#i meant soul but fuck it his names soup now

[synthshenanigans]

I have not slept so shitty doodles have once again been created feat. baptism and 3am cereal

[lunastarnight]

Another small writing thing. This one's mostly about Den, and got inspired by the first/second chapter of 'Iris Japonica' by @turkeyinnovember over on AO3. (Once again, sorry for any mistakes, tips/criticism are appreciated)

Honestly? This felt fucking weird.

Den hadn't quite gotten used to this whole thing, how were you supposed to get used to something like this anyways? Yeah, just casually assended to Godhood, no big deal.

It had honestly even taken time to just adjust to the changes of her own body. She felt taller for some reason, couple inches at least. The sharp teeth had been annoying, Den biting her cheek and tounge accidentally, but now her teeth making them bleed. And those claws had been suprising as well, Den almost scaring herself when those accidentally came out, but now they were quite useful, wether it be cutting stuff up for dinner, putting holes where ever needed, or threatening Ivan on occasion.

The changes in her body had been managable, but her mind...The Souls she had absorbed back at the Tournament were quite talkative, and it was quite hard to concentrate on things like work, when you had hundrets of voices in your head, from god knows where or when, most of which weren't shy about sharing their opinions, and even less about starting fights.

"You're drawing yourself like that?"

"Seriously? This is what you call a job?"

"Might I suggest something more calming?"

"Madam, I'm sure your husband will provide, there's no need for you to work."

Den sighed in annoyance, rubbing her temples as if the pressure could make the voices go away. "Can you shut up? Yes, I'm drawing myself like this, yes this is my job, I would be calm if you were quiet, and my husband is already working, just like me. So, whoever you guys are, fuck off!"

Den had never bothered to learn their names. Why should she? There were too many anyways, and it wasn't like she liked them. She knew some names, one of the guys constantly telling her to "settle down", "let the husband do the work" and "go look after your children" (even though she didn't have any besides her dog) was named James, or something like that. There was a shrill one ironically named Karen, some guy sounding like he'd belong in a Skate Park with a B name, and a suprisingly young child who Den was pretty sure was named Tom. He was one of her favourites, suprisingly optimistic, even if his constant demand for sugar could get excausting.

Later, when she tried to make dinner, things didn't get any better.

"How about a nice, hot soup?"

"Ice Cream! Ice Cream!"

"Let's just get takeout, way less work"

Den slammed her hand down on the counter. "I'm the one that actually needs to eat, I'm making Pasta, and that's final!"

Christian, having heard the commotion, came into the kitchen, standing in the doorway with a mixture of confusion and worry on his face. "Yo, you good in here?"

Den sighed. She didn't know. Her eyes started watering when she admitted to herself what she had been avoiding for the last couple weeks. She didn't know. She honestly had just been feeling more mentally drained every day, always having voices in her head, always breaking up fights, having to listen to complaints...she was loosing it. She was loosing it., and she had no idea what that meant for herself, the others, or the souls. She didn't know anything. Wasn't she a god? Gods were supposed to know this stuff right? They were supposed to know stuff about their powers, weren't they?

She slowly got pulled back from her rabbit hole of endless questions when she felt a hand on her shoulder, Christian now standing next to her, looking at her worriedly.

Without looking up, she spoke, admitting what she never thought she would ever have to say.

"No...I'm not."

[gabriel-xander]

Don't Forget

[Sans x Female!Reader]

19: Lesson Learned, You Cuck

♪────✿⁠(⁠✧◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕✧⁠)✿⁠────♪

It took you a lot of effort to stay straight-faced when Papyrus and Sans finally arrived back home. Napstablook and the taller skeleton were having a rather cute introduction to each other, while Sans…

Well, let’s just say that you purposely ignoring him and keeping that blank face of yours was adding about 27 years of stress onto his poor soul.

“well… since you’re finally back, i should get going now…” Napstablook says after chatting with Papyrus, “i don’t want to intrude longer than i have… and… maybe you can show me that figurine collection another time, papyrus…”

“YES, MOST EXCELLENT IDEA. YOU ARE ALWAYS WELCOME TO COME BY, NEW FRIEND! ISN’T THAT RIGHT, SANS?”

“huh? oh, uh, yeah. welcome to the gang, blooky.”

Napstablook looks at you with a small smile, “i’ll text you later, [y/n]… uhm… think about what i said, okay…?”

You nod, “Yeah. I’ll get right on that, Blooky. See you around.”

Papyrus is guiding the ghost out of the house, while the shorter one takes a few steps towards you. You cross your arms and purposely look away with a “hmph!” Sans is fucking flabbergasted! You’re just straight up being childish?! First you send that suspicious ass message while he’s gone, then you’re acting like Sans is the source of your misery?!

Well, he is, but did Napstablook really rat him out so easily? Napstablook was even giving him stinky side eyes too! Napstablook of all monsters, really?! This is starting to become more trouble than it’s worth…

“SANS,” Papyrus calls out his name after closing the front door, “COME HELP ME MAKE SOMETHING [Y/N] CAN EAT AS A SICKLY HUMAN.”

“Just soup will be good, Papyrus,” You lean to the side to peek around Sans, “I think you’re gonna be way too good at making it too flavorful, though. Let Sans help you out so he evens it out.”

“…and what’s that supposed to mean?”

“GREAT IDEA, [Y/N]! SANS, GET OVER HERE AND HELP ME.”

“no, seriously. what is that supposed to mean?”

“That you keep a cool enough head to make sure your brother doesn’t over-season the soup.” You smile, “What did you think I meant?”

“…i know your game, [y/n].”

You reply with dry sarcasm, “Oh, stop. I’m getting all teary eyed.”

“SANS, STOP DIDDLE DADDLING AND HELP ME.”

“alright, alright. i’m goin’, i’m goin’.”

You stick your tongue out at him.

…Sans is going to kick you into the next Reset if you keep this shit up-

────

It’s later now, the clock tells you it’s almost 11pm even if the light outside hasn’t changed at all. Sans had sent Papyrus to sleep hours ago, and retreated into his own room right after. You would’ve gone to sleep too, but you wanted to stay up for a little more.

Hm, strange… Maybe you miscalculated on Sans’ reaction? You suppose his apathy is stronger than you thought. You told Napstablook to help you seem a little suspicious because you wanted Sans to stress out and shit, but maybe you misjudged the skeleton.

“oh, so you are still up.”

“YOU–mmhh!!”

Sans is standing at the bottom of the stair case, his hushed voice scaring the fucking shit out of you. He cheated and teleported, that fucker! He’s wearing a basic white t-shirt and his usual shorts. He’s also wearing his pink gloves on, but you don’t think he wears it to sleep: rather, Sans had put them on before coming out to see you. Does he hide his hands on purpose or…?

You open your mouth to answer his previous question, but you remember at the last minute you’re supposed to be mad at him. Instead, you change your expression back into one that is neutral.

He sighs while walking a little closer. “don’t give me that look. you’re gonna make me think you got a bone to pick with me.”

“Maybe I do, Sans.” You clear your throat, already feeling it getting sore from just those few words alone, “And why do you think that is?”

There are a few ways Sans could answer that. One being that he could answer with a joke, playing dumb to what you could mean. He could turn it back on you, confronting you about what you clearly know. He could also just answer with what he thinks is the issue: aka what you were probably talking about with Napstablook. Or he could dodge it all and ask to see your Soul and stats.

…

Clearly, so many to choose from.

…He’s going to be smart and just do the third option.

“so, blooky told you, huh?” He crosses his arms, his smile getting a little lazy, “figured. you were being too obvious about it over text.”

“Why did you intervene like that?” You decide to just ask upfront, “Unlike Napstablook, I know you didn’t do it because you were worried about my mental health, you’re not that type of person.”

“oh, really? you know me that well already, do you?”

“...”

“okay, fine. yeah, i gave toriel the idea to let you stay with me.”

You sigh, “Napstablook told me that he talked about me to you. Did I really sound that suspicious that you needed to see for yourself?”

Yeesh, Sans almost feels bad. Almost.

“nah, it’s nothin’ personal. last time there was a human here, i heard they were pretty set on getting vengeance on the other fallen humans. cause a lot of trouble for a lot of people.” Sans gives a very brief explanation, waving a dismissive hand, “‘sides, if it makes you feel better, i think you’re a cool cookie now that i got to know you a little.”

You groan and lean back on the couch, “I dunno, bone boy. I dunno how to feel about it.”

Sans winces, “should i say sorry?”

“Well, it’s not gonna feel sincere if you ask and I say yes. You gotta surprise me with it, say it when I least expect it.” You explain with a weak smile, “I’m not… I swear I’m not the type to hold a grudge, so we’re gonna be okay. But, Jesus, Sans! What a fucked up thing to do! You get why, right? You basically took me away from my home because of your unresolved trust issues.”

Sans can tell you’re trying to ease the tension with that teasing tone of yours, but it was awkward since the topic is still on Sans’ silly little actions from a few days ago. He appreciates it though. You two clearly know more than you’re letting on, and this shared secrecy is something you guys are letting be the base foundation of your friendship.

Probably not the healthiest way to build a friendship, but if you don’t seem to have a problem with it, then neither will Sans.

“whoops.” It’s all he says with his grin.

“Whoops my ass, I want emotional compensation for this.” You snap your fingers, “You should ride my dick when talking to-”

“-i do not want you to finish that sentence. where the hell are you going with that?”

“Ah-ha ha!! Oh, my gosh! No. no, no! Like–When someone is praising someone else so much, you say something like: “Ah, they’re dick riding.” or like “hop off their dick.” It’s–Hey, don’t look at me like that!”

Sans has a dead look in his eyes… somehow. “maybe i should send you back to the ruins.”

“Aw, don’t be like that, bone boy. But as I was saying-”

“i really don’t want you to use that same metaphor.”

“-You should sing my praise (“oh, thank god.”) to Grillby as an apology gift to me. Help me get that job.” You clear your throat again, “After I get better, obviously.”

“you know what? fine, i can do that,” Sans rolls his eyelights, “also, that dick riding stuff earlier?”

“Yeah?”

“never say that around papyrus. ever.”

“Gasp! Like I would ever do such a thing!”

Taglist:

@lemonboy011

@adriixboo

@fluffyart5000

[amoebaforce]

Mayhaps you could do something with the scions' reactions to finding out the WoL is an ex-imperial soldier?

Maybe after they had fallen into a form of depressed state after killing (I forgot his name but big fucking shield dude from ARR).

ahh yes, our old friend Rhitahtyn! or as my fiancé and I call him, Ritalin.

this was a very good ask, anon! due to the time period requested, i decided to include Yda and Papalymo for your reading pleasure. enjoy! :D

characters featured: Thancred Waters, Y'shtola Rhul, Urianger Augerelt, Alphinaud Leveilleur, Yda Hext, Papalymo Totolymo tags: angst, canon war and violence, poor mental health, PTSD symptoms, ARR spoilers, gn!WoL

Thancred

He’s noticed the WoL withdrawing since Cape Westwind fell. Noticed how their eyes glaze when anyone brings up the Legion. It was a bigger, deeper sadness than Thancred had ever seen in their face. Closer to guilt, really. But why? 

The answer evades Thancred, until he catches the WoL crying in the back room of a tavern. Only then does he finally hear the truth. Thancred wishes he could say he’s surprised, but unfortunately, he isn’t. He’s suspected that the WoL was ex-Imperial for a few months now. 

The signs are all there — their unerring discipline, how fast they eat, even the way they make their bed. It’s all military. The kind of training that breaks you down and rebuilds you in a different shape. The kind that leaves a mark.

He keeps their secret if they want him to, of course. Thancred isn’t known for his loose lips. What he offers the WoL is discretion; a quiet place to cry, an open ear to talk to, a silent understanding when all is too loud. 

“You did the right thing,” he tells them one night, after a bout of panic drove them screaming from their bed. “I know it doesn’t feel like it. You feel selfish for leaving, selfish for living. But if the option is being selfish or being dead… well, then, I’m glad you chose the former.” 

Y’shtola

When the Warrior of Light comes to her quarters in the dead of night, with eyes full of tears and a heart full of secrets, Y’shtola can do nothing but let them in. They talk for hours, until the sun’s rays began to peek from under the horizon. 

Y’shtola is more horrified than shocked. She’d gathered through weeks of close contact that the WoL had a history with the Empire, but knowing it was that of a defected soldier casts all her experiences with them in a new light.

The news also demystifies the Warrior for Y’shtola, if only a little. Suddenly, their uncanny efficiency and knack for tactics make perfect sense… and so does the Warrior’s ferocity against the Empire. It isn’t just politics — it’s personal.

From that night on, Y’shtola brews the WoL a special herbal tea, one meant to induce a dreamless sleep. It works most of the time. When it doesn’t, Y’shtola wakes to a timid knock on the door, so faint she almost misses it. 

Without fail, Y’shtola ties her dressing gown, welcomes them inside. She might joke about the lateness of the hour, but in truth, she’d never think of turning them away. Not after all they lost to be here. 

Urianger

Urianger first learns of the Warrior’s past by accident. They were alone in the Sands together, combing through some scrolls about primals, when Urianger’s curious nature got the better of him. He asked one too many questions about their health, a conversation spiraled out of control, and suddenly the WoL was confessing to the crime of defecting from the Imperial Legion.

He feels incredibly guilty about this, seeing how much the admission upsets the Warrior, and swears he won’t tell another soul. He knows just how terrifying it is to be on the Empire’s hitlist, having been branded a heretic himself in the past. 

Urianger then spends several weeks trying to make up for the incident by any means he deems necessary. Mostly by expediting every research request the WoL gives him — but every few nights, an “anonymous” gift appears on the WoL’s door. 

Sometimes it’s food. Bowls of soup manifesting in their room, sweets delivered to inn rooms via courier. Other times, it’s a piece of equipment they’ve been meaning to purchase, or a vial of medicine. Always something useful; always lacking attribution.But the WoL doesn’t need something as base as a note to know their benefactor’s identity. 

The truth is written in the gifts’ timing. They only appear after the WoL spends a long day dealing with the Empire: spying behind enemy lines, putting down war machina, setting traps for Imperial scouts. All the tasks that reawaken bloody memories in the Warrior’s head. It’s the kind of quiet acknowledgement that could only come from one who knows.

Alphinaud

It had never occurred to Alphinaud that the WoL had been a soldier before. Not until Cape Westwind. He wasn’t there — he didn’t see the fracture happen. But when the Warrior returned, it was clear that something on that battlefield broke them.

Their face goes stony, eyes emptied as if glimpsing the future through an orb. The lines around their mouth become permanent. That’s when Alphinaud gets to thinking. Maybe it isn’t the future they see before them. Maybe it’s the past.

After a few weeks of watching the Warrior endure this silent torment, Alphinaud can’t stand it any longer. One night, he corners them after dinner and asks a very simple, very pointed question. “Were you an Imperial soldier?”

The Warrior flinches as if slapped. They can’t lie to the boy, though, especially not while he gives them that earnest look of his. The WoL nods cautiously, and over the next few days, they slowly begin to divulge their story. Why they joined, the things they saw, how they managed to get away. Alphinaud absorbs the information slowly, taking his time to mull over what they say, before concluding that it changes very little about his relationship to the Warrior. 

If anything, he feels even more respect toward them now that he knows. After all, they risked everything to leave the Empire. Once they got away, all logic dictates that they’d spend the rest of their life hiding from it. Instead, they’d put their life on the line again and again in the interest of destroying the selfsame power that indentured them. 

Yda

The WoL and Yda are doing reconnaissance on Imperial movements in the Twelveswood when all hells break loose. They’re getting ready to leave when a scouting party bursts out of the trees behind them, trapping them on a cliff near Sylph territory.

Things are dicey for the briefest moment, but between the two of them, the soldiers go down with relative ease. And yet, when Yda’s fist finds the last Imperial’s jaw and sends them tumbling, she turns to find the Warrior of Light frozen in place. Their eyes are fixed on the bare face of a fallen scout, wide and brimming with a kind of fear Yda has never seen on their face. They’ve been jumpy lately, quieter than usual, but this sort of terror is decidedly unprecedented.

“Hey,” she says gently, recognizing the jagged heave of their chest. “What’s got you so upset? Did you know that guy?” Yda’s jaw drops when they nod. The story comes out in broken snippets as she leads the WoL to safety, and every detail makes Yda feel sicker.

Immediately, conflict rings through her head. She hates the Empire, hates what it did to her family, hates everyone associated with it. She wants more than anything to watch it all burn. But in that moment, no matter how hard she might try to, might want to, Yda can’t bring herself to hate the Warrior. Especially not while they’re still wiping their eyes.

She doesn’t know what that says about her. Doesn’t want to think about it. She presses her mouth flat, face sullen below her mask. “We all have a past,” Yda says. “I guess it’s the future that matters.”

Papalymo

From the moment they met, Papalymo knew the Warrior was hiding something. There was just a certain look in their eye — a veil of mystery that hardly ever slipped an inch. It wasn’t the facade of a charlatan. Nothing so malicious; more like the carefully curated mask of one who may fall apart at any minute.

He said nothing of it, merely watched carefully, until after Operation Archon. That’s when the mask began to slip. The WoL’s under-eyes were suddenly streaked with purple, their mind far away. Papalymo made it his business to know why, but he could do nothing so tactless as ask them outright.

Instead, the thaumaturge consorts with the rest of the Scions, compiling data and comparing information, until he is able to reasonably hypothesize that the WoL’s past included some kind of military service. 

The rest of the pieces click into place when he overhears the Warrior talking in their sleep. Papalymo is roused from his bedroll by the sound of their mumbling, louder than the rustling of the Twelveswood overhead. “No, Legatus,” they whimper. “Don’t wanna… can’t make me.”

Papalymo’s heart sinks. So this was it — their deep, dark secret. He ruminates until dawn, wondering about every little detail of the story. Were they conscripted? Did they enlist? Where were they from, really? What sort of tragedies compelled them to disobey, to flee? He will never ask. He isn’t sure he wants to know.

[bigskydreaming]

Okay, so you know “Justice League meets Batman’s kids, who they’d previously been unaware existed” AUs?

So picture that.....but this time, instead of them just having no knowledge of any of these other Gotham vigilantes at all....the Batkids all migrate to various cities as they get older and become known as their protectors - Dick in Bludhaven, Tim in San Francisco, Cass in Hong Kong, etc....

Meaning they’re all established figures, the Justice League are aware of them as solo local heroes who stick to their cities and so they just don’t interact with them much if at all, or else some are members of team lineups but are particularly vague about their histories or life outside of the team’s adventures....

So the big reveal isn’t that they become aware of all these other Gotham vigilantes all at once....its that some big conflict or whatever requires a huge team up of all available heroes, and in the aftermath, they figure out that like.....despite being known as solo heroes who work alone or loners outside of their team settings, 80% of these heroes all not only seem to already know each other, they seem to be related.

And so naturally they all turn to Batman, who has profiles on every known hero and they thus figure had researched these individuals too and just never mentioned this little detail, and they’re like, “Did you know about this?”

And then Nightwing turns to him too, arms crossed and is like, “Yeah Dad, did you know about this?”

And the infamous Red Hood is all: “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have never met any of these people before in my life. Lives? Whatever.”

And then Red Robin moodily grates out “I have no siblings.” Since he’s nursing a grudge since Dick and Jason broke into his apartment the night before and replaced all his custom Red Robin gear with Darkwing Duck merchandise and his vengeance will be swift and also totally disproportionate because things escalate quickly in this family, that’s true in every universe.

Cass meanwhile has deftly skewered Jason’s lie by walking over to him and brazenly patting down the man with many many guns with no fear whatsoever. He squawks and futilely attempts to bat her hands away as she riffles through his many pockets, but he doesn’t seem shocked, just annoyed. Eventually, she pulls away and triumphantly reveals a box of Hello Kitty themed band-aids.

“So these are yours then? Just for you?” Black Bat asks smugly. Red Hood squints at the box.

“What the fuck? How long have those been in my jacket? Why are those in my jacket? Did you freaking plant them in my jacket just on the offchance you could at some point in the distant future use them at my expense?”

Black Bat frowns, puzzled. “Yes?”

“Oh come on, Dead Hood,” Spoiler says with an exaggerated toss of her head meant to convey she’s rolling her eyes beneath her own mask. She skips her way across the room to Black Bat and then drapes herself languidly all over the smaller woman. Who in turn doesn’t so much as twitch beneath the sudden added mass as Spoiler holds out her hand towards the box of band-aids. 

“One please. I have a boo-boo,” she says with easy familiarity straight into the intimidating cowl of Black Bat. Only then does she deign to finish her train of thought with Red Hood.

“I mean seriously, are you saying you don’t have potential blackmail set-ups, pre-rigged releases of incriminating material, and a random assortment of traps, pratfalls and mortifying scenarios in place for the express purpose of being able to humiliate any and all of your siblings at any given moment, without any need for additional prep time?”

“Is this true, Little Wing?” Nightwing whirls on the larger Red Hood with a faux-scandalized gasp. The founder and leader of the Titans, formerly the Teen Titans, renowned for his stratagems and calm competence when directing squads of supers in the heat of battle while he keeps pace with nothing more than naturally acquired acrobatics and a utility belt that apparently uses the same technology as Wonder Woman’s invisible jet....now appears to be....staggering with the back of his hand pressed to his forehead, moaning about how he felt....faint? 

