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bucks-babe · 8 months ago

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Let Me Be of Service

Pairing: Husband!Bucky x Pregnant!Wife!reader

Summary: With your growing belly, it gets a lot harder to take care of yourself. Luckily, your husband is always willing to lend a helping hand

Warnings: Fluff, a little smut, reader is heavily preggo, established relationship, Bucky is down bad, Bucky shaves his girl’s cooch and boot, crack fic, embarrassing stories about each other, implied smut at the end, banter, Bucky calls reader Petal and she calls him Duckie

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: A little something something to hold you guys over while I’m working on part 2 of Change My Ways For You. Thank you to @buckys-wintersoldier for beta reading; however, any and all mistakes are mine and mine alone.

You hear the clashing of pans in the kitchen followed by your husband’s curse. It brings a smile to your lips, knowing that he is trying to make you breakfast in bed, even though he is probably the worst cook you have ever met. When you first started dating, he made the joke that he was the only person that could start a fire with water.

You didn’t believe him until he actually did start a fire while boiling water at his first and only attempt to make pasta for the two of you to eat. You still have no idea how he managed to do that, but ever since then it’s either you cook, he ‘helps’ you in the kitchen, which is you giving him the easiest thing to do and hope that he doesn’t blow you up, or you order out.

But ever since you got pregnant, doing everyday tasks has gotten harder. You get out of breath from just standing up. Don’t even start with trying to pick something up off the floor. If it hits the ground, it’s going to stay there until Bucky picks it up if you can’t grip it with your toes. Cooking has become a near impossible task for you. Who knew that carrying a super soldier baby would be so hard?

Your belly was larger than the average woman’s stomach for how far along you are. It wasn’t just that your belly was big though. It caused so much back pain that it was easier to just lay on your side all day, and your feet ached and pulsed from the shortest walk.

You felt like a bad wife, not able to help take care of the house, or yourself for that matter. But Bucky was a saint, he doted on you every second of the day. He took his leave of absence as soon as you started grunting while moving around. Bucky loved every minute of it though, albeit he hated seeing you in pain, but every change to your body was incredible to him. He was obsessed with how round you were, how full your breasts are, and the cute little pout that is always on your lips.

So you appreciated Bucky for trying to make you something to eat; although you knew it was going to be disgusting, possibly inedible, you would take it with a smile on your face because he tried and that was something you were grateful for.

You decided to get out of bed, not to take over making breakfast in the fear of burning down your house, of course not, but to watch your man in action. When you shifted, however, it became painfully obvious that you were overdue for a shave. The prickly hairs on your pussy were uncomfortable, making putting your legs together almost painful.

You have no idea when the last time you shaved was. All you knew was that it was when you could still see your feet, and that was a loooonnng time ago. Bucky didn’t seem to mind your body hair. He would still eat you out until you had to roll over from the weight of your belly making it hard to breathe. He never once complained about your public hair and you honestly forgot that you hadn’t shaved in so long, until this moment.

Throwing on Bucky’s henley, grateful that he was so fucking beefy so you could still fit into his shirt, although tight around the belly, and wobbled out to the kitchen. Bucky heard you, your feet heavy on the wood floors. “Petal, you’re going to love this! I made you grilled cheese and guess what?” He spins around, bright smile on his face, a grilled cheese plated in his hands.

“I have officially made something edible without us having to evacuate the house, AND it’s only slightly burnt.” The early morning sun casts a soft glow on his naked chest. He looked like a Greek god, corded muscles topped with a bit of softness, the result of your cooking and less time with the Avengers.

“Good job, Duckie. Good thing too because I’m starving. Bug isn’t going to stop kicking my bladder until she gets something to eat.” Crow’s feet bloom around Bucky’s eyes. He falls in love with you harder every day, seeing you carry his baby into the world, keeping her safe in your belly.

Bucky sets the singular grilled cheese at your spot on the table, pulling out the chair for you to sit, strong hands grabbing your waist, making sure you don’t strain yourself too hard. He spins around and gets you a cup of your favorite morning drink and places it in front of you, quickly sitting down opposite you, eagerly waiting for you to take a bite.

“Duckie, aren’t you going to have one, too?” His sweet Petal was too good to him.

“Well, Petal, only one turned out.” He gives you a sheepish smile and you can only giggle at him.

“Do you want half of mine then? I don’t mind sharing.” You were starving your ass off, but you wanted to reward Bucky with something for being so good to you.

He vehemently shakes his head. “Uh, uh, Petal, you and Bug need to eat. I can find something else. Now hurry up and tell me if I meet up to your standards.”

Before you take a bite you reach over the table to grab his right hand, running your fingers over the wedding band there. He couldn’t wear it on his left hand, but you wanted everyone to know that he was yours. “You always exceed my standards, Duck.”

Bucky blushes and gestures for you to have a taste. Your eyes widen as the cheesy snack hits your tongue. “Oh my god, this is actually good!” Bucky leans back in his chair and does a small victory dance, proud of himself for feeding his wife.

His celebration is cut short when he sees you shift in your seat, clearly uncomfortable. “Petal, what’s wrong? Is Bug kicking?” Bucky is by your side in seconds cupping your belly, only to find that Bug isn’t causing a raucous.

“It’s kind of embarrassing.” You look down, away from his prying eyes.

“We have been together for 8 years, Petal. I stood watch while you took a shit on the side of the highway, it can’t be that bad.”

You whip your head around. “Duckie! We don’t talk about that. I told you not to bring that up again. It was one time!” Bucky only laughs and turns his head away.

“Petal, we both know that it was twice and we had to stop by Mcdonalds so you could wash yourself after you wiped with poison ivy.” Bucky was barely containing his laughter, while you were dying of embarrassment. “You know, that was the moment I knew I was going to marry you?”

You scoffed. “When we were stuck on the highway while I popped a squat? That cannot be when you knew you were going to marry me. That is not what you said at the wedding.”

“Didn’t think that you would appreciate that story being told to all of our friends and family. But your secret is safe with me.”

“Since we are bringing up the past, remember the time you were training with Sam and he hit you in the balls and you pissed yourself. You called me to bring you a new pair of underwear and I made sure no one knew.” You turned your chin up.

“C’mon, Petal, it wasn’t even that much. It was just a dot. And it wasn’t my fault I had a full bladder. Don’t make me bring what happened the other week when you-”

You slapped your hand over his mouth, grabbing him by the back of his head and pulling him close to you. “Don’t. You. Dare. We never mention that again, we forget it ever happened, yeah?”

Bucky moans at your dominance, it never failed to get his cock hard. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop, but you have to tell me what’s got you wobbling in your seat. And I know it’s not because my cooking turned you on.”

You took a deep breath before looking into his eyes. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“I can’t promise that, Petal, but I won’t judge you.” Of course, Bucky and you always laughed at each other. Never when it was something serious. But you were able to joke around when the other did something embarrassing, but he would never joke about it if you were uncomfortable.

“My pussy hurts.” You squint your eyes, the grumpiest look on your face, and cross your arms.

“Petal, that’s all you had to say. I’m an expert on taking care of my sweet girl. If I lick her bud would that make it better?” You feel your cunt pulse at his words, but the scratching is too annoying to let you get turned on.

“No, Duckie! I mean my fucking hair is too long and it’s poking me and it fucking hurts and I can’t reach to shave because of this huge belly, and it makes me feel like a sasquatch and I just want to feel pretty.” You almost burst into tears, not knowing that you had so many emotions bubbling under the surface, but then again you were pregnant and couldn’t control them.

