn’t the best way to handle this situation, but Rebecca sometimes forgot that if she wasn’t making money for herself, someone else was.

“When will you be back?” she demanded.

“I don’t know. I’m going to try to keep this job as long as I can and after that I’m going to go where the work takes me. But I’ll come visit as soon as I can…”

As she spoke, her phone vibrated against her ear and she pulled away to see a message from Gideon.

Round table room in 20. Bring a go bag.

She sighed. “Beck, I have to go. My boss just texted me. Tell Sonia I miss her!”

Her sister was quiet for a minute, before snapping, “That job is going to suck the life out of you,” and hanging up.

Lydia shut her eyes tightly, counting the seconds between breaths. “I love you,” she whispered into the unresponsive phone.

~ ~ ~

“McAllister,” JJ started as Lydia rushed in, stepping up next to Gideon. “Western slope of the Massanutten mountain in Virginia. Two bodies discovered in the woods, both with apparent blunt trauma to the head.”

“Skeletons?” Reid asked as he looked over the photos in his case file.

“One of them. The second victim was just killed this morning.”

“How do we know there’s a connection?” Elle asked.

“Found about 75 feet apart with nearly identical head wounds,” Hotch explained.

Lydia shook her head slightly, still looking at the details over Gideon’s shoulder. Forest is an open area and the victims didn’t look like they’d been tied there. How could someone plan to hit both of them in the same spot over the head, when the victims were in open space and could move easily? That was difficult.

“Where’s the rest of the case file?” Morgan demanded.

“There isn’t one. The sheriffs are on the scene waiting for us.”

“Their location is only a half hour away by plane,” JJ explained for Hotch.

“What’s the rush?” Morgan continued.

“Well, there was evidence on the scene that could cause a bit of public uproar.”

As Hotch said this, Gideon picked up a picture for Lydia to see. Someone had carved a pentagram into a tree with the words ‘SATAN LIVES LOD’ underneath it. They were filled in with a red liquid, but Lydia highly doubted it was blood. It was too bright. Blood would be absorbed pretty quickly by the bark and definitely leave a dark stain. It was likely just paint.

“Satanic cult,” Gideon mumbled, dropping the photo onto the table for the rest of the room to see.

Hotch was obviously unimpressed. “Grab your stuff. We leave now.”

~ ~ ~

Lydia looked around curiously as they boarded the jet. It looked nice, but Lydia didn’t have much experience with flying, much less private jets. Gideon gestured for her to sit across from him, which she quickly did, noticing the rest of the team's hustle to get on the plane and take off.

Gideon gave her what she could only call his ‘profiling’ look as she got into her seat.

“What?” she started, calmly.

“You were almost late to the meeting,” he stated and she scoffed.

“You didn’t give me much notice.”

“Your apartment’s not far.”

“Well, public transportation’s a bitch,” she argued.

This was a game to him. Profiling people was his job, but getting them to come clean was an added bonus. He knew Lydia was busy when he texted her, otherwise she wouldn’t seem so distracted. Trying to get into her head and figure out what it was was fun for him. But Lydia was ready to play.

“Do you know anything about satanism?” he asked, veering from their previous topic.

She shook her head. “You think this is a satanist?”

“You don’t?”

Lydia smiled at him. He was good at opening up the floor for other people to discuss. “It feels planted to me. Blunt force head trauma is usually an extremely… violent way of commiting a murder. One hit wouldn’t be enough to ensure death. And they were killed out in an open space so I doubt the unsub had a lot of control over where they hit them. Identical wounds? That’s impressive.”

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t satanism,” he argued.

“No, but they wrote the message in red, usually meaning they want to pass it off as blood, but this…” she held up the picture “...is not blood. Who puts fake blood by a non-bloody victim?”

“I’m sure the victim was bloody when they put the message up,” Morgan said, Lydia turned to where he was seated.

“Well, I’m no profiler, but if these killings were supposed to be a message about worshipping Satan, why wait so long after the first person wasn’t noticed to kill another?”

He seemed to think about this for a moment. “Touche, Lydia.”

She smiled and turned back to Gideon. “Again, that doesn’t indicate whether or not it’s satanism, but…” she trailed off, letting him consider the suspicious circumstances.

“Try to keep an open mind when examining the crime scene,” he warned her, to which she agreed.

“Total blank slate,” she joked.

And her heart lifted at the sight of Gideon’s amused smile.

~ ~ ~

Lydia had already started pulling on her latex gloves as she followed Gideon off the path and towards the skeletal body. Reid and JJ were close behind them, trying not to slip on the steep ground or piles of leaves.

The body was surrounded by branches, arching over it ceremoniously. Lydia made a quick mental note to ask if one of the sheriffs had cut away the trees or if they’d found it like that.

“Mornin’,” a man called, approaching the group. He had on a blue deputy’s jacket and a gold badge. “John Bridges.”

“Yeah, we spoke on the phone. I’m Agent Jareau, this is Agent Gideon, Dr. Reid, and our crime scene analyst, Lydia Ambers, with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.” JJ recited the greeting so fast Lydia barely heard it. She couldn’t imagine the practice JJ had with introductions.

Lydia ignored the group as they continued speaking to the sheriff and started to examine the remains. She tried not to act surprised as she felt the presence of Dr. Reid leaning over her shoulder, making notes as well.

The clothes were torn and faded, but they hadn’t completely decomposed. Judging by how thin the fabric was, she would have given it a couple years before disappearing, meaning the body might not have been left that long ago. Maybe even less than a year. No wedding ring, but those are easily stolen.

“You guys must get a lot of this, huh? Satanic stuff?”

“Not really,” Gideon mumbled. “Who found the body?”

“Hiker found the first one at the trail,” Sheriff Bridges explained. “My deputies located this one while searching for evidence. Don’t even know if it’s a man or a woman.”

“It’s a man-” Lydia said at the same time as Reid. They both looked surprised for a moment and she gestured for him to keep explaining while she searched for more.

“The male pelvis is more narrow, and the opening at the bottom is heart-shaped, as opposed to oval,” he continued. He then picked up a stick, seeing as he didn’t have gloves, and poked at a weird substance at the bottom of the tree. “Melted wax?”

“Candle wax?” JJ inquired.

Lydia peeled a piece away, rolled it around in her fingers, and hesitantly smelled it.

“Candles are used in rituals,” Reid prompted, but Lydia shook her head.

“This was recent. Colored wax fades over time and some kinds of wax rot. This body is not anywhere near that fresh. If there was a ritual here, it wasn’t a killing.” She dropped the piece she had collected, rubbing the red flecks from her fingers. She looked up at the sheriff. “Did you have to move these branches when you found the body?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. It was buried down there.”

“I thought I told you not to be biased,” Gideon scolded.

“I’m not,” Lydia defended. “But this feels… placed.”

“Explain your reasoning,” he challenged.

She crossed her arms, standing up to meet his eyes. “The recent body was found on a hiking trail. That’s basically begging for someone to find it. This one was secluded and basically buried by the other trees. Possibly to hide it, which would make more sense for satanists, or because it’s been here so long that the elements grew around it. Both would indicate a different killer. Then, there’s the fact that the wax is new and was probably left after the second killing, not the first, so why leave it by the first body? And, as I said about the carving in the tree, if that was a message, they wouldn’t have waited for so long between kills and if it’s just part of the ritual, we would’ve found another one by the other body.”

He raised his eyebrow and Lydia waited for someone to argue with her, but he simply said, “Not bad.”

She let go of a tension she didn’t realize she was holding.

“Does L-O-D mean anything to you?” he asked Reid.

“Uh-uh,” he denied. “I don’t know of any significance in satanism, either.”

“Well, I’d have Garcia research this ‘LOD’ thing, if I could get a call out,” JJ admitted, frustrated.

“Not much of a chance of that out here,” Sheriff Bridges informed her.

“Are there any cults in the area that you know about?” Gideon asked. “Secret groups? People you see you don’t know much about? People who stay to themselves mostly?”

“This is a very religious area. Church on Sundays, fellowship of Wednesday, bible classes. If there was a secret group, I’d probably know about it.”

This made Reid laugh, and a cute smile tugged at his cheeks. “That’s an inherent contradiction.”

“Excuse me?”

Gideon stepped in. “He means if there was a group being secretive, you probably wouldn’t know.”

Sheriff didn’t take that one too well, but Gideon listened patiently as he argued that it couldn’t be someone from his town. Then, he instructed them to head back up to the trail where the other body was found.

“Find anything interesting down there?” Hotch asked as the four of them approached.

“Yeah, it does look like some kind of ritual site,” Gideon admitted. “Although Ambers has got some theories to suggest otherwise.”

The unit chief looked hesitant, but decided not to ask about them.

“Have any of you heard the expression ‘lod’ or the acronym L-O-D?” Reid asked as Elle helped him up the hill.

“Not me,” Elle responded and Morgan looked like he was about to agree before the whole team was distracted by a woman shouting.

“Cherish?” she cried, running up the hill. “Cherish?”

She was blonde and in her mid-forties. She was clearly distraught, trying to walk straight onto the scene, but the deputy held her back.

“Sheriff Bridges!” she shouted, still trying to push past the deputy.

“It’s okay, Harris. Let her in,” the sheriff said.

“Was Adam Loyd killed out here?” she demanded as she ducked the yellow tape.

“Who told you that, Veronica?”

“Was he?” she tried again. The sheriff tried to calm her, but she just interrupted him. “My daughter was with him. They were out running together this morning. Oh my god, and I can’t find her,” she started to ramble. “Cherish is missing. Cherish is missing! Help me, please!”

And finally, she broke down into sobs.

~ ~ ~

“What’s the protocol for murder turned missing persons case?” Lydia inquired as she followed Gideon around the trail.

“Well, you were right about one thing,” Gideon replied. “It’s not ritual satanism. We’ll build our profile after the search, but it’s starting to look like a killer cult.”

“Multiple unsubs. Easier to kill the guy and kidnap the girl. You think these people were targeted?”

“It’s possible. Cults aren’t usually prone to crimes of opportunity. They normally kill people as part of their message.”

“So, are the carvings and wax part of their message or are they trying to throw us off the scent?”

“Guess we’ll find out when we have more evidence,” he retorted. “Hey Hotch!”

They’d looped back to the site and Gideon immediately made a beeline for Agent Hotchner. Lydia was a few steps behind and missed whatever Gideon had said to him, but she could see his disapproval.

“Gideon,” he warned. “We talked about this.”

She caught up, standing next to her mentor.

“Ambers, you’ll be with Gideon during the search. Make sure the exercise doesn’t kill him.”

She smiled. “Yes, sir.”

Once he was gone and she was alone with Gideon once more, she turned on him. “What was that about?”

“I got into trouble after your first case,” he admitted. “The condition was that I would be in charge of you and make sure you weren’t making the FBI look bad.”

Her eyebrows shot up into her hairline. “Have I done something wrong?”

“No. But I’m not supposed to let you go off on your own. During your first case, I put you in charge of going down to forensics and looking for DNA while none of the team was present and then I let you take a vehicle by yourself to work with Hotch. You did good work,” he promised her, “but if something goes wrong, Hotch’s ass is on the line, just as much as mine or yours is.”

“I’m sorry.”

He sighed. “This is by no means your fault. I just want to give you more opportunities to work with the things you’re good at instead of following me around like a lost dog. My goal is to get our boss to realize you’re an asset to the team, but how am I supposed to do that if you aren’t allowed to make calls sometimes?”