What is happening right now, several dozen superheroes want to know. Is this a drill? Are they supposed to be checking for signs of a mental ambush from undetected psychic saboteurs? Did they all hit their heads at the exact same time and are now experiencing some kind of shared mass concussion?

Look, that wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to ever happen on the Watchtower. 

“Have I failed you so utterly?” The veteran child hero bemoans with a dramatic twirl - that when contrasted with his stern demeanor of a mere ten minutes ago - makes the fears of telepathic infiltration seem less paranoia and more....concerningly probable. “Did you learn nothing from me? Did you learn nothing from B?”

He stops and jabs a finger up at the sky. “Quick, everyone! What is the very first rule of Living While Batty?”

As if by rote, over a half a dozen voices chime in from all over the room, causing various heroes to jump. Spooked by yet more and more vigilantes joining in some kind of mass recitation like they and they alone have some kind of clue what the hell is going on and everyone else just hadn’t been invited to the party. Which is just rude, honestly. Nobody likes feeling like they weren’t invited to the party. Not even superheroes. 

“If you’re not going to bother preparing for every possible contingency and at least six impossible ones, you might as well just stay in bed.”

Even the Red Hood joins in the Illuminati chant or Cub Scout pledge or demonic ritual or whatever the fuck that just was, though his slumped and exasperated posture gives away every hint of sulkiness his headgear otherwise would have kept safely hidden. He’s surprisingly more...expressive, than most who’d only known of him by reputation had expected him to be. The day continues to yield surprises.

“Of fucking course I do,” he growls out, snatching the box from Black Bat. She doesn’t even fight to hold onto it, just lets it go with a knowing smirk. “I wasn’t surprised by the idea of it, I was just surprised she bothered with such a weak effort. Like yeah whatever, actually those could be mine. I use those all the time at home. So what?”

He aggressively yanks one of the band-aids out of the box, fumbles with the peel-off strips with one hand and he roughly rolls up the sleeve of his jacket with the other. Then just slaps it on his forearm and raises said appendage high, showing it off this way and that. “See?”

“Oh yeah, for sure,” Signal drawls from the other side of the room, nodding his head approvingly. “Totally convincing. Nice job walking that one back, you really showed them.”

Red Hood’s head snaps in his direction with ominous intent. “Watch it, Day-Glo.”

Signal just snorts.

“Yeah, like I’m gonna take constructive criticism on my name and costume from a dude who’s spent the last several years calling himself Red HOOD while running around in a freaking HELMET.”

“Its not meant to be literal, you fucking pedant.”

“So wait, its not literally a helmet? Huh, does it at least protect your head literally, or just like...symbolically? Like if Bane were to clock you across the head, would your concussion just be a metaphor? What’s the treatment protocol for a metaphorical concussion? Fluids, bedrest and a philosophical prescription of two chapters of Chicken Soup for the Soul as needed?”

“Laugh it up, KC and the Sunshine Band,” Red Hood bats back. “You just got yourself disinvited from Thursday night’s poker game.”

Signal just grins and folds his arms over his chest cockily. “Please. You’ve been looking for an excuse to ban me for weeks, cuz you know until you can prove I’m using my ghost vision to cheat, you can’t actually bring suit against me for it in Family Court.”

“That, and also Family Court isn’t a real thing, you toddler. Stop validating Wing-a-ding-ding’s obsession with Shitty TV Nostalgia and just call it that thing where Oracle traps us all in a room until we settle our latest fight without anyone getting stabbed.”

“Yeah, but like, say that five times fast,” Spoiler pipes up. “Its just not practical. Family Court’s way easier.”

“Says the one who’s not even in our fucking family.”

“And yet I grace you all with my sublime presence anyway,” she blows a kiss at him, beatifically unbothered. “You’re welcome.”

The Red Hood scoffs and rounds on his heel, zeroing in on Batwoman in the far corner.

“Hey Auntie B, my siblings are all dead to me and I just helped stop an alien invasion so I deserve nice things like a fun Saturday night. Can you get me into Dad’s fundraiser so I can crash it? He won’t put me back on the list until I promise not to bring any C-4 with me and I won’t promise not to bring any C-4 because he should just trust me that I won’t when I say I’m not gonna and he won’t trust me that I won’t until I admit I shouldn’t have brought any to that sting last month where three tiny little yachts blew up through barely any fault of my own, and I’m just not gonna do that ever because I have convictions and I feel I shouldn’t have to be punished for that. Y’know?”

Batwoman blinks at him. “Kid, I’m not gonna lie to you. You’re my nephew and I love you, but I stopped listening three seconds into all that.”

“Ugh, fine. Can you help me crash Dad’s event tonight so I can teach him a lesson about why he should just trust me not to make a scene so I don’t have to always make a scene to make a point.”

“Tempting as you make that sound,” she says wryly, “I have a strict policy for dealing with you lot and your......everything. I only worry about tolerating one of you at a time, and there’s seven of you, and seven days in the week. You each get your own. You know perfectly well its Robin’s day today. You get me on Tuesday, just like always.”

“Auntie B, we’re not like other families, are we?” Red Robin’s delivery is sarcastically childish and his question clearly rhetorical. Most of his attention is fixated on whatever it is he’s doing with his wrist-mounted computer. 

“No sweetie, we’re all severely fucked in the head and a little bit too comfortable with that.”

“Just checking. Oh hey, Hood, I just emailed you a patch for the hole in your firewall I exploited when replacing all my shit using your accounts just now.”

“You did what?”

“Used your accounts to pay to replace all my stuff that you fucked with last night?” Red Robin says slowly. “Did you not realize that I’ve been sticking within ten feet of you for the past five minutes just so I could clone your devices and do all that while BB and Spoiler kept you distracted? I gotta say, bro, I feel like that’s on you then.”

Red Hood swivels his helmeted head in the direction of the aforementioned two. Black Bat waves. Spoiler shoots him an utterly unrepentant thumbs up.

“You’d side with your ex over me? That’s what its come to?”

“My only allegiance is to chaos,” Spoiler says brightly. Black Bat shrugs.

“Plus he bribes better.”

“Hateful,” Red Hood points at Black Bat, moving on to level the same finger at Spoiler, who curtsies in acknowledgment: “Hateful-er.”

Then the finger rounds the bases to aim judgmentally at Red Robin. “Hateful-est. And that was all Nightwing’s idea anyway, not mine.”

“Oh, I assumed as much,” he says casually. “Your idea of a prank tends to have more of a Carrie vibe. Or be a literal literary reenactment.”

“Its called an homage, 4chan.”

“Whatever, plagiarist. And anyway, I couldn’t go after ‘Wing for payback on this one. He used an Immunity card. If you didn’t want me getting back at you, you should have used one too."

Red Hood looms aggressively. Red Robin ignores willfully. Round and round they go. Superheroes who can survive excessive G-Forces are getting dizzy just watching them have a largely motionless stand-off. That shouldn’t be how that works, but whatever. All the most infamously reclusive and isolated heroes in all hero-dom are apparently part of the same one big reclusive and isolated family of fucked up weirdos and they’re all officially bonkers. Nothing makes sense anymore. Reality broke. Try another stall.

“Okay, but see, in order to have an Immunity card, I would have to participate in one of you losers’ stupid Immunity challenges,” the Red Hood drags out with exaggerated patience. “And I’m just not going to do that, on account of those all being fucking stupid. You see the problem there?”

Red Robin just shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you, bro. You can have principles or you can have an Immunity card. You can’t have both.”

Meanwhile, on another side of....the same room.....look, its like, an octagonal room, probably. It has a lot of sides. Robin fends off questions from an aggrieved looking Superboy.

“You never told me you had a bajillion brothers and sisters!”

“Yes but I never said I didn’t either.”

Superboy rolls his eyes. “Oh yeah, so I should just assume everyone I meet has a bajillion secret brothers and sisters?”

“Well clearly it would have worked out in your favor in this instance if you had, now wouldn’t it?”

“Assuming of course that you can trust what has been said or implied here today and I am actually related to any of those numbskulls. Which I am not actually admitting to,” Robin tacks on hastily.

Superboy eyes him dubiously. “You joined in the same creepy chant all the others did and then got super self-conscious and looked around to see if anyone had noticed. Which uh. I did.”

“First off, your interpretation of body language is abyssmal. I do not get self-conscious,” Robin says with a delivery that probably could have benefited from being a little less self-conscious. “And second....that proves nothing. I guessed what they were going to say.”

“Word for word,” Superboy says super-skeptically.

“I’m very good at guessing things. You know this.”

“Okay. Guess how much I believe you right now then.”

Robin glares and folds his arms grumpily across his chest. 

“And what was that anyway? Was that like....you guys’ family motto or something like that?”

“Oh no,” Spoiler pipes up. “That’s much shorter.”

Superboy balks at that. “Wait, you guys actually have one of those for real?”

“Yup,” Steph says, counting out the words with her fingers. “He who laughs last....probably works for the Joker. So tranq him just to be safe. See? Only sixteen words. The first rule of Living While Batty is way longer, and what we said was just the abridged version. You should hear the original, before Black Bat put her foot down and refused to memorize it unless sizable edits were made.”

Superboy hovers between her and Robin now, both in mid-air and on the verge of taking Spoiler’s words as an invitation to hear just that. A low growl arises from Robin’s direction.

“Must you?” He asks the older vigilante, with a most put upon expression.

She looks at him pityingly. “Do you actually need me to answer that? Like, we’ve met, right? Hi, I’m Spoiler.”

“Wait, so Robin said that I just never specifically asked him if he had a bajillion brothers and sisters, and that’s why he didn’t tell me, so that means he wouldn’t have just lied and there’s not some code of secrecy that flat out forbids telling other people stuff, right?” Superboy realizes excitedly.

“Yes, excellent direction. Go on,” Spoiler says, steepling her fingers. Robin buries his face in the palm of one hand.

“Soooo, what other stuff could you tell me about Robin’s super top secret family that I wouldn’t think to ask about but that he would tell me about if I knew what questions to ask?”

She claps once, lightly but with emphasis. “Well done. You’ve passed the first barrier. Untold secrets await you behind just a few more.”

“I’ll get you for this,” Robin vows calmly. She waves a hand at him.

“Yeah, yeah. Just make sure you do it before January 1st, remember? You’ve promised retribution like ten times already this year and those don’t roll over, y’know. Rules are rules.”

“Enough!” Thunders a voice then, from the front of the room. Well one of the fronts anyway. Like sides, it has a lot of them, but this is the one where Batman’s standing. All eyes snap to him. Which is kinda just what eyes do when Batman says stuff like that. Its like his superpower, except he doesn’t actually have superpowers, which is what makes it scary. But where the snapping of the eyes (directional) is usually followed by Batman saying something else besides just “hey look at me,” here he pauses in the wake of his own call to attention’s waning reverberations. Uncharacteristically silent.

Not that, y’know, he’s normally Mr. Talkity Talk, but usually his silences feel like he has the words to fill them, he’s just withholding them. This though, this feels more like he doesn’t have any words at all. And he’s as confused by it as any of them, and most everyone else is confused by Batman being confused, and its this whole trickle down economy of confusion and its wrecking havoc on the value of the golden silence standard.

Of course, not everyone present is rendered spellbound with confusion.

“C’mon B,” Nightwing cajoles, leaning forward and practically radiating delight. “I think you know what you have to do now. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Its not likely to come around again.”

Red Hood snickers beneath his helmet and chimes in. “Yeah Pops, go ahead. You do this and you’ll actually have my respect for a whole twenty four hours. No, wait. Sixteen. No! Eight. Yeah, eight. Still a good deal.”

“Carpe diem, B,” Red Robin grins, leaning back as if to enjoy the show.

“Hey! Infringe on my trademark one more time, dude,” Signal throws a faux-glare at the former. Red Robin just quirks an eyebrow.

“And what, you’ll start saying Yum every time you eat a burger? Oh no. I’m hoist by my own petard.”

Signal flips him off with a grin and then redirects his attention back to Batman. “Yeah seriously though B, you kinda gotta do it now. Because if you don’t do it, then you’ll forever be the guy who didn’t do it, and you don’t want to be that guy, do you?”

“Yeah you really don’t want to be that guy,” Spoiler shouts out. “Nobody likes that guy. He’s the worst.”

“Do it, do it,” Black Bat starts chanting beside her, steadily picking up speed and volume. Several others start joining in. Even Robin appears to be slightly anticipatory, albeit trying very hard to hide it.

Batman sighs, and somehow everyone manages to hear it. Stills. Waits for....something? Nobody but them seems to have any clue what, but the air is thick and heavy with portentiousness. Something is about to happen, and all most of the heroes present could say for sure is it was something they never would have in a million years seen coming.

Finally, Batman straightens with the resigned air of a man about to have oh so many regrets. He crosses his arms, shakes his head, and in an absolute deadpan monotone, says:

“You are awful children. You know you’re killing me. You’re killing your father.”

[tinybriewrites]

Literal Pixie

Jason's head was spinning, and his vision was going in and out of focus. It was making his killer headache worse, and he didn't even know why. It was like how some of the people down in Crime Alley described getting high and hungover.

Jason felt like shit.

He could see something vaguely grey on his right, and he tried to lean his unstable body onto it, but just as he placed his hand down, instead of the feel of something solid, his hand phased through the structure - a gravestone, now that he'd taken a proper look at it - and all he could feel was a bone-deep chill.

"Phantom, huh? It's been a while since that one last came up," a lilting voice said with a hint of nostalgia.

"Who's there?" Jason was on guard. He was disoriented and in an unknown location. Was he kidnapped again? No, wait, the Jo-

A melodic giggle brought him out of his thoughts.

"Silly Jay, meeting you is always like this, isn't it?"

Ethereal. That was the only way Jason could describe her. A small fairy in a crimson, swishy petal-styled dress flew in front of his eyes. She was a red rose. He was starting to think she was part of his hallucinations. Maybe from an induced coma. There was no way a face so perfect existed in this world. Neither did fairies, his mind quipped.

"Then again, you never seem to remember," she teased in a light-hearted tone but Jason could hear the loneliness hidden underneath.

Jason flushed under her bright smile. To distract himself, he looked around his surroundings, and that froze whatever banter he thought of to cheer her up.

Here lies Jason Todd. A son. A brother. A friend.

The thing- The gravestone his hand phased through before the fairy flurried into his life was his own.

Jason Todd was dead. He was dead.

That was why he couldn't touch the object, why his vision was blurry and mind hazy, why he could see a fucking fairy that never should have existed. He had died at the hands of the Joker. After taking on the beating of a lifetime, he had borne the full brunt of an explosion. Batman was too late. He couldn't save his Robin. He was dea-

Yellow. The pixie flew so close to his face that that was all Jason could focus on. A shade so brilliant and godlike, it was like all the stars nested in a soup of liquid gold. Her eyes held an otherworldly beauty that gave such an elusively familiar feeling that Jason would have thought he imagined it had the fairy not alluded to knowing him.

"...Who are you?" he whispered, unwilling to break the bubble of the moment they shared.

She gave a feathery laugh at that, "You always ask the same questions, don't you, Jay?"

The fairy pressed a light kiss to his forehead before pulling back, saying, "I'm Marie the Pixie."

Marie. The name unconsciously rolled off his tongue as if it was coming home. And Jason just knew that it suited the fairy - no, pixie - perfectly.

"Hello, I'm your soulmate," she said with a mischievous grin before breaking into giggles as he gave her a blank stare. Somehow, as dubious as her words were, he trusted them.

"Sorry Jay," she tried to hold back her laughter. "Last time, you told me to try it like this."

She grinned at him so vividly that Jason almost wished that moment would never pass. It was as if his very soul missed her smile even if he couldn't remember her.

"Welcome to the world of the dead! But don't worry, Jay, this is only temporary. Someday soon, you'll come back to the living," she reassured him, but that only served to baffle the boy.

"Temporary?" he asked, mind swirling with thoughts of never wanting to leave this girl - his girl - behind.

She gave him a small smile, "Fate hasn't cut your thread just yet. Phantoms are a form meant only for the few destined to return."

"And I was one before? We've met before?" he said out loud.

She hummed, caressing his gravestone. "James, a war hero stuck in a decade-long coma. That was the longest we were ever together."

Jason wanted to ask why she couldn't come back with him, but he held his tongue. "...And the other times?"

"Sometimes a shadow, sometimes a ghost, a couple of times, a vengeful spirit. But only one time a phantom. And yet, still always my beloved Jay," she had a distant look in her eyes as if seeing something that wasn't there.

"James was special," she grinned at him, but Jason could see the loss in her eyes. He felt a twinge of jealousy at that. "And so are you, Jason."

They sat like that in comfortable silence against his gravestone. Now that he could focus on it, he was able to come into contact with objects again. It seemed that his pixie had grounded his mind.

"So..." Jason started with caution. "How did we become soulmates?"

A flash of emotion too quick for the boy to catch appeared on the pixie's face.

"Wanna watch the sunrise? I know the best spot! Living a couple of centuries does that to you," she laughed artificially in obvious avoidance.

"Sure." Jason let her; she would talk when she was ready, he knew.

Grabbing his hand, the pixie let her ladybug wings extend completely for the first time. The way the light bounced off the crystal-clear wings was magical to Jason. It struck a chord deep in his soul that he felt always happened when they met again. So familiar yet so achingly warm. Like freshly baked bread, which was how his pixie smelled like, his mind supplied unnecessarily.

"Come on!" she cheered, fluttering her wings faster than her prior casual glides. The pair ascended high above the clouds, and Jason's breath was taken away. The mix of reds, purples, pinks, yellows, and oranges from up above was a more wondrous view than he could have ever imagined. It felt like a scene straight out of a classic. Only the best prose fit to describe the sight.

Wow.

"Right?" the pixie giggled. Jason hadn't realized he spoke out loud.

She leaned her head against his shadowy shoulder before sighing, "It never gets easier telling you this."

"You don't have to," he assured her. She gave a wistful smile at that response. "You always say that."

She took a deep breath before saying, "I was a hero. I was Ladybug, Protector of Paris. The whole city relied on me, but I-"

"I failed them," her voice broke. "I was too weak. I let Hawkmoth win, and when he made his wish, the universe demanded a price."

"What was the wish?" Jason breathed lightly.

She gave a defeated, wry smile at that. "He wanted his wife back."

Jason said nothing, only placing his arm around her shoulders, giving her his silent comfort.

She rubbed circles onto his hand for a while before continuing, "But Emilie Agreste's soul was damaged by a broken miraculous, and fixing that required pure creation magic."

"But to pour in creation, one must take from creation. And I had to pay the price," she let out a deep, sardonic laugh. "I was erased from existence and from everyone's memory. I lost my soul to become a pixie only able to meddle with the world when the scales were tipping the balance."

She looked him dead in the eye, "Until I met you."

"...Me?" Jason blurted, astonished.

"Yes, you," she gave him a soft grin with clear love in her eyes.

"No matter what, fate can't help but love her ladybugs," she played around with the clouds at her fingertips, not looking at Jason.

"But you died," he said accusingly.

"But I met you," she looked at him, and to Jason, everything just felt right in the world. Even if he was dead. "In a world without soulmates, fate had let me meet my destiny. How can I hate her when she led me straight into your arms?"

They didn't talk after that, choosing instead to bask in the other's presence.

"Do we only meet when I die?" he broke the silence after a long while.

She hummed in response. "You stay until the world calls your soul back. Sometimes that's a day. Sometimes, a few weeks. Occasionally, a few years. Four at most, usually."

"It depends on how badly the universe needs you," she teased. "I had James for a decade during his coma but only an hour when he died. It was the middle of a war, and your presence was immediately demanded back."

"Why? Why me?"

She peered at him so intently that Jason felt she was seeing through his very soul in more ways than one.

"Our connection. My eyes are golden now, but they used to be blue. After fate had taken me, some of their power couldn't help but bleed over into my soul, and in turn, yours too. Our presence in the world, one in the living and one in the dead, balances the world in a core-deep sense."

"Then you'll just be stuck here forever?" he asked, incredulously. That was shitty treatment for a heroine said to be loved by the fucking world itself.

"Well-" Before she could respond, the edges of Jason's soul turned a blinding yellow like the sun.

"It's time," Marie said with a sad smile. "Goodbye, Jason. Stay safe, I hope I don't see you again for a while."

"Marie," Jason was panicking. He couldn't leave. Not yet. Not without her. But the yellow was burning him, and he could see hints of toxic green in his vision that was quickly blurring out of focus.

"I'll always be waiting for you."

That was the last Jason heard before he was engulfed back into the dark abyss with crisp lime lines swirling around him.

~

Back in Gotham, Jason was irritated at the ache he could feel deep in his soul. He wanted to blame it on the Pit, but something in the back of his mind told him he was wrong. He felt like he was missing something - someone, his soul whispers - but he didn't know what - who - and it was driving him insane.

Lost in his thoughts, he failed to dodge the girl who tripped into him. A crack in the pavement was precisely in the middle of the pair.

"I- I'm so sorry, monsieur."

She looked up at him, and Jason froze. For a moment, he could swear there was a surge of gold in her eyes, but he blinked and it was gone.

Her crimson lipstick reminded him of something. Not blood, but something more... cheerful. Valentine roses, he mused.

He held her arms as she wobbled, unsteady on her feet, and at the contact, it felt like everything clicked into place for the man.