“Oh, Petal, you are the most gorgeous woman on this planet, shaven or not. And you don’t need to worry about doing anything for yourself, you hear me? If you wanted me to, I would wipe your ass for you.” You sucked your teeth and slapped his chest.

“I’m being serious!”

“And so am I.”

Without another word, Bucky picks you up like you weigh nothing and heads to your bedroom and sets you down on the soft covers. “Duckie, what are you doing?” He still doesn’t say anything as he walks into the bathroom to get a towel and your conditioner and sets them on the bed. He leaves the room only to come back a minute later with a bowl of water and his razor. “You cannot be serious right now.”

“Oh, Petal, deathly.” He flicks the towel out and lays it on the edge of the bed and sets you there, your feet planted on either side of you and you’re forced to lay back with your belly.

You don’t see what he is up to, but you feel his hot breath fan across your folds and he groans. “Petal, is this making you wet? Your husband between your legs about to service you?” He chuckles as the twitch of your clit. “Fuck, prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen. Makes my cock so fucking hard, could cum in my pants just from eating her.”

“Duckie, don’t lie. I know it doesn’t look pretty. Probably could fucking braid it.” You fight the urge to close your legs. You haven’t had sex in almost three weeks, mainly because your body is so exhausted all the time and you know you wouldn’t be able to enjoy it.

“Petal, when have I ever lied to you? You think I would lie straight to my pretty girl’s face? How could I lie right in front of Heaven?” He leans in closer and you hear the deep inhale he takes. “And about that braid comment, I learned how to braid hair in Wakanda so that isn’t a problem for me.”

He gets a giggle out of you. “I can’t fucking believe you. You’re such a dork.” Rather than hear his chuckle, you feel it, his mouth pressed against your cunt, lapping your juices. “Fuck, oh shit, don’t stop.”

“Mmh, so fucking good. Don’t even need to eat breakfast when I have this meal on a fucking platter.” He dives back in, arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping you in place. With his hands occupied with your thighs, you were able to grind against his mouth, urging him to focus on your clit. Bucky was in his own world, the hairs pressing against his face not deterring him in the slightest.

His groan is deep and sends shockwaves up your spine, unable to stop the jerk of your hips. All at once, Bucky lets go of your thighs and turns away to sneeze. With great difficulty, you sit up and stare at him, perplexed. “Duckie, you better not fucking tell me that my pubes make you sneeze or so help me.”

Bucky falls onto his back, clutching his stomach as his laughter rings out in the room. The obvious tent is his pants still there. “I’m sorry, Petal, just tickled my nose is all.” His entire face is red, each word coming out in a wheeze.

“Duckie, it’s not funny.” Even at your protests, you feel yourself unable to control your laughter.

“If it’s not funny, then why are you laughing, Petal?” Bucky is finally able to control himself enough to sit up and rest his head on your thigh.

“Because you were laughing. Don’t you dare try and eat me out right now.” You push his forehead away, much to his dismay. “Are you going to shave me or not?” Your pout has him pressing his lips together to stop the giggle from leaving his lips.

“Of course, my hedge.”

“DUCKIE!”

“I’m only joking.”

You lay back and prop your feet up again, jolting slightly as Bucky runs his hands, dipped in water, over your folds and mound. While slightly more prepared for the conditioner, it still feels foreign to have his hands touching you like this.

“Fuck, Petal, just one more taste.”

“Duckie.”

“Fine.”

He starts with your lips, using one hand to hold them tight, taking extra care not to knick your sensitive skin. “Hey, Duckie?” The only view you have is of the ceiling so you don’t see the absolute concentration on Bucky’s face, tongue poking out, and eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah, Petal?”

“Do you think it’s normal that I’m getting turned on by this?” Bucky loved that you were comfortable enough in your relationship to casually talk about random things, knowing that he wouldn’t judge you for them, most of the time he was on the same page as you anyway.

“Probably not, but if it makes you feel any better, I’m solid as a rock right now.” You giggle at his casual tone, almost as if he was asking you how your day was. “Don’t move, I’m performing a delicate operation here.” It only makes you giggle more and Bucky has to pull away, leaning over to the side so you could see his face.

“Okay, I guess I’ll just lay here then.” It was Bucky’s turn to suck his teeth in but doesn’t say anything else.

“Hey, Duckie?” Bucky sighs and begrudgingly answers. “Is that my slick running down my ass or water? I need to know how embarrassed I should be.”

“I could give it a taste and answer you.”

“Ew, no. I probably have little bits of hair everywhere.”

With each stroke of the razor you feel yourself relax more and more. The constant presence of his hands soothing you. Bucky taps your leg to signal that you’re done and picks you up, bending you over the bed. “Duckie, we are not having sex right now.”

“Petal, you know that I am very thorough in everything that I do, and I still have your perfect ass to shave” You groan and bury your face into the covers.

“C’mon, Duck, this is worse than before. I feel so exposed.” Bucky rubs his hand down your spine, his other hand reaching under you to support your belly.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before, and I’m going to make my girl feel pretty.” He lands a light slap to your right asscheek and grinds his hips against your cunt once before pulling away.

He works just the same, using one hand to spread you open while carefully removing all your hair. When he’s done he pulls back, one hand cupping each cheek. You huff when he jiggles your ass to his heart’s content, letting him have his reward for taking care of you.

“Duckie! Did you just bite my fucking ass?”

“Couldn’t help it, Petal, so fucking sexy.”

You contemplate if you should kick him or kiss him. Your decision is cut short when he rolls you over again, now looking at your face. “Petal, we still have two legs to do and they both lead to my favorite petals.”

Fuck, you were in for it.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes smut #bucky x you #bucky imagine #bucky smut #sebastian stan x reader #husband!bucky

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osarina · 1 month ago

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ᡣ𐭩 WE WERE BORN SICK

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: that sinking feeling that's been looming over you both has finally come to fruition. truths are revealed, questions are answered, but one big one remains: is love enough for you and dazai's relationship to survive this?

AUTHOR'S NOTES: happy fridayyyyy, i can't believe we only have one chapter left of civzai, it's actually makin me emotional </3 this chapter was quite a doozy to write, and i hope it's equally a doozy to read HAHAH no no jkjk , i hope you enjoy. also do u guys want to add an arcane au to the dazaiverse .. ive been thinking heavily about it. comments & reblogs appreciated

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, civilian!dazai, dazai's struggles w suicide & sh, reader partakes in mafia business, dazai isn't dazai without a bit of obsessiveness and possessiveness (the possessiveness doesn't come til later but the obsessiveness starts from day 0).

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited. angsty chapter. explicit depiction of suicide (past recollection of dazai), implications of past self-harm (dazai), very toxic thought processes at certain parts (dazai), past (and a bit of current) suicide ideation (dazai), manic behavior (reader).

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

“I’ve been eager to meet you for quite a while. In all of the years I’ve known her, my little hime has never let something as trivial as a boy come between her and our work… I knew you must be special, but I never could’ve imagined just how special. I’m so pleasantly surprised.”

Dazai’s head throbs as he comes to his surroundings. He’s laying in an uncomfortable bed—a hospital bed, he thinks, he can smell the unfortunately familiar scent of antiseptic, but the walls aren’t the typical white he’s used to. He winces as he sits up, unable to recall where he is or what happened to him. Everything is too fuzzy, he remembers being with Fitzgerald, the car ride to the tea house, and-

And he remembers you.

He remembers you.