“An asset…?” she asked. “Gideon, I’m just a forensic scientist. Barely that, I’m a crime scene technician. My job is to pick up things that look weird and put them in bags.”

“But you could do so much more,” he argued. “You were a chemistry major. You were at the same level as Reid down there and he’s got 3 PhDs. At the Crawford house on our last case, you were setting up the victimology with us. And like you said, that’s not your job. You record evidence, you don’t analyze it. Especially not in a big picture scenario. But today, you looked at the few photos we had and already determined that ritual killing didn’t make sense. I think you’re a wonderful addition to the team.”

Lydia tried to shake her head with disagreement, but another thought came to mind. “What did you just ask Hotch, then?”

“I wanted you to be in charge of one of the search parties.”

She laughed. “Really? What good would that do?”

“The more groups, the less people for each of us to profile. I thought we could trust you with it, but Hotch is still unsure.”

“No kidding. Gideon, I’m an intern. I appreciate the thought, but I really am okay with just… learning from you. Going to the scene and bagging the things you tell me to.”

Gideon smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re too smart to be quiet for that long. You’d break sooner or later and begin to explain your theories. Might as well just let you get it out from the start.”

“Maybe that’s best,” she agreed. “But I know I’m not an agent. Feel free to tell me if I step out of line.”

“Do you want to be an agent?” he inquired.

“I just wanna look at crime scenes,” she explained, failing not to smile. “I don’t need the gun or the badge. I doubt I’d be any good at being an agent. Not that I’d flat out deny the opportunity, but it’s not exactly my dream.”

“Well, I think you’d be a good interrogator.”

This was news to her. “What?! I’m not exactly intimidating.”

“No, but interrogating suspects can go many ways. It’s all just a show. Sometimes we want an unsub to be so comfortable they forget they’re being watched and they slip up. Sometimes we want to put them on edge and make them think that confessing is the best option. And you’re a good actor from what I’ve seen.”

“What have you seen?” she challenged.

“To start, you claim that you hide your anger issues very well.”

She nodded.

“And you still won’t tell me what you were up to this morning when I texted you.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “I don’t see why you care! It didn’t make me late and it hasn’t affected the case!”

“When Garcia told you she was going to do a background check on you, you said you didn’t have any secrets,” he responded.

“Fine. I was on a call with my sister. That’s all. Now tell me why it matters to you!”

This put a stop to the pace of their conversation. He gave her his profiling look for the second time that day and said, “It went bad, huh?”

“My sister and I always seem to be at each other’s necks… it went as well as I suspected.”

Gideon swallowed. “I ask because I care about you, Lydia. Tell me about your sister.”

Her breath hitched. He wanted to just… talk now? Gideon had just decided to be her friend?

She felt guilty for questioning his motives, but the suspicious nature in her won. “We can talk about my family when we aren’t working a case.”

He didn’t seem surprised by her answer, but as he left, she noticed that he was definitely disappointed.

~ ~ ~

Lydia sighed, looking over the note Elle had brought in after the search had wrapped up. She dusted it for fingerprints, but the thing was such a mess, having been written in charcoal, that if there were any, they would have been smeared beyond belief.

The corner was covered in blood, which Lydia would have tested, if it weren’t for the fact that the note claimed Cherish Hanson, their missing victim, would be sacrificed that evening. The team didn’t have time for her to take it to a lab and if they did, it would mean pulling Gideon from work to monitor her… she was starting to see why he thought this mentoring thing was frustrating.

So, she sat in the station and listened to them give a profile while she mindlessly looked over the photos and evidence they had to see if she got any brilliant ideas.

Sheriff Bridges’s son, Cory, was present for the profile, although Lydia wasn’t entirely sure why, and as the team finished up their description of the unsub, he was the first to speak up, admitting that he knew someone who fit the profile.

They wrapped up the meeting and took Cory to a private room to discuss the kid he thought was responsible. It hadn’t even been five minutes before the team was filing back out, and towards the door of the station.

“Drop what you’re doing, Ambers,” Gideon ordered.

She jumped up, running out of the station behind them. “What’s going on?”

“Kid named Mike Zizzo. He’s got a place where his group, the ‘Lord’s of Destruction’, hang out. We’re going to raid it, once we’ve got the teenagers cleared, I want you to sweep for evidence.”

“Got it.”

Gideon let her slide into an SUV with Hotch, Morgan, and Reid, before closing the door behind her, shutting himself out. “I’m not going on the raid.”

Hotch stuck his head out of the open window. “What’s up?”

“I don’t know, yet,” Gideon replied and walked off. He was following a girl. A high schooler who had been at the search with them.

“Gideon, you can’t just-” he started and Lydia saw him glance at her in the rearview mirror. She knew for a fact that if she hadn’t been there, Hotch would have let him do whatever he pleased. But Gideon was gone.

Frustrated, Hotch rolled up the window and drove off.

Lydia hoped it wasn’t her. In fact, she knew it wasn’t her. Hotch was very rule-oriented and Gideon was putting him on edge. But she felt so bad.

“Sorry that you’re stuck babysitting me,” she mumbled as they hit the road.

Reid glanced at Lydia and Morgan turned to Hotch, both of them unsure what interaction had just taken place. For the second time, Lydia made eye contact with the unit chief in his mirror.

“What did Gideon tell you?” he sighed, guilt evident in his voice.

“That we were getting you in trouble.” Lydia made her voice as light as possible so that Hotch knew she wasn’t totally serious, but she felt weird bringing it up around the others. She wasn’t sure how close they all were yet. Maybe if she spoke about the tension between Hotch and Gideon right now it would spread around the office like a fire and Hotch would be dealing with rumors on top of everything else.

“I’m going to be honest, Lydia,” he said, automatically making her nervous. “I like you. I think you’re very talented. But I’m starting to wonder if you’ve got some kind of spell on Gideon, because he takes every opportunity to insist that I should demand that Strauss give you a full-time job and I… I don’t know you that well yet.”

“That’s totally fine,” she told him. “I don’t… need a job. I promise I had no idea he even wanted me on the team until today.”

“Dang Hotch,” Morgan spoke up. “Did you really think Lydia was manipulating Gideon? I doubt she’s capable of it.” He turned around from the passenger’s seat and gave her a smile.

“Thanks? But I get it. It’s not ‘cause he doesn’t like me… I mean, I hope not,” she joked. “I’m just… more trouble than I’m worth.”

“I think Gideon’s right.” It was Spencer this time. “You’d be a good addition to the team.”

She sent him a smile, but he wasn’t looking directly at her, so she had to wonder if he saw it.

“We’ll talk about it if she doesn’t get me fired before the end of the year,” Hotch agreed, pulling up to an old house and parking outside. There were clearly a lot of people inside, music was blasting and their shadows haunted the windows. “Stay in the car until I give you the okay to enter the building,” he instructed, turning around to look directly at Lydia.

“Yes, sir.”

The two younger agents started to hop out, guns at their sides, leaving her alone with Hotch.

“Thank you for being understanding,” he said softly, then jumped out of the car himself.

Lydia leaned back against the car seat. He didn’t hate her. And Morgan and Reid didn’t argue about her joining the team officially either. It was immensely relieving. But her relaxed state quickly retreated as she reminded herself not to get her hopes up.

The commotion in the house took a few minutes to die down after the agents and deputies rushed in. They had the kids leave in a line, the deputies surrounding them on all sides to make sure they didn’t try to pull any stunts as they left, but everyone there just looked disappointed and perhaps embarrassed they’d been caught.

Morgan escorted out Zizzo in handcuffs, Elle on his tail to help get him into one of the vehicles. Then Hotch stepped outside and waved Lydia in.

She grabbed a pair of gloves and ran up, dodging the darkly dressed, metal covered teens, and followed Hotch.

The place looked as much the same inside as it did out. The walls were covered in graffiti, but it was very artistic. Whoever had set the place up took a lot of care in their work, nothing like the chicken scratch on the note Elle found or on the tree in the woods. The tables were covered in candles, most of them a deep red. And tons of creepy statuettes of goat heads and caricatured satans.

“Gideon claims you’re good at analyzing a scene,” Hotch admitted. “What are your thoughts?”

Lydia glanced at him hesitantly. “Well… my first thought is that I love the wooden arched doorway. And my second thought is that if Zizzo set up this house, he’s not our guy.”

Hotch tried not to look surprised. “And you say that because…”

“Because it may be uh… devil worship?” she said, for lack of a better word. “But it’s really nice looking. All those kids just want to defy their super religious parents and he’s made this place feel comfortable for them. They get to enjoy the cool art and decorations, drink some beer, hang out with friends. That’s normal teen stuff. The person who snatched a cheerleader from a hiking trail and killed her boyfriend wouldn’t care about these people.”

“Maybe he only cares for the people in his ‘in’ group,” he suggested.

Lydia shrugged. “Maybe? But it sounds like these kids drift in and out. I mean, Cory was invited once and he never mentioned any sort of initiation. They didn’t make him prove his loyalty. I bet they just offered him a beer and left him to his own devices.”

He didn’t respond to that, simply started walking to the door, the last of the kids finally having been escorted out. “I’m going to leave you here with Reid and Morgan. Search the place from top to bottom. A girl’s life is at stake.”

“Will do!” she called to him, watching his form disappear out of the door.

When she turned around she almost jumped at the sight of Dr. Reid’s approaching figure.

“He left you with us,” Reid mentioned, curiously.

“He must trust you guys not to let me fuck up,” Lydia informed him. “Sorry you got passed the babysitting hat.”

“Don’t apologize,” he told her, stepping away to look at the building around them. “I’m curious to see what you find.”

The last of the deputies began to file out and Morgan eventually ended up joining the two of them as Lydia ransacked all the drawers and cabinets she could find.

~ ~ ~

After about an hour, the last of the deputies had to leave to give a report to the sheriff, meaning the three BAU members were left without a car in the woods with no cell signal.

The two boys had gone outside to see the last deputy off and Lydia was just finishing up her work. The house was so dusty she was starting to think she could drown in all the thick air. But so far, she found nothing incriminating except all the satanist propaganda.

She kicked around the rugs on the floor of the opening room, searching for loose boards or any obvious evidence underneath them, when she heard Reid’s muffled voice say, “You had no right, man!”

She turned her head abruptly, stopping what she was doing to listen to the altercation outside.

“I- I confided in you. This is- You know, this is exactly what I get when I trust someone. It gets thrown back in my face.” He seemed distraught and Lydia had to fight her want to go ask what was wrong with the knowledge that Morgan was probably better to handle this situation.

“Mine started six months after I got into the BAU,” Morgan replied. Silence. “Yeah… Mine.”

She dropped down to search the wooden floorboards once more, but she couldn’t block out their conversation as she worked. She silently hoped that they wouldn’t come back in and find her eavesdropping on what appeared to be a very personal conversation.

Morgan started a story on one of his earlier cases as an agent. People getting strangled in Montana. He felt guilty for not starting a profile until after another death appeared, because he wanted to use it to confirm his theories. He started to have nightmares about the last victim, who died because he waited for the unsub to make their next move.

“What did you do?” Spencer asked.

“Gideon,” was Morgan’s reply. “He knew. I didn’t tell him. I was like you. I didn’t want anybody to know. He just… he knew.”

Lydia could feel a melancholy wash through her stomach as she realized that Reid was clearly going through something. And once more that was replaced by guilt as she realized she shouldn’t know that about Reid without his consent. She was just thinking about interrupting them, so she wasn’t subject to more of their secrets when Morgan said something that made her freeze in her spot.