He gave the petite woman a dangerous smirk. He purred, "Enchantée, mademoiselle."

The girl in his arms - his girl, his mind corrected - froze at that, flushing a beautifully deep red. He gave a husky laugh at that reaction. It was so innocent.

"Marinette," she breathed airily.

"Jason." The twinkle in his eyes he never knew he was missing was back. "Care to grab a coffee with me?"

---

Big thanks to @verymuchimmortalcat for being my beta!

Cross-posted on AO3

[moon-light-jukebox]

Germs [Reid x Reader]

this gif isn’t mine

Summary: Reader is sure the resident BAU genius doesn’t like her, but she’s not sure why. But even if he did like her, he’s a germaphobe, so he wouldn’t be comfortable with the things she wants to do to him...would he?

Pairing: Spencer Reid / (Female) Reader

Word Count: 5.6k

Rating: Mature 

Category: Fluff and Smut 

Content Warning: Brief mentions of torture and violence, usually criminal minds stuff, nothing explicit. Light choking, oral sex (female receiving), penetrative sex, fingering, language (maybe?) 

A/n: I have come out of fan fiction writing retirement for this one. Let me know what y’all think!  masterlist

y/n - your name

y/l/n - your last name

italicized text is Reader’s sassy inner thoughts

---

I’m not sure if I believe in hell, but if there is a hell, I’m sure it feels exactly like Louisiana in July. Every time I walked outside I felt like I was walking into soup. Gross. I couldn’t help but feel guilty over my sigh of relief when I walked back into the local precinct the team was currently working out of. Young women are dying, and I’m worried about a little bit of heat.

But, fuck, it was hot.

Speaking of heat, I thought as I threw open the door to the conference room only to run smack into the hottest thing I’d ever encountered.

“Shit,” I exclaimed before I thought better of it. “I’m so sorry.” I ran my eyes up, up, up, all the way up his body until I met his eyes; those beautiful honey brown eyes that threatened to have me acting like an idiot if I stared into them for too long.  

Dr. Spencer Reid’s cheeks were tinged pink, his posture stiff, his fingers clutching the file he was carrying for dear life. “Don’t worry about it, Y/n,” he sounded uncomfortable, which made my stomach drop. “My fault.” With that, he quickly maneuvered around me and headed off to complete whatever genius task he had to complete.

My eyes followed him until he was out of sight before I mentally shook myself. ‘C’mon, this is pointless,’ I thought. ‘He doesn’t even like you.’ Which I really thought was true, the good doctor went out of his way to avoid me whenever possible. ‘Plus, he’s a germaphobe.’ This thought was confirmed true. He didn’t shake people’s hands, the only people I’d seen him touch during my time at the BAU were members of the team that he’d known for years, and some of those even seemed reluctant.

Admittedly, I didn’t know a lot about germaphobia; since I couldn’t ask the only genius I knew, I did the next logical thing. I googled it. Every person I’d read about seemed to experience germaphobia differently. Some people could have sex, but others were grossed out by the very idea. Knowing my luck, Spencer Reid and his beautiful hands, and his soulful eyes, and his cheekbones that could cut glass was in the repulsed by sex category. Which is fine! Right, it is fine to not be interested in sex; the only problem was I was very interested in every part of him.  

Maybe he thinks I’m gross. Maybe I stink? Maybe he’s just repulsed by my very presence. Regardless, I couldn’t see Spencer Reid ever shoving me against a wall and fucking me senseless.

I sighed, making my way over to the conference table, pulling out a chair before I flopped into it. I could feel the exhaustion settling into my bones. We had been in Louisiana for almost a week now and we were still no closer to finding our unsub. He was a white man, he worked in a lower-paying job, and he hated women. Obviously, that didn’t narrow it down much.

The unsub was targeting women in clubs and bars, following them outside before he bashed them on the back of the head. After that, he threw the girls over his shoulder and took them to his car; he moved them to a secondary location before he tortured them. The first two victims had survived. They were traumatized, but they were fighters; they both said the same things, ‘he kept my eyes covered the entire time,’ “I never saw his face,’ ‘I did whatever he told me to do.’

We thought the killing of the third victim had been an accident, but that accident had excited our guy enough that he changed his ritual; the killing was crucial now. We had 4 bodies, 2 live victims that couldn’t tell us anything, and no leads.

Sighing, I leaned forward, bringing the heels of my hands to my eyes. I hated feeling helpless. The answer to who this fucker was is in this evidence somewhere and I will find it. If it’s the last thing I do.

The doors swung open again, pulling me from my thoughts. Hotch lead the parade of people, followed by Morgan, JJ, and Dr. Reid. Our unit chef looked gravely serious…not that that necessarily meant anything, in the 6 months I’d been with the behavioral analysis unit I hadn’t seen him have any other expression.

Morgan pulled out his phone, hitting what I suspected was speed dial number 1. “Hey baby girl,” he said, without his usual swagger; even he was tired. “You’re on speaker. You’ve got me, Hotch, JJ, Reid, and Y/l/n.”

“And I have the always wonderful Emily Prentiss, and the dashing David Rossi on the line, effectively putting my favorite people together again, as they should be,” Garcia quipped. I don’t think she meant to include me in her list of ‘favorite people,’ but it made me smile anyway. “Okay, crime fighters, what’s the play?”

“We’re still no closer to finding the unsub,” Hotch began. “He’s highly organized, methodical, and paranoid; but he hasn’t killed in 3 days, this is a break from his escalation pattern. He’s going to strike soon.” Hotch leaned over resting his palms on the shiny fake wood of the conference table. “Our best chance is to send an agent out there as bait.” There was a general murmur of agreement before he continued on. “Garcia, we need you to find all of the night clubs, bars, and whatever else you can think of in the updated comfort zone.”

The sound of keys clicking made its way through the speaker. “Assuming we’re excluding the places he’s already hit, that leaves us with 3 possibilities.”

“So far he hasn’t struck a place twice,” Prentiss chimed in. “Do we think he’s going to hold to that pattern?”

Reid moved over to the board where the map of the county was displayed. “I think so. This guy is too careful to risk going to a place where he’s been before. The chance of him being recognized is too great, especially when everyone is on high alert.” He gestured to the area he had circled on the map. “His pattern seems to be focusing in on this center point right here,” he said, placing a pin in the map. “This area means something. Garcia, what is the closest club or bar to the intersection of Washington Avenue and Harrison Street?”

“That would beeeeee…The Blue Fox.”

“That’s where he’ll be,” Dr. Reid said confidently, his eyes moving to Hotch’s face.

The older man nodded. “It’s our best lead so far, we have to run with it.”

“It’s Friday night,” Rossi pointed out. “We’ll have to act soon.”

Hotch nodded, seeming to be lost in thought. “We need to send agents in there tonight. We know the victims were all on dates or flirting with a man right before their abduction. He targets women that are happy with their companions then waits til he can separate them.”

“Who are you planning on sending in, Hotch?’ JJ questioned.

“Y/l/n is the youngest, she fits the build of the previous victims the best.” His heavy gaze rested on me. “What do you think?”

Like it was even a choice. “I’m in.”

Hotch nodded, accepting my answer. “Good. You’ll partner with Reid.”

“What?!” I squawked, much to my embarrassment. I cleared my throat before I continued. “But, Reid and I…I just thought Morgan would be the obvious choice.” Fuck, I’m just digging a bigger hole.

Morgan gave me an easy smile. “You’re just saying that because you wanna see my moves, little mama.”

Hotch cleared his throat, bringing our attention back. “Morgan is too intimidating; the unsub might not move in if he feels too threatened. You’ll go with Reid.” When he was met with silence he continued on, “alright, let’s get to work.”

-

And that is how I wound up in a club in Louisiana on a Friday night, in a tight black dress, with Spencer Reid beside me. After he walked into the club holding my hand. He doesn’t hold hands, I cringed internally at the thought. He must feel so uncomfortable.

He waved the bartender over, ordering a drink for me and a water for himself before turning to me. “I thought a drink would loosen you up a bit. You look nervous.”

I am nervous. “Right. Thanks.” I drummed my fingers on the bar, my gaze sweeping around the club for anyone who seemed out of place and especially creepy. Most lone men at clubs and bars were creepy, but we need especially creepy.

“Is that because you don’t think I can have your back?”

My head snapped back around. “What?”

Spencer paused to accept the drinks from the bartender, sliding him the money. “In the conference room. You seemed upset that Morgan wasn’t going to be your partner,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Is that because you think I wouldn’t have your back?”

Fuck. I blushed to the roots of my hair. “No, Spencer! God no! It’s not that, I know you’d have my back.” I took a sip of my drink before I said anything else. “It’s just that…you don’t seem to like me very much, and I know you have a thing about germs, and I thought maybe that’s why you didn’t like me.” I was babbling; I was absolutely babbling. “I just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable, that’s all. Morgan has never seemed uncomfortable around me, so…” I trailed off lamely.

The corners of his lips quirked up in amusement. “So, you didn’t want to partner with me on this because you didn’t want me to be uncomfortable?”

I nodded, fidgeting with the straw in my drink.

Spencer moved closer to me, his right hand coming to rest on the small of my back. He seemed as calm as he could be, meanwhile I suddenly had trouble breathing.

It’s for the case. He has to do this for the case. Calm down.

"What do my issues with germs have to do with this?" he wondered, leaning closer to me. I could feel his breath on my neck; my skin broke out in goosebumps.

Double fuck. “Well, we’re supposed to be…together. And you think I’m gross. What if you have to kiss me?” TRIPLE FUCK. “Not that we’d have to kiss,” I tried to backpedal. “But we might, you never know. And I just didn’t…I don’t want you to dislike me more than you do.”

The teasing smile slipped from his face, the fingers on my lower back flexing slightly. He regarded me with a tilt of his head. "You're serious?" At my shaky nod, he continued. "Y/n, I don't think you're gross."

“You don’t?” I squeaked.

He lifted his hand from my back then, sliding it up to my shoulder, his free hand moving from the bar to rest on my hip. Spencer brushed my hair back before he leaned forward. Slowly, slowly, slowly, I felt his lips touch the tender skin of my neck. My eyes fluttered shut, unable to suppress a gasp at the contact. Spencer Reid’s beautiful lips slid down to the place where my neck and shoulder met, then I felt his teeth nip the skin before he placed another kiss there. He worked his way back up towards my ear, the hand on my hip moving slightly so he was almost grabbing my ass. “I don’t think you’re gross,” he breathed, causing me to shudder. I could hear the smirk in his voice. “Germs don’t bother me in that way, especially around people I know. I wouldn’t have a problem kissing you, baby.”

I was going to need new panties after this. Spencer Reid, awkward, sweet, Dr. Spencer Reid just called me Baby.

“…Oh.” Really, y/n. Oh; you went with oh?

The good doctor pulled back, his face close enough to mine that I could see that he had freckles under his eyes and that those beautiful eyes got more golden towards the center. "Oh."

-

Michael Watkins was the name of our unsub. He was a short white man with a receding hairline and a bad temper. His last relationship had ended 3 months before the first attack; Spencer was right to pick this bar. Shortly after he tried to make my pussy combust with his neck kisses, Reid suggested I walk to the bathroom, assuring me he’d be watching if anyone followed.

Watkins’ hand was in my hair, dragging me outside before I made it to the ladies’ room. I felt a jolt of fear as I struggled to escape, strands of hair being ripped from my head. I shouldn’t have worried, because no sooner had the outside door opened than I heard the velvety voice of Derek Morgan. “FBI! Put your hands where we can see them.”

He attempted to run. Why would anyone try to run from Derek Morgan?  

After the medics confirmed I was okay, I was sent back to the hotel while the rest of the team went with the local police to book Watkins and try to get a full confession.

“Good work,” Hotch said, his hand clapping down on my shoulder.

The highest praise I’ll ever need.

I hopped into the shower right when I got back to my room, not wanting Watkins’ touch on me for a moment longer.

Spencer’s touch, however,…That was a touch I wouldn’t mind having on me. But he’d barely looked at me once he made it outside. I knew he was being affectionate in there because of the case, we were playing a role. I knew that. I still couldn’t stop the twinge of hurt I felt.

But he doesn’t think I’m gross. That had to count for something.

I had just got done blow drying my hair enough so that it wouldn’t look too crazy when I woke up when there was a knock on my door. Figuring it was Emily, I didn't consider the fact that I was in my pajamas, and my face was scrubbed free of makeup.  

It wasn’t Emily. Spencer Reid stood on the other side of my door, his eyes running down my body before he met my bewildered stare again. “You look comfy,” he commented with that damn little smile on his lips again.

“Oh. Yeah. I took a shower.” Way to go, y/n, you’re really killing it tonight.

“I see that,” he said, his cheeks going a little bit pink. “Can I come in? I thought we should talk.” Was he nervous? Why would he be nervous?

I ushered him in, shutting the door behind him. He sat on the bottom edge of my bed; his body angled towards the headboard. I briefly debated about where to sit before I joined him. Don’t make it weird, y/n.

He cleared his throat before he began. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable tonight. I just wanted to make sure we got the guy.”

Right. “Oh, it’s okay, Spencer. I get it. I wasn’t uncomfortable.” I picked at the frayed edge of my sleep shorts, my eyes dropping so he didn’t see anything on my face that betrayed how I was feeling; you can’t be too careful around profilers.

His hand reached out to cover my own fidgeting hands, one of his hands covering both of mine. His hands were so big. His fingers were so long, the veins in his hands were so pronounced. I bet those fingers would feel really – FOCUS.

“I’m also sorry you thought I didn’t like you.” His thumb had started to move slowly over the back of my hand. “I do like you. I like you a lot, actually. I just…” I brought my gaze back up to meet his eyes. “I just get nervous sometimes.”

“You didn’t seem nervous in the club.”

“No,” he chuckled. “I wasn’t nervous then because it was my job. I wasn’t worried about misreading a signal…doing the wrong thing…I’m not the best with social cues.” I had noticed that about him before. “But I am a really good profiler.” And he’s humble too, apparently.

“I know that you couldn’t fake your reaction to me in the club. Your breathing became quicker, I felt your pulse jump under my lips when they were on your neck. I saw how blown your pupils got." He shifted closer to me then, bringing his other hand up to push my hair behind my shoulder like he did earlier in the night. "Just like they are now."

He leaned closer to me, his voice was lower, and it made my stomach flutter. "You're clenching your thighs together, Y/n. Your shirt may be baggy, but I can see how hard your nipples are too." His tongue ran out to wet his lips. "If I'm wrong, just tell me now. If I've misread this, I will leave right now, and we can pretend this never happened." Spencer brought both his hands up to cradle my face; despite how wet my panties were, how tight my nipples are, how badly I wanted him to touch me, this gesture made me feel special. He was holding me like he actually cared about me like I was precious. "But, if I'm not wrong, and you want this too, Y/n, tell me. Tell me you want this too and I won't stop touching you until you scream my name."

I let out a soft whimper then. Like it’s a choice. “I want this,” I leaned into his touch. “Please, Spencer.”

His thumb brushed over my cheek, his eyes never leaving mine. “Please, what, baby?”

“Kiss me.”

No sooner had the words left my mouth than his lips were on mine. His lips were softer than I imagined, they were firm and almost…questioning. When I nipped at his bottom lip, something seemed to break free inside of him. His lips slanted over mine with a hunger I had never felt. His tongue ran over my bottom lip before I opened for him. Spencer’s tongue moved into my mouth while his hands moved; one hand moved back to grip my hair at the base of my skull, tugging firmly, the other moved down to my neck, not applying any pressure, just resting it there in a gesture that felt possessive.

The need for oxygen broke us apart, his lips moving across my cheek to my jaw, then down to my neck. “How could you think I didn’t like you?” he mumbled into my skin. “You have no idea what you do to me. None.”

I threw my head back when he sucked on my pulse point, a moan ripping from my throat. “W-what…what do I do?”

Pulling back from me, he gripped the bottom of my shirt, looking at me for consent before he pulled it over my head. His eyes were firmly on my chest, his lips parted, his breathing heavy. He pushed me down slowly on the bed; I was on my back and he was hovering over me. I felt his mouth place hot, wet, kisses from my collarbone down towards my breasts. His right hand landed on my breast, his thumb brushing back and forth over my nipple while his lips moved closer and closer to my left. I tangled my hands in his hair, urging him forward.

“You want to know what you do to me?” he raised his head slightly, making sure my eyes were on him when he flicked his tongue over my nipple, causing me to gasp. “What do you do to me in your little skirts, with your little smiles, and your little laughs?” He gave my nipple a sharp pinch. “You’re all I fucking think about, y/n.” With a growl, he finally took my nipple in his mouth, teasing it with his teeth and tongue. He switched to the other breast while he adjusted himself over me, bringing his pelvis down to rest at the seam of my body between my thighs. I shifted restlessly under him, trying to grind my pussy against him. He was so fucking hard.

With a groan, he lifted his head and started kissing his way towards the middle of my chest, moving down to the curve of my stomach. “Do you know how many times I came back to my hotel room after spending all day with you and was so hard I had to cum before I could think of anything else?” he peppered kisses down my body as he spoke.

My eyes shot open at this confession that he seemed to think was no big deal. “What?” I couldn’t believe this. “You…you touched yourself and thought of…”

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of my shorts and panties, taking my raised hips as an invitation to remove both from my body. "You. I thought of you." He threw my clothes on the floor, pulling my legs open. His eyes moved over all of me, his Adam's apple bobbing when he swallowed hard. “I thought about kissing you. About making you squirm for me.” He ran his fingers up and down my thighs, his mouth running slowly over my inner thighs. Spencer’s hands hooked around my upper thighs, moving me to where he wanted me. “But, most of all, I thought about this pretty pussy.” He placed a kiss on my clit, chuckling at the wanton moan that came from me and how my fingers tangled in his soft brown curls. “I thought about all the different ways I could make this pretty pussy cum all over me.” With that, he ran his tongue up my slit before flicking it over my clit.

Dr. Spencer Reid was good at everything, so of course, he was good at this too. His mouth moved over me, watching my reaction to see what I liked best. His tongue moved in circles around my clit before slipping down to my opening. His tongue plunged inside me, fucking me, while his thumb came over to rub my clit.

“Spence- fuck- Spencer, please.” My hips tried to shift restlessly, but his arms were iron bars holding me still. He slowly moved his left forearm to rest across my hips, bringing his right hand down to my throbbing pussy. He pulled his mouth away from me, much to my dismay. He pushed one finger, then another into me. My head thrashed wildly, and my thighs started to shake. “Spencer!”

He just smirked and curled his fingers, hitting the spot inside me that made everything in my body pulse. “What, baby?”

My breaths were coming in gasps, my voice was a needy whimper. “Make me cum, Spencer. Please, please make me cum.”

He needed no other encouragement. His fingers continued their steady thrust in and out of me while his mouth covered my clit again. He alternated between flicking my clit with his tongue, then circling it before pulling it into his mouth, sucking lightly.

“Spencer.” I felt my orgasm rising. “Spencer don’t- don’t stop. I’m gonna cum, please make me cum.”

He kept his pace steady, sucking on my clit, moaning at my words. His eyes had been closed, but at that moment they opened and met mine. Then I felt his teeth ghost over my clit, I saw the want in his eyes. That was my undoing. My back arched, my mouth hung open in a silent scream. I heard myself say his name over and over again. Spencer pushed his fingers inside me, massaging me through the most powerful orgasm I had ever had. With one final kiss on my oversensitive clit, he withdrew his fingers, putting them into his mouth to suck my orgasm off of them.

He kissed back up my body, and I tried to respond, but I was still so shattered. I had never felt anything so powerful before. He cupped my face in one hand and kissed me slowly. I returned the kiss, moving my hands to the buttons of his shirt.

Spencer broke the kiss, pulling back to look at me again. “Hang on, baby.” His hand came up to still my own. “We can take a second. It’s okay. Just breathe.”

This beautiful man smiled at me then. I felt my heart flutter when he leaned down to pepper soft kisses along my jaw, his thumb coming up to wipe a tear that fell from the corner of my eye that I hadn’t even noticed.

I don’t know how long we stayed like that. He shifted to lay beside me, whispering reassurances to me while I came back down. This was just one of the ways that Spencer was so different from every other man. I didn't feel rushed, or pressured. I could feel how hard he still was, I could feel the tension in his body, but he simply kissed me while he cupped my jaw.

He made me feel…cherished.

I moved my hands to tangle in his hair again, deepening our kiss. He didn’t move my hands away when I started to work on the buttons of his shirt. The fire that I thought had been calmed by my orgasm had come roaring back. Spencer moved his hands to his belt while I finished with his shirt. His shirt came off, tossed in the same direction as my clothes. I pulled his pants and boxers down his legs, watching his cock spring free.

Everything about him was painfully beautiful. His angular cheekbones, the jaw that looked like it was carved from granite, even the toned muscles of his body. He had a small trail of hair that went down from his belly button to his groin. His cock laid against his stomach, the head glistening with precum.

“You’re beautiful,” I whispered, kneeling beside him, running my eyes over his body.

His soft hand came to grab mine, pulling it to his lips. He kissed the back of my hand, smiling softly at me.

I moved to straddle him, lower on his thighs. I took him in my hand, moving up and down, twisting my wrist as I neared the tip, swiping my thumb over his head.