He lets out a shaky breath as he recalls the way you’d pulled him into your arms, cradling him close as soon as you got him back from Fitzgerald. God, he only got to be with you for what felt like a second. It wasn’t enough time. It wasn’t nearly enough time. You sent him off, he remembers—you sent him with two of your subordinates, the weretiger and that freaky little girl, and then…

“Shhh… Don’t speak. I want to get this done and over with.”

The gun to his back, Atsushi and Kyouka’s cries of shock, the baton to his head.

“No can do, weretiger. On orders from the boss.”

His mind tracks back to the words that had been spoken as he was teetering on the edge of consciousness, mouth going dry and eyes widening as he becomes acutely aware of the other person in the room with him. His gaze flicks up to where a vaguely familiar man sits at a desk watching him—straight chin-length black hair, inquisitive purple eyes, a long black coat, Dazai isn’t sure where he recalls this man from but he knows that they’ve met before.

“Who…” Dazai asks, voice wavering as pain shoots through his head with every little movement. “Who are you? Have we… met before?”

His wrist hurts. His mother’s nails dig into his skin so deep that it draws blood, and he doesn’t know what’s going on. He’d just been sleeping—is he still sleeping? He isn’t sure. He’s stumbling over his own feet trying to keep up with her, he keeps asking her what’s going on but she doesn’t answer him.

They turn a hall and his mother stops so suddenly that he slams right into her, nearly tripping over onto the ground. He doesn’t even regain his footing before his mother is pulling him back the way he came, he looks over his shoulder trying to figure out what caused his mother to panic so badly and he looks at—a man?

Who is that?

Why is he coming from grandfather’s room?

Is that-

Blood?

“Shuji! Shuji, don’t look back! Keep moving!”

Shuji? Who’s Shu-

“I think you know the answer to that already.” Dazai is startled out of the memory—was that a memory?—by the man’s voice. He sounds amused, and from the way that his eyes are glittering, Dazai can tell he’s finding great entertainment out of this situation. It pisses Dazai off. “Don’t you?”

“Tane-chan, you know you won’t be able to hide him forever. You’re just making this harder on yourself.”

Dazai’s breath catches. He shifts backward on the bed to press his back against the wall. Everything is wrong—the air is too cold, his bandages are itching, his head hurts, and he doesn’t know what’s going on. Who is Shuji? Why is he thinking of his mother after all of these years? And what… what was he remembering?

Memories of his youth have always been sparse and fleeting—he can vaguely recall the faces of his siblings, the anxiety he felt around his grandfather, the loneliness—but something like this… The panic on his mothers face, the pain in his wrist, the way she was dragging him around, the fear in her voice when she screamed at Dazai—was he Shuji? But then why—to not look back, to keep moving. He would remember something like that. That would be… crazy to forget, right?

What is going on?

“You’re Mori,” Dazai breathes out, clearing his throat. He hopes he doesn’t look as disconcerted as he feels, but he thinks he must. “You’re…”

The leader of the Port Mafia.

The closest thing you have to a father.

So, how does Dazai remember him from years ago? It doesn’t make sense. He couldn’t have been older than thirteen, maybe fourteen in that memory. What did he forget? When did he meet him? What’s going on? Dazai wants to scream, his mind is still slow from just waking up—he doesn’t even know how long he was unconscious, it couldn’t have been that long.

Mori’s smile widens as if Dazai just walked right into whatever trap that had been laid out for him, violet eyes flashing with a type of cruel amusement that makes Dazai sick to his stomach. Dazai has to circle back to remember what he just said, he needs to snap out of the daze he’s in. He needs to think. He made a mistake—Dazai made a mistake. He shouldn’t have admitted that he knew Mori. That was a mistake.

How does he fix it?

Can he fix it?

“You do know,” Mori says, like he didn’t actually expect Dazai to admit that he knew him. Like he’s pleasantly surprised. Again. Like Dazai just made things much easier for him. Shit. “Interesting.”

He’s going to use it against Dazai. Dazai knows it. He’s going to use it against him to hurt you. He remembers everything he’s learned about your relationship with Mori—how he pit you against that other girl, Yosano, to get results from you. And he already said it. He already said that Dazai is getting between you and your work, he’ll do the same thing here. He’ll pit you against him.

He’s going to tell you that Dazai knew who Mori was, and that Dazai is someone that he’s not—who is Shuji? Why doesn’t he remember his own name? Is that really his name? How does Mori know all of this? Who is Dazai?—and Dazai needs to be able to say something. He needs to be able to explain. How does he explain this when he doesn’t even know what’s going on? Dazai needs to remember; he needs to remember now, he needed to remember yesterday, because if he’s not the one to tell you this… If he can’t explain this…

This cannot be happening—it can’t. Right when he thought everything would be okay, when he would be with you. His throat starts to clog as anxiety clouds his head and weighs on his chest, a panic attack that he can’t afford right now. He needs to think, he needs to figure out what’s going on—Mori knows something about Dazai that he doesn’t know himself, and he’s going to use it against him to drive a wedge between the two of you. He’s going to tell you, and-

Dazai’s world feels woozy. Why can’t he remember? How does he know Mori? What was happening that night with his mother? He needs to snap out of this, needs to think, but he can’t even breathe. Fear—the mind killer.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Dazai rasps, his voice is hoarse, and he feels sick, and he hates admitting that he doesn’t know what’s happening, but he needs Mori to believe it so that he doesn’t tell you something that’s not true. “I don’t know how I know you. I don’t-”

“You might believe that,” Mori says amused, “but will she?”

Dazai stares at Mori, his stomach churns violently and his vision swims as the answer becomes abundantly clear to him.

He doesn’t know.

———

The gun in your hand weighs heavily.

You hid it in the inside of your blazer to get up to the conference room. No weapons are allowed up past the thirty-fifth floor unless you’re one of the Boss’s hand-picked personal guards—even executives are forced to disarm themselves before going up, but security is much more lax for the upper echelon. Because you’re you—the hime, second-in-command, the Boss’s daughter—the guards outside of the elevator that goes directly to the top floor wave you past the metal detectors to go on up.

A mistake.

(Who is Tsushima Shuji? It can’t be Dazai. You know Dazai. Mori must be wrong.)

The smile on your face is bland and doesn’t meet your eyes as you walk down the hall to the conference room attached to Mori’s office. You greet the guards, and they don’t notice how off your demeanor is, too starstruck over the fact that they’re being acknowledged for once. They also don’t notice the way your hand is curled around the grip of your gun in your blazer.

A mistake.

(Mori is never wrong. Do you really know Dazai?)

When you reach the end of the hallway, you toss them one last brilliant smile. This one is a bit more genuine because you’ve realized that you’ve gotten through the top notch security of the upper levels of the Port Mafia headquarters without a hitch. That you’re one step closer to finishing this. They’re so blinded by the beauty of your smile that they don’t realize your teeth have sharpened into knives and the floral perfume you wear masks a putrid bloodlust.

A mistake.

(It’s always been odd, hasn’t it? The way he approached you. The way he was so insistent on pushing himself into your life. You always questioned it. There was a sinking feeling that something wasn’t as it seemed. Why didn’t you question it more?)

You keep your back turned as you slip into the room. You can feel four presences behind you—Kouyou, Piano Man, Chuuya, Ace. No Mori. No Dazai. That’s fine—you have something to take care of before they show up anyway. The conference room is soundproof; Mori designed it that way because he didn’t want the guards outside to overhear any discussion of sensitive topics. Even if he handpicked them for their loyalty, he understands that money can make the most devout man’s faith waver. Still, it’s not them rushing in that you’re worried about—it’s the people in the room with you rushing out, so you very carefully twist the nub of the lock and then reach up to fix the deadbolt. It won’t stop them, but it will slow them. You can feel their eyes on you as you make sure the door is locked, but none of them call you out for it or try to stop you.