“You think the team won’t understand? Take Lydia in there, for instance. Do you think she doesn’t see her roommate every time she shuts her eyes? To be honest, I don’t think I would have taken this job immediately after what she went through.”

There was an emptiness in her, consuming her and pulling her from her work. She really had tried to avoid thinking about Jenna at all costs. But it was difficult when her death was the reason Lydia had met the team in the first place.

“It’s been months,” Reid reasoned.

“Time means nothing when you lose someone like that. It will eat away at her for the rest of her life.”

Their conversation was put on pause when the sound of a car engine approached, coming to a rough stop outside the house.

“Did you find her? Cherish?” It sounded like Cory’s voice and Lydia stood up, wiping a tear with the inside of her arm before making her way to the door.

“No.”

“Did Zizzo say anything?”

“We don’t know. We’ve been here the whole time,” Morgan informed him.

Lydia stepped out of the house, trying to ignore the concerned look Reid gave her as she jumped off the porch and instead found herself almost running into the pacing teenager.

He stopped, looking shocked to see someone else there, and his gaze lingered on her gloved hands for a moment too long.

“Cory, calm down,” Reid instructed.

“How am I supposed to calm down? Cherish is missing. Did you check all over?” he demanded, trying to push past Lydia and get into the house himself.

“We searched the whole house,” Reid confirmed.

“It’s clean,” Lydia agreed.

“What about the outbuilding?”

“Outbuilding?” Morgan repeated almost immediately.

“Did you check the other area? Back in the woods?”

“I didn’t know there was another area,” Morgan said.

“Yeah, it’s like a- like a sluice structure or something. He took me there once. It’s this way,” the kid rambled before taking off into the trees.

Lydia raised an eyebrow at Morgan who shrugged, then said, “Let’s go.”

~ ~ ~

The hike was brutal. Lydia was starting to feel the weight of the day wearing down on her as she followed the boys farther into the woods.

“It’s up here,” Cory called back to the group. “This is their secret place.”

That was sketchy to Lydia. A secret place on top of their already secret place?

Morgan pulled out his flashlight, scanning the walls in search of anything suspicious. And he definitely found it. A pentagram and the initials LOD were painted on the side of the building, same handwriting, same red paint.

He insisted that they stay put until he had searched the outside of the house. He knelt down and waved his light underneath the building, which was elevated so that it was level to the side of the mountain. Then, once he was sure that no one was nearby, he nodded for Lydia to follow him and they made their way up the stairs to the front of the building. 

Faintly, she heard Reid start talking to Cory, but couldn’t make out much other than the stress in the boy’s voice.

The door was shut, but Morgan didn’t even bother opening it, because the windows along the sides were large enough to step through and no longer had any glass coverings. He stepped inside first, sweeping the light in search of anyone in the room, then stepped out of the way for Lydia to follow.

And there she was. Poor Cherish Hanson, her skin all blue with a bloody rats nest for hair. She was long gone.

Lydia could see Morgan shaking his head, so she reached out and grabbed the flashlight from him. “You can go tell them. I’ll do a quick sweep of the scene and head right out.”

He nodded, but there was something in his eyes that made Lydia nervous. He seemed startled by the girl’s appearance, but after years on the job, she doubted that could be.

“Is she in there? Is she alright?” Cory demanded, the minute Derek had left.

Lydia shut them out for a minute, looking for anything out of the ordinary, but the place was long abandoned. The only places where the dust layer had been disturbed were around the door up to where the body had been left. But that was understandable, seeing as Cherish was likely killed while on her run and dragged up the mountainside. This killer was athletic alright.

Still, she kicked around the leaves on the ground for a minute to look for something out of place and gently looked over Cherish’s body for anything out of the ordinary.

There was a lot more to her murder than her boyfriend’s. The killer clearly didn’t expect her to be with Adam and had to hit her multiple times to ensure she was dead. The blood trailed down the side of her face and across her chest. But if there was anything to gain from the little details she had, she didn’t know what it was.

Seeing as the unsub had clearly used the door to bring the girl in, Lydia used it to leave and caught Cory’s attention as he spoke to Morgan.

“-because of that, we also gotta look for someone who might try to put himself right in the middle of an investigation so that he can influence things,” Morgan was telling the high schooler which suddenly struck Lydia as odd. Gideon had been insistent that the unsub would be on one of the search parties, for the same reasons Morgan was explaining to Cory, but Zizzo definitely wasn’t.

She removed her gloves and another thing occurred to her. Reid wasn’t there. She started down the stairs to ask Morgan where he’d gone, but Morgan didn’t stay there long enough for her to say anything and instead got closer to Cory.

“Especially if he knows exactly what it is that we’re looking for.”

She froze, her eyes fixated on the pair. Did Morgan think Cory had done this? It didn’t exactly fit their ‘killer cult’ profile from earlier.

Cory pushed away from the tree and instead stepped towards the building. “You mean, me?”

He faked innocence well, but Lydia could tell in that moment that he was panicking.

“That was more than just a lucky guess, wasn’t it?” Morgan asked, not yet realizing that Lydia had wandered outside or that Cory was slowly inching closer to her.

“I knew about the building,” he agreed.

“You also knew about Zizzo. And the satanism.”

Finally, he faced the two of them and realized the predicament Lydia was in. Cory had placed himself between her and Morgan, meaning if he got violent, Lydia was unarmed and Morgan couldn’t get to her.

And Lydia knew it, too. She made eye contact with the agent, hoping he would be able to signal to her what to do, but he hadn’t thought that much through. Sending Reid away was easy enough, but he had relied on the hope that Lydia would spend longer looking for evidence.

“I was only trying to help,” Cory argued.

“Well, you did that,” Morgan replied. Lydia saw him beckoning her forward with his hand at his side, hoping that if she could just get close enough, he could pull her out of harm's way. “We couldn’t have found this place without you.”

Once she took her first step off the stairs, Cory realized what she was doing. Before she could process what was happening, he had wrapped an arm around her neck and a gun was pressed into her left cheek.

Both the boys were yelling at her, she realized, but still failed to process what they were saying. Her hands were out in front of her defensively and she realized that Morgan had pulled his gun on Cory, but couldn’t shoot while she was in the way.

“Hey, Morgan,” Reid called, his voice coming from down the hill. “No one’s up there-”

“Reid,” he warned and the doctor froze at the sight before him, also whipping out his gun.

“This got all messed up,” Cory grumbled and Lydia couldn’t help but scoff.

“Clearly.” He pushed the barrel more firmly against her face, trying to increase the pressure. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Morgan said.

“She wasn’t supposed to be with him. It was his run. He runs it every day, not her!”

“Cory, listen to me. We can fix this. But you gotta let Lydia go.”

“I never meant to hurt Cherish. But make no mistake, I will shoot your girl, right now.”

“No, you won’t.”

He awkwardly tightened his grasp on her to cock the gun. “Tempt not a desperate man,” he threatened. “Put the gun down!”

“Okay. All right.” Morgan turned his wrist so that his gun was facing another way and slowly  lowered it. “You win.”

“Drop it. Drop the gun!”

“Ok. Ok! You win! I’m putting the gun down.”

He did as he said and after some hesitation, Reid did the same.

“You’re in control, Cory. Let her go.”

As Morgan argued with him, Lydia remembered her talk with Gideon that afternoon about having her questioning suspects. He told her that the profile would help them determine how to get an unsub to slip up. So, what did she know about Cory?

He was terrified. He’d really thought that his plan to frame Zizzo was foolproof. He hadn’t thought this far ahead and, by that logic, he wasn’t thinking about what he’d do if he made it out of this.

“What are you going to do, Cory?” Lydia said, steadily. “Shoot the three of us and then what? Skip town?”

“Shut up!” Her lips had been squished so far to the side of her face by the gun that she was barely understandable.

“I’d rather not. But listen, I’m gonna give you some advice. You’ll have to ditch the car and fast. It’s really nice, but it doesn’t blend in well. Switching the plates only gets you so far.”

“I said, be quiet! I will shoot you!”

“How do you plan to make money?” she inquired, still not listening to him. “You’re kinda screwed there. And I’d feel bad for you, but… you did kill two of your friends and are planning to kill me and two of my friends so the sympathy only goes so far.”

Morgan spoke up once more. “You’re just a horny kid who wanted to get rid of the cheerleader’s boyfriend.”

“No!” Suddenly, Cory’s anger was targeted back at him and Lydia felt his hand shaking, the gun relaxing then being pushed once more against her face.

“That was never my intent-” he started, as multiple things happened at once.

The gun was removed from her cheek in an instant and as he flung his arm towards Morgan, his grip across her chest loosened enough for her to extend an arm out and grab his left hand. Morgan took the distraction to run at him, knocking them both back against the stairs and Lydia struggled to keep Cory’s arm pointed away from them.

He got off one shot into the forest floor before she could grapple it away from him and she rolled off the stairs, hitting the ground painfully, to get out of Morgan’s way.

Morgan got in a solid punch across the face, leaving Cory with a bloody mouth and not much energy to fight back. And by that point, Reid had reclaimed his gun and had it trained on the boy as Morgan handcuffed him.

“You all right?” Reid asked, looking away from Cory and Morgan for a moment to watch her get up.

“Yep,” she replied. Her voice was strained after taking such a hard fall, but she didn’t seem upset. She brushed herself off and looked over her scraped up palms. “I did just get tackled by Morgan, though.”

The older man shook his head, pulling Cory up off the stairs. “You’re welcome, Lydia.”

~ ~ ~

Gideon sat against the back of one of the police cars, watching Reid and Lydia give their accounts of what happened to Hotch and Sheriff Bridges separately. Lydia was clearly exhausted, her clothes were covered in dirt, and there was a lack of patience in her face, but Gideon was proud of her.

As he stared, Morgan approached beside him, also leaning against the car.

“I see it now,” he said quietly, so only Gideon could hear. “Why you like her so much.”

“Do you?”

Morgan sighed. “Your girl had a gun pressed so forcefully against her cheek she could barely talk, but her voice betrayed no fear. I don’t think even you or Hotch could be that calm in a crisis. She didn’t talk at a fast pace or stutter on a single word. It was unbelievable.” 

“When we questioned her about her roommate,” Gideon explained, “she seemed guilty to Reid and I. I said something insensitive to her to see how she’d react, maybe give something away. Her anger only revealed to me a recognition in her eyes. I realized that she’d been here before. Questioned mercilessly. Accused. And suddenly I was the guilty one. So, I tried to switch tactics, but before I could, she was apologizing to me. She said she’d always had some anger management issues and told me that she’d calm herself down so that we could continue the investigation.

“Have you ever seen that before? She’d just lost her best friend and was more concerned about our case than she was her feelings. I knew right then her heart was twice the size of an average FBI agent. I don’t know what that sort of compartmentalizing does to her. I’m still trying to find out. But from where I stand, she looks like she’s capable of saving a lot of people.”

Morgan sucked in his lips, in contemplation. “All right. How do we let her do that?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

~ ~ ~

Lydia followed the team back inside, expecting to be given some paperwork for the case before she could go back to her apartment, but Gideon stopped her as she stepped into the bullpen.

“Lydia, you should really go home. I’ll handle anything you need to do.”

She rolled her eyes. “Gideon, please don’t think I’m freaked out after what happened today. I can handle myself, I promise.”