“Baby,” he groaned. “Y/n, as much as I want you to do…whatever the fuck you want with me, I’m so close. I feel like I’m going to explode.” I bit into my bottom lip, unable to totally stop the smile spreading over my face. “Please, I need to feel your pussy wrapped around my cock.” He moved his hands to my hips, urging my body forward.

I raised up on my knees, taking him in my hand again, lining him up with my entrance. The tendons in his neck were strained, his fingers gripped my hips so hard I knew I was going to have bruises tomorrow. As I slowly started to sink down on his cock, Spencer let out the sexiest groan I had ever heard. His eyes were fixed where our bodies were joined, watching his dick slid deeper inside of me.

“Come on, baby,” he whispered. “You’re doing so good. Just a little bit more.”

He was so long, he wasn't overly thick, but just thick enough to cause a pleasurable stretching when he breached me that was almost painful. I gasped out a sound that might have been his name when he bottomed out inside me. I slowly circled my hips, adjusting to him. Spencer’s nails dug into my hips as he forced himself to stay still.

“Please move, y/n. Please. You’re so fucking tight.” He groaned as my walls fluttered around him. “Do you like it when I talk to you? Does that make your pretty pussy wetter?” He smirked at my whimper as I tightened around him.

I began at a slower pace, trying to tease him. Spencer quickly lost patience with that; he thrust his hips upwards, meeting my movements, his hands pushing me down onto him. I leaned forward, bracing on hand on his shoulder, the other on the bed. He pounded into me while I tried to match his pace. Spencer’s hand moved from my hip up to wrap around my throat. I nodded, forcing my eyes to stay open as he moved inside me.

His fingers squeezed slightly, pulling my face closer to his. Our lips met in a sloppy kiss. My thighs burned from matching his movements. “You feel so fucking good, y/n.” His grip on my neck tightened ever so slightly, which only heightened my arousal. “I want to feel you cum on my cock. Can you do that for me, pretty girl?”

He flipped us over quickly, never pulling completely out of me. Spencer moved to push my legs further apart, the change in angle allowing him to fill me deeper than I thought possible. His hair was sticking to his brow, his cheeks were flushed, his breathing erratic. He was the most fucking beautiful thing I had ever seen.

One hand held my leg, the other went down to my pussy, his thumb moving over my clit at a rapid pace. “Tell me what you need, Pretty Girl. Tell me how to make this pretty pussy cum all over me.”

I whined at his words. “Spencer, I-“ my voice broke off. I was so fucking close. "I need you." He seemed to understand my broken plea. He brought his body down, his chest flush against mine. He rocked into me at such a fast and hard pace. His hand still in between us rubbing circles around my clit.  

I felt his lips ghost over my ear. “I want to fucking hear you, y/n.” His speed increased, his thrust getting choppier. He was close. “I want this whole fucking town to hear what you sound like when I make you cum. When you cream all over my dick, I want you to scream my name.” With that, he moved his mouth down my neck. He bit the same tender area he had kissed in the club, where my neck met my shoulder.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck yes, Spencer!" I felt myself begin to splinter apart. “Please make me cum, fuck please.” My babbling finally broke as my orgasm tore through me. I couldn’t hear his deep groan when I came, my scream was too loud. I felt the vibration against my neck. It was only as I started to float down that I realized my nails were dug into his back. With a few last thrust and my name on his lips, I felt Spencer pulse, cumming inside me.

We lay there for a few minutes, just breathing before he rolled off of me. I felt overwhelmed, so I was relieved when he tugged me over to him. He wrapped his arm around me when I laid my head on his chest. I felt his lips on my forehead. “It’s very important for women to urinate after sexual intercourse to avoid UTIs, but you have another minute or so before that becomes more urgent.”

I couldn’t control my laugh at his comment. "Thanks, Doc." I kissed his chest. "Only you could make me cum so hard I almost blackout, then go back to being…you." I slowly untangled myself from him, going to the bathroom to handle business. When I returned, I found Spencer where I left him, his eyes were fixed on the ceiling, one hand resting behind his head, the other over his heart. He looked so lost in that moment.

“Spencer?” I asked, crawling on to the bed. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t pretend that something wasn’t bothering him. “When you said that I just go back to being me…Do you not like that?”

My heart broke a tiny bit at the question. “Spencer, no! I love that! I love your little facts and statistics!” How did he not know that? “The best part of my day is listening to you talk. Just being with you is wonderful.” I cupped his face, bringing his gaze to mine. “Sure, I like what we just did; but I liked you before that. I want both.” Fuck. “Assuming you want me,” I rambled quickly. “This doesn’t have to mean anything, I know that it doesn’t always-“

He cut me off by pressing his lips to mine in the sweetest kiss I had ever felt. It was filled with hope and promise and…Spencer.

“It means everything to me, Y/n.”

-

I didn’t see the rest of the team until the next morning when we all boarded the jet; I was so ready to go home. I personally didn’t think anything appeared that different. Spencer sat beside me on the couch, but that wasn’t weird…right? We were just co-workers, sitting beside each other super casually. Had we spent most of last night and a little bit of this morning screwing each other’s brains out? Certainly. But you couldn’t see that…right?

Morgan’s chuckle is what confirmed I was so wrong. “Hey, y/l/n,” he called, smiling so hard it looked like his face would split from his amusement. “You missed a spot.” He pointed towards his own neck.

There was a beat of silence before Hotch snorted. SSA Aaron Hotchner, the man who never found anything funny was laughing at me.

I felt myself turn tomato red, angling my body towards Spencer’s, burying my head against his shoulder, away from the rest of the team.

“I bet you’re glad pretty boy was your partner now, huh?”

I may have wanted to melt into the floor in embarrassment, but it was sort of worth it to see the blush on Spencer’s cheeks.

--

[oops-aquarius]

tainted kisses

summary: steve needs some relaxation, which you provide to him

warnings: smut (!!!!), praise kink, slight degradation kink, a little bit of angst cuz a hoe is sad, oral fixation (duh), slight dom/sub dynamics (?), mentions of sadness/depression, tiny mommy kink (like barely there)

pairing: steve rogers x reader

word count: 2.2k

note(s): not edited well at all, also i used a prompt generator to get the promt i used (which is below !!)

prompt: “baths or water (tubs or jacuzzis; hot springs; water houses or steam rooms; the ocean; swimming pools.”

kink: “Oral fixation or fetishization (lips, tongue, or whole mouth; french-kissing; licking; oral displays using food or beer bottles; smoking cigarettes, cigars, or pipes; biting or chewing one's lip(s))”

--

***this is post-endgame except nobody died, cause im a hoe for all of the avengers***

Steve never realized how much he liked things in his mouth. Not always in a sexual way, at least not until after fighting Thanos.

After fighting for so long, bottling up his emotions was not at all how Steve needed to cope. He tried the yoga and meditation route Wanda had so kindly suggested. Yeah, after one session of hot yoga, Steve decided that it wasn't going to happen. Tony, obviously, suggested sex. Said something about it being a “healing experience for the soul”. That’s bullshit were Steve’s first thoughts when that came out of his mouth. Bucky told him to get some goats and raved about how therapeutic it was to raise them. But Steve could barely take care of himself, how would he even take care of a goat? Steve felt a hot sense of hopelessness burn against the back of his eyes as he sat on the floor of his bedroom, back pressed against the adjoined bathroom door.

“Steve?” A soft knock came from the front door. He took his thumb away from his mouth, he had resorted to subconsciously nibbling on the tip of it. Pulling himself off the door and towards the voice, he rubbed his tear-stricken cheeks in attempts to clean himself up a bit before seeing you.

“One sec, Y/N/N.”

When he opened the door, your face softened a bit before the smile that Steve, secretly, loved so much dropped off your face completely. “Stevie, what happened?”

Stevie, a nickname he hated for his entire life. A name that reminded him of the days before the super solider serum where he was a little guy getting beaten up on the streets of Brooklyn. Stevie, a nickname he loved hearing from your caring voice. Nobody else’s. 

“Just tired, Y/N” he sighed, “so,so tired.”

“Stevie,” your voice caught at the back of your throat. Seeing him in so much pain made your life turn upside down. He doesn't deserve to be in pain. “ S’there anything I can do to make you feel better?”

“Just stay with me? Please?”

You took him back into his bed and sat with him, just talking about life until his breathing turned back to normal and he seemed partially-okay. 

“Do you want to take a bath?” you asked, still stroking the blonde strands of his hair.

“Are you saying I smell?” He took his face out of the crook of your shoulder, feigning a look of hurt.

“No, punk, I meant to relax. You seemed pretty shaken up and I just wanted to help. I mean, that’s what I do when I feel down, relax in a bat-”

He cuts you off, “I appreciate it. Really, Y/N, I don’t know many people that are as loving and caring as you, sweetheart.” The nickname made a pang in your heart. You had like the super solider since you had met him, but never felt like he reciprocated the feelings. Even though you both cuddled often, and had movie nights, and he always let you beat him while sparring, and that one time you came down with a stomach bug and he fed you soup and-holy shit. Did Steve like you? “Sweetheart?”

“Huh?”

“I said, ‘A bath does sound nice’. What’s got you so suddenly zoned out?” He says, donning a smirk.

“It’s nothing. Let’s get you into that bath, mister,” you had a faux grumpy look on your face as you got up and walked to the bathroom, starting to fill the white, ceramic bathtub with warm water. “Okay, big boy. You need help getting up or are you okay?”

Rolling his eyes at your inauthentic tone, Steve pushes his tensed frame off the body and managed to stumble into the bathroom, while you following him closely to make sure he doesn't fall over from exhaustion.

“I get it, I’m old, but damn Y/N. I can walk perfectly fine,” He chuckles as he pushes himself up to sit on the counter top.

You start to fill up the bathtub with warm water, adding bubbles and lighting a few scented candles. He looked so pretty, hair sticking out in every direction, lips pink and puffy from biting them, his ocean blue eyes still misty as he looks down at his cuticles, picking them slightly. 

“Okay, I’m gonna leave so you can take this bath,” you say, shutting off the faucet, “Got it?”

“Y/N?”

“Yes, Stevie.”

“Stay, please.” His eyes were watering more than earlier. He had those puppy dog eyes, lip quivering as his voice cracked and wavered even with just a few words. He looked so vulnerable, how could you say no to him?

“Of course, Steve. I mean, the bubbles with kind of cover everything. I’ll just sit next to the tub with you, alright?” You awkwardly giggled and scratched the back of your neck. He nodded, hopping off of the counter and starting to undress himself with a wobble. “Stevie, you’re shaking like a leaf, let me help you.”

His eyes never met yours as you helped him pull his t-shirt over his head and looped your delicate fingers through the waistband of his sweatpants, dragging them down his muscular thighs. “You’re not gonna finish your job, doll?”

His boxers. The only clothes he had left on were his grey boxers. You wanted to give him privacy and not look, especially in such a broken and vulnerable state. But god, you could see the outline of his partially-hard cock through the soft cotton. You thought about what it would be like to have your mouth around his hard length, chocking on it as he rammed himself into the back of your throat.

“Ummm, I just--I thought--I mean I can---Only if you want--” The dirty thoughts clouded your brain. It made speaking a speaking a sentence almost impossible as your mouth watered just thinking about his cock.

“It was a joke, sweetheart,” he laughed heartily, “You’re too adorable.”

Pulling his boxers down his legs, he waddled tiredly over to the tub before stepping in. He groaned in pleasure at the feeling of the warm water encapsulating his exhausted body. You imagined that’s how he’d groan if you sucked his cock so hard he was seeing stars.

You were still facing the door, like you were as Steve got completely undressed. You knew if you turned around and look at him, naked and at ease, you’d jump his bones in a heartbeat. “Come sit with me, Y/N”

And you did. You turned around cautiously, like you expected, the bubbles covered his body enough for you to be able to handle yourself as you sat down next to the tub. You grabbed his hand away from his lips, running your soft fingers over his rough calloused ones. “I always see you biting your nails or cuticle or lips or your pens. Why?”

He sighed, “I’m not sure, I guess it just distracts me?” He said it more like it was a question rather than a statement. “I guess I don’t truly know why I do it, I guess I just enjoy having things in my mouth.”

You could read Steve like a book, his pupils blown with lust, his lip stuck between his teeth, a blush heating up his cheeks. You took a leap of faith.

“Yeah, like what?”

“You.”

His lips were on yours in a flurry, it took a second for you to react, but as soon as you did it felt amazing. Neither of you seemed to care about the water splashing over you as his hands trailed up your body, tugging at the hem of your shirt.

He pulls away panting, “F-Fuck, Y/N, I need you. Please. Oh my god I need you so bad,” His eyes looked as if they were welling up with tears and he looked so pretty still in the relaxing bubble bath, whimpering and whining for you. 

“God, I need you too, baby,” you stop to look in his eyes sincerely, “Are you sure you want this? I don’t want to do anything that you don’t want to do or that you will regret.” Your hand caresses his cheek.

“Just get in here with me and I’ll show you how much I want you,” he whispered, “Need you, really.”

You sighed before your hands moved shakily to take off your t shirt. As much as you wanted this, you were still scared of how the ripped super solider would feel about you and your body, As soon as your shirt was off, Steve was whimpering, dipping his hand into the soapy water to massage his aching cock. This only spurred you to take off your clothes and join him faster. 

“Did I say you could touch yourself, puppy?” Your stern voice caught him off-guard, making him pause his actions with a look of fear on his face. You step into the bathtub, straddling him. Your nails raked up his milky white thighs, trailing up his body admiring the beauty of it. “Y’Know I was planning on being nice to you because you’ve been so good to me, but you might need to be punished, baby? Do you need to punshied like a brat?”

He mewled, bowing his head in shame. You could feel him growing harder and harder by the second and you were starting to go crazy with the empty feeling inside of you that on he could fill. “No, ma’am. I’ll be good, I swear!”

“Mmmm, that’s my good boy.” Your hands slid up his chest and rested on his cheeks, hearing him preen at your praise, as you repositioned yourself over his cock. “Are you sure you want this?”

“If you dont ride me into next week right fucking now I’m going to scream, Y/N,” He breathed out with a chuckle, Grabbing your thighs, he helps you sink down on his cock. Both of you were moaning and whimpering messes by the time you were sitting at this base of him, trying to get adjusted to his large size. 

Hot tears burned at the back of his eyes as soon as you lifted yourself up off of him, only leaving the tip of him inside of you, and slamming back down on his dick. 

“Baby-please,” he whimpered, “n-need, shit, need your fingers, bad.” 

You were confused, slowing down a bit to make sure he was okay. But his puppy dog eyes showed that he was okay. Slowly taking your wrist from his cheek, he puts your fingers in his warm mouth. Moaning around them and swirling his tongue around them. He did it the same way you always dreamed about sucking his dick, chocking and gagging on his length.

“Yeah, you’re such a needy little slut for me, for this pussy. Look at you, so ruined and fucked out just because I’m fucking you.” He moaned sensually at your words making your core tighten impossibly. 

You had gotten a good idea as you were riding him. Slowly, you start to thrust your hand in and out of his mouth, watching the saliva dribble out of the corners of his mouth as he choked on you. The band in your tummy starts tightening as you feel yourself getting close. 

“Shit, fuck, baby, I’m gonna come. Oh my god, you’re make me come with your beautiful cock, puppy. So good for me, aren’t you?” Your free hand dips into the water, cupping his balls and rolling them around your soft palm.

He nods, choking on your nimble finger yet again his you massage his sensitive balls. “Gonna come,” he slurred and spit around you.\, “almost there.”

“I didn’t” you moaned as you feel his balls tighten, fall back down on his cock at a faster pace, “give you permission to do that. I thought you were going to be good for me?”

“I am” he spluttered loudly, “i am good, I swear. Just please let me come. I need it, oh shit, mommy.”

The name went straight to your core, making you grow weak as you feebly give him permission to come as you come undone with one more bounce on his large member. His hands come up to grope your breasts as he come with hot spurts inside of your tight cunt. 

“Oh my god,” you stifle a giggle as you stand up on shaky legs. You wordlessly helped him out of the tub and wrapped him in a white towel, walking him to bed while you dried yourself off. Collapsing on the bed with a grunt, the solider hollds out his hand to you, signalling you to lay down with him. You could easily tell he was still coming down from his sex high, starting to regain his self back.

“I dont know what possessed me to,” he pauses, trying to figure out a way to word the rest of his sentence, “to suck, I guess, on your hand. I’m sorry, Y/N, that was really weird of me.”

“What do’ya mean, baby? Having an oral fixation isn’t something to be ashamed of.” The words make him smile with droopy eyes, tucking his head into your neck and starting to fall asleep, happy and comfortable, cuddling you.

“And to be honest, puppy. I think it’s really hot.”

[honestlyfrance]

SAMBUCKY BOOKMARKS

it’s fic yeah friday over at @fuckyeahsambucky​​​ so i wanna do a lil something something for the fandom :) check out my #fic rec tag for more! 

enjoy the more than 50 fics listed here :) be careful of the tags!

I Am Trying to Break Your Heart by Lunar_Pull

Today is the day that Steve received an invitation to the love of his life’s wedding.

Philopatry by Areiton

"I want to be safe," he says. "But I'm not." "Then why come here? Why put me at risk?" Something flickers in his eyes, little boy lost and utterly cold, and it makes Sam want to give the dude a hug and also pull his sidearm. "I have no reason to hurt you," Winter says. "I don't want to hurt you," Bucky adds, earnestly.

farmhouse by Tazmaster

"You know, I think I'd want a farmhouse."

"A what?" Sam turns to look at him, slightly annoyed. This was the first thing Bucky has said in the past hour and a half they've been cramped in this god forsaken car. He had a knack for impulsively voicing his dumb thoughts at the worst times, but whenever you wanted to know what was actually going on in that head of his, he'd never say.

They were staking out the front gate of a large mansion, very much not a farmhouse. It was mind numbingly boring, being stuck in a beetle with absolutely nothing else to do than stare at the gaudy gates of some rich asshole.

"A farmhouse," Bucky repeats nonchalantly, "If we ever get out of this business, or you know, live long enough to retire maybe--- I want a farmhouse. With a lot of animals."

---

Bucky keeps talking about a farmhouse and it drives Sam crazy, that is until he finally asks why.

Employee Discount by bopeep for queenmab_scherzo

Sam Wilson doesn't love working in a store that makes him wear vanity-sized polos and breathe in clouds of men's cologne like the worst kind of GQ aromatherapy, but the view from his cash register across the mall to the Hot Topic and the sullen Dark Prince of Wallet Chains he loves to hate may just beat the minimum wage blues.

In warm water, swimming down by targaryen_melodrama

“Why are you hiding?””Tired.”Bucky raises an eyebrow. “So you decided to swim.”“So I decided to be alone.”Bucky’s quiet for a moment. “I can go, if you want.”It’s the last thing Sam wants.

I figured out what the slashes mean by Teaismycoffee

Sam, Steve and Bucky are all living together in a safe house. Bucky and Sam discover fan fiction written about them. Steve doesn't approve. Sam and Bucky are really into secretly reading fan fiction together, or maybe it isn't the fan fiction part they are really into.

Chicken Soup for the Soul by bioloyg

“S’not my bed time,” Sam says as he buries his face in Bucky’s upper arm. Bucky laughs. “Tough. You’re sick.” Sam lets out a loan groan and says, “But my bed is cold. I was so warm, why’d you move me?” “Because your neck would’ve hated you if I didn’t.” He tries not to be so amused by how fussy Sam is when he’s both sick and half-asleep. It’s cute. ~ A fic wherein Bucky takes care of a sick Sam.

two nights in L.A. by CapnWinghead

Bucky kindly volunteered Sam to be a groomsman for Scott’s upcoming wedding. Of course, that meant Sam and Bucky had to go to the bachelor party.

at the end of the war (what's mine is yours) by notcaycepollard

They don't talk about it: that's how it works.

I'd Like That by honestlydarkprincess

Sam has been up for over 24 hours and has been dreaming about his Coffee Caramel Fudge non-dairy ice cream since about the 18-hour mark. When he gets to the store, there's only one carton of it left and, unfortunately for the guy innocently holding said carton, Sam's not leaving without it.

Or, the one where Sam is sleep deprived, yells at a cute guy, and gets both ice cream and a phone number out of it.

Ready, Set, Date! by bioloyg

Bucky wants to sleep, Natasha wants to find him a date for Steve's wedding (so he'll leave her alone), and Sam is the best thing about this whole speed dating disaster. But, Sam's not in the speed date rotations - he's at a different table weathering through dates just like Bucky is. ~ "Three dates in, Bucky decides he has made one of the worst decisions in all of his life by coming here. His first date had been an attractive enough man by the name of Greg. He introduces himself as “The Big G,” to which Sam laughs at in the middle of introducing himself to his own date. Greg likes to talk about cars a lot, which is fine. Bucky also likes cars. The only problem is that Greg’s love for cars borders on… erotic."

We'll rise up free and easy by Sarsaparilla, woofgender

Steve and Natasha are away on a mission when Sam receives intel about the Winter Soldier’s location. When he follows the lead, Sam finds something unexpected—but despite his initial impression, it’s certainly not all bad. (Post-CATWS, not AOU- or CACW-compliant.)