A mistake.

(Mori always told you that the Tsushimas were like cockroaches. If they all weren’t killed, one would eventually return to reclaim their grandfather’s empire. There’d be a power struggle between the factions loyal to the new regime and the ones that still hid in the shadows believing that the Tsushima blood belonged at the head of the organization. Everything the two of you had built would crumble to ashes.)

You turn to make your way over to the conference table where the four of them are sitting. You haven’t decided how you want to go about this yet. You don’t know who all was aware of what Mori did, and because of that, you don’t know who needs to die. Treachery has always faced a death penalty—you don’t care if Mori ordered it, you don’t care that the Boss’s word is absolute, you have bled and breathed for the Port Mafia. You’ve sacrificed everything you’ve ever owned and wanted for the Port Mafia. You have made the Port Mafia into what it is today with your efforts abroad and at home—foreign governments, foreign criminal organizations, the Japanese government and other domestic mafias, all of them are just puppets that you pull the strings of to ensure the Port Mafia stays on top. Treachery against you will face the same penalty one would receive if they betrayed the Port Mafia, because you are the Port Mafia—Mori has made sure of that.

Chuuya and Piano Man share a look with one another as you approach the table. Neither of them say anything—is it confusion? Is it guilt? Did they know? Were you the only one unaware of the schemes going on around you? Were you the only one loyal? The only one you could trust?

Did they know?

(No one could ever love you without your ability at work influencing them. You’ve known that since the very beginning, but you were so quick to forget that when you discovered Dazai’s ability. You should have had more questions, you should have been more suspicious. Mori had been right from the very beginning. You were emotionally compromised. You were weak.)

Ace opens his mouth to speak.

A mistake.

“It was nice meeting your-”

Ace’s head hits the conference table with a hard thunk, his eyes wide and glassy, his mouth open around the words you didn’t let him finish speaking. Blood seeps from the bullet hole in his temple and pools around his head and the ground beneath his chair, staining the glass table and the white floors.

Instead of lowering your arm, you shift it so that the gun is pressed against Piano Man’s temple next. Chuuya says your name—it’s awful, something caught between a gasp of shock and confusion, he’s never said your name like that before. Like he doesn’t know what you’re doing. Like he doesn’t understand you. Like you’re something unfamiliar. Unrecognizable. You ignore him anyway, and the pangs that come along with it, and instead, you keep your gaze trained on Piano Man’s face.

He’s not as panicked as Chuuya, but you can tell that he’s just as caught off guard from the way his lips are twisted. He watches you carefully, waiting for you to say whatever you’re going to say—if you were going to pull the trigger, you would’ve done so immediately, he knows that. He’s always been good at reading you, better than even Chuuya sometimes.

“Did you know?”

Your voice is steadier than you expect it to be. Cold almost. Distant. You don’t recognize it yourself, you suppose it’s no wonder that Chuuya’s staring at you with such a foreign expression. You watch him just as carefully as he does you. He has a tell when he lies: he squints. Not an obvious squint, just the barest hint of his eyes squeezing shut like he’s calculating exactly what he wants to say, in what tone and with what fluctuation he wants to say it.

A subtle tell, but a tell nonetheless.

“No.”

He stares at you steadily as he says it. There’s no squint—he’s telling the truth. You don’t let out a breath of relief, but you certainly feel the weight off of your shoulders. You lower the gun, satisfied with his response, and then you walk over to where Chuuya is sitting.

You don’t raise the gun to his temple immediately. He looks up at you, you look down at him, a whole conversation is had in the silence between you, and eventually he lowers his lashes in resignation, telling you to do what needs to be done for you to feel more at ease.

He’s always put others before himself.

You lift the gun at the same time he lifts his gaze to meet yours. He could activate the Tainted Sorrow and end this before it starts, but he doesn’t—you know in your gut that if you pulled the trigger right now, he would accept the fate you delivered. Probably would take it as a better one than he deserved—it being at your hands rather than Arahabaki.

“Did you know?” you ask. The words taste bitter, rancid—they don’t belong there, Chuuya would never betray you, but you had to hear it from him.

Chuuya doesn’t have many tells when he lies—he’s a good actor, much better than people give him credit for. If he wanted to lie to you, he might be able to get away with it. But he won’t lie to you, not when he’s looking you in the eye.

“No,” he says, voice soft and raspy like he can’t believe he has to say it.

You let the gun drop to your side. It weighs heavier now—heavier than it did in the elevator, heavier than it did in the hallway leading to the room, heavier than it did when it was pressed against Piano Man’s head. You can hardly bear to keep holding it, but you’re not done yet.

Slowly, your gaze turns to Kouyou. Her expression is cold and unreadable, gaze pinned on you in the same way a lion stalks its prey through the tall grass… No, that’s not right. She stares at you with the same look in her eyes that a snake does when it’s curled in a corner, rattle shaking and hissing to try to scare off the predator that has it trapped.

“You knew,” you breathe out softly in disbelief. Your voice hardens and tightens as you repeat, “You knew!”

Before you can raise your gun—before you can pull the trigger four, five, six times, before you can riddle her body with holes because how dare she know, how dare she know and not tell you after what the previous boss did to her—the door that separates the conference room from Mori’s office opens, and your attention is drawn to the one person who caused all of this.

“Oh my,” Mori says airly, looking between you, Ace’s body, and Kouyou with an expression that is frustratingly amused. “I see you’ve been busy.”

You don’t even know what to say to that. You almost want to laugh. You think you do laugh, actually—someone does, and you think it’s you, because you feel yourself walking away, you lift your hands to your head to tug at your ears in frustration. Your vision is blurry—are you crying?

“You betrayed me,” you finally say, voice quieter than you intend, so you raise it as you repeat yourself. “You betrayed me. You. Of all people I never thought you would be the one to-”

You can’t even finish the sentence, your voice cracks over the words. It makes you feel sick, it makes you angry, it makes you want to crawl out of your skin, because how could he? To you? You don’t know why you’re so angry, why you’re so betrayed. Mori has always made it clear that his priority is the Port Mafia, but still, to do this to you. To do this to his-

To his what?

You’re not his daughter. You hate when people imply that you are, you hate being called hime, you hate being called ‘Miss Mori’, you hate when people give you respect because of your perceived relationship to him.

He’s the only father you’ve ever known. Almost every decision you’ve made has been with the motive of making him proud of you. When he seeks out your opinion specifically during meetings, your chest becomes warm with pride.

You don’t love him. How could you? Look at what you’ve become because of him.

Then why do you feel so betrayed? Why did you think he would be the last person to do something like this to you when you know the type of person he is? Why does your chest feel like it’s caving in? Like your heart’s been ripped right out of it? Why does this hurt as much—why does this hurt more than Dazai’s potential betrayal?

And he certainly doesn’t love you. He never would have done this if he did.

He’s killed people for disrespecting you—he hardly ever gets his own hands dirty, but he does when it’s you and your dignity on the line. He spends hours meticulously picking out birthday presents that he knows you’ll like. He gets sad when he invites you for lunch and you don’t join him, reminiscing about the days where you clung to the back of his coat.