“I trust you,” he said, genuinely. “But you’re clearly exhausted and you’ve just started graduate school if I remember correctly.”

She nodded and had to stifle a yawn in order to not prove him right so blatantly.

“Go home. Get some rest. You didn’t sleep the whole plane ride. I’ll drop all your paperwork off tomorrow morning. Or, if you’d prefer, we could have a cup of coffee during my lunch break and you can tell me about your phone call with your sister,” he suggested.

Lydia blinked, but it was such an innocent and friendly suggestion she couldn’t help herself from saying, “That sounds great,” and watching him walk off.

Over the course of just one day, a lot had been revealed to her about Gideon. The rest of the team trusted him so much. And after finding out he’d gone to bat for her in order to get her this job, she really couldn’t say no.

She came back to her senses after a second to watch Reid walk past her towards the elevator.

“Oh! Dr. Reid!” she called, suddenly. 

He turned around, a look of utter surprise dawning on his features. “Yes?”

“How exactly do you plan to help me get my PhD in three years?” she inquired.

She’d been thinking about it a lot, now that she had begun her online courses. And everything about it seemed quite appealing, although she still couldn’t reasonably explain why. If she really was going to take this path, she knew she had to do it as fast as possible in order to save money, because she could barely afford the master’s degree she’d long since planned to get.

He smiled and Lydia couldn’t stop herself from smiling back just from seeing the look on his face. His presence was frankly a very welcome one, now that she’d gotten to know him better these past two cases and she found herself drawn into whatever he had to say.

“With my help, make it two,” he said, confidently and the two of them made their way to the elevator together. “Although, if I’m going to help you, I’d much rather you call me Spencer.”

“Spencer.” The name left an interesting feeling in her mouth, being attributed now to genius beside her. “Alright. As long as you’re okay with that.”

And he didn’t respond. Not because he wasn’t, or else he wouldn’t have suggested it. But just hearing her say his name so softly made his stomach do a flip… and he couldn’t understand why.

[queerchoicesblog]

New York, At Last (SC Titanic, Zetta x Adele Series)

So, folks, here’s the new chapter of the series. Thank you so much for your support, hope you enjoy it!

Little disclaimer-favor: especially since the tags don’t seem to be working anymore, if you do enjoy it, please consider supporting the author & sharing this. A little gesture that means a lot!

Word Count: 3000+

Zetta x Adele Tag: @storyscaped​ ​ @storyscapefanficarchive​ @marmolady​ @animus-and-anima​ @hayley-carter19 @escako​  @everlastingchoices​ @indescribablechoices​ @ahrielstuff​ @bornonawdnsday​ @nazario-sayeed​  @h-doodles​ @adele-serda​ @marlcasters​ @brightpinkpeppercorn​  @michelleconnoly​ @charliejane-blog​ @ghost-of-yuri​  @choicesgremlin​  @lanzhansguqin​ @orange-elephants​

Zetta x Adele Series Tag: @eternal-langdon​ @nydeiri​

➡️ Ch. 1, Ch. 2/1, Ch. 2/2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6, Ch. 7, Ch. 8/1, Ch. 8/2, Ch. 9, Ch. 10/1, Ch. 10/2, Ch. 11/1, Ch. 11/2, Ch. 12, Ch. 13

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A thick fog rises and surrenders our ship as we sail towards New York. It lingers there, night and day, as if it's escorting us to our destination. We can hardly see the ocean anymore, we acknowledge its presence by the murmur of the waves, the breathing of the cold water beneath us. The captain must have given order to be careful because we proceed at low speed, "like in a funeral march" I find myself noting one day. I refrain myself from saying that out loud though. We are asked to stay below deck as much as possible as storms are announced. We sail through troubled waters: some of us get sick, others are too shattered to even register the rolling of the ship. The morale on board has crashed since our first day here. Both the crew and the passengers of the Carpathia have offered us help, sympathy and support. Some gave us their coats or whatever clothing item could keep us warm after we lost everything. They didn't ask for anything in return. Others helped searching for missing people: now a list of names is pinned in one of the halls. People check it regularly with a mix of hope and dread: hope to see their friend or loved one again, dread to spot a black cross by the name so dear to them. If someone cannot be found here on the ship is declared perished in the sinking. Unofficially, obviously, the mourning ones can still try and search them when we reach shore but most surrender under the weight of those tiny scribbles. Those black crosses are not just a quick sign on paper, they pierce through their aching hearts.