__________ "'Jesus Christ,' Sam said, 'Are you planning on fighting an entire army?'

Barnes looked up from examining the sights of a sniper rifle. '...no,' he said, a little guiltily, and adjusted one of the--five? Six? guns he’d already strapped to himself."

love is in the air (i smell coffee) by Flora_K, hermionesmydawg

Sam Wilson - graduate student, part-time barista, part-time salesman, and full-time father - doesn't have time to sleep, much less date. At least, that's what he tells himself.

Up at Night by bioloyg for lunaaltare

With Halloween nearing, Sam is feeling more in the mood for a scary movie than usual. He'd never watch one on his own though, so he invites his roommate to pick one out and join in on movie night. or Prompt fill for Samtember ~ "It’s quiet for a while after that. Like always, the two of them start on opposite sides of the queen sized bed with at least a foot of space between them. And, like always, they drift closer to one another as time passes, though whether it’s habitual or instinctual Sam would never dare delve into."

flowers in darkness, the moon above the sea by 27dis

Sam enjoyed his job, really.

But, not when a certain person came in.

A quick detour and a sudden arrival by iwillnotbecaged for heuradys

He found Wilson shivering in the snow, left for dead. Sloppy.

You couldn’t trust the elements to do your job for you. They were rarely so obliging.

A mission gone awry, unexpected help, and close quarters makes for an interesting couple of days.

Don't lock the door on me by TuskFM

Sam’s desperately trying to sleep when he gets a visit from the Winter Soldier at three a.m., bleeding and asking for help. Sam’s not the kind of guy who let someone bleed out on his front door, even if the said someone threw him off an helicarrier and stole his wheel.

and i run, further than before by hermionesmydawg

"What do they call you?" Bucky carefully pulls out an equal amount of caramel and cheese kernels of popcorn and pops them into his mouth. "Birdman?"

"No."

"Captain Canary?"

"Hell no."

"The Winged Avenger?"

"Falcon, dammit, and I am not an Avenger," Sam snaps, and now he's kinda pissed because yes, it's a bird name. He didn't sign up for this kind of ridicule from an amnesiac assassin.

***

Basically, the 5 times Sam actually found Bucky and the 1 time he tried to hide from him. Don't tell Steve.

Exquisite Flavor by enchantedlightningwrites for honestlyfrance

W&M's Grand Corner's growing to be one of the popular restaurants in New York, where Sam Wilson works as a chef for his sister. A wedding's in a few weeks and he has no idea on what to do about it. Notorious for his picky taste and blunt reviews, Bucky 'Winter Wolf' Barnes pays a visit. Little did he know, food could really win one's heart and lands on his stomach.

He's a Beta, You Hear That? by 27dis

Reasons why Sam didn’t realize Bucky was courting him this entire time: 1. He is a beta 2. He is oblivious 3. He thought Bucky is way out of his league 4. He is a beta for fuck’s sake

See? It’s hardly his fault for not noticing it. Why was Bucky flirting with him anyw—

Oh. Oh.

Or; Bucky swore flirting with someone was never this hard before.

stay where we belong by glittercake

He doesn't know what the hell he's doing when he turns around and shouts, "Yo! You know what—" and Barnes turns on his heel in a flash, "It's getting late, man. Looks like rain."

Sam motions to the grey sky above, and Barnes follows his eyes beyond the hanging Willow branches. "Yeah? What are you saying?"

He's got that terribly smug look on his face, the one Sam can't stand but kind of misses when it's not irritating him. But mostly, he can't stand it, "Nothing! Forget about it!"

Arms Spread Out Wide, Turn Falling Into Flight by irisesandlilies

It was easy, nothing has ever been easy for Bucky. Except this, and that terrifies him.

Years in the making by glittercake

Bucky and Sam meet as two young soldiers, but the time is never quite right to make it anything more. Until it eventually is.

or

Sam refuses to let himself fall in love while he's deployed. Bucky pines endlessly for years about the prettiest bird he’s ever seen. Sam’s no better.

If At First You Don't Succeed by SonnyD

Bucky finally gains the courage to tell Sam about his feelings. He comes up with a list of methods to woo him that were bound to succeed. He didn't account for each and every one of them failing in unexpected ways. The five times that Bucky attempts to woo Sam and the one time that Sam returns the favour.

if i could take us back, if i could just do that... by safelikespringtime

Bucky laughed, cheeks flushing red, “I’m glad you didn't. Don't know what I’d do without my wingman.” Sam groaned, poking Bucky’s side, “That was awful.” Bucky laughed. “You couldn’t survive without me. We both know it.”

How right he was.

***

Sam dies. Bucky mourns.

Strawberries and Cigarettes always taste like you by winterscaptsam

There’s a sweet agonizing simplicity in leaving behind your safe haven, like the thrill of adrenaline, reaching the top of Everest, allowed to admire its beautiful icy view but with the everlasting fear of not making it back down. Maybe that's why it was a natural instinct for Bucky to reach out for the closest thing that felt like home, slowly then all at once falling for the sweet warmth of mahogany eyes, what soon became his safe haven.

Baked With Love by Siancore

Bucky Barnes’ family owns a bakery in a small town. High school has long been over, and Bucky is dying to move to the city to pursue a musical career with his band. And his future looks promising, if he can just persuade his father to let him leave his job behind at their struggling family bakery.

It is no secret that Bucky used to love baking with his father, but things change. He just can’t fathom wasting his life away watching rising dough and hot ovens. With his mind made up to leave, Bucky convinces his father to advertise for a replacement. While interviewing candidates to fill the position he has vacated, Bucky meets Sam Wilson: An easy-going guy who is as eager about baking as Bucky is about leaving. They bond over baking and become close. Love looks like it is ready to bloom between them if Bucky, in his haste to escape, does not ruin it.

Beneath this Crown by winterscaptsam

Sam traces his fingers from James’ hairline, down to his jaw, resting the pad of his thumb on James lips. He will let himself relish in this feeling. Not even the sculptors, painters or poets could carve their words and materials to accurately describe this.

“Do you think the history books will remember us?” Sam had once asked. And James’ words were made of the purest of golds, “my love, we will be legends for the children yet to come.”

Or

Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes' love story, one a prince and the other a knight.

make my body come alive (i've got a right to hurt inside) by notcaycepollard

The body is weak. The body is hungry and soft and human. He looks at himself in the mirror, the bones of his shoulders, his cheeks hollowed out from hunger, and he thinks, gentle, you didn’t deserve this.

safe like spring time by quidhitch

“I already told you it looks good. What more is there?”

“I don’t know, man, you’re gonna live here. I just wish I knew a little bit more about how that’s sitting with you.”

Sam knows Bucky feels fine. What Sam’s probably actually after is how he feels about the fact neither of them have anywhere else to go, not with Natasha dead and Steve wrinkly. Therapists. Even the good ones, always so circular.

“I like the terrace,” Bucky offers, mostly to appease him.

Airy Laundry by AmarieMelody

Sam watches what happens when Bucky buys a clothesline.

lucky by CapnWinghead

In retrospect, it took Bucky an embarrassingly long time to realize that everyone and Scott's mom thought he and Sam were dating.

not an end, but (the start of all things) by notcaycepollard

They keep driving, for lack of anything better to do. A mission, Sam had said, and maybe that's true; maybe wherever they're headed is the way out, the way up.

So You Run On Gasoline by 343EnderSpark, ABitNotGoodieBag, OriginalCeenote

Bucky may have bitten off more than he could chew with this job, he thinks, as he ambles along the sidewalk to the cafe after leaving campus. He is running off the fumes of exhaustion and hasn’t had more than 3 hours of uninterrupted sleep in the past week. Between his students and his thesis, he knows that it’s foolish to try so hard to hang on to his barista gig, but DC isn’t a cheap place to live and Bucky can’t live with other people.

Bucky is just trying his best, despite being a human disaster.

we could jump the state lines (we only get the one life) by notcaycepollard

It starts in Paris.

“You can’t steal things just because you like them,” Sam tells Bucky, feeling innately that this is a losing battle, and Bucky cocks his head to the side, considers Sam very thoughtfully.

“Really,” he says. “I’m stealing you, aren’t I?”

we were a fire with no smoke by notcaycepollard

Sam can’t help but roll his eyes. Take the boys out of New York but they’re still Brooklyn Catholics, that’s clear enough. Bucky catches the gesture, smirks hard enough Sam can see his eye teeth. It should be dangerous but he’s beautiful, pale and charming and recklessly easy.

“You wanna come in?” Sam asks, ignoring the noise Steve makes, and Bucky’s smile gets wider.

“Yeah,” he says. Steps up close to Sam. “I do.”

Peace Begins with a Smile by Siancore

Bucky just likes the way Sam smiles.

They're Good Drones, Brent by chase_acow

When Redwing becomes infected with an alien A.I., Sam has to balance the needs of the team with his own curiosity about his new partner. Redwing isn’t the only one acting strange, he also needs to get to the bottom of Bucky’s weirdness. It takes a training exercise gone wrong that Redwing and Sam might not survive for their secrets to be exposed.

Wet Asphalt (This Is What Love Is) by ObviouslyOtter

Soft words in the dark tell us all we need to know about love. Better when they come from the person you need to hear it from most. It's crueler when you don't realize it till afterward.

Or

Sam and Bucky go out shopping for candles.

i'm gone by bi_marvel

After infiltrating a Hydra base, Sam and Bucky are sent to a safe house, and there's only one bed. Oh, golly, I wonder what will happen!

Covert Coffee & Flirtation Special by glittercake

The reporter says "—for Captain America to—"

And Bucky rolls his eyes. "Oh, here we go."

Sam looks at him then tips his head sideways, got a weird grin on his face. "Not a fan?"

"Not that. Just… the guy seems too good to be true, right? Wings and a shield? Come on."

"Uh, is that why your eyes are like glued to the screen whenever he's on?" Kate says. "Is that why you call him Captain Tight Ass?"

"He's a goddamn show-off, and you know it. Tight ass or not."

Just then Sam snorts, real loud, grabs his coffee and suffers a horribly controlled laugh on his way out the door.

The Starting Line by birdlight

A Series

Lone and Level Sands by quantum_consciousness

The almost-smile disappears off Sam’s face and he takes a step deeper into the water, and he starts unbuttoning his shirt as he wades further. One look over his shoulder and he chucks the shirt to shore, and Sam dives into the water. The ache in Bucky’s chest deepens as Sam swims. He supposes, Sam has lost a lot more, he supposes, sometimes Sam feels as lonely as he used to.

in which love doesn’t ruin us by joesnick

“Idiot,” Bucky said, so natural and deliberate that she couldn’t hear well but it was there. Relief and happiness under a small light. “Don’t do that to me again.”

“Hey, I’m here,” Sam said, before getting closer and pressing his forehead against Bucky’s. “I’m here.” They ran out of words. They didn’t need them, not at that moment. Their steadying breaths and their tenderness, saved only for each other and fed by each other, was all they needed.

Ride of Shared Melodies by enchantedlightningwrites for honestlyfrance

Two strangers, Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson meet in an unexpected encounter in the airplane. Over the course of the ride, they discover their mutual love for music and connect.

Let's Fly Away by Unclesteeb

"If I could fly, I could go anywhere. I could do anything.”

Sam’s mom gives his shoulder a gentle pat. “You can in your own way.”

“How?”

“Sammy, all you have to do to be as free as a bird is to just do the right thing.”

Sam furrows his brow. “What does that mean?”

“Well,” Sam's mom starts. “The right thing is doing nice things for people. It's treating everyone how you would want to be treated. It's going out of your way to help people and love them, even if they're not nice to you at first or at all. People deserve love, and I know you have plenty to give.” She leans down to give his cheek a kiss. “All you have to do to find your wings and fly free is to just do what you feel is right. You have a beautiful heart, Sam. I know you'll use it the right way. Then you'll fly.”

Been one of those days (can I lean on you?) by hazel_eyed_bi

Sam and Bucky wrap up an exhausting, weeks-long mission, only to go back to their mutual pining while forced to share a bed at a crappy motel. Also, Nat knows what's up.

Find your love and fight for it by winterscaptsam

Sam learns to love again, quiet and composed. Love letters stay in between walls and stolen kisses don’t leave his apartment. It's not that it's a secret, loving Bucky the way he does, lord knows he’d scream it from the rooftops, travel all the way to space to let any living life form know it as well. But that’s the problem, he just doesn’t know how and it aches him to his core to keep Bucky like a secret, like this love is something to be ashamed of.

Or

Sam decides it's about time to come out.

Kings of Everything by glittercake

Twenty-five years after the events at a popular New York Bistro, Timothy DumDum Dugan tells the true story of infamous mobster Jimmy Buchanan and the man he gave it all up for.

arson we commit by winterscaptsam

Bucky seeks adventure, reaches out for an adrenaline rush whenever he can get it and he reckons this fellow will be the one to give it to him. All sweet smiled and dolled up figure showing off his attributes. Like he’s daring anyone to take the rush.

So, Bucky goes and gets what he wants.

“What’s your damage, doll?”

Or

Bucky is the hitman and Sam is the target.

The Boys of Summer by Siancore for avintagekiss24

Sam Wilson returns home to the small town he grew up in to complete his med school residency. He hasn’t been back for an extended amount of time since he left for college. While he only consistently kept in touch with childhood friend, Steve Rogers, he was keen to see the people he had grown up with. With the exception of Bucky Barnes. They had a falling out the summer before Sam left for college. What happened between them? Can they move past it now that they’re adults?

Sam's Plan by OhHelloFandoms123

“I have a plan,” Sam said smugly, hands on his hips. “I have a three-step plan for you to marry me.” At first, he thought he was joking. Then, he saw Sam’s genuine smile.

Bucky groaned, “there is no way in HELL that I’m marrying YOU, Wilson.”

Wreck In the West by OhHelloFandoms123 for honestlyfrance

There’s just something about leaning on his chest as the sun goes down and the smell of tea whilst into the air feels so amazing. And he was a wreck because of it, it tore him apart and put himself back together because it was so blissful, he almost couldn’t breathe at first.

OR

Gay cowboy proposal.

Belonging Season by OhHelloFandoms123

Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes have lived their most happy, married life for 70 years. Death won’t stop them today for living an eternity.

neverending; by glittercake

Sam passes away after a long and happy life with Bucky, but Bucky never ages and life keeps introducing him to Sam's reincarnates for the next 156 years.

Lighthouse by glittercake

This guy’s trouble. Bucky knows that in his bones. It’s not bad trouble, is the problem, it’s good. Sam is so goddamn inherently good and if Bucky even touches that with a ten foot pole—fuck if he even looks at it—it’ll turn to shit.

He can’t afford another move to yet another city because his colleagues started recognizing Brock’s fist prints on his face.

But Sam is a ridiculously bright glowing light, a beacon, and Bucky goes toward it like that idiotic moth to the flame.

masterlist | ko-fi | patreon

[nessinborderland]

Be Mine (07)

Pairing: Niragi x Reader / Chishiya x Reader

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff, Omegaverse

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: You were able to stay unbounded throughout your life. You didn’t want an Alpha; you didn’t need one. You would rather die than to give yourself to some random male. But the man that saved your life thinks differently.

Warnings: Alpha/Omega, Dubious Consent, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Finger fucking, Rough Sex, Rough Kissing, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Breeding, Pregnancy Kink, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Drama, Developing Relationship, Past Abuse, Scars, Death, Blood and Gore, Animal Death, Trauma, Bath Sex, Blood and Injury, Oral Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Feelings

Notes: Here it is! I finally update this fic lol. Better late than never :) Thank you all for being so patient with me and appreciating my other writing endeavors. Means a lot <3

AO3 Link        Masterlist

You spend the rest of the day crying in your room. You still can’t believe he acted like that, especially after the sex you just had. It had felt so free, to just give yourself to him and feel him in you. It felt right, it felt… like he was the one for you. Like you could trust him.

Like you could choose him.

And then he bit you, and it was like a tsunami of messed up emotions came flowing in. It scared you; there’s so much pain and doubt in him. But there is also so much more, things you don’t want to think about. Things you don’t want to see.

You caught a glimpse of his soul, and it is dark as the moonless night. It scared you for a moment. But then he pushed you away and all you could feel in him was fear; he was terrified. You could relate to that; it was all so overwhelming. But then shame and rejection washed over you as he said all those awful words. You know he didn’t really mean any of it, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. You were so mad.

You still are. After he followed you out of that meeting, you thought he was going to apologize, but he just made it worse. All those threats, all the manhandling; you don’t want any of that. He has no right to act as he did.

And then there is Chishiya. The man hadn’t hesitated to follow you as soon as you left the meeting. He had approached you with the excuse to know about your wellbeing, but you knew what he really wanted to know. And when Niragi appeared right behind you, it’s like Chishiya’s eyes lit up. “I’ll be coming for you in three days.” the man had whispered before walking away. You hadn’t understood what he meant until Niragi said something similar.

Your heat is approaching.

You have a heat roughly every four months. It’s way too soon. But with the Alphas around, you guess it is bound to come earlier. You don’t know what to do, to be honest. If you stay at the Beach, they will come for you. If you run away, they will hunt you down. 

You don’t have a choice; not really. As soon as your heat starts, you won’t be yourself anymore; you will open your legs for the first Alpha that puts his hands on you. You will just let them take you, without a care of the future. Not only that, but they will fight for you too, and you know they won’t give up.

It terrifies you, the thought that they might die because of you; that he might die.

A firm knock on the door startles you. You stand up, composing yourself; it’s probably someone with your dinner. You open the door to see Niragi, food tray in hand.

“Didn’t know you worked in the kitchen now,” you say, drying the tears from your face. He says nothing, eyes locked on you. You can feel his emotions, guarded against you, but still there. Hesitation, annoyance, and something else you can’t quite figure.

“I don’t.” he says with a scowl, “But who do you think has been sending these to your room?” He hands you the tray and stands there, hands in his pockets. He averts his eyes, “Can I come in?”

“It was you?” you ask, eyes wide in surprise. He shrugs.

“What, you thought that everyone here just gets room service?” he says with a huff, “This is not a luxury hotel, Y/N.” there’s a pause, “So, are you gonna let me in or what?” 

You step aside, letting him come in. Your mind fogs for a moment when you catch his scent, but you quickly control yourself; there’s something important your need to discuss.

“Are you here to apologize?” you ask after a moment of silence. He’s still not looking you in the eyes. You sigh and put down your tray, grabbing an apple and handing it to him. He looks at you with a raised brow. “Eat with me,” you say. He takes the apple from you, sitting down on the bed when you do the same.

“You know I would never hurt you, right?” he says, after another moment of silence. You give a huffing laugh, nodding.

“Yeah, maybe not physically,” you answer, taking a spoonful of soup. “But death threats and name-calling are still hurtful, you know?” He nods. You can feel the turmoil in him; how he’s divided between staying or running away. Between apologizing and let you accept him or just take you, “As I said before, I understand your feelings, but I will not be a doormat.”

“Yeah, I know...“

“So,” you press on, “Are you here to apologize or to wait until I miraculously forgive you?” You feel a spark of anger in him, see the scowl on his face. It doesn’t last long, though.

“I– I‘m–,” he hesitates, “I won’t do it again.” 

You raise a brow, “And?...” 

His eyes lock on you and he sighs, “I will be better.” you keep staring at him until he rolls his eyes with an exasperated grunt, “Fine... I’m sorry, okay? Happy now?”

“Hmm, much better,” you say with a small smile. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

His scowl deepens, but he says nothing. You notice that the tip of his ears are red; that’s probably the only time Niragi has ever looked anything near to adorable. You’re happy he apologized, even though it was clearly an effort. A part of you is happy to see him struggle; you don’t need a man child that doesn’t own up to his own mistakes.

You keep eating in silence, wondering when he will talk. You were expecting him to leave after apologizing, but he just stays still. You can almost see the gears turning as he tries to decide on what to do next.

“You’ll still bond with me, right?” he blurts out, eyes focused on the apple in his hand. You can’t help but laugh out loud at that; of course, that’s what is bothering him. You shrug with a tight-lipped smile.

“Do I actually have a choice?” you ask him, “Will you respect my wishes if I tell you that I don’t want you? Or will you still take me as soon as I get in heat?” you both know the answer to those questions.

“You know I can’t control this,” he says in a low tone, “Neither do you. We just–”

“But am I wrong to wish that we could?” your eyes lock. You can feel a knot forming in your throat, “I can promise you the world, and still let Chishiya fuck me if he gets to me first. I–I can’t– none of this matters.” you let out a sob, “Free will is nothing but an illusion.” you whisper. “I– I’m scared.”

You just let yourself cry again; you’re so done with everything going on in your life. It doesn’t matter what you try to do; nothing will change. So you might as well just accept it. That doesn’t make it easier, though.

Maybe one of you will end up dying before you can see yourself stuck in a shitty relationship. That’s what you can hope for, for both of your goods.

He pulls you into a hug before you can voice your thoughts. You bury your face against his chest, wishing that that proximity, all those feelings, were real; that you actually loved each other. It only makes you cry harder. He keeps hugging you, whispering comforting things in your ear.

What surprises you the most is that this is not him. The glimpse of the person you saw when he bit you; that was him. This one is not. The actual Niragi would never comfort you like this. The actual Niragi is too broken to show anyone love or kindness. That’s why it hurts even more; he isn’t himself. You wouldn’t want him near you if he was himself. But that still doesn’t erase who he is; the things he has done. And it scares you.

But you also don’t have a choice.

“Yes.” is all you say. You don’t need to say more. You know he understood what you meant. The happiness you feel in him tells you that clearly.