He touches your shoulder, and your finger twitches on the trigger of the gun. You want to lift it, press it to his temple and pull the trigger just like you did to Ace, but you can’t. Your arm feels like lead, and when his hand slides down to your bicep to force you to turn around and face him so that your back is to the rest of the executives, you dutifully follow along.

His expression is unreadable as he looks down at you, violet eyes swimming with an emotion you’ve never seen in them before. He lifts his hand to wipe away one of the tears that had spilled over your cheeks with his knuckle, and then taps your cheek twice, chiding you silently.

Do not cry here, little hime. Not here.

“You have always been so dramatic,” Mori hums just loud enough for you to hear, but the words are fond, and the corners of his lip curl up as he looks down at you. “I would not betray you. Not ever, dear.”

You look at Ace pointedly in response and then back to Mori, the man sighs dramatically and gives you a disappointed look. The nerve, you think bitterly, narrowing your eyes on him as you wait for his explanation.

“I told you,” Mori says. “I did this to protect you. I wanted to get ahold of the boy-”

“Because you have some mistaken belief that he’s a Tsushima,” you interrupt coolly. “How did you even manage to come up with that ridiculous theory?”

Mori’s eyes flicker with something akin to interest, but shifts quickly into pity—you can’t tell if it’s genuine or mocking, and you don’t know which would be worse. He must be mistaken, he has to be. You don’t think you can handle the implications of if he isn’t, of what it might mean for you. For Dazai. Your whole relationship with him. How much was manufactured for him to get information about the Port Mafia? So he could get a foothold in the organization? Get in contact with the remaining loyalists to his family?

“Sit,” he tells you, guiding you over to the seat at the right of the head of the table. “I’ll explain everything, but first… Shuji-kun, why don’t you come out and join us?”

Your breath catches at Mori’s words, gaze twisting to the side over to the door that he’d come out of. You watch as the door creaks open, and the achingly familiar sight of his face finally comes into view. You’ve missed him—you’ve missed him, and you hate this. You should be back at your apartment with him, you should have him curled up in your arms, you should be listening to him complain about how long he was stuck with the Guild.

This shouldn’t be happening. You shouldn’t be sitting at the executive roundtable with Ace’s dead body a few feet away, and Dazai entering the room, questions of his identity, of whether or not he’s been using you for information and opportunity to take back his grandfather’s legacy.

You hoped that Dazai would enter the room angry, irritated by the kidnapping and the accusations, but you don’t think you’ve ever seen Dazai look like this before. He looks a mess, fidgeting, brown hair matted to his forehead, dark eyes wide and swirling with emotion. When he seeks you out, they’re pleading, imploring, like he already knows that whatever is about to be said is going to be bad for him.

He looks… frazzled. Nervous. Confused.

He looks guilty, and you know that Mori is telling the truth.

How much of this was a lie? All of it?

Your throat feels uncomfortably tight, gaze sliding from Dazai back to Mori.

“Tell me.”

Who are you, Dazai Osamu?

———

Despite his body being wracked with a strange sense of guilt, Dazai pushes open the door to enter the room where he assumes you’ll be waiting. You’re not the only one there sitting at the table—there’s five… no, four others—but Dazai can’t help the way he immediately seeks you out. He recognizes his mistake instantly. That highly unwelcome, and highly misplaced, guilt amplifies the moment his gaze meets yours and he sees how crushed you are by all of this. His face twists into something that he knows condemns himself more. and from the way you instantly look away from him, directing your full attention to Mori, he knows he has.

Now, you won’t meet his eyes at all.

Dazai sits stiffly across from you to the left of Mori. Nakahara Chuuya is on his opposite side, glaring holes into the side of Dazai’s head, but he can’t drag his gaze from you. He’s never seen you like this before—even back at the beach house when you’d been so close to breaking down under the weight of everything on your shoulders, you’d held yourself together as best you could.

You’re unraveling now; he can tell you’re still trying to hold yourself together, but it’s as good as trying to pick up water with your fists, your emotions spill out through the cracks carved into the walls you used to hide yourself behind. Mori hasn’t even begun talking, yet your breath is unsteady and your eyes are swimming with emotion; your fingers are still wrapped tight around the grip of your gun, and Dazai is very acutely aware of Ace’s dead body slouched over the table not even a few feet away.

And you won’t even meet his eyes.

Maybe it’s a good thing, he realizes, because Dazai isn’t sure what you might see if you do. You clearly didn’t like what you saw the first time. He just feels so guilty, and he doesn’t even know why he feels guilty because he’s not-he didn’t do any of what Mori implied. He didn’t use you, he didn’t know who you were before meeting you, it wasn’t all some scheme to try to take over the mafia. That’s ludicrous—he’s a literature student at YNU, not some gang lord. He just-

He loved you. Loves you. No ulterior motives. No strings attached.

“I said tell me,” you snap when Mori doesn’t immediately begin talking. “You love talking, so why are you holding back now? Tell me, or I’m leaving.”

Dazai feels a bit sick to his stomach when you say ‘I’ with no implication of taking him with you. He tries to get you to look at him again, silently pleading with you to just spare one glance in his direction, but you’re irritated now. He can see it in the way your fingers flex around the gun, knuckles whitening and finger twitching on the trigger—it’s pointed at the woman sitting next to you, who is very acutely aware of the fact from how stiff she is.

“Do you remember the night we took over the Port Mafia, dear?” Mori asks her, voice a low hum.

“What kind of question is that?” you answer tightly. Your lip curls up in irritation, Dazai can see you become more and more antsy and angry—he’s never seen you so out of control before. “Of course, I do.”

“And you, Shuji-kun?” Mori turns his attention to Dazai and he wants to spit in his face—his name is Dazai—but his voice fails him when he sees the way your face twists at the sound of the unfamiliar name. He stares at Mori instead, hating how amused the man becomes at his silence. “I’ll take that as a no, allow me to refresh you.”

“Eight years ago, a coup was staged against your grandfather’s regime,” Mori says, and Dazai feels like he’s being studied under a microscope. All eyes are on him now—even yours, but now, he can’t bring himself to look at you. He doesn’t know what he’ll find, and he’s scared it’s going to be something he doesn’t like. “Your grandfather was mad, killing civilians and mafiosos indiscriminately, something had to be done, and nobody was willing to do it, so we did.”

“We had to wipe out the whole family, and any loyalists. I was fourteen when I killed someone for the first time. She was a girl my age—the previous boss’s grandaughter…”

Dazai’s gaze drags over to you. You’re staring ahead now, gaze listless and expression eerily blank like you’re slowly starting to realize what this means. Dazai hasn’t come to terms with it yet, because if even a little of what Mori is saying is true then…

“We wiped out the whole bloodline and as many loyalists as we could,” Mori continues, “or we thought we did, at least. My dear hime was who I sent to kill the heirs, I trusted in her to make it quick and painless. We didn’t realize one of the grandchildren were missing until it was too late—he wasn’t in his bedroom, apparently liked to wander around at night because he couldn’t sleep. His mother was able to swoop in and get him out of the estate before our men took over the building… Tsushima Shuji, the youngest of the previous boss’s grandsons. Does this sound familiar yet, Shuji-kun?”

He has the best view of the night sky from an alcove on the fourth floor of the estate—his grandfather’s floor. It’s where he likes to go when he can’t sleep at night, and ever since his cousins and siblings started fighting over their grandfather’s legacy, that’s been just about every night: half because of fear now that things have started escalating to violence, half because he’s not even sure why he’s still here.