As our rescue journey is coming to an end, we are all mourning. The lucky ones who were reunited with their families and friends keep a low profile in respect of all those who lost their loved ones. Their grief is overwhelming, you can sense it, even breathe it in the grim silence that fill the night. Poor souls... I feel almost guilty when on our last day on board I accidentally bump into two familiar faces. I was looking for a steward when I collided with...Lawrence. Felix is right behind him. My heart skips a beat as I call out their names. Lawrence smiles at me and I am so relieved that we met again. We hug each other and I inhale the faint perfume of his eau de cologne. They survived, they survived... I repeat those words in my head as I pull Felix in for an embrace too. They both survived: I don't even start imagining what sort of pain would have tortured one of them if the other didn't make it. They wouldn't have allowed it: if there had been no way to save both of them, they would have gone down with the ship together. I know it, I saw it in their eyes when we parted on the deck. They told me how they stayed until there was no time left. Many of those who are here now owe them their lives: they kept directing women and children and even some men to the boats before jumping on the very last lifeboat at the very last minute. I couldn't be more proud of these two unaware heroes I am honoured to call friends. They are going to visit the little boy they rescued and his brother: the woman they entrusted them to is still taking care of them. Others passengers are helping too. No one has understood what language they speak or where they're from, where their parents are but at least they're safe. "That's all that matters now", Felix notes and I agree. If only the world could see what shining beauty my friends hold... Before parting, they ask me about me: could I find a spot on a boat fast? Did I succeed in speaking some sense into the thick skull of that officer? Is James with me? I share my last moments on the ship with them and when I am still in the middle of my answer, Lawrence reaches for my hand and gives it a squeeze. "Did you find Miss Carrem? Is...is she here?" he asks, concern written all over his face. Felix is grimacing too. Their expression relaxes only when I assure them that yes, we were reunited on the deck and she's now resting with her sister. Lawrence's face color up again as he lets out a deep sigh of relief. "We were so worried, Zetta! When we spotted her on the deck we immediately directed her to the lifeboats and to you...but we weren't sure if you two could find each other in the midst of all that chaos or get on a boat" he explains. "Yes, we pictured the worst...we're so relieved, Miss Zetta, so incredibly relived" Felix continues, smiling. I wonder what I did good in my life to have men like them on my side. Their affection and empathy soothe my troubled soul and make me wish to never part from them. I should invite them more often when we reach shore, yes we should see each other more often...things can change and will change now that we'll be all in New York. I ask them if they want to see Adele: I can wake her, I'm sure she will be more than happy to see them. They assure me it's fine and beg me not wake her. They will visit later maybe but for now they're just happy "she's here safe and sound". "And that you are together again" Lawrence adds with a tired smile. The soft warmth in his voice tells me what I already know: he knows, they know. How could they not? But my secret is safe with them and I am grateful to them for the genuine care they showed to Adele. And well, me. I hug them both one more time then we part ways. I hope to see them very soon. I must invite them over once our lives will slowly go back to a new normal. Maybe this tragedy will make us closer. When I finally find a steward, I am informed that we are approaching shore. "We'll be in New York tonight, ma'am" he announces with an encouraging smile as if to say that our troubles are over. I go back to my group and share the news. Adele and Hileni are still sleeping, only Teo, Jaime and Sabine greet my announcement with a nod but keeps quiet. I know what's going on in their heads, their thoughts are my thoughts: it feels so weird to hear these words after all we've been through. It almost doesn't feel right when so many of us are not here. Even when the news spread among the other survivors I hear no cheer, only sighs: could it be relief or grief, it's hard to tell. Maybe both. A silent question echo in the room: now what? Sabine shakes her head and gives a grim laugh. "I thought I would have been buried in work today, instead..." She looks down at her empty hands: my little Napoleon so efficient and fond of schedules must feel lost now. No scrupulous packing to do, no checking if our belongings are properly gathered or something is missing. She takes her job very seriously and - I realise it now- her job is her life. "Consider this a free day" It's Matteo speaking, he sounds absentminded but then he turns towards Sabine and meets her gaze. "Allow yourself to be the one being served, for once" he adds. He tries to smirk, one of his signature smirk I saw on his face so very often, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He looks tired and troubled just like us. As if on cue, a waitress approaches us and asks if we would like a cup of coffee. I see Sabine barely refraining herself from reaching out to help her: it feels almost unnatural to her being on the other side. The waitress is a young girl, I wonder if she's even twenty. She's chatty: she comments how nice coming home must feel after a journey like ours. She has relatives in New York but never visited the city properly although "it is truly gorgeous, isn't it?". She asks us if it's our final destination and wishes all the very best. She parts from us with an encouraging smile: she will come back later to bring coffee to Adele and Hileni when they wake up. It's evening when we enter the bay and proceed towards the pier, escorted by a scout cruiser. We move to one of the decks only to find it crammed with other survivors. We have to fight our way through the crowd once again to get a spot near the railing. We are all to see with our own eyes if our journey has truly come to an end. If we're truly safe. The lights of New York flicker in the distance despite the heavy rain. Now I know it's over, all the horrors and fears are finally over. A lump forms in my throat at the sight of my city, my home but I shake it off. I reach for Hileni's hand and guide her upwards, pointing her the sea of lights on the shore. "There, sweetheart, look! See those lights? It's America" Three long blasts of the ship horns frame my words. The young girl squeezes her eyes to see better; after a moment, a tiny smile crosses her lips and relief washes over me. "It's...shiny!" she notes. "Shiny is definitely one word for it" I agree, smiling at her naive awe. For a moment, I am reminded of myself, my young self when I first saw the city that eventually became my home. I wager I was around the same age of Hileni. And just like her, that sight filled me with a mix of wonder, adrenaline and vague hope. "Adal, come here, come see! It's New York!" she says, turning and calling for her sister. Adele is right behind. Hearing her name, she immediately approaches us. "So, this is it?" she asks, placing her hands on Hileni's shoulders and pressing a quick kiss on top of her head. "So unimpressed, huh, Adele?" I tease her but when our eyes meet a soft smile is on my lips. "I promise it gets better, give it time" Without thinking twice, I wrap my arm around her waist and move a bit closer. "Welcome to New York" I add and for some reason I feel my eyes welling with tears. My love keeps quiet but a weak smile draws on her face. She rests her head on my shoulder and we both look into the distance, towards our new lives to come. There is a grim irony in how bittersweet the end of our journey is. We were supposed to make a glorious arrival, a triumphant march towards America on the "Queen of the Sea" but there is nothing of that fantasy now. The Titanic sleeps at the bottom of the ocean with many poor souls, too many poor souls and we're proceeding towards our initial destination sombrely in a cold rainy New York night. The fog hasn't lifted completely so we must look like a ghost ship. A ghost ship approaching in the mist filled with us, ghosts among ghosts. The darkness around us is lit up only by the city lights at the horizon and the flashlights of cameras of a bunch of photographers on a tug boat following us to the pier. It goes without saying that the Titanic tragedy will be the talk of the town for weeks, months maybe...but I wish those vultures could have refrained themselves until we reach shore. We proceed in front of them in mournful silence, indifferent to the flashlights hitting our faces. When we finally dock and the vibration of the engines beneath our feet subsides, we all stand in disbelief. It's over, it's truly over now. We're in America. The Carpathia passengers are disembarked first: the Captain is afraid the scene will become tumultuous as we survivors, the main attraction for the press, will appear. His concerns are well founded judging by the loud buzz coming from beneath us. When it's our turn to go I take a deep breath and give one last grateful look to the crew waving us goodbye and whispering good wishes as we pass by. Heavy raindrops run down my face as I walk down the gangway but I hardly notice. As my feet touch land I shiver: I'm home yet...I feel like in a dream. I hold Adele's hand tight and we move cautiously forward into the crowd. I look around and all I see is a multitude of lost souls and flashlights. I don't hear what the men of the press are shouting, what the land officers are shouting back: all around their voices blend together and I can't distinguish who is saying what in this dissonant choir. "Let them pass, give them space for Christ's sake!" "What can you tell us about the sinking?" "A few words for the Tribune, please!" "Blankets, warm blankets, let me give you blanket, Sir" "How many people died?". I keep walking under the rain, following Sabine and Hileni proceeding arm in arm ahead of us. I think back at all those we left behind, like Charlie, my love's poor brave friend, and Mr. Andrews, defeated by his sense of guilt yet fighting till the end. All those desperate people screaming in the icy waters before surrendering to their grim fate. I think back of the upset young woman who was searching for her beloved Henry: I wonder where she is now and I pray a kind soul is taking care of her. We stop to let the medical personnel pass. They're holding a stretcher with a man buried under a pile of wool blankets. There are bandages around his head and his eyes don't seem to register what's happening around him. Another follows with a woman begging through tears the midwife holding her hand to call her husband. I shake away those thoughts before they can pierce my soul and I let my eyes wander through the crowd as we proceed. James is not far and so is Matteo. A few months ago I was standing on a pier just like this one, maybe this one waiting to start my journey. I was so relieved back then to get a break, to run away for a while...to see James again. So curious to see the "Ship of Dreams" everyone was talking about on my return trip. It all feels so hollow and distant now as if it happened in another life. Or maybe it's just me...I feel changed. I turn to Adele. My love looks like a stranded and forlorn Robin Crusoe setting foot on a foreign land: she keeps walking but she's lost, almost afraid of these new chaotic surroundings. She looks so fragile and different from the bold girl who stepped into my suite not so long ago. I feel like I could break her now if I hugged her too tight. I give her hand an encouraging squeeze and it seems to make her snap out of her misery. "Madam, the officers need to get the passengers names before letting everyone go, we asked around" Sabine's voice ground me. She and Hileni are looking at me, both getting soaked with rain. I'm grateful to my ever efficient little Napoleon for taking charge of the situation. "There are so many of us" Adele's sister notes grimly and she's right. No matter how few of us survived the sinking, the pier is packed and the press pushing in is of little help. "It will take hours to clear the pier" I sigh. That's when I notice Hileni trying and failing to hide a shiver. I am eternally thankful to the fan giving me one of her wintry coats on board as tonight New York is getting colder and colder and the rain keeps wetting our clothes, making it harder to fight the chill. I must reward my generous fan, I got her name and address I think... Adele's hand adjusts into mine and it's as cold as ice. She still has her blue jacket on and a thin blanket completely soaked around her shoulders. "You're cold" I wince. She tries to avoid my gaze, dismissing my concerns. She's just fine, she assures me but I know her well enough to detect a lie when I hear it. Even a white lie. "You too, poor thing" I add, addressing Hileni who wraps her blanket a bit tighter around her in full response. Maybe she wants to say she's fine too but I anticipate her. "No, no, we'll do something about it. We have to wait for a while here, huh? No sense in freezing us all in the meantime" I turn towards Sabine and add, with renewed resolution: "They're passing around warm blankets, right? You two stay here, Sabine and I will get some then we'll see what to do next" My little Napoleon gives me a firm nod and addresses some comforting words to Hileni, adjusting her blanket. "You don't have to, we're fine..." Adele voice is low and somber even if she's doing her best to conceal how shattered she feels inside. Her soft yet unconvincing smile makes my heart ache. She'll be good again when we'll be away from this chaos...it will take some time maybe, but she will be fine, truly fine again. I hate the idea of parting from her side but I'll be damned if I won't take care of her and her sister. Please allow me to, my sweet love. I cup her face and caress her damp cheek. She instinctively leans to the touch as if a little warmth was all she needed. "I won't hear it, love. Stay here, I'll be back before you know it" I whisper, a tender smile on my lips. Before taking my leave, I press a quick kiss on her forehead. Then I venture with Sabine through the messy crowd. With one last look above my shoulder I see the Carrem sisters holding hands and sharing a weak smile. Surprisingly, finding stewards with blankets is tougher thanI first thought. People are gathering and looking for other passengers and missing ones, indisciplined photographers pushing their way in to get a shot of the misery of the survivors. As we fight our way through and keep searching, I try to come up with a plan. "Once we sort all this bureaucracy out, we'll find a way to get out of here" I reason out loud with Sabine. I barely hear her answer. "I'm sure your fiancée Mr King is right here waiting for you, Madam-" "Adele and her sister can stay in the blue and green rooms...they should be comfortable there, what do you think?" My mind is racing as I scan the crowd. "The blue and the green rooms sound perfect, Madam. I'll have them ready in no time whe-" "Oh no need to, Sabine! I'm sure they're already in excellent state if I know you" We stop as an officer kindly asks if he could get our names. He smiles when I say mine. "Who wouldn't know your name, Miss Serda? It's good to see you here, safe and sound" A fan, obviously. After Sabine drops hers and he checks both on a list, we ask him where we can find blankets or coats for our friends. Apparently, we're not far from his colleague! We speed up following his directions and I think I can see a man handing out wool plaids to shivering passengers. "This way, Sabine, I see him!" I cheer. Then, out of the blue, a familiar voice calls my name. "Zetta!" I stop and turn towards the sound to see... "R-Richard?" I...completely forgot about him. I don't know how but I forgot about him. It only makes sense he would be here, I would have been to even if... I- I just erased such thought. He pushes his way through the crowd and runs towards me. He's crying, it's not just rain wetting his face. He pulls me into a tight embrace and bury his head in the crook of my neck. I feel awful for forgetting about him when he starts sobbing like a child, unafraid to show his feelings, his vulnerability. I hug him back and whispers words that I hope will make him stop crying and feel a bit better. No need to cry, I'm here. I'm here, Richard. It seems to work as he loosens up his arms and face me. It's the first time I see his face in months and vice versa he mine. I wonder what he sees. His hair are soaked, dark circles loom under his eyes and his lower lip still trembles a little as he cups my face and bring our forehead together. "I was so scared when I heard the news, Zetta, so scared..." his voice is shaky as he speaks. "I-I pictured the worst, I couldn't sleep, I-" "Oh Richard..." I wince. "I tried to get in touch with the Carpathia, to send Marconigrams, I only wanted to know if you survived but the communication lines were overcrowded-" I brush away a strand of wet hair from his face. "It's fine, darling, I'm here, I'm alive, we-" "You don't know how happy and relived I am that you are, Zetta! I don't know what I would have done if you weren't on this ship, if you died that night...I truly don't know-" He embraces me again just when flash powder ignites around us. Journalists. I don't even have to wait for their shoutings to know it's the greedy press. "Zetta, Zetta!" "A word for the press!" "Would you make a statement about the tragedy?" "How is it to be back?" "Is it true that the Titanic collided with an iceberg?" No, I can't do this. I don't want to. I hear Richard groaning like a wounded animal before turning towards them. "Please, leave her be, she's just arrived-" he says but his plea goes unanswered. Journalists are a famelic species and awfully stubborn. "Oh c'mon, you have no decency? Go away, I beg you" Richard rises a hand towards the cameras to protect us from the flashlights. His voice now betrays hints of anger but he's so broken that his words sound more like a prayer. I doubt this will work, knowing those vultures. He reaches for my hand and turns towards me, leaning close to be heard over the shoutings. "Come with me, lets get you out of here. James and his valet are with John, follow me" He pulls my hand gently but I freeze. I freeze as my mind race towards Adele. Adele waiting for me on the pier with Hileni. Adele to whom I promised to be back 'before she knows it'. "What?" It's all I can manage to say. My breath catches in my throat. Richard must think I couldn't hear what he says. He repeats his words and pulls my hand again. I don't move. "No, no I-I can't, I must go back, my...my friends are wait-" I mutter but I'm cut short by those vultures again. A flashlight blinds me: the vivid light hurt my tired eyes to the point I can't see for a moment, I cover my eyes and I'm momentarily surrounded by darkness only. I hear Richard shouting back at the journalist, he's angry and exasperated now. Then he wraps an arm around my waist and guides me away, shielding me with his body from the cameras. "This way, Zetta, Mademoiselle Sabine...." My feet move against my will. I don't wanna leave the pier yet I'm too exhausted to resist. I try though but my attempt is weak and can nothing against Richard's desperate determination to take us away from this mournful chaos. When I finally gets my vision back, I'm standing in front of two cars. John, Richard's right hand, is right there, holding an umbrella for Teo and James. He tips his hat respectfully and say words I don't listen but that I presume are some kind of welcome back, so glad to see you here or things like that. My eyes fall on my travel companions: Matteo displays a dignified yet somber demeanour -I wouldn't expect nothing less from him- and winces at me as I meet his gaze while Jaime...the expression on his face is completely numb. He's distant, somewhere far away from this pier and awfully quiet, the quietest I've ever seen him. Richard encourages us all to go before the journalists are back and guides me and Sabine towards a car, Teo and my nephew will ride in John's one. He opens the door and help my little Napoleon in then me. I throw one last look to the pier before taking my seat but I can't distinguish a single face. The sky is getting darker and the crowd is slow to disperse. I stretch my neck but it's useless...I can't see my love even if I know she's there somewhere out of view. Richard hurries in after me and hastily gestures at the driver to start the engine as the lights of the cameras approach fast. When the car cautiously moves towards the boulevard, he takes my hand into his and rises it to his lips. "It will all be alright, my love, I promise you. I'll take care of you..." I register the kiss on the back of my hand but I can barely hear him. I'm not here. I am sitting here in this car disappearing into the night but I'm not here, not truly. My mind is empty. All I can think of is Adele. My Adele waiting in vain for me in the rain. My Adele...

[stutterfly]

Love Bytes 02 | Firewall Breach | KNJ (M)

Last time on LB01: You find yourself at Tae & Kookie’s place for your Saturday night hangout. Some teasing and drinks are had, and you’re waiting outside for your ride with the boys while mindlessly swiping on Tinder. Hoseok catches a glimpse of the steamy image on your screen.

Rating: M (18+)

Word Count: 7.4K

Series: Love Bytes (2/?)

Genre: F2L, Fluff, Bestfriends!au, CollegeProjessor!Namjoon,  friendship feels, slow burn, fluff, sexual tension, humor, pining, embarrassingReader, light Jimin smut (tempting me)

CW: grinding, teasing, pining

Pairings: Namjoon x Reader, brot7

masterlist // previous chapter // next chapter 

Do not repost.

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Hoseok sits with his chin resting on a palm, staring down at the same image with a concentrated gaze. For a moment only your eyes move, now acutely aware of the man to your left. You’re frozen in place, hoping the shame will kill you instantly so you don’t have to face the subsequent humiliation.