You accept him when he kisses you, letting yourself be controlled by your wolf; is much easier than let your doubts consume you. Your wolf knows precisely what she needs; you don’t. So you let him kiss you and touch you. You let him undress you and kiss your body. You let him dry your tears and turn your sobs into moans of pleasure. You take all of him in you, enjoying the connection that you know isn’t real but feels so right. The only thing that matters when you’re both connected like that.

When he says ‘mine’ against your lips as you orgasm together, you have only half a mind to not say ‘I love you’ back. That is something that you will not say. But when he embraces you after, so warm and strong and safe, you can’t help but say that you like him. That you want him. He whispers something you can’t understand, already half asleep. But you can feel his emotions, cristal clear in the back of your mind.

He’s the right choice.

You wake up hours later, naked in your bed. Alone. It’s still dark outside, but it mustn’t take long for the sun to rise. You let out a sigh; did you just let him console you and make love to you just so he could leave, again? Is this how it’s going to be from now on? You control the impulse to cry; that’s pretty much all you do. You’re tired of it. You have made your decision; now it’s time to face the consequences. 

You walk through the empty hallways of the hotel. Everyone at the resort is either dead asleep or still partying. You have no idea where Niragi might be, but you know he can’t be far; you can still feel him in the back of your mind. Faint, but there. You don’t feel any exaggerated emotion, though. At least that brings you some peace of mind. You walk around the resort for some time until you find him.

He sits at the edge of the rooftop, his gun beside him, a beer in hand. He notices you as soon as you show up, turning to look at you. He says nothing as you approach him, sitting next to him. One of his arms goes over your shoulder, pulling you closer. All signs that he’s not rejecting you. Your anxiety dissipates; you can’t believe how relieved you are. You lay your head on his shoulder, enjoying the silence and the early morning.

“Want some?” he offers you his drink. You shake your head, “Noted: doesn’t like beer.” he says with a huffed laugh. You don’t find it funny; you really don’t know anything about each other. You know even less about him than he knows about you. You decide to risk it; it can’t hurt to ask.

“Tell me about you,” you say, a slight questioning tone in your voice. He tenses up immediately, arm leaving your shoulder. Your hand snaps to grab his hand, “I–I don’t mean your scars!” you say before it’s too late. “Just tell me something, anything.” he looks at you with a frown, before looking straight ahead with a sigh.

“What do you want to know?” he asks in a cautious tone. You open your mouth to answer before hesitating; there’s so much you want to know about him, but you know that the wrong questions will scare him away. That’s the last thing you want. You interlock your fingers, thumb brushing over the back of his hand in what you hope is a calming gesture. He doesn’t pull away.

“For starters…” you hesitate, “What’s your first name?” 

“Suguru,” he answers after a pause, “But you can keep calling me Niragi,” you whisper his name, feeling it on your tongue. It feels odd, but also right; like you’re the only one allowed to call him that. “What else?” he snaps your attention back to him. You hesitate for a moment.

“Well...what is your favorite color?” you decide to go for the safest route possible. “Your favorite food? Favorite animal? What did you do back in the real world? What–”

“Wow okay, easy there with the questions.” he’s not frowning anymore, so you take that as a win. He takes a deep breath. “My favorite color is black and I–”

“I would have never guessed,” you laugh, as you look him up and down. He raises a brow at you before proceeding.

“I like katsudon,” he hesitates, “My...my mom used to cook it for me a lot when I was a kid.” you smile; it’s the first time you heard him share anything about his family. Your eyes lock, and you notice a faint blush on his cheeks. “What were the other questions?” he asks.

“Favorite animal? Your job back home?”

“Oh right,” he proceeds. “I like ravens.” you nod with a smile, remembering the raven tattoo on his chest. “And I’m a game engineer. Mostly software, make sure the game works fine and the design and controls don’t give any problems, that sort of stuff.” your eyes go wide. You would never think of him as having a job like that. He notices your surprised expression, “What, you thought I was some gangster or something?”. You laugh.

“Not really, but never took you for a game nerd.” you smirk, “Is that how you learned how to shoot, by playing Call of Duty?” He huffs out a laugh with a light slap to your thigh. He’s no longer tense; you can’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment at being able to get something out of him. 

You keep talking, watching the sunrise as you answer his questions. He asks you similar stuff to what you asked him, clearly uncomfortable to go beyond that. You’re thankful for that; you wouldn’t want for it to ruin the mood.

He’s surprisingly nice to talk too, once he’s comfortable. You don’t know if it’s because you’re outside, alive, just the two of you, but you feel so relaxed. It’s almost like nothing is wrong. You wish you could just freeze this moment in time, make it last. But good things tend to come to an end.

A voice from the walkie-talkie near him interrupts your conversation.

“Say that again?” he asks into the intercom.

“We found this guy wandering outside the perimeter.” says a male voice, “What do we do with him?”. Niragi sighs, already standing up.

“Take him to the usual room, I’ll be there in a moment.” he turns to you, “Go back to bed, Y/N.”

His whole demeanor is different. No more of that warm vibe or nice smile. He’s back to being Niragi, the militant. You don’t like it one bit. You make that clear, but he still insists on you going back to your room.

“Why can’t I go with you?” you ask. You rarely see him in those circumstances. You know you’ll probably regret it, but you need to see that part of him too. You discuss it for a moment until he sighs, finally complying.

“Fine,” he says, “But stay back, and leave the room as soon as I order you to.”

You walk into a room on the lower levels of the hotel. You stay back as you promised, standing behind the rest of the militants, closer to the door. The rest of the group makes way for Niragi as he walks to the center of the room, where a man is tied to a chair. You can’t see his face, covered by a black bag, but you can see that he’s shaking. With a sign from Niragi, the bag is pulled off, showing the man’s face underneath. There’s a gasp, and then:

Confusion. Realization. Fear. Terror. Panic. Anger. So much anger.

All those emotions hit you like a ton of bricks. You instantly know that they’re not yours; that scares you more than if they actually were. You have never felt those emotions so strongly before. You’re about to take a step towards Niragi when his voice echoes in the room.

“Y/N,” his tone is so unfamiliar that you wonder for a moment if he was the one talking. His voice is ice-cold but with so much anger underneath that he’s visibly shaking. It’s terrifying, “Get out.”

“Ni–” you take a step towards him.

“All of you, out!” he shouts, startling everyone in the room, “Now!”

You take a good look at him. You can only see his back, but you clearly notice the glint of claws. His whole body language screams threatening wolf. You know that if you could see his face, his eyes would be yellow and his fangs would be exposed.

This is bad. Really bad.

Next chapter

[volzaannir]

has there ever been a time Signe has been injured and Teldryn had to help nurse her? Or nay? Or vice versa?

Oh, ABSOLUTELY. I can't think of a single follower that hasn't had to help this dumbass Dragonborn in some way or another.

Being her longest running companion, Teldryn has had to deal with every injury and ailment known to Man and Mer that Signe ends up with. Broken bones, dislodged joints, burns, intentional poisoning, unintentional poisoning (he TOLD her not to eat the centuries old bread in the crypt, but did she listen? nooooo), an assortment of cuts and wounds, blunt force trauma, simple colds- you name it, Signe's had it, and Teldryns had to deal with it in some way.

But the most significant time he's had to nurse her back to full health was after the battle with Alduin. All sorts of gashes and bruises, as well as some broken fingers and strained vocal cords - using your Thu'um against an ancient god for hours on end can not be good for your throat, I'd assume - all of these injuries made even worse by dimension travel and the harsh cold of the Throat of the World. Worst of all? Her mental state was in absolute shambles. Seeing her parents' spirits, killing a god, completing her prophecy and life goal, and then savoring the feeling of being in Sovrngarde because she doesn't know what the hell is going to happen to her soul once her life comes to an end?

Needless to say, she needed all the TLC she could get. Teldryn didn't give her his usual snarky commentary and sarcastic insults this time, not after he saw how absolutely gutted she looked coming back from High Hrothgar. He knew she was in agony, physically and mentally, and that trying to poke fun at her right now wouldn't do her any good. Especially not when she's been the most silent he's ever heard her. She blames it on her fucked up throat, claiming she needs to rest it. Teldryn knows deep in his bones that's not entirely the truth, but he lets it be.

And eventually she does talk again, after a few days. Days of feeding her hot soup because her fingers were too broken to use, helping her bathe, making sure she stayed in bed to rest, making healing potions, and replacing dirty bandages. It's almost one in the morning, and the Dunmer had been getting ready for bed when she finally spoke up, staring out the window at the vast forest of warm-colored birch trees. In the dim light of the bedside candle, and the gleam of the moon, he could see the despondent look on her face. Signe's voice is hoarse, croaky, like a Hagraven that's been gargling the sulfur water from the hot springs in Eastmarch every morning of her life.

"He's gone. I've served my purpose- saved the world. The whole meaning of my life is done now. I don't know what to do anymore, Tel."

Teldryn knew exactly what to say. He's been in this exact situation before, pondering if he even needed to continue living after his goals were complete. Crawling into bed next to her, careful of her injuries still, he tells her:

"You keep moving forward. We keep moving forward. This may have been the climax of your life, but the adventures don't stop here. Skyrim still needs you- Nirn still needs you. Akatosh gave you this power to help keep Man and Mer safe, and the threats won't stop just because Alduin is gone. There's so much more to do, to see, and I want to be by your side for all of it. You haven't even been outside of Skyrim yet, and Solsthiem doesn't count. It's a pitiful excuse for the Morrowind experience. When you've recovered, I'm taking you straight to Blacklight. It'll be like a honeymoon, just with lots of violence and rescuing and stupidity along the way."

Signe's words held ancient power in them. They were always meant to cause harm. But Teldryns? Teldryns words healed. Potions healed the physical injuries, but Teldryn was always there to heal the mental ones.

[robininthelabyrinth]

So for the Turtle Soup smut :) NHS get mildly injured and it frightens JYL so she goes into full caretaker mode. Maybe she’ll swaddle/tie him up so he can’t wander off to get hurt. She still has to punish him for being reckless, though, so he also gets a spanking, followed by a reward for enduring it.

sequel to Turtle Soup, available on Fic Extras (ao3)

Warning for adult content, full warnings on ao3

-

“I didn’t mean to,” Nie Huaisang said petulantly. “I really didn’t, jiejie!”

“I know you didn’t mean it,” Jiang Yanli said, finishing up the ties binding his hands together. “But that doesn’t excuse you from being punished. Do you know how much you scared all of us? Not just me, but your brother, too?”

Jiang Yanli had liked Nie Mingjue at first meeting, and he’d liked her, too – in retrospect it seemed inevitable, both of them being altogether wrapped around Nie Huaisang’s little finger, but at the time she’d been extremely worried that he wouldn’t approve of her. She’d heard stories of how he and Nie Huaisang fought over the latter’s disinterest in saber lessons, heard about the yelling and the infamous Nie temper, about how Nie Mingjue was a mountain of a man and just as immovable, with a soul made of steel, and she’d worried.

She needn’t have, of course. Nie Mingjue yelled the way that Jiang Cheng scolded, as a means of showing that he cared, and Nie Huaisang was even better at accepting that sort of affection than Wei Wuxian, looking positively smug and pleased with himself every time his brother started up on it. Nie Huaisang had no fear at all of his brother, not even a little, no matter how much Nie Mingjue threatened him or disciplined him, and Jiang Yanli liked that.

She’d liked the very educational conversations that she’d had with Nie Mingjue on the subject of their irascible little didi, too, though she suspected the other man hadn’t meant for her to take his advice in quite this fashion.

“Must you talk about my da-ge when we’re in bed?” Nie Huaisang complained, but it was clear to her that he didn’t really mind that much; he was just whining to be a brat. “And with me injured, too…”

“That injury is why you’re getting punished,” Jiang Yanli said primly. “You need to learn not to put yourself in danger.”

“I was defending you!”

“Yes, didi, exactly. Do you know what you did wrong?”

“…I should’ve defended you from a reasonable distance, stayed safe, and sought revenge later.”

That wasn’t exactly what she had in mind, but she supposed it worked well enough.

“Very good,” she said. “But I think you need a little more discipline before I let you go, just to make sure the lesson really sunk in. Don’t you?”

Nie Huaisang nodded enthusiastically.

She patted her lap.

He was so enthusiastic wiggling over to put himself there, face-down and rump up, that she had to laugh, even as she ran her hand over his ass in preparation. “You like your punishments too much,” she teased. “You must have been a little terror as a child.”

“Da-ge never struck me as a child, jiejie,” Nie Huaisang said, snuggling in closer. “I’ve practically been neglected.”

“Your da-ge has never once neglected you in your life and you know it,” she said. “And I don’t think you’d have enjoyed it if he was the one to spank you.”

“Probably not,” Nie Huaisang conceded. “But that’s because he’s not as nice about it as jiejie.”

“Am I nice?” Jiang Yanli asked and brought her hand down when he wasn’t expecting it. He yelped and she spanked him again. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m too nice to you.”

“Jiejie’s not nice at all!” he wailed. “Jiejie’s mean!”

“It’s for your own good, didi,” she said, continuing to bring down her hand in carefully spaced out blows. “You know I only want you to be safe and healthy, my good little didi that I need to take very good care of. Your brother entrusted your education to me, and I intend to live up to his expectations.”

By now Nie Huaisang was panting too hard to really respond, grinding himself down on her lap – seemingly trying to avoid her blows, but really just trying to make sure she was aware that he was hard, as if she’d ever had any doubt.

“You’re doing well,” she told him, and he whined. “Such a good little boy, even when you’re a little naughty. So good for me.”

“I just – ah! – want to make my jiejie proud of me – oh – yes –”

“I’m very proud of you. Look how well you’re taking your punishment!” She ran her hand across his ass again, enjoying how red and hot it was. She’d stopped being able to leave marks on Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian years ago, not that she’d ever tried to do something like this to them, but Nie Huaisang’s cultivation level was lower even than hers. She could feel strong and dangerous when compared to him, even though between the two of them he was probably the more deadly, thanks to the saber lessons he hadn’t managed to avoid entirely. “You’re going to learn your lesson, aren’t you? You’re not going to worry your jiejie or your da-ge by running forward and getting hurt again.”

“I won’t! I promise! I’ll be good.”

She hit him a few more times, making him sob.

“You’ll be good,” she said, and allowed her voice to be a little sterner than usual. “After all, if you’re too injured, I won’t be able to punish you like this.”

Nie Huaisang’s hips were rolling against her thigh, rubbing his cock up against her. “Jiejie,” he said. “Jiejie, jiejie, no. I’ll be good, I promise. Haven’t I been punished enough now?”

“I’m the one who decides when you’ve been punished enough.”

He was wet-eyed and sniffling by the time she finished with him, whining and begging to be forgiven – by which he meant allowed to come.

“Oh, all right,” she said. “You took your punishment very well, my good little didi. I suppose you deserve a reward for all your hard work enduring it. What would you like?”

Nie Huaisang sent her a plaintive look, suggesting that making him do something like think at this moment in time was the cruelest punishment yet inflicted, and Jiang Yanli laughed.

“Sit up properly,” she said, and he obeyed, even if he dramatically winced and grumbled when his sore ass hit the cool sheets of their bed. He stopped whining pretty quickly when she bent down and took his cock into her mouth, though, beyond shrieks of her name and jiejie and attempts to fuck up that she easily forestalled by pressing him down.

“Does my good little didi want to come?” she asked, licking the side of his cock. “Yes? All right. Since you’ve been so good.”

After, she untied his hands, wiped him clean with a wet cloth, and applied an ointment to his ‘grievous wounds’ – the inciting injury in question, although in truth it was little more than a scratch however much the incident had given both Jiang Yanli and Nie Mingjue heart attacks, and of course the newly inflicted ‘injury’ on his rear end – before tucking him into bed and herself alongside him.

He snuggled into her arms, his head on her breasts. “Jiejie’s so mean,” he said, his voice warm. “She didn’t even let me do anything for her.”

“Another time,” she said. “My good little husband. But for now, good boys need their sleep. Especially if they want to take good care of their jiejie in the morning.”

She felt him smile against her.

“Good night, jiejie. Thank you for taking such good care of me.”

“Always,” she said, running her hands through his hair. “Always and forever.”

[secretshinigami]

strike to incinerate

Author: @jeevas-exe (ghoulhunt on ao3) For: @jam-knife Pairing/Characters: Light Yagami, B, L Lawliet Rating/Warnings: T, major character death Prompt: Light and B join forces to bring L down. How does that work out? Your choice to make it Blight or keep it platonic Author’s notes: I had SO much fun writing this piece! It was new and experimental for me to write in this style, but it was lots of fun going back and forth between perspectives and time. The biggest thing was consistency. Happy reading, I hope you enjoy! <3

—

1.

It’s close to midnight and the cars seem to be zooming by.

Adrenaline runs through B’s veins. Riding down the highway going upwards of eighty, ninety miles an hour, weaving between traffic, cutting other drivers off and getting honked at. Travel, travel, travel, his days and nights, following, trying to catch up to the black Mercedes with the blacked-out windows ahead of him. Wind whips by, caressing the parts of his body not covered in leather.

It’s cold. 

There’s a sound. A shot. Shit, he thinks. He hopes it’s someone’s exhaust backfiring. There’s too many people around for this. The Mercedes zooms across six lanes of traffic, taking the closest exit. Trying to lose him. 

He follows. He weaves between traffic on his bike, getting to the car, and he sees the other man leaning outside the window with a gun drawn, pointing in his direction. B grips his own, tight in his hand. He can see his steely grey eyes as he approaches, or maybe that’s just another memory. 

B shoots.

The man slumps. Lifeless.

There are lights behind him, red and blue.

A.

The day Light Yagami meets him, he’s wearing the watch his father gave him.

It’s still on Japanese time, where it shows it’s about four in the morning, there. Here, it’s noon. He yawns. He’s restless and jet-lagged, making his way through the customs and the terminal and baggage until he’s out the door and headed to the address he was given. 

5512 Highland Park.

The cab he climbed into forty minutes prior parks along the sidewalk of a rundown street. Apartments and small houses with chain-link fences dot the opposite side of the road; where he’s pulled up, a neon sign hangs, buzzing, the lights flickering and not really noticeable in the LA sun. Light notices the peeling, yellowing paint on the outside, the dead flowers in the flowerbeds, the rusted hinges of the dark green door; apparently, the only new renovation that Maple’s Bar & Grille has made in the past who-knows-how-long. 

Light looks at his watch. The time ticks away. He pays the cabbie, walks through the squeaking door and up the small step, and is quickly greeted by a waitress, who tells him to take a seat wherever.

He spots him.

In the booth off to the side, sipping on a Shirley Temple, with a coke on the side. A brown-haired, flannel-donning fellow staring down at the newspaper. Light can’t discern what the headline says from here, but the photo shows the destruction of a building. It’s from the L.A. Times. It doesn’t matter, he thinks. Light slides across from him in the booth. 

“Hello. Light Yagami.” He extends a hand. The American way. 

The man lifts his head. Takes a sip from the glass of sugar he drinks. His eyes bore into Light’s soul, unsettling him, deep in his core, not acknowledging his hand whatsoever. Light retracts it. 

“I’ve been waiting quite a while, you know.”

Light blinks. He looks away, tearing his gaze from the man sitting opposite him. He looks down at the menu on the sticky table. “The cab driver didn’t know where this place was.” 

“No? This is one of the more popular places around here.” The man looks at the bar, towards a bunch of drunk men, off of work and watching a game on the TV in the upper corner of the room. They don’t even notice them in the booth. Good, he thinks. They don’t need attention. “Call me B.”

2.

B is handcuffed. B is sitting in a chair, alone in a cell, with cement walls and cement floors and fluorescent lights that sting his tired eyes. They buzz. The sound is drowned out by people walking in and out of the jail, police talking, drunk people and others mumbling to themselves. 

He knows why he’s here. It replays in his head, over and over. The sound of gunshots, the squeal of tires, the sound of sirens, so many of them, blaring out along the highway. His ears seem to ring despite the hours that have passed. 

This is temporary. Soon, he knows, he’ll be back to square one. 

Was it worth it?

B.

Light and B meet up everyday for the next few days. It’s always the same restaurant, and the same booth, with varying waitresses, the same water, and the same man sat across from him. Papers have started making their way onto the booth. B looks at them with an intensity Light hasn’t seen before, other than in one person.

The one person they’re trying to take down.

“What’s your connection to him, anyway?” Light asks at this meeting, because for all he knows, this could be as impersonal as flicking one’s cigarette ashes on the floor. He watches B do this as he takes a sip off his water.

“Oh, that’s a little personal, isn’t it? Let’s just say we grew up together.” B replies. 

Light feels a jolt go through him; he didn’t know this. Not the specifics, at least. Proof of his name was enough to go through with this arrangement. “You grew up together? Then why are you doing this?”

“That’s really none of your business,” he snaps. “You’re paying me for a service. Be grateful it’s on the table.”

Which, Light supposes, is fair. He looks down at the newspaper in front of him, its headline emblazoned on the front cover:

L IN CONNECTION WITH INTERPOL; CRACKDOWN ON KIRA GROUP COMING.

3.

L Lawliet.

B hadn’t heard the name in years. Rather, he chose to ignore it, because seeing it now and again in the newspapers or on tv really didn’t help his case.