His knees are tucked tight to his chest, arms wrapped around them and head resting against the cool glass as he looks up at the stars. He hears a commotion happening somewhere downstairs, but there’s always a commotion happening at the estate, so he thinks nothing of it. He submerges himself in the darkness instead, letting his mind float away as he stares up at the sky—it’s the only time he’s able to relax, escape from the shadows of his own mind.

He’s not sure how long he sits there admiring the night, time passes immeasurably when he’s lost in the stars—he’s only snapped out of it when he hears feet slamming against the ground in his direction. He stiffens, eyes wide, wondering if another one of his cousins has finally turned to bloodshed as the way to inherit their grandfather’s legacy, but instead his mother turns the corner, her smooth face contorted in a type of panic he’s never seen on her before.

“Mothe…” he starts to say, confused, but he doesn’t even get a chance to finish the word, gasping as his mother grabs his wrist and yanks him off the cushioned seat in the alcove.

“Shuji, we have to go,” she gasps, “we need to get out of here. It’s not safe.”

He stumbles after his mother, struggling to keep up with her quick pace and longer legs. Her grip was painful, nails digging into the bandages around his wrists, right into the fresh wounds they covered. He grimaces in pain, breathing heavy as he follows his mother down the hall, assumingly toward the steps near his grandfather’s room.

“What’s going on?” he asks. “What about Bunji? Akane? T-”

His mother chokes over what sounds like a sob and his eyes widen—he’s never heard his mother cry before.

“There’s no time,” she chokes out, “we have to leave without them. We-”

They turn a hall, she skids to a stop and-

“It seems that it does… Allow me to continue then,” Mori hums, drawing Dazai out of the memory. He sounds unbearably amused, and Dazai would be angry if he wasn’t so shaken. He pulls his hands off of the table to rest them in his lap to hide the way his fingers are trembling. “Your mother was able to hide you from us for half a year, I warned her that she wouldn’t be able to for long and since she didn’t share your grandfather’s blood, promised to spare her life if she gave you up to us, but she refused. She tried to take you out of the Kanagawa Prefecture, but our men were catching up to her, and she took… drastic measures to ensure we couldn’t track you down. That I’m sure you remember.”

“Mother,” he whispered, staring up at the rope, her limp body, gaze trailing down to the kicked over chair. “Mother, I don’t… why did you…”

He takes a step closer. A step back. Another step closer. He reaches out, fingers brushing the white nightgown she’d worn the night before while getting him settled in bed, but he snatches them back instantly like he’d been burned, clutching his hand to his chest.

He’s not breathing, he realizes when his lungs start to burn. His eyes sting painfully, unable to draw his eyes away—unable to even blink—is it a nightmare? Is he hallucinating? She sways—sways like when she used to distract him when he was settling into a depressive episode by putting on music and forcing him to spin with her in the kitchen, sways like the wind chimes she keeps outside because the house doesn’t feel homely enough without him, sways-

“Shuji! Shuji, get away from there!” The voice that calls to him is familiar—Aunt Kiye? Why is she here? “God, I tried to get here earlier. Nee-san, forgive me.”

Aunt Kiye grabs his wrist, yanking him away from his mother, dragging him out of her bedroom and down the hall. His voice is hoarse as he screams, he doesn’t know what he’s screaming, if he’s even screaming anything intelligible. He doesn’t stop until he’s out of the house and she’s kneeling in front of him, shaking him out of his panic.

“Enough, Shuji! We have to go, we can’t stay here, they’ll be here soon,” Aunt Kiye shouts at him, expression twisted and eyes pooling with tears that she doesn’t let spill over. “We need to go, and we-we need to change your name, change everything. I promised I would hide you, I-”

“We can’t leave her there,” he argues, voice shrill. “I don’t understand, why did she do that? What did I do? It was my fault, It was my fault, wasn’t it? It-”

Aunt Kiye doesn’t answer his question. She looks bitter, angry, hateful. “We have no time. We have to leave,” she whispers, dragging him to the car despite his protests. She continues talking, more to herself than to him, but the words make his chest cave in. “I told her not to get involved with that family. Their blood is black, cursed. Everyone knows nothing good comes from associating with those people.”

His fault, he realizes, breath becoming thin and shallow. It’s his fault, his blood, his fault that his mother-

“Yes, quite the unfortunate scene we walked into,” Mori says dismissively. “She was smart for it though, she never would’ve survived a night with our sweet hime interrogating her. You should see what she did to that despicable journalist. Of course, she wasn’t as fine-tuned with her ability back then, but that would’ve been at your mother’s expense—her first few attempts at conditioning were quite… unfortunate for her test sub-”

“Enough,” you spit out, interrupting him. Dazai wants to believe that it’s because you can see how uncomfortable he’s getting, but he’s not even sure that you care. He’s not even sure you remember he’s in the room. “Get to the point. You think he’s the Tsushima kid we missed—that doesn’t prove shit. It doesn’t mean-”

You don’t finish what you’re going to say, but you do look at him, and Dazai’s breath catches when his gaze finally meets yours again. He can’t tell what you’re thinking—the expression on your face is entirely indecipherable, something caught between being accusatory and guilty. Dazai doesn’t know if he’s going to make it out of this room alive. Even if by some miracle, you decide to believe him, there’s a good chance that Mori will order his death anyway, and he’s not sure if you’ll pick him over the Port Mafia.

That being said, Dazai doesn’t even know if he wants to make it out of here alive. His brain is fogged with memories that he locked so deep within him that they never should’ve resurfaced—every time Mori speaks, Dazai’s recalling something new, something awful, something that proves that he’s every bit the freak people have always claimed him to be. Every bit as bad. Every bit as wrong. Not like other people. A monster whose mother killed herself because of him, a monster who's been cursed since the day he was born.

“... blood is black, cursed… nothing good comes from associating with those people.”

More than that, he doesn’t see how the two of you are going to be able to come back from this, and that scares him more than anything. You’re the only good thing left in his life, and he doesn’t think he’ll make it without you, but he doesn’t think that after all of this things are just going to work out. You killed his siblings. His cousins. And yeah, Dazai was never close to them—they thought he was too quiet, too strange, all of the things that the other students at school whispered, his family was the first to—but… they were still his family, and if Dazai had been in his room that night, he would’ve been just as dead at your hands as the rest of them.

You killed his family. You would have killed him. The Port Mafia is the reason his mother killed herself, the reason why he walked into her bedroom and saw her hanging from a fan. The Port Mafia is the reason his aunt hated him so much that she couldn’t even bear looking at him, the reason why he was left to die in Suribachi City.

Would you ever be able to get over the guilt of that? Would Dazai be able to accept it? You had a heavy hand in ruining his life, is it enough that you saved him years later? He doesn’t know, he’s hardly even processed it, he just knows that he has to cling to what little he has left, dig his nails in and not let go even if it makes you choke on guilt, even if it makes him sick with shame. He won’t let go.

“So impatient,” Mori sighs. “Your aunt hid you for almost another half a year, but she wasn’t able to move out of the Yokohama area. She did well though, I’ll give her that. We had our best trying to find you, but she was very careful. It was partially our own fault that we didn’t get our hands on you back then—some loyalists to your grandfather snuck under our radar, told her when we were closing in on the two of you. She got rid of you before we got to her… but we did get to her. Kouyou-kun was the one who handled her, if I recall it got quite… messy. I can’t imagine how it must feel knowing that your mother and aunt sacrificed themselves to protect you only for you to throw it all away in an arrogant attempt to reclaim your grandfather’s legacy.”