You sit motionless, like maybe if you’re still enough, he’ll forget you’re there. You pray his perception is based on movement as your teeth sink deeper into the flesh of your knuckle, letting only shallow breaths escape. But as the seconds pass, they grow increasingly unbearable. You turn your head, ever so slightly, immediately locking eyes with Hoseok. The crooked smile on his face speaks volumes louder than the whisper that follows.

“Such a dirty girl.”

You blink a few times and guiltily drop your hand to cover the screen. A nervous laugh escapes your throat. “What do you mean?”

You squirm as you stretch your legs out and press your thighs together, trying to pretend he didn’t just catch you in the act. His eyebrows raise and you feel like prey as he tilts his head towards you, husky voice chastising you with your own name.

"You know what I mean."

You sit in stunned silence, wishing Hoseok would let you transform into a statue and become one with the stairway. It seems fate has other plans as a car rolls up to the curb.

“Show me your profile."

The tone of his voice tells you it's not a question, and the hand snaking around your back tells you there's no escape. Hoseok springs to his feet, dragging your stumbling form towards the car. You feel him prying the phone from your clammy fingers.

“You’re paying for my fucking drinks,” you counter, deathgrip on the case.

“Deal!” He’s shaking your hand and the phone fervently as you both shuffle down the final step.

To prove his merit, he presents you with a credit card, knowing full well you’ll beat him to the bar. You eagerly snatch it before he changes his mind. When keeps his palm extended and snaps his fingers a few times, you know he wants far more than just a peek at the profile. With a low groan, you surrender the device, hoping that by some miracle he’ll be merciful.

“Please don’t tell them, Hobi,” you quietly beg, swallowing hard. He’s already hungrily scanning through and you're desperate to limit the damage of whatever he's so eager to see.

You lock eyes with Jimin just as he finishes climbing into the back seat. He sends you a smile that threatens to make your knees buckle. You panic for a moment at the thought of being forced to sit next to him, but the alcohol is catching up to you and the growing heat between your legs nearly cancels out the butterflies in your stomach.

Hoseok hums, reaching for Namjoon, whom is already palming the handle on the front passenger door. "Nah nah nah nah nah. Let Y/N sit up front. I gotta show you something.”

Namjoon furrows his brow as Hoseok ushers you into the front seat. You stumble with one hand around the door frame, glaring daggers at him, which does not go unnoticed by your best friend.

Hoseok waves your phone up in the air and wiggles his eyebrows at you before taking his seat. “She needs our help.”

Namjoon shakes his head and speaks in a low tone, almost as if he’s talking to himself, “Man, she’s really pissed. I’m almost afraid to see.”

“Hobi, you’re such a dick,” you whine. God, if only you were a little more drunk, maybe you wouldn’t feel so mortified.

Hoseok is sandwiched between Namjoon and Jimin, giving a content sigh as he buckles himself in, unbothered by his knees jutting up on either side of the armrest. You’re about to fasten your own seatbelt when you feel pressure on the back of your seat. Namjoon loudly clears his throat, as if you couldn’t tell his gangly kneecaps were the culprit. You roll your eyes hard, making sure he sees the reaction in the side mirror before you comply. He presses his lips together in a thin line, and even in the dim light you can see the dimples forming.

The car takes off and you’re grateful the radio is on loud enough so you don’t have to hear what the men are saying. The driver has the rearview mirror angled off so you can’t use it to spy on the interaction. You’re not sure if that’s better or worse than being able to witness it. You attempt to distract yourself by looking out the window, but you can see Namjoon’s profile in the side mirror and your eyes are glued to him, looking for any sign of the judgement you know is coming. His lips are still pressed together, but you can’t make out any additional details as the street lights outside become sparse.

Hobi stone cold fucking betrayed you and you knew you should have expected it, but still. What the fuck did he mean you needed their help? You were doing fine! You wrote an intro with a few witty lines and a bullet list of interests. You admit they’re probably kind of niche, but similar interests make for good relationships, right? Compatibility is a standard for those kinds of things. After all, if you have an Intel CPU, you can’t be trying to install a motherboard built for an AMD processor; it just doesn’t work that way. People are kind of like that too, except with more variables. You’ve told yourself this countless times and yet now your resolve falters, knowing your marketing strategy is falling under heavy scrutiny.

Your pictures weren’t anything fancy --three selfies you had taken in the last couple months. Definitely nothing you would call “sexy,” but it was hard enough to write a profile that felt like “you,” nevermind taking photos for it.

The first was a smiling headshot on a day when your hair was cooperating and your skin wasn’t on a moody breakout rampage. The next was more cringeworthy, not because it was a bad photo --on the contrary, you looked pretty cute leaning casually against a wall, and for once your trademark sweatshirt wasn’t covering up the natural curves of your body. But you know the painstaking effort that went into taking it, and how many times you had to run back and forth from the camera to the wall before auto-timer went off. How many terrible body selfies did you take in order to get the one? Too fucking many. You involuntarily crinkle your nose, remembering some of the particularly unflattering ones. You silently bless your past self for deleting those ahead of time.

The last was an angled selfie of you in the lab, elbow deep in repairs, completely taken on a whim while you were working late. I mean, it is your life after all: fixing shit and looking like a hot mess, pretty much 24/7. Might as well be honest about it.

You spare a peek back. The phone screen illuminates Namjoon’s glasses and you can see your first profile picture reflected there. Jimin leans in, resting his chin on Hoseok’s shoulder; you know your profile has his full attention. He’s pointing and saying something, but you can’t make it out. Your cheeks flare with heat; there’s no way your pictures would be up to his standards.

Jimin touches the screen and the reflection in Joon’s eyes changes. You’re suddenly positive all three photos are way shittier than you remember. You lean out further from behind the seat, eyes wide with drunken curiosity at the reaction. It’s like a fucking trainwreck and as bad as the damage is, you want to see it. You fucking have to.

You don’t need much light to notice the way Hoseok is positively beaming; at least he’s enjoying this. Fucker. Jimin darts his tongue out and you’re so focused on the path it traces around his mouth that you miss the way Namjoon sucks in a shallow breath and bites down. It’s only when you notice the absence of the reflection in his glasses with the tilt of his head, that you realize Joon is reacting at all. He leans down to get a better look, slowly letting his lip drag across his teeth. You freeze, shocked at the salacious response to whatever caught his eye. What the fuck? No way was that in response to anything you have up there. You swear to god if they got distracted and are using your phone to look at porn, you’re going to be pissed.

All three men have their fingers on the phone now, talking amongst themselves and leaning in towards the screen. You’re ready to fucking explode with curiosity. You face forward in a huff, knowing you can’t hear them right now, no matter how hard you try. As you turn towards the window, you drum your fingertips on your thighs to the rhythm of pop song on the radio, aching to end the boredom.

Again, your eyes lock onto Namjoon’s silhouette, desperate to glean some information from him. You take note of the swoop in his hair, how it falls over his eye and brushes against his cheek; despite how unkempt it is today, it still looks good, and you kind of hate him for it. When was the last time he cut his hair anyway? He usually didn’t allow it to grow this long. You pat your pockets in search of your phone, meaning to text him a snarky reminder when you realize it’s still in the boys’ possession. Ugh. The dissonance of the trio’s laughter is the one thing that carries clearly through the car. You slink down into your seat, waiting to arrive so you can get drunk enough to ignore the world.

Thankfully, the car pulls up before much longer and you desperately scramble out and beeline for the doors of the club, ignoring the way Namjoon is calling your name. Whatever he has to say can wait until you have a drink in your hand. The bouncer sizes you up as you present ID, and you offer a dorky smile as he stamps your hand; despite being in your mid 20s, you still never feel like you’re old enough to go to these places.

It doesn’t take long for you to circumvent the crowd to an empty seat at the bar. You slide the bartender Hoseok’s card, asking him to start a tab before ordering your usual. Resting your elbows on the bar allows you to prop your chin on the back of your hands as your eyes drift across the room.

You don’t see the others, but you know they’re definitely here. You can feel Kim Seokjin’s drunk hoe energy sparking throughout the club. Out of all the drunk hoes in the room, he was probably the drunkest--and at this point, the sluttiest. That was part of the beauty of Jin, though. He was always so considerate, so ready to help at the drop of a hat, even when there was no way he possibly could. But he was also the same broad-shouldered hunk that accidentally flashed his dick to everyone in the room while attempting a handstand the week after you met him. That was when you learned to love basketball shorts.

At first you thought him to be soft spoken and meek, but that wasn’t really his persona. He did his best not to be imposing or threatening; he wanted to be someone whom could earn your trust, someone you could come to for any problem whatsoever, and he definitely was. So level headed, so genuinely kind, he could heal any wound with his dumb jokes and affectionate hugs. You loved him for it. But as with any of the friends you cared for so greatly, there were layers to him. And one of those layers was being the biggest pervert and party boy you have ever met in your goddamn life. When the alcohol came out, the floodgates opened, and the pants came off. Maybe someday if you were brave enough to break the firewall, you could take advantage of that opportunity. Fat chance though; you were fully aware of your cowardice.

The Tequila Sunrise slides its way over to you and you grant the bartender a nod of approval as you take that first delicious sip. Gentle fingers sweep against the nape of your neck. Ready to kill, you round on the offender to find no one. Quickly turning to the other side, Namjoon is already sitting in the seat next to you, resting his cheek on his knuckles with a grin. Your eyes narrow before he says a word. He presents your phone and your greedy fingers snatch it up, spinning back to face your drink.

He leans in close and you find your shoulder and neck craning together to combat the hot breath that tickles your ear. “How come you didn’t tell me you were on Tinder?”

It’s hard to detect the nature of his tone over the thrum of a heavy bassline, and it’s dangerous to assume anything about Namjoon. You’d learned that his profession had given him a great amount of practice keeping himself composed in front of others if he chose to do so.

You quaff the beverage in response, keeping your eyes fixed on his. Your cheeks pucker in around the straw and the liquid quickly disappears.

He watches you expectantly, blinking a few times and raising his eyebrows. When he realizes you’re downing the whole thing to avoid the question, he leans in close enough to be sure you’ll hear the deep sigh that follows, “Ooh yeah. Suck it up baby. Suck it all up.”

You almost choke on the liquid and cough around the straw briefly before smacking your hand against the bar and continuing to drain the cup.

“Oh? Are you choking? Is it too much? Oh, that’s it, use your hand. Mmm. I love it when you choke, baby.” The way he tilts his head towards his shoulder as he provokes you sends a jolt of electricity through your spine.

Christ, Joon.

You loudly smack your lips as you finish the drink. Namjoon steals the cherry sitting on a mountain of ice and pops it into his mouth, letting the stem dangle out from between his lips. “Attagirl.”

“Nothing that a good suck can’t distract you from, huh?” Your lips curl into a smile as you notice the bartender making his way back over and you motion for another as you starting flipping your phone around in your hands.

“You gonna actually talk to me about it? Or would you rather me just... sex you up some more?” He wiggles his eyebrows at you and you can’t help but laugh. He has the strangest way of making you feel at ease, even when you’re ready to burst from anxiety.

You place your phone on the bar and blink at him a few times, noticing the stem still hanging from his mouth. “Hey, I was gonna eat that!”

“Your own cherry?” He winks, giving you a playful nudge with his elbow. “Impressive.”

You swirl the straw around the ice in the empty glass a few times. “I didn’t want you judging me for using a dating app.”

He sits back and crosses his arms. “Judging? I’m not judging.”