Too many years were spent left alone in that house. And then, alone in L.A., and then, around the world. And now, sitting in a cell, he counts on his fingers how many times he’s spent his days alone, thinking about him, and thinking about all the fucked up things that led to this point. 

He continues to wonder if it was worth it. He wonders if things could have been different, if L had just listened to him, had stayed, and had not pretended that B just didn’t exist after everything that happened in the house. 

L is dead. 

L is dead because of him. No longer is the World’s Greatest Detective but a corpse in the ground; and here he is, stuck in prison for it, because everyone knows he did it. They saw it. At least, everyone who knew who L really was knew it was him. He hasn’t seen the news at all, and probably won’t. He hopes to God, or the Devil, or any other force out there that can hear him, that L–or his place–doesn’t happen again.

C.

Light Yagami has his ducks in a row.

As a part-time investigator himself, he’s learned to always be one step ahead of the game. He’s learned to pay attention to his surroundings, to organize his thoughts before he speaks, to look at things from all sides. L got involved in the Kira Group case alongside him and the rest of the department he was working in, over in Japan. The L. The one that’s solved countless crimes around the world, some of the hardest, all under a pseudonym. For him to get involved meant he had his suspicions, and he knew where to look; in the very place where the police weren’t looking.

Light Yagami has played his cards right; working with groups like Yotsuba and third-parties, such as The Shinigami. Working between them, they’ve obtained quite a bit of money–here and there, of course, and Light turns a blind eye to the way the money is obtained. He’s only in control of how and where the money goes, of course. The rest is up to Ryuk, to gain it, while the accounts are hidden between Yotsuba’s various company expenses and profits. It works. So much, in fact, that they were able to transfer billions upon billions within a matter of months. 

He isn’t sure what caught L’s eye. Maybe it was a fuck up on Ryuk’s part, or something between Yotsuba, or maybe it was the sudden influx of profit and stocks and the company doing “well” on an international level. Maybe that was it. Light wouldn’t be surprised.

Light isn’t greedy. 

Light is, simply, bored.

It was never his intention to get L onto this case, but it makes for extra fun, he supposes. Doubling and tripling and quadrupling the work he usually does for the Kira Group, all for the sake of laughs, while dollar bills light up in the other’s eyes. And he knows he won’t be caught until L can connect him to any of these groups, which he never will.

Let him have his suspicions. Light knows he’ll get off scot-free.

4.

B remembers the first time he met L.

It was summer, and he was just a kid. Small, maybe around ten, tired from the flight, gripping balling his fists into the sleeves of his shirt. Summer here was colder than home. The mansion was somehow even colder.

It was nighttime. B doesn’t remember the exact time, but he was hungry. He didn’t go down for dinner; instead, he sat at his bed, looking at his minimal belongings. This was his room, now. This was his new home, but it didn’t feel like it. Nothing felt right. Not the windows, not the furniture, not the smell. It was unsettling, being here; like his whole life had been uprooted.

It had, but not because of the change in home.

He refused to think about it. Instead, B trotted out of his room, trying to be as quiet as possible. It was past curfew, and he didn’t want to get in trouble on his very first day. His stomach growled, but he didn’t know where the kitchen was; it wasn’t shown to him on his little tour around the house. He assumed it was past the dining room, somewhere downstairs, and after a little bit of wandering, he found it.

He found another boy there, too. With the man who had picked him up and showed him around. Maybe he was also new. He was eating dinner, soup, at a small table. The elder man smiled; he ladled another bowl for B, setting it across from the other boy. 

Despite how unsettling the day had been, it was comforting. It could be home.

Things weren’t supposed to end up like this.

D.

Light can feel L on his heels. He’s uncomfortably close to the end of this, and it’s suffocating. And thrilling. Scary, but electrifying; being in the same room as him, knowing what he knows, but knowing there’s nothing he can do about it just yet. 

L knows of The Shinigami Group. He’s asked about Ryuk, and has started researching who he is. There’s only so long until contact is made, and Light knows his connection is fairly solid, but not enough; if Ryuk goes down, so does he, and so does Yotsuba. He needs to do something. Anything. 

 Contact with B is a blessing in disguise. He doesn’t know who this B person is, but he claims to know L. He knows enough information that catches Light’s eye; details about his aliases, specific cases, his appearance, even knowledge of Watari’s role. It intrigues Light, because he isn’t sure what this person could possibly want from him, or why he’s contacting him.

He says he can help. He knows L is close to solving this case. Let him help.

Light books a trip to California. It’s sudden, but he says that between school and work, he’s really stressed out. His dad understands, even defends him; he’s working too hard on this case he’s not even technically being paid to do, while trying to figure out how to manage school in between. He needs time to himself to sort things out, and maybe a trip out by himself is what he needs. He wants to visit the forests up north, and maybe explore some of the other cities. A two week trip should be enough time for that.

So he goes. He spends part of the first week up in the Redwoods, goes down to San Francisco, and eventually gets to Los Angeles. 

This means, when L expects him back at headquarters by the weekend, that he really only has seventy-two hours to finalize things with B. They need to settle on a plan. 

“Here’s how it’s going to work,” B starts, sitting across from him in that same booth. Light thinks he must be sweltering under that leather jacket; it isn’t exactly cool in here. “I come back to Japan with you on an earlier flight. You need to find a way to get L out of headquarters. You know, he’s secretly an adrenaline junkie. Get him into the action. Did you already plan on the Yotsuba thing?”

Light nods. He looks down at his watch. Back at B. “Higuchi is greedy, it’ll take no time for him to want to get extra money. I just have to dangle it in front of him in just the right way.”

“Perfect. Arrange it so Higuchi will meet with…whoever, I don’t really give a fuck. Just get him at this location,” he insists, pointing at the Port of Tokyo on the map, “and L will eventually get there, too. I’ll do my job accordingly.”

“Right.” Light responds. “I would like to know more details about that, if you don’t mind.”

Dramatically, B sighs. “Don’t worry yourself. Nothing that a bike and a gun can’t take care of.”

5.

B is ready.

Light is ready.

It’s the day of. Light’s been on edge all day. The whole group has been on edge; they all know they’re on to something big, and they’re about to crack it.

L’s learned of Higuchi, of Yotsuba, of the laundering. At least, part of it, but Light knows better than anyone else here this is just a big red herring. He really thought L would know better. He supposes not, because here he is, taking the bait. Is it for show? Does he really believe it?

He doesn’t know.

It’s close to midnight, and Aizawa and Ide have been tracking Higuchi all day, between the live feed on their screens to monitored calls (thanks to Wedy, who was only there for a few days). L climbs into the front seat on the passenger’s side, where Light can drive. 

Light starts driving to the location. L sits, hands gripping his knees, tense. Police are starting to arrive towards the location; they’re receiving live updates about their statuses throughout.

“Heading south, about twenty minutes from location,” Light says into the receiver.

“Got that. We’re watching Higuchi right now.” Aizawa’s voice reports. “There doesn’t seem to be much going on.”

L hums. Light grips the steering wheel.

“We have enough evidence to arrest him already,” Light says. “Why are we holding off?”

“We need sufficient, hard evidence. This will be enough.” L grits.

“The bank statements aren’t enough?”

B was right. L is an adrenaline junkie. Light sees the way his eyes change, and he knows this isn’t just for evidence; it’s so he can say he did it. So he can say he was right. He caught one of the largest white collar criminals the world has ever seen.

Light looks in the rearview mirror. He sees the bike. He hears a shot. L looks in the side mirror, and sees the same. 

“We’re being followed.”

“Shit,” Light mutters. He speeds up, trying to weave between traffic. His heart is racing. He’s trying to stay calm. “Do you think–”

Another shot. This one hits the car.

L reaches into his pocket and grabs his gun. “Keep driving.”

He leans out the window.

Light hears a shot.

And then, L slumps.

E.

B realizes, far too late, that working with Light was the worst possible thing he could’ve done.

He sees it from behind the bars of his cell. Sentenced to life, sitting in San Quentin State Prison. Found guilty of first-degree murder and conspiracy to commit murder. He’s not surprised in the slightest. He held up his end of the deal.

Light didn’t.

Instead, he let him be arrested. Had his team follow him, get him arrested, extradited back to the States. He got his money, but not for long. He sits alone, biding the rest of the time he has on Earth, eating shitty prison food and fighting with inmates and ending up in solitary for a few weeks. He watches stupid reruns of Law and Order and reads books and occasionally steals a newspaper off of his cellmate.

That’s how he sees Light Yagami come up in the world. He sees him becoming what L used to be. He reads about how Yotsuba was dissolved, but other companies–smaller ones, like Yotsuba once was–grow into the large, influential entities they are. It’s because of him. All of it.

He thought he got what he wanted. It was just another way for business, and it shouldn’t have been personal, but oh, it was. He knew that as soon as he pulled the trigger, as soon as he met Light Yagami at that stupid little restaurant in that stupid, sticky booth.

B didn’t want that. He needed something from L, something permanent to soothe the pain of everything between them, but death was something that stuck; the bullet, an indefinite solution, holding his anger, his resentment, his grief and sadness.

He’s paying for it, now. He knows that well enough.

So B sits.

He thinks of the watch Light Yagami wore.

—

[sweetestlamb]

Touch My Heart Part 2

Summary: Baby come back, you can blame it all on me. Or how to get your man back using bath soaps. 

She has to cry silently, let her heart crack and splinter in silence because she doesn't want to explain her tears to Hong Yeon or Court Lady Choi. She should have expected nothing, should have known the King would want the one he truly fell in love with. But she'd still hoped, wished, dreamed selfishly that he would accept her and her feelings.

That he would beg and plead with her to stay, would declare that he loved her too. She knew that wasn't the case but still her useless heart had been holding out, only to be shredded apart when his eyes revealed how much he missed Jang Bong Hwan. It wasn't fair for either of them, she couldn't be a replacement and he would be forever longing. They would live eternally in limbo, that was no life worth living.

It was a fool's dream, she'd thrown away her chance when she jumped into the lake drowning both her desires and ambitions. She thought filling his shoes would be doable, some of his quirks and behaviors had left a lasting impact on her soul and they had many hobbies in common. But they weren't the same, maybe cut from a similar quilt but the patchwork was too intricate to be replicated.

So she cries, gasping sobs that rattle her bones and wreck her lungs; for the life she couldn't have and for the pain she knows the chef must be going through. If she was this heartbroken at the thought of being without the King, he must be crushed; soul and spirit pulverized to dusty remains.

Sleep comes to her painstakingly, her eyes so raw and red that even the act of closing them hurts and she twists and turns all night until the sandman pulls her under.

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"Hong Yeon-ah, you have been loyal to me since the day I was brought here." The young court maid looks at her with a puzzled smile at her sudden reminiscing, but nods as if she's used to her oddities by now, barely pausing her actions.

"Yes, you're highness. You are always most important to me. I will be loyal to you until the end. And when your child is born, I shall be loyal to them as well." Hong Yeon smiles sweetly at her whilst gently brushing her hair, putting fragrant powder on the roots as she twists her hair into braids.

"I will always cherish you."

"Your highness?" The court maid stops braiding her thick hair, peering into her eyes inquisitively through the mirror. "Why are you speaking as if you will not be here with me?"

She forces a content smile, having now accepted what she just do for herself, the King and most importantly Jang Bong Hwan, the one who saved them all.

"I might be going on a faraway trip, don't look for me. Just care for my baby and take care of the King." She can tell that the younger woman has many questions on her mind but mostly she seems...saudade; she understands more than she wants to and she's sad but she knows the Queen well enough to know why she must do this.

"I too, will always cherish you. I hope we meet again and I can be by your side once more, it was my greatest achievement."

She hugs the court maid, no her close friend probably one of her best friends. Remembering how eagerly she would follow her around, becoming her confidant and supporter as she found her footing in the palace.

"I hope I meet you in another life." She whispers into Hong Yeon's trembling head, embracing tighter because this is her last time.

The others are not as perceptive as Hong Yeon, but she does notice tears lingering in Court Lady Choi's eyes before she blinks them away.

"Thank you for always nagging me, it made me feel like I finally had a mother. I hope you can find your own happiness now." She knowingly looks over at the royal kitchen, making the older woman blush and turn away.

"Are you going to be okay?" She thinks about the question, and she smiles as she answers, "Yes. I'm going to be happy, I will make sure of it this time." She now knows that she has the power to do so, nothing can control her life besides her.

She sends for her father, hugging him tightly despite his apparent confusion. He's been all she's had for so long, it's her hardest goodbye of all. He will never know she's gone but she will mourn his loss until she takes her last breath.

"Father, I love you. I know everything you did was for my future, I know you made mistakes along the way but I couldn't have asked for a better father. In another life I want to be your daughter again." She cries into his shoulder, childishly gripping the bottom of his robe like she did when she was young and had a nightmare.

He looks at her with wet eyes and a huge grin, chuckling before rubbing her belly and showing her all the new gifts he's brought for his grandchild. She smiles and listens, soaking up all his love and warmth to keep her warm on those lonely days.

Later that night, she presses her palm to her stretched skin she's barely showing now only a minor bump under her clothes. But she can feel the life inside of her, her sweet baby.

"My baby, know that I loved you. That I would do anything to protect you. Please be good to them and have a happy life. I hope we too will meet in another life, you are blessed to have two mothers who adore you. Never want for anything." When she feels light taps at her belly, she grips her belly tighter.

She has no regrets, it's time.

The next day, she goes through her day as expected. Letting her servants serve her and enjoying the breeze from the lake, she takes in the majesty of her life and smiles at the sky.

When night falls, she stealthily rises from her bed donning only socks on her feet to make her steps undetectable, she's already said her goodbyes so there is nothing keeping her back now. Only her fears but she's stronger than she was before, there's no turning back now.

The lake glistens remarkably under the mystical glow of the moon, calling to her like a siren. The water sloshes as she steps into it, hissing at the cold that prickles at her skin before her body adjusts. She keeps walking until the water buoys her off her feet and licks at her collarbone, taking a deep gulp of the night air she plunges her head under the watery sheet. Water burns her lungs as she loses the ability to breathe, resisting her bodies urge to escape.

This time is different, this time she's here to live.

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He goes through the motions of life, but everything feels like a chore. He quits his job, deciding to open a a small restaurant with his savings. His restaurant instantly becomes a fan favorite because of his delicious flavors and affordable prices, he also takes to cooking at a soup kitchen on the weekends. There's a young girl whose innocent smile reminds him of Dam Hyang, he always gives her extra meat with a wink.

That's the only thing brings him joy these days, he had so desperately wanted to be back and now, now he was miserable.

What had he been missing so much? His body? His job? Technology? All of it meant nothing now, it couldn't fill the void in his heart. Nights are the hardest, sleep is elusive and his thoughts race thinking about them- how were they living without him? Was his Cheoljongie able to fall asleep? Did Court Lady Choi and the head chef make it official? Was Hong Yeon doing well? Did they even notice that he was no longer in the body of the Queen or was he already forgotten?

Did he mean anything to them or was he easily replaced by Soyong? Those thoughts haunt him daily and he starts drinking, blacking out every night in a stupor just trying to turn off his brain. But that does nothing to soothe the ache.

He tries to find comfort in others.

Finding willing partners is easy, women throw themselves at him but he's more thoughtful now, no longer seeing them as conquests. He remembers their names and cooks them breakfast in the morning, but he still feels hollow like all of his innards have been scrapped out with a jagged spoon.

So he sleeps with men, gets fucked hard into his bed stifling his moans into pillows trying to feel something, anything. But being taken does nothing, he's still empty even while stuffed full. Nothing compares to him, everyone else falls short and it makes him crazy; he has to move on. One night stand after one stand does nothing to abate the emptiness he feels.

Spending time with his mother brings him solace, she's older so he has to care for her but it's not a chore, he's happy to.

"You seem different these days." He hums as he bathes her, swiping a soapy loofah across her shoulders and wetting her short thin hair.

"How so?" He hasn't mentioned anything to her or anyone, there's no way anyone would believe his story. Sometimes he wonders if it was all a vivid dream that he created to deal with his coma but the proof is in the history book, the one he keeps on his bed side table. A reminder that it was real, that he's not crazy. It's both grounding and soul crushing.

"You're waiting for something." She answers mysteriously, eyes sliding shut as he tips her head back to wash out the shampoo.

He doesn't reply. He's not waiting for anything, there's nothing coming. This is his life now. He's just waiting for the end.

After putting his mother to sleep, he travels back home his body aching, tight from lifting another human. Mentally fatigued from suppressing his feelings all day.

He watches idly as the water fills up the tub, his fingers dancing across the surface before he stops the flow squirting a honey scented bubble bath until the water is foamy. He undresses dropping his clothes carelessly on the ground before dipping one toe into the bath, he groans at the welcoming heat letting the water envelop him fully.

The bubbles tickle his nose as he sits in the tub, his muscles slowly relaxing under the luscious heat. It feels nice. He should be content, he's able to take a warm bath in his lavish apartment that should be enough to raise his spirits.

Tears start pouring from his eyes, he hadn't let himself cry that day that feels like a lifetime ago. Had sucked up all his sadness and loneliness and pushed them in a corner of his mind, but now the corner is exploding and he can't control his emotions. All his walls are crumbling in his mind.

He sobs, choking on air and wiping at the moisture on his face but they are falling too quick for him to catch and he starts to hiccup.

"I'll never see them again. Hong Yeon, Court Lady Choi, head chef, Cheoljong, my baby! It's like I never existed, why did this happen to me? I never asked for any of this!" He screams at his ceiling, he's never been a religious person not wanting to put that much trust in an intangible being in the sky, but if there is some omnipresent being, he curses them for punishing him.

"Why me?" He pounds at the water, shouting when soap splashes back hitting him in the eye. Flailing and attempting to rub it out, he's unaware of how close he is to his shower caddy until his hand hits the metal contraption, causing the suction cup adhering it to the wall to lift and the caddy precariously dangles before loosening and crashing down. Pain explodes in his temple before he slides into the water, excess leaking over the edge and onto the floor. Soapy water fills his lungs until he loses consciousness, everything fading to darkness.

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"Jang Bong Hwan! Wake up! Open your eyes."

A familiar voice penetrates the foggy cloud in his brain, as he struggles to clear mind.

"Please! Wake up. This may be our only chance!"

The voice pleads with him, he feels wispy threads weaving around his mind and finally he starts to force his eyes open, willing his body to follow his commands.

Wake up. Wake up. WAKE UP!!

Bursting free of his prison, he jolts awake looking around wildly shocked to see himself submerged in water far deeper than his tub is capable of holding, everything feels familiar. Eerily so.

Then he glances in front of him and a face he's grown so used to seeing is peering back at him.

"Kim Soyong?" He barely whispers, certain he's having a ridiculously vivid dream.

"This isn't a dream. I've been waiting for you."

He stares at her in shock, in complete disbelief about the situation. What the fuck was going on??

"What the fuck is going on?" He voices his thought, watching as she smiles and swims closer to him.

"I'm bringing you back. I'm giving you back this body." She states confidently, taking his world and knocking it upside down.

"What are you talking about? Everything is back to the way it should be, the King loves you. History changed. Everything is as it should be." He squashes the desperate hope that blooms at her words, nothing was that simple. It simply wasn't their fate to be together.

"Is that how you truly feel? Is everything as it should be? Are you happy?"

Happy. That feeling is foreign to him now. But he has accepted his fate, he was able to help his King that was enough.

"I helped him. That's enough. I can't ask for anything more." He answers honestly, resolve melting as he thinks of his King and his smile.

"He loves you. I thought what I felt for him was love but I know the difference now, love is earned. You earned his love."

The tears start again, he looks at her lost. He doesn't know what to do.

"But you deserve to be happy too. I know everything you went through, I felt it too. I can't let you die because of me, I want you to live Soyong." He cries heart aching for the woman in front of him, she only ever did what she thought she had to. If someone had truly been there for her without any motives, this could have been different.

"I do deserve happiness too." She agrees and his heart jumps because this is it, he'll truly never see Cheoljong again.

"But I won't get it in this universe." Blinking through his tears he stares at her, a sad accepting smile on her face.

"I will always live in your shadows. That is not a true life, I want a fresh start. I deserve a live of my own without any regrets." She swims closer until they are face to face, nose barely grazing as she carresses his cheeks. It's clear what she intends to do, her lips moving closer until only millimeters separate them.

"Take care of him and our baby." She whispers before closing the gap, warm lips pressing against his and then he feels a sharp tug from the center of his stomach lurching him forward and then suddenly backwards.

He's only able to get out two words, "Thank you." Before he's plunged into darkness again.

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He swirls in a sea of nothing for what feels like eternity, locked somewhere he can't escape. He wanders and wanders trying to remember who he is and where he is? The darkness is unchanging and he feels smothered by it, running only to end up back at the same spot. But then he hears a sound, something soft and sweet. A voice, a voice he recognizes but he doesn't know how.

Who is that?

Where am I?

Those questions spin around and around in his head, vicious cycle that leaves him feeling no closer to the truth or the end.

Then he hears another voice, louder and deeper. It's pleading and pained, his heart aches for the agony he can feel and then he feels a sensation, a distant touch and suddenly a door opens in the darkness, light pours into the once desolate room and he rushes to the door, chasing the light. Needing to be closer to that voice and that touch.

His head is throbbing, opening his eyes feels like a splitting headache but he pushes through the pain desperate to see where is he. His eyes are burning but he forces his heavy lids up and sunlight floods his vision, making him wince and shut them once more.