Dazai doesn’t even zero in on the last bit of what Mori says because he’s too busy trying to wrap his head around the rest of it. Aunt Kiye didn’t… die for him. Aunt Kiye hated him. He remembers that clear enough—he remembers how she could hardly stand to look at him, he remembers the way she was always so cold and rough with him, he remembers-

“You have to go, Osamu.” Aunt Kiye is shouting at him, and he’s sitting in the passenger seat of her car. He doesn’t move, he thinks maybe if he sits still enough, she won’t see him there and won’t make him leave. “Osamu, get out of the car and go, we don’t have time! They’ve found us.”

The name is still unfamiliar—he’s not used to it, and he doesn’t know if he likes it, but Aunt Kiye insists that Tsushima Shuji is dead and that name can never be uttered again. She gets mad when he doesn’t immediately answer to it, tells him not to let his mother’s death be in vain, and that’s usually enough to get him to stop being stubborn over it.

“Osamu, go!” She grabs his bicep hard to try to get his attention, but he flinches and squirms out of her grip, still not responding to her. He can’t remember the last time he’s spoken—he thinks maybe since they left the cabin that morning. “You-”

Aunt Kiye sounds angry now, but he can’t bring himself to look at her. It’s only when he hears her unbuckle and feels her start reaching over him that he starts to panic. He reaches up to grab her bicep, trying to stop her from grabbing the handle of the door to open it, but she’s stronger than him. He’s hardly been eating lately, and he’s never been particularly strong—he was always the smallest among his siblings.

It takes no effort for her to bat his hands away, pushing open the door and unbuckling his seatbelt. He struggles against her as she tries to push him out of the car, and she’s still speaking—shouting at him, begging him, he thinks she might be crying too, but he can’t even tell. His mind is fogged with panic and fear—he doesn’t want to be alone in Suribachi City, he doesn’t want to be alone at all. He wants to stay with Aunt Kiye even if she hates him because he doesn’t want to be alone.

Eventually, Aunt Kiye wins the fight—even with him fighting tooth and nail, she manages to push him out of the car. He hits the ground hard, gasping when he lands poorly on his elbow. He’s stunned for a moment by the shock and pain, and Aunt Kiye takes the chance to toss out a backpack from the back seat and close the door behind him, locking it quickly.

“No!” His voice is raspy from lack of use over the past few months. He scrambles to his feet and tries to pry the door open but can’t. Aunt Kiye won’t even look at him, she stares ahead as she switches the car into gear and he slams his hands against the window. “Aunt Kiye! Aunt Kiye, don’t leave me here! Don’t leave me here, please, I’ll be better, I’ll do better, just don’t-”

He stumbles back as she pulls the car away, falling when he trips over the backpack onto the asphalt, scraping up his hands and forearms. He’s not sure how long he sits there staring after where the car disappeared waiting for her to come back for him.

She doesn’t.

She didn’t die for him, Dazai thinks again, nails digging crescents into his palm. She didn’t die for him, she couldn’t have. Dazai won’t believe it. Aunt Kiye hated him, she abandoned him in Suribachi—none of this can be true. It can’t. His mother killed herself to be free of him, not to protect him; and Aunt Kiye abandoned him because she hated him, not to save him.

That’s the truth. It has to be. They couldn’t have died for him—for him. It doesn’t make any sense. He doesn’t want to remember all of this—he was better off thinking that they hated him, that they wanted to be free of him.

He can feel you looking at him now, but Dazai is back to being unable to look at you. He’s staring down at the glass table looking at his reflection, his eyes are wide and dark and far too black—he looks warped, inhuman almost. His expression is blank, none of the turmoil within him is reflected on it, and he doesn’t even understand why. He thinks it’s probably just making him seem more guilty.

“We figured she left you somewhere in Suribachi City, but we weren’t able to track you down,” Mori says flippantly. Dazai wants him to stop talking, but he has a sick feeling things are only going to get worse from here. “Not until you ended up with Oda Sakunosuke, at least, we…”

Dazai’s ears ring at his old friend’s name. Mori is still talking, but his words become a distant buzz. Everything starts coming back to him at once—his time alone in Suribachi City, the weeks he spent rationing the little food he had, getting the shit kicked out of him by some low rung gang who stole his mother’s ring from him. He remembers giving up, questioning the point of his own existence with a detached logic that left him with only one answer—there was no point to his existence, so he was as good dead as he was alive.

He remembers seeing on a sign that it was the eve of his fifteenth birthday, and he remembers dropping himself in the bay during a storm, hoping that the tide dragged him so far beneath the surface that he’d never see the light of day again.

He remembers waking up the next morning to an unfamiliar face at his bedside, brows knit in disapproval and lips turned down, and he distinctly remembers feeling put out by a stranger looking at him that way.

“What’s your name, kid?”

Dazai couldn’t remember anything but the name Aunt Kiye had drilled into him over and over again the past few months.

“Dazai Osamu.”

“Hm. Oda Sakunosuke. You got a family, Dazai?

Odasaku brought him in.

Odasaku saved him.

The doctors said he’d been dead for almost three minutes when Odasaku found him washed up on the beach—said his memory might return over time, but it might not—but Dazai didn’t even care, because Odasaku brought him in. He gave him a roof over his head, food to eat, and a reason to live. He sent him to school so he could feel like a normal kid his age. He played board games with him and didn’t even care when Dazai was a sore loser and quit mid-game when he realized he wouldn’t win. He humored Dazai when he faked being sick because he didn’t want to go to school. When Dazai was going through bad depressive episodes, Odasaku would sit with him silently and write his book so Dazai never felt alone. Odasaku introduced him to Ango and they were-

They were his friends.

Family, maybe.

They were all he had, and they were all he needed.

And then-

“We were the ones who killed him.”

Dazai’s gaze drags up from the table to focus on Mori. The man’s lips are curved into a cruel smile, his eyes are sharp, and Dazai is moving before he can stop himself. He lunges across the table, but Mori doesn’t even flinch because Nakahara Chuuya grabs the back of his shirt and yanks him back down into his seat.

“You-” Dazai spits, voice raspy and angry.

“Don’t look at me like that, we were trying to get to you,” Mori says casually as if the words don’t shatter Dazai’s entire world. “We would’ve loved to have Oda Sakunosuke amongst our ranks. His death was unfortunate. Collateral damage. He was an assassin for a long time—one of the best in the world. He was pretty much unkillable, his ability allowed him to see six seconds into the future. I never understood how our sniper managed to get him that day, but now I do. He saw you getting shot with his foresight and tried to pull you out of the way, but your ability is nullification, so when he touched you to save you, he damned himself. In those split seconds when he was pulling you to safety, he couldn’t see the future, and couldn’t see the bullets aimed for you that lodged into his chest instead.”

Dazai can’t do this anymore. He tries to push himself up to his feet but his legs are numb and uncooperative, and he can’t move his hands or arms. Mori’s lips part to continue speaking but Dazai can’t do this, he can’t hear anymore of this. He’d always known in his heart that Odasaku’s death was his fault even if he couldn’t remember much about his mother and Aunt Kiye and their desperate attempts to hide him from the Port Mafia. He’d known, but hearing it-hearing the confirmation, it’s too much for him.

Before Mori can say anything, Dazai is startled from his spiraling thoughts when you stand up so abruptly that your chair goes flying back. Your expression is haunted and you’re not looking at him again, but Dazai is glad for it, because he thinks he’s about to throw up.

“I… I need a minute. I just need a minute,” you say shakily before fleeing the room into Mori’s office so quickly that you almost trip over the chair you knocked over.