You spare a glance, catching a hint of the dark smugness there. “I see you with your judgy eyes! You’re doing it right now!”

He snorts and rests his elbows on the bar. “I’m not."

"Yeah, okay," you sneer, rolling your eyes. You flash a grin at the bartender as before taking a short sip.

"I just… want you to be safe." His muffled voice dies against his hands, completely lost to your ears in the music. He orders a shot of tequila before he turns his head towards you. "Hey, we worry about you is all."

"I can take care of myself," you challenge, eyes narrowed.

Namjoon is eying the cherry nested on the rim of the new glass. You're quick to suck it up before he can take a swipe at it, gasping as the fruit lodges itself in the back of your throat. You choke out a few coughs and fish for the stem, pulling it from your mouth entirely.

He's got an eyebrow raised as his shot is set before him. "And you wonder why we worry."

"Fuck off," you manage to sputter, eyes watering.

You drag the spit covered cherry back into your mouth, separating the stem with your teeth. Namjoon’s eyes drag over you in revulsion before turning his attention to the shot before him. He downs it with a quick shake of his head and snatches the orange slice from your glass to act as a chaser. Instinctually, you crinkle your nose at him and continue to siphon alcohol through your straw, placing the cherry stem on the napkin below your drink.

“Wait, where’s your stem?”

Namjoon’s jaw snaps shut and he raises his eyebrows. “Mmm?”

“The cherry stem,” you continue, a laugh bubbling in your throat. Namjoon shifts in his seat and you can’t help the cackle that escapes you. “You fucking ate it?”

He expels a puff of air as he tosses the rind on the bar, leftover juices making a small puddle on the countertop. “You know, guys aren’t gonna like it when you laugh like a witch. Might wanna stop that shit.”

“I’m not about to take advice from someone who doesn’t know how to clean up after himself. Case and point.” You pick up the orange peel and drop it on the napkin, wiping the area around your drink.

He blinks at you indignantly, “Wow.”

“Yeah, I call it like I see ‘em.”

You sip on the fruity beverage, focusing your attention to the phone on the bar for the first time since Namjoon had returned it to you. You swipe at the screen and are surprised to see everything is as you left it. There’s a red notification bubble on your messaging app and you’re drunkenly tonguing the straw as you open it, trying to remember why you’d leave it unread.

Joonie: DIRTY GIRL???? 😂

Ugh. Now you remembered. You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or the fact that you know he’s reading his own words over your shoulder, but your face is burning. “You know I was hoping that text would just disappear if I ignored it, but the notification was bothering me.”

He lets out an amused hum and cocks his head to the side, watching you swirl your tongue across the straw between sips. He slides you a glass of water that definitely wasn’t there before you started looking at your phone. “You’re gonna get sick if you keep drinking this fast.”

He’s right.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you spit, using your finger to push the water back towards him and start sucking on the straw with renewed vigor.

“Then don’t be dumb,” he answers simply. You can tell he’s annoyed by the way he pokes his tongue out over his top lip as he carefully glides the cup over to you.

When you tilt your head back to give him that incredulous look he hates so much, you feel the world spin a moment, causing you to blink a few times. As you look at the counter again, you realize the second tequila sunrise is half gone. You know he has a point, but your pride has already taken enough of a beating tonight that you’re not willing to concede.

Namjoon sighs as you sit there with your bottom lip protruding in a pout. He takes the straw from the alcoholic beverage and sets it in the water. You’re about to protest when an arm drapes around your shoulder and a familiar voice steals your attention.

“Ma’am is this man bothering you?”

You turn to see Seokjin wearing aviator sunglasses, two leis draped around his neck. You strain to keep your posture as Jin pulls you both close to his chest. What once resembled a hug had now become a sort of chokehold, pressing your cheeks partially against each other and partially into his sweat-soaked shirt.

“Yeah, officer, take him away,” you mumble, giving Jin two playful smacks on his jaw.

“Can’t you let me off with a warning?” Namjoon pleads, playing into it.

Jin loosens his grip, allowing you both to escape. He tilts his head forward, which pushes the glasses down the bridge of his nose. “Okay, but I hope you learned your lesson.”

Namjoon bows his head slightly. “Of course! Of course! Sorry, officer.”

You smirk at the display, absentmindedly sipping water through your straw.

Jin turns his attention towards you, a dark and wicked grin on his features. “Do you want to get laid, Y/N?”

The water nearly shoots out of your nose as you choke out a response, “J-Jin?”

You can see Namjoon snickering behind his hands. “Oh, she definitely does.”

Jin takes the pink chain of flowers from around his neck and drapes it over you with a nod of approval. “Ah! There! You are now,” he hiccups mid-word, “leid!”

You can’t help but laugh at his stupid joke. “I can always count on you, Jin.”

“Count on me? One, two, three. One, two, three.”

Confused, you watch him for a moment as he does a waltz by himself, which contrasts the heavy baseline of the current song.

“Join me, Y/N!” he calls, motioning for you to go to him with wide gestures. He begins to disappear into the crowd, accidentally smacking a few people as he goes.

You take the straw from the water and drop it back into the alcoholic beverage, rising from your seat, immediately wobbling. Namjoon’s arm is already out, looped around your waist in support before you fall. “I gotcha.”

The contact of his hand causes you to shiver, despite feeling incredibly warm. Your chin comes to rest on his shoulder as you exhale softly against his ear. The slurred pout that escapes you is dripping with sweetness. “Finish my drink for me, Joonie?”

He sighs loudly. “God, you’re gonna be so sick later, aren’t you?” He pauses to inspect you. “You good?” As you nod, you’re puffing your cheeks out like a child. He murmurs under his breath, “Okay, I’m not babysitting you this time. I’m not.”

The way his fingers slowly trail up your side and drift across your back cause your eyelids to flutter a moment. Not allowing yourself to linger on the sensation, you grab the glass of water and chug it down as fast as you possibly can. Water comes dribbling down from the rim onto your chest before you slam the empty glass down on the counter and tuck your phone into the top of your shirt, securing it beneath your bra.

Namjoon laughs, taking the straw out of the tequila sunrise before gulping it down. “You’re such a fuckin’ mess.”

You wipe a sleeve across your mouth, a wide grin left behind. “Takes one to know one.”

He shakes his head as you disappear into the crowd in search of Seokjin.

____

Hours had passed and you find yourself in the thrall of alcohol, dancing like an idiot with Jin for a good portion of it. He was just so goofy and fun; it was hard not to jump around with him, especially since he had gotten you leid. He had this weird way of making you forget about all the shitty parts of the week. You bobbed your heads together and threw your arms around one another, dancing ridiculously around a swarm of sweaty bodies.

Taehyung and Jungkook had been competing for the same girl’s attention, trying to outdo each other all night. Currently, they were sandwiching her between their pelvises, and it was obvious she was LIVING for it, milking the competition for all it was worth. You couldn’t help the envy coursing through your veins as you watched them grind her like coffee beans.

Yoongi had been busy drinking, disappearing upstairs with a couple of girls last you saw him. The few times you made your way back to the bar, Namjoon was nowhere to be found. That was fine by you, since you didn’t feel like getting yelled at for drinking more anyway. Hoseok was the life of the party, dancing his way around the club, a drink almost always in his hand. You haven't seen Jimin since the ride over, slightly disappointed by the lack of juicy booty in your life.

Your body is overheating and you wrench yourself away from your smiling friend, heading towards the doors for some air. You can’t pull the hoodie off your body fast enough as you reach the exit, tying it around your waist and letting your hair down. You sit alongside the curb, reveling in the temperature of the concrete.

“Fancy seeing you out here.” Your head snaps toward the voice to see the familiar blonde hair of Jimin in the moonlight. He grins as his dark eyes run across your now exposed torso. “Cooling off?”

You nod enthusiastically, exposing your neck to the brisk night air. You arch your back, chest rising higher than normal in an exaggerated stretch for his benefit. Alcohol had made you brave. Stupid, but brave nonetheless.

You hum in acknowledgement, your lips curling into a smile as you note the angle of his gaze. “Did you see what Tae and Kookie were doing to that girl?” You tug on your top, excessively fanning the air along the inside of the fabric, allowing a playful glimpse of the dark lace underneath. “Whew, way too hot for me. Got me a little dizzy.”

“Oh?” His body floats gracefully down, coming to rest beside you. The warmth radiating from his core immediately causes sweat to trail down the back of your neck. “You did have a lot to drink. Do you need some help standing? Do you want me to get you a ride?”

Yeah, get me a ride on that dick.

You feel yourself clench around nothing, despite knowing he’s being kind and trying to take care of you. You inhale deeply and shake your head, willing the thought away before giving it a chance to pass your lips. Letting the bravery take control for the short amount of time it’s available, you lean in and link arms, lightly tracing the denim with your other hand. “Mmm, I’m okay. I think I might just need a breather before going back in. The air feels so good right now.”

Jimin smiles softly and tilts his head down at you. “Any luck with tinder so far?”

You scoff, eyes scanning the cityscape for something else to focus on. “I’d be more successful finding a guy to grind on and take home with me tonight.”

He laughs. “I guess that’s true. Though I’m not surprised. Your photos suck.”

Your eyes snap to his face, immediately allowing the shame and disappointment course through your knotted brows and slack jaw. Fighting the surge of tears, your hands retract to hug your knees and find a building to focus on in the distance. “Not all of us can be models,” you huff, unable to hide the defensive nature of your tone.

He chokes out a laugh. “No no no no no, not like that. It’s so mean like that. I’m sorry. Hey, look at me.”

You chew on your bottom lip and do your best to keep your attention elsewhere. It’s not until a small, soft hand is tapping your shoulder that you turn back, eyes threatening to spill out at any moment.

“I meant to say… You're a lot prettier in real life,” he mumbles, the tinge of pink in his cheeks apparent even in such low light. “Your photos don’t show it well enough.”

You're not sure if you're hearing him correctly as your chest tightens and the blood rushes to your ears. But the shy smile growing across his face has you questioning your judgement. You wipe your eyes as tears inadvertently fall, unknowingly smearing the eyeliner and mascara across your face. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Of course I do. Ah?” He pauses a moment, registering the sight before him. “Oh nooooo. I made you cry?” It’s then that his eyes also begin to water. “I’m so sorry. You know I don’t like,” he can’t fight the sob that interrupts him, “to see you cry, Y/N.”

“Don’t you start crying, Jimin! You’re gonna make me...” The words are almost indiscernible as your voice raises two octaves. “...cry more...”

It’s too late; the tears are flowing freely down his cheeks and you can’t fight the way your eyes are stinging as your makeup runs into them. The alcohol has an iron-clad grip on both of you.  He turns towards you, arms sloppily finding their way around your shoulders and knotting around your neck. You lean in towards him, pressing your forehead into his. Being this close and seeing how swollen and red his face is, you can’t help the wet snort that bubbles in your throat, allowing a giggle to escape.The more you try to stop, the more they keep coming.

He scoffs desperately as he looks at you through puffy, squinted eyes. “Why are you laughing at me? You’re being so mean!”

“I’m sorry! You’re just so drunk! It’s cute,” you try to explain between wheezes, tears still dribbling down your cheeks and across your nose.

“You’re more drunk than me!” he protests, unable to stop his own giggle as he runs his eyes across your bloated, streaky face.

“Now who’s the mean one?” you sniff and wipe at your face with the back of your hands, unable to ignore the black smears left behind. “Oh god. I’m a fuckin’ mess.”