"My Queen?"

It can't be. No. He's dreaming.

He feels a hand wrap around his own, completely cocooning it.

"My Queen! You're finally awake!" The King cries, relief emitting off his body as he clutches him to his chest. His hot tears landing on the thin material covering his shoulder.

Throat scratchy and aching he licks his lips before speaking, "Cheoljongie?"

Immediately the King freezes in his arms, it's so quiet he can hear the crickets outside chirping loudly. The King slowly leans back, his eyes darting all over his face with something that looks like nervous wonder.

"What did you call me?" He whispers, his eyes wide.

"Cheoljongie!" He screams suddenly throwing himself into his King's arms, which are loose at first but then they become rib straining tight but he doesn't care, he needs this hug more than he needs air.

The King breaks them apart grabbing his face ardently, "Is it really you? Jang Bong Hwan?" His name sounds foreign on his tongue and now it's his turn to be speechless.

"You kn-kn-know my name? You know who I am?" He stutters incredulously, feeling the tears streaming from his eyes but this time doing nothing to stop them.

"I know everything. I know you're a man from the future, you were telling the truth. You always told me the truth."

He feels steamrolled, pressed out and flattened by this discovery. He knew that and he was still here hugging him? It didn't make sense.

"How do you feel? About the truth?" It's not an easy question to ask but he needs to know the answer, there are in a different time now. Cheoljong hadn't said such when he had explained to him that sexuality was more fluid in the future, people were allowed to express themselves in many ways. There was no right or wrong way to love.

It was a nice sentiment, but this was a Joseon period. Everything was different here.

"I love you."

He's not expecting that answer and he stares with his mouth open, feeling himself being drawn into a tighter hug his small body slotting perfectly into Cheoljong's. It's unnerving and familiar being this much smaller than him again.

"I love you so much. I don't care what form you take, I'll love you every single time." He growls the last words, rumbling between their bodies.

He's never said these words out loud to anyone but his mother, but he knows that he means it. He's never wanted to say them to anyone before but now he can't wait, he's bursting with it.

"I love you too. Life was empty without you, I was walking in an endless desert. You are my oasis." They stare at each other passionately, the King's fingers warm on his cheeks as he clutches at his royal robes. They gravitate towards each other as their lips meet and the universe rights itself. He moans at the sensation of having his King's lips back on his, the kiss tethers into frantic in mere seconds. All of their longing and heartache colluding as they slam into each other.

Their tongue slide and twist around each other, he nibbles at the King's lip letting him lick at his open mouth gasping as a hand grips the nape of his neck.

He grabs the King's hair pulling him closer so he can plunge his tongue deeper, swallowing his hardy groans and letting some breathy moans escape from his bruised lips. It's going to take some getting used to, being so slight once more, whimpering as the King easily manhandles him pushing him back onto the bedding and bracketing him in his powerful arms.

The move knocks his head into the floor, momentarily dazing him as a soft "Oof," falls from his lips.

The King reacts immediately, drawing away with concern pouring from his face.

"I apologize my Que...en I was too eager, you've just woken from a vegetative state. Now is not the appropriate time for such.... activities. I will control myself." He notices the King's hesitation as he pauses while saying the title which has become something more for them.

"It's okay. You can still call me that it means too much to me now and I don't want you to be careful. I've spent all this time feeling alone and empty, trying to find other," now he hesitates and the King's eyes widen and then scowl in comprehension, "Means to feel alive. It was all futile, nothing compared to you."

The declaration does little to douse the jealousy he can feel surging off his King, he almost purrs in response. Excited. Electrified.

"I will make you forget about all others. My name is the only that will fall from these lips," Cheoljong rubs a large thumb across the his full bottom lip, seductively. "I missed you so much and I'll show you just how much."

"I spent so much time hoping to get back to my dragon, only to miss yours too much to enjoy my own. It's sad isn't it?" He pouts reaching out boldly to grab the King's thick cock peeking through his layers.

The King smirks, crawling over him before lifting up his dress easily and lowering his undergarments with a swift tug.

"My dragon missed you immensely, it's time to get reacquainted. " Cheoljong warns before slipping into his body without preamble, he shouts and tightens at the intrusion.

Every cell in his body feels alive and buzzing.

They get acquainted all night, into the wee hours of the morning hoarse shouts filling Daejajoen hall as all the court ladies blush and cover their faces bashfully. Hong Yeon smiles knowingly at Court Lady Choi, both with matching 'earmuffs' the Queen had gifted them long ago.

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"Mr. Jang, can you hear me? Mr. Jang?" She struggles to regain conscious as a light is shined into both of her eyes, blinking wildly she turns her head away trying to escape the bright glare.

"I apologize. I had to check your pupils. How are you feeling? You've been in a coma for three days. We were very worried since you had been comatose just a month prior. It's not good for the human brain to be in that state several times." She listens absently to the doctor(?) too fascinated by all the unfamiliar things surrounding her.

There's a strange machine beeping away next to her and something attached to her arm, her eyes bulge at her arm, it is larger thick with muscles she's never had before. She flexes and watches entranced as her arm gets even bigger.

"Mr.Jang, are you okay?" Finally she glances over at the feminine voice, clipped and professional but a tinge of genuine concern.

She's gorgeous, a round face and wide almond eyes that are scanning something in her hands, she has thick hair that is held up in a topknot with tendrils framing her face and her lips are succulent and rosy red, she feels blood rushing to her nether regions. When the doctor notices her staring she puts down the thing in her hands, to meet her gaze head on.

"Mr. Jang?" She finally realizes that's her name, Jang Bong Hwan.

"What's your name?" She feels compelled to ask as if this is the most important question she'll ever utter, something tugs in her stomach as they stare at each other.

"Dr. Won Beom."

She smiles.

Author's note: This will be my canon moving forward in my future untouchable updates, I'll also be incorporating a love story behind Director Hong and Kim Hwan because they are the sweetest beans and I feel like they can get great advice on their relationship from our King and Queen. 🥴😉 I was very selfish with this fix-it I don't want to let go of my Joseon family, so we're staying here instead. 

[whump-town]

God’s Gonna Cut You Down

Part 2!! (you can find part 1 here)

Warning: threat of domestic abuse and you know bad words

January 1972

It had been mortifying when Richard was caught with another woman and his prideful smile and easy shrug of the situation had only hurt Mary that much more. Through everything else, the drinking and the yelling and the hitting, Mary had still been able to tell herself that Richard did these things because he loved her. Extra whiskey washed down his stress, made him smile easier, and touch her like he meant it. When he raised his voice she’d already left him no other options, she just can be so forgetful. And… he’d only hit her a few times. Always when he was drunk and she’d messed something up. Anyone could forgive that.

The affairs… that was the first time Richard had done something with the explicit intent of hurting her. He hadn’t even cared when she’d cried. Had smiled when she told him about her friends, the way they meet her with high noses and expressions of disgust. He’d spun her into a pit of isolation, her own mother didn’t even want anything to do with her.

Persistently, desperately, Mary kept going back to her mother. She knew about her father, the affairs he had with his students over the years. Praying on the young university girls, the very reason they had hesitated to send her to Mary Baldwin. In the end, money and her pleading won through and she went to get a degree in English her eyes on being a teacher. That’s where she met Richard, five years older and making his way through law school.

Her mother might snuff her now but she is no different, neither are any of the women who treat her so differently now.

Her mother had caved after a few months, grew afraid of the way that weight seemed to melt off of Mary. It was unhealthy and fearing her daughter’s life she’d succumbed to her and offered her the advice that had been given to her: a child. Unfaithful men are just confused but this is not beyond Mary’s control, she just has to give him something to have. Men just need a little extra help, they’re just confused. They understand possession, though, and while they might not be afraid to hurt the lives they've made with wives give him a child and he’ll change.

That’s all it takes.

Having a baby was supposed to fix everything. Mary’s mother told her that babies make men happy and that if she wanted to settle Richard to settle down then a baby would do just that.

But she kept losing the babies. A little girl who they hadn’t named, blindsided by their grief. Two miscarriages far too soon in the pregnancy. Another when Richard pushed her into the stairs-- she’d told him it was for another reason and they didn’t tell a soul they even pregnant. After that, they stopped keeping track and she stopped telling him when one kept or when one didn’t.

Mary Hotchner might not make good on a lot of her promises but this time, she tells herself, this time is different. He’s just so little, hardly the size of her forearm. He’s their second chance, this tiny little baby is going to save their marriage. How wouldn’t he? Always watching the world around him, hardly ever cries, and always content just to be placed in the swing so long as he can see everyone.

She’s just changed him when Richard gets in. “Do you want to hold him?” she asks with a hopeful smile. He’s swaddled in his blankets, arms tucked to his sides, and sleepy drunk on milk. “He’ll probably go right to sleep.” Richard only held him in the hospital, only when a nurse made him.

Richard looks at the baby in her arms, up to Mary’s dark brown eyes and back down to his son’s soft blue eyes. He scoffs, “I don’t want to touch that little bastard.” He throws his briefcase down on the floor, kicking his shoes off in the same general direction. Carelessly, he brushes past them. “Why don’t you go give him to the bastard you had to have fucked to make him?”

Mary scrambles, unsure what to do. “Rich--”

He turns, blind with rage and she can feel the force of his words hit her sternum. Feels the baby in her arms jolt at the impact, whimpering as he squirms in his confines. “Don’t!” Richard demands leveling his finger at her. His eyes flick to Aaron and she holds him closer, turning her body so that she’s between them. Aaron cries out, kicking at the blankets wrapped snuggly around him. Richard lurches forward. “Shut him up!” Mary steps back. “I said shut him up before I--”

This baby is a second chance to their marriage, it’s going to change everything she just knows it.

----------

March 1973

Toddling on baby fat legs and clutching the sippy cup in his left hand, Aaron follows his mother across the lawn. Occasionally, he stumbles but is quick to right himself clutching at his mother’s freely billowing dress and going on. He’s much smaller than the other babies, underweight and not very tall, but he’s only a year and three or four months so he’s got time to blow them away. Mary’s positive her bright boy will manage it. He’s smart, they’ll see, small but he’s so very smart. Just like his daddy.

“Come here,” Mary beacons the baby from the edge of the backyard. His back is turned to her but she knows the look that has taken over his features. Those dark eyebrows knitting together as he dances his little fingers across his sippy cup-- brain working a mile a minute to figure out what it is that he’s discovered now. He makes a little sound, more to himself than to her, before turning to face her. She gets a glimpse of that confused look before a bright smile breaks across his face and he squeals happily before running to her.

She’s not sure what it is but she doesn’t like it when he gets that close to the woods. The thick trees line the property and every chance he gets, if he’s not rolling in the mulch of her flower garden, he’s standing at the trees watching. Aaron’s always watching. It scares her just how silent he is, the way he makes nearly no sound when approaching and will stand forever just content taking in the world around him. She thinks that’s why she wants him nowhere near those woods.

The woods are full of death and she wants all of his life and his curiosity to stay away from it. She knows what it is, knows what the woods do to men. To little boys with a little too much curiosity.

“Come to mommy,” she praises, opening her arms and enveloping him. Wiggling about in her arms but not to get away just to make her hold tighter. So she does, groaning and squeezing him until he’s breathlessly giggling. Enthralled by the pressure of her arms and perfectly content with the warmth of the day and her love.

----------

December 1974

He’s been sick all week, succumbing to a fever ravishing his tiny body. Outside snow pours down in thick clumps, the other children howling with joy every few hours as their parents let them back out in it. Snowmen pop up in lawns and footprints betray every hiding spot they run to but there is a clear, unabashed joy eating through the neighborhood. Aaron can only listen for it, falling in and out of naps on the sofa. Sniffling miserably and basking in his mother’s attention when she comes with a thermometer and whatever remedy her mother had called to inform her of now.

Richard gets home early, taking the time to knock the snow off his work shoes before seeing the mop of dark hair that betrays his son’s inactivity for today. He drops his briefcase by the door, scowling as he glances in the kitchen and finds Mary frowning into a pot. “What’s the boy doing inside?”

Mary jumps, not expecting her husband to suddenly appear like that, not having heard him pull into the driveway. She puts the lid over the soup and wipes her hands on her apron. “Sick,” she answers quickly, not sure how Richard is expecting her to answer. Not sure which of his personalities she’s playing with. Afraid an answer of such quick, unapologetic truth will sour quickly but blindly hopeful for the man she married. The man so eager to have children.

Richard hums, turning on his heel, and Mary’s heart stops as she realizes he’s going right for her Aaron. She fists her apron in her hands waiting in fear of what he intends to do.

He squats down by the sofa. “Aaron,” Richard calls softly. He brushes a thick strand of his son’s hair from his face, the lock heavy with his sweat. His hand swallows the cheek he strokes softly, Richard never really thinks about how small his son is. Now, as he sees Aaron’s body curled in on itself, fingers clutching his blanket to his face, and he can’t deny just how small the boy is. “Hey buddy,” he whispers when Aaron’s eyes start to flutter.

Aaron looks up at his father but does not utter a word.

“Come here,” Richard picks him up. Moving him so Aaron can wrap his arms around his father’s neck before Richard tucks his blanket snuggly around him.

“Where are you going?” Mary asks, stepping back when Richard stands and moves from the living room. She has no idea what his intentions are. To take Aaron up to his room? The poor boy could hardly make it down them this morning. She’d had to carry him to the couch in fear of the way his little legs had shaken under him. Is he silently boiling over with rage? Going to throw her baby out into the snow, command that he acts like a child. Go play with the others?

Richard presses a kiss to Aaron’s forehead, rubbing his back when he rises, soothing Aaron’s mindless whimper. “He hasn’t been able to see the snow,” Richard whispers, mindful of the boy tucked against his neck. He can feel his raging fever against his own skin, too hot to the touch. “Gonna cool him off,” Richard explains with a smile.

He steps out on the porch, smiling back at his wife as he shuts the door. Aaron shifts uncomfortably against his chest but Richard settles on one of the porch chairs and brings the edges of his coat up over him. The world is softened by the snow and the old groan of the chair Richard rocks them back and forth on. Aaron’s breathing becomes laborious, his little chest heaving as he rasps on each breath. The silence makes the awful sound deafening.

“You with me, buddy?” Richard asks, pressing his cold hand back to Aaron’s face. His son isn’t much of a talker, not even at three or in the rage of his terrible twos. He’s always just been much more content to watch and hum out his little replies. Odd behavior for people of most ages but it’s nearly alarming from a three-year-old. The way he cocks his head to the side when asked a question, a little hum before he conjures up a one 0r two-word response.

Today Aaron writhes against Richard, whimpering at the weight across his chest. The way his lungs feel as if they’re swelling but he’s too young to know the words. “Hurts,” he whispers. “Hard.” Each breath is hard to pull in as if his lungs are trying to squeeze shut around it. They ache deeply, all over.

Richard keeps rocking. Rubbing Aaron’s back and humming the faint tunes of songs under his breath until, eventually, Aaron falls back to sleep. He doesn’t carry the boy back inside until Mary calls them in for dinner. Richard holds his son through dinner, cherishing the way Aaron clings to him. 

There will be very few moments like this ever again between father and son.

[mylordshesacactus]

RWBYmon: Aquarius AU

For reference, what finally got me and @alexkablob to sit down and start writing this fic that had lived rent-free in our heads for years is literally that the Pokemon AU for it was so good, and we couldn’t tell y’all about it until the fic was out there in the world.

This is actually only Part 1; Part 2 is about the endgame of Aquarius, so, that one will have to wait.

So. In this universe.

It starts out just as it did in canon. It ends that way as well.

Pyrrha chases Cinder to the tower. It’s not a battle, not really. Her well-honed competition team, the six long-time partners who have only so recently become friends, throw themselves at the maelstrom and die at her feet.

Six and one. Her battle team--and her starter. Milo, who was never meant to see real combat, the smaller and more honest soul who alone among a team of elite arena fighters lands a clean blow against an enslaved god.

Bound and controlled by the Maiden bond that should never have been Cinder’s, unable to stop the slaughter of a team of brave, loyal Pokemon who knew when they stepped onto this battlefield that there was no chance, and fought with everything they had regardless-- Ho-Oh keens for the wasted courage of this bright, kindhearted little Oracorio as he strikes.

Milo dies anyway, of course. 

Pyrrha is, briefly, the only creature on Remnant in more agony than Ho-Oh. 

And then, to her horror, Pyrrha wakes up.

Instinctively, she reaches for a pokeball that isn’t there.

In this setting where Pyrrha’s sword and shield were her pokemon, it’s not the remnants of Akouo that are melted down and forged into a collar.

Now here’s where the divergence really begins. Because Cinder had a starter, too.

Cinder’s starter was a Houndour.

The Houndour’s name is Midnight; and once upon a time, in a far-off kingdom, she was Cinder’s pride and joy.

Cinder’s opinion of her first and best weapon soured quickly.

Midnight, you see, was meant to be a Houndoom. A big, fierce, intimidating presence. Salem gave her the Houndour so that she could evolve it herself.

Here’s the thing, though. Pokemon evolve when they’re ready--they evolve because they’ve reached their full potential in this form, and evolving will help them become what they want to be.

Cinder can’t do that.

Cinder doesn’t know how to take something strong but vulnerable and help it grow. No one ever taught her. All she knows how to do is find weaknesses and use them to break something down. Midnight can’t evolve with Cinder here.

Even if Midnight were the most powerful, intimidating Mega-Houndoom in history, she would be irrelevant to Cinder now--Cinder has Ho-Oh. She doesn’t need a broken starter pokemon, any more than Cinder in canon thought she needed her old bowswords once she had the Maiden powers.

Since even Cinder differentiates between burning a weapon and setting fire to a puppy, Midnight is still...around. Literally a kicked dog.

Midnight is wary, even aggressive, toward Cinder; she has to be. And because she’s scared and insecure, she lashes out at the other pokemon in Evernight--make herself not worth it to deal with, and they’ll leave her alone.

For fun, one day, Cinder leaves Midnight alone with Pyrrha--expecting the fear-aggressive Houndour to treat Pyrrha the same way, savage her a bit.

Midnight, wary and pissed at first, takes only a few seconds to realize: Oh.

She hurts you, too.

Midnight, starting and stopping in jerks, terrified, inches close enough to lick Pyrrha’s fingers, and Pyrrha shatters.

Eventually, Emerald can’t bear it anymore. Eventually, she snaps and decides they have to run, and they have to bring Pyrrha Nikos with them, because they owe her a lot more than that.

She quietly adds that they’re bringing the Houndour too, and Mercury about loses his shit.

We’re ALREADY GONNA GET MURDERED and you want to STEAL HER STARTER right out from UNDER HER NOSE--

Emerald’s logic is simple. Pyrrha clings to that Houndour like a lifeline whenever Cinder isn’t around to see and interfere. And after everything she’s lost, everything they’ve helped do to her, we’re not taking her fucking dog away, Mercury.

They steal Midnight’s pokeball.

Mercury complains the whole time.

They get out, barely.

They make it to Patch, barely.

A final entry in The Required Reading Of This Post, Apparently: Taiyang Xiao Long and the Dog-Type Gym.

They make it to Patch, barely.

As always, Tai nurses Pyrrha back to health, puts the fear of Arceus into Em and Merc and then feeds them soup and makes sure they have a safe place to sleep because they’re scared kids and he’s responsible for them.

Eventually, they’re ready to move on--at which point he asks what they plan to do with the Houndour.

He has a Dog-Type gym, you know. She’d be more than welcome to stay.

It is, objectively, the best option. There’s no need to drag the poor thing into this fight.

Pyrrha and the Houndour still flinch away from the suggestion before agreeing.

They say their goodbyes.

The trio is about to leave when Pyrrha--stops. Spins on her heel. Calls out that--or you could come with us. If you wanted to stay together. I--you could be my partner. My...my new starter. We could do this together.

The answer is--emphatic.

Pokemon evolve because they’ve reached the end of what they feel they can learn and accomplish in their current form. They evolve when their trainer has helped them reach their full potential, and inspired them to go even further. When they’re ready to change and grow together and feel confident stepping into the unknown.

A Houndour races across no-man’s land from Tai’s side. Midstride, the flash of light barely fading, a Houndoom with flashing, backswept horns slams into Pyrrha’s chest and sends them both flying down the dirt road.

Well, says Tai, somewhat unnecessarily. That’s certainly an answer.

What’s her name, anyway?

And Pyrrha comes up short. 

She knows the answer, but it suddenly seems too cruel. She may not know the full history of “Midnight” as a name, but she knows that what Cinder was projecting onto this sweet, scared little dog wasn’t--right. Wasn’t fair.

She knows that whatever Cinder’s plans were for her pokemon, the little Houndour who risked everything to offer comfort and compassion to a tortured prisoner doesn’t want any part of it. That it isn’t what Cinder wanted it to be.

Dawn, she answers.

Her name is Dawn.

It’s...not the classic Pokemon Journey. Not anymore. That’s beyond either of them now. But it is, though. A young woman and her...friends, striking out alone, with a pokemon at her side that she doesn’t know very well yet, but would like to. Somehow, they love each other already.

Pyrrha doesn’t put together a full competition team again, not yet. But she does get her pokemon journey; she has a trio at her back when she arrives on Menagerie.

But those are stories in and of themselves.