You pull back from Jimin, eager to go find a mirror to fix your face. His arms, however, remain locked around your neck. Seeing you shift uncomfortably, he drops his hold on you. “You’re not a mess,” he whispers, tracing a thumb around your face and resting it on your chin. “You’re pretty.”

Your heart aches, body set ablaze and yearning to go in further, but you’re frozen in awe and fear of his beauty. The swelling in his face has already faded, the frown replaced with high cheekbones and a warm smile. Joon was supposed to help stop you from getting into situations like this, but right now you can’t tell if you’re upset or relieved he’s not here this time. Entranced by Jimin’s ethereal gaze, he draws you in --guiding you towards him with his thumb. You’re not sure if he’s pulling you or if you’re leaning into it; either way you’re fucking hammered and far beyond making sense of it. You close your eyes pause as your lips lightly brush his, feeling his hot breath mingling with yours, and again you find yourself stuck, trying to will your mouth forward just a bit more.

You both hold there, breathing, skimming your lips across one another without pressure, aching for him to just fucking do it already. You steal a glance through half-lidded eyes and see a cheshire grin overtake his features. He’s watching you, waiting for you to react. Mother. Fucking. Tease.

“Want to dance?” he asks, letting his lips graze yours ever so slightly, knowing full well his provocation is having the desired effect. The game of chicken will continue, even though you know you’re far too drunk to not cross the line.

You drop your face into the crook of his neck and groan. “Fuck you.”

“Careful, Y/N. It’s not nice to tease,” he laughs, patting the back of your head.

“Who says I’m teasing?” you challenge, pausing to purse your lips and read the reaction.

His eyebrows raise, a look of incredulity spreading across his features as he tilts his head back. “Aren’t you?”

Your fingers drift along his hair, lightly brushing his skin with the back of your palm. His tongue briefly darts out to wet his lips, curious about what you’re about to do. He sucks on the inside of his cheek, causing his mouth to bend into a lopsided smile. Letting yourself gravitate towards him, you stop just shy of his lips --a reciprocating action of what he had done to you earlier. “Let’s dance.”

__

Your sweaty bodies writhe in time with the rhythm of the base. You buck your hips against his pelvis and grind your ass back into him, intoxicated by the way he groans into the back of your neck. It’s hard not to notice the length pressing into your backside with each thrust and body roll. Every slight movement causes more and more heat to pool between your legs, craving a deeper grind, deeper satisfaction from the movements. Under normal circumstances, you would have been down-right embarrassed at the state of your panties, twisted up and soaked inside your jeans. But alcohol had given you stupidity and courage, and at least the temporary effect of not giving a flying fuck about how desperately you wanted to fuck Park Jimin tonight.

His hands roam across the curve of your torso, tracing the outer edge of your breasts before grasping your hips and pressing you further back towards him. You’re unsure whether this is torture of ecstasy for the both of you. Lost in the sway of his hips, you allow him to lead your motions, rolling your head back and seizing the side of his face with a curled palm. Before your brain can register what’s happening, Jimin drags his tongue across your neck, tracing a line around your jaw before returning to the crook and lightly dragging the flesh through his teeth. Your pussy clenches around nothing as he latches onto your neck, tonguing and sucking the sensitive skin while relentlessly grinding into you from behind. You let out a loud moan that gets lost in the sound of music.

The reward of a needy purr from Jimin vibrates through your neck and raises goosebumps across your chest; despite the heat radiating from your body and the disgusting amount of sweat coating your skin, he has a way of bringing that electric chill through you. A playful bite on your earlobe has you weak, his heavy breaths the only sound you can focus on as he lingers there. You want to turn your face to his, to taste those delicious, plump lips. But the sound of him desperately panting into your ear has you hypnotized, with your dripping pussy aching to grip the cock at your backside. You’re so caught up in each other that the music might as well be white noise, the other patrons merely shadows moving too fast to perceive.

You clutch at his thighs and your back arches up, leaning on him for support as you roll your body in time with his. He releases a sigh against you --and with it a distraught curse that’s so soft you almost miss it. “...fuck…” You’re in disbelief at the sound, and panting like a bitch in heat to match his frenzied breaths. His arms trace up your body again and latch around you possessively, as if to pull you impossibly closer.

He claps one hand to your hip while the other is splayed across your chest, heaving with the movement of your bodies. Before you have a chance to mentally quell the new tidal wave forming in your panties, Jimin dips his hand beneath the fabric of your shirt, allowing it to roam freely across your abdomen; the skin-on-skin contact is enough to make sure that later on when you’re peeling away your sticky panties and throwing them out, you have to throw away the jeans too.

You want to stop yourself, but your starved pussy advises otherwise. You look back to meet his gaze, breathless smile matching your own. You knot your fingers in his hair before closing in on his lips. Fingernails dig into your belly as the greedy kiss consumes your air. Sloppy tongues roam over each other and you turn back towards him, allowing yourself to drag his lower lip through your teeth and slowly let it snap back to him. He doesn’t hesitate to quickly relieve the space between you again, hungrily chasing your lips when you attempt to tease him.

While you feel up his chest with impatient hands, he wastes no time in wedging a thigh between your legs and grinding up into your crotch, causing a fevered moan to escape between parted lips for a fraction of a second before your mouths are crashing down once again. You’re in a state of euphoria as you roll your hips down, grinding your clit into his thigh and drinking in a slew of wet kisses.

You have to take a moment to allow oxygen to fill your burning lungs, but you use the opportunity to lathe your tongue along his jawline, wanting to taste all of him. All you can taste is salty sweat. You don’t know what you expected.

___

Namjoon had been watching from across the bar for some time. He kept telling himself it was creepy to just keep staring like this --and that he should stop-- but he couldn’t seem to focus on anything else. He kept telling himself this was fine; it was what you had said you wanted after all. Firewalls be damned. You wanted him to let you break the rules: you had always joked about it, but he knew you were one hundred percent serious if he’d never stop you.

After seeing your prospects and dating profile… well maybe you could use someone who could make you feel good. And who was he to keep stopping you? Granted, you had asked Namjoon to step in and stop you from breaking the group dynamic, but this was different, wasn’t it? You needed to get laid, and you already liked him. Jimin was perfect. He could give you the raw emotion you needed to see in someone else. He would laugh at your stupid jokes and tell you how impressive you were for doing your job. He could give you the fulfilling sex it was obvious you were craving. He would talk you up and treat you the way you deserved, inside and out. He’d regard you as a princess and fall head over heels for you. You’d be so happy.

As your best friend, Namjoon wanted you to be happy. So why did it feel so bad to see finally unfolding like this?

“Wow, they’re really going at it huh?”

Namjoon jumps back a bit in surprise. He was so busy doing the spying that he never thought someone would be paying much attention to him. Hoseok stands a few feet away, leaning against the bar and sipping on a drink as his eyes fix on the way you and Jimin seemed to become one blurry form, chests rising and falling together.

“Who?” Namjoon pretends to squint into the crowd, as if his eyes weren’t glued to your form for the better part of an hour.

Hoseok sets his drink down on the bar, giving Namjoon a stern look. “Really?”

Namjoon returns the stare, blinking a few times and pursing his lips innocently.

“You know, you could just tell her.” Hoseok rolls his eyes hard and starts cleaning underneath one of his fingernails.

“Tell? Tell who? What’s there to tell?” Suddenly Namjoon is as cool as can be, hiding behind a stoic mask.

Hoseok finds Namjoon’s shoulders, gripping them tightly. “You go up to her just like this and you say ‘Y/N, I need to talk to you about something.’”

Namjoon scoffs. “Come on, man. Don’t be weird.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll let you be you. Pretend I am her. Come on.” Hoseok clears his throat before getting as high pitched as he can. “J-joonie, why do you need to talk to me?”

Namjoon lets out a soft chuckle as he keeps his eyes trained on the dance floor to make sure you’re still there, even though each touch you share with Jimin causes a pang of hurt to run deep through his belly. “Because… I need you to know I care about you.”

Hoseok drops to his normal tone. “Oh shit. Okay direct. I like it. Oh? So why do you send me to Jimin’s arms?”

“Because he can be better for you than I can,” he responds absentmindedly as he watches you crane your neck towards the ceiling, exposing the skin for Jimin to pepper kisses along, to which he readily obliges.

Hoseok gives a slap to Namjoon’s face, causing the man to rub his cheek in disbelief and regain his attention. “No! You stop that. You’re perfect!” He clears his throat and goes high pitched again.“You could be my tall man, Joonie.”

Namjoon can’t help but laugh. “Why the hell am I playing along with this?”

“Because you looooove me. Say it.” Hoseok raises his eyebrows, shit-eating grin strewn across his face, which causes Namjoon to pause.

“I don’t ...Ah…” he starts, eyes drifting back to Jimin pulling the hair from your face. He tugs at the lei around your neck, bringing you down low enough to meet his lips. Again the bite of jealousy stings Namjoon, posture stiffening and voice firm. “It’s not like that.”

Hoseok drops the charade and allows his drink to dribble back into his glass in order to interrupt. “Like hell it ain’t! Don’t even play, Joon. You can’t even keep your eyes on me when I’m pretending to be her, not when you know she’s over there with her tongue down Jimin’s throat.”

Namjoon’s eyes dart back to Hoseok, defense faltering with the crack in his voice. “I don’t love her.”

“Yeah, okay. And I don’t love pussy,” he mumbles; the caustic statement deafened by the liquid hitting his tongue.

Namjoon clears his throat, gesturing towards the dancefloor. “Don’t you think she looks happy?”

“I think she looks drunk,” he answers with a shrug, cocking his head to the side when he sees the way you’re sliding your hand along Jimin’s pants. “...And horny! Whew! You sure it was a good idea to let them go at it? I can cockblock if you want.”

A conflicted groan lingers in Namjoon’s throat as he shakes his head. “...No. I just need to not be bothered by this whole Tinder thing. She wants to get laid. Let her get laid by someone we trust.”

Hoseok opens his mouth, but promptly shuts it before taking another sip from his drink. “It’s been over a year and you still haven’t done anything about how you feel. Of course it’s going to bother you.” He whistles, watching you and Jimin both teasingly tug on each other’s shirts. “Especially since they’re not going to make it back to his apartment at this rate.”

Namjoon knows he’s right as he watches you claw Jimin’s bare shoulder in response to the blonde burying his face in your chest. He also knows that very drunk you is about to make the mistake of fucking a very drunk Jimin in the bathroom and you’re both probably going to be crying about it later. Jimin would cry because he wouldn’t have been able to give you his best, questioning whether you actually enjoyed it or not-- that and not being able to see your tits because he’d undoubtedly be fucking you from behind-- and Joon would have to hear all about it. You’d be crying because you’d fucked Park Jimin in a bathroom stall like a cheap whore instead of fucking Park Jimin in his bed like a reasonably-priced whore. And again, Joon would have to hear all about it.

Or worse. You’d be going down on him, and gag all over his dick. With how much you’d been drinking, it seemed plausible. You both would cry to him for sure. But what if both of these drunken messes somehow had the most mind-blowing sex and wouldn’t fucking shut up about it? Or worse, they’d do it again and again, leaving his mind to constantly think about how Jimin would make love to you in ways that Namjoon had been aching to for ages. He hadn’t thought it through. It was going to drive him crazy no matter the direction the night took.

Hoseok must have been watching the mental gymnastics going on, because he pounds the rest of his drink and rubs his hands together. “Showtime.”