The room is silent in your wake, and after a few impossibly long moments, Mori stands to follow you into the other room. The three Port Mafia executives left in the room don’t say anything for a moment, and Dazai is just trying to breathe. He’s trying to breathe and process what Mori just said, but he’s failing miserably at it.

It’s the woman, Kouyou, who speaks first.

“She’s going to kill me for knowing about this,” she says simply, sparing a glance down at the dead body on her opposite side. “I’ve never seen her like this before. Even when Chuuya-kun went missing for a few days, this…”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have conspired against her,” Piano Man sings, looking entirely unperturbed. “I mean honestly, after what the previous boss did to you, I would’ve thought you’d be more sympathetic. Silly me to think you aren’t a cold-hearted bitch.”

Dazai tries to pay attention to what they’re saying, he tries to ground himself with the conversation happening so he can forget the feeling of Odasaku’s blood all over his hands, staining his clothes, smeared on his face. He tries to replace Mori’s echoing words with what they’re saying but he can’t.

“We were trying to get to you.”

“It has nothing to do with sympathy,” Kouyou snaps, but she does look ashamed. “It’s a security threat, it’s bigger than love. This boy could spell the end of everything we’ve built.”

“She won’t kill you, Ane-san,” Chuuya finally speaks up, his knuckles are tight around the armrest of the chair he’s sitting in. “I’ll talk to her, I just-”

“When he touched you to save you, he damned himself.”

“Chuuya-kun, she almost killed you,” Kouyou says so dryly that the words almost don’t even register to Dazai, but when they do, they’re the only thing that effectively draws him from his spiraling thoughts. He looks at Chuuya sharply to see if what Kouyou said was true, and his eyes widen when he only grimaces and looks down. “You and Piano Man. She didn’t even hesitate before pulling the trigger on Ace. She’s unstable right now, there’s no talking to her.”

“But she didn’t,” Chuuya says tightly. “I’ll talk to her, but first…”

Chuuya looks at Dazai so suddenly that he almost wants to snap his head away and ignore him, but he can’t. The ginger studies Dazai so intensely that it makes him want to crawl out of his own skin.

“Did you know?” Chuuya asks, voice low. He’s angry, Dazai can tell from the way a dark red color starts to flicker around his hands, but he’s trying to keep it together. “Tell me. Did you know who she was and use her to get closer to the Mafia for revenge? I’ll spare her the pain of having to put a bullet through your fucking head and kill you myself right now. Did you know who she was and purposely-”

“No,” Dazai interrupts, voice hoarse. “No. I didn’t-I didn’t know.”

Chuuya stares at him for a few seconds, studying him like he doesn’t know if he actually believes him, but after what feels like an eternity, he finally shakes his head and looks away, rubbing his face with his hands.

“Fuck, this is such a mess,” Chuuya breathes out, voice strained. “Fuck. She-”

Chuuya doesn’t finish his sentence because the door to Mori’s office reopens and you step back into the room, Mori at your heels. Your eyes are red, but your expression is withdrawn now, void of the tumultuous emotions that had been raging across it just a few minutes before. You settle back in your seat. Your eyes flit over Dazai like he’s not even there before focusing on Mori.

Dazai suddenly has a bad feeling.

“I’m not quite sure how you escaped us after that,” Mori continues where he left off, and Dazai is so sick of the man’s voice that he almost wants to rip his own ears off. “Probably Sakaguchi-san from the SDUP, I recall him and Oda-san being close… but that brings us to the present, doesn’t it? Four years later, you stumble into our lovely hime… Come, dear, let me tell you my running theory, and you tell me how accurate I am, yeah?”

Mori is looking at you now, eyes glittering as he waits for your response. Dazai has his own serious issues with the man, but he thinks it’s sick the way he’s enjoying your clear discomfort and increasing distress. Your jaw tightens a bit, but you nod, signaling for Mori to speak. Dazai’s nails dig into his pants as he waits for Mori to continue. Neither of you look at him, and Dazai’s lips part to speak so he can preemptively deny whatever Mori is about to accuse him of, but he can’t push a single word out.

“Your first meeting with him wasn’t by chance. A cafe, maybe… a bar?” Mori offers, watching your face carefully for a reason. You look away at the second option, and the man’s lips curve up. “A bar, then. One you frequent, I bet. The one in Hodogaya-ku, perhaps? Your first meeting, but not Shuji-kun’s first time seeing you. Ui Koutarou—his journalism professor at YNU—wrote his first article implicating the Mori Corporation’s connection with the Port Mafia in February of this year, around a month before rising fourth year students register for classes. Shuji-kun, naturally, has been following anything related to the Port Mafia closely, so when he sees a class being offered in the fall by the same man who has been openly targeting the Port Mafia, he sees an opportunity and signs up for the class.”

No, Dazai tries to say. His lips form the word, but the sound doesn’t come from his lips. No. No, no, no, no. You look haunted suddenly, and Dazai remembers the argument he had with you during the government event in Tokyo. How cold and withdrawn you’d become. How when he confronted you next, you accused him of working with Ui Koutarou and blackmailing you for money. Mori is reigniting all of the initial fears you once had.

“Ui-san has had his sights set on you for quite a while, dear. You don’t need me to tell you that, you’re very well aware of the man’s hatred of you… When Shuji-kun started classes in the fall, Ui-san roped him into his plans, and you became his project. That wretched man had many documents on you. I had the Black Lizards raid his apartment after we captured him—most were harmless, detailing places you frequented and people seen around you, but when Shuji-kun became involved, he started using that information to manufacture meetings between you. I imagine that after you met him that first time, he started appearing around you rather regularly. Bump-ins at that cafe you like in Minami-ku, on the streets—he even started renting an apartment on property that we own after he realized the opportunity he had with Ui… he’s only been living there since the summer, you know?”

His last apartment wasn’t close enough to the school, Dazai wants to argue desperately. He’d been lucky that a cheap apartment opened up in Hodogaya-ku before the semester started—he’s been trying to get one since his first year. It has nothing to do with-

Dazai suddenly feels nauseous again, everything is spinning around him—he still hears Aunt Kiye screaming at him, he still hears the creaking of the rope his mother hung himself on, he still hears Mori’s confirming that Odasaku’s death was his fault. And now this, and you’re not looking at him again, and he’s not saying anything, why isn’t he saying anything? Why isn’t he denying this?

“He attached himself to you quickly, didn’t he?” Mori asks rhetorically. “Too quickly, I’m sure you had doubts—not even your ability makes people reliant on you as swift as he became. How long did it take for him to start prying for information? Trying to make you slip up and implicate yourself with the Mafia? Confess yourself as an ability user?”

The night of the earthquake when you showed up at his apartment, he remembers dizzily. He started pressing you on your political opinion because he remembered Ui saying that all of the criminal syndicates in Japan are going to do whatever it takes to prevent the military bill from passing. But he wasn’t… doing it to prove anything? He just wanted to know more about you, he was curious, he was finally putting the mystery that you are together. It wasn’t malicious—he just wanted to know you. That’s all it ever was, he’s only ever wanted to know you.

“When did you tell him about your ability? More about our organization? Around when the Guild started making their move in Yokohama, I’m sure. He never told you about his ability until his hand was forced. In fact, I’m willing to bet he lied and said he didn’t know he had one, but tell me, do you really think an assassin of the caliber of Oda Sakunosuke would not realize his ward had an ability that negated his own? That he wouldn’t be trained in how to use it… Most importantly, if all of this wasn’t a scheme of revenge—if he really did love you—then why did he never get rid of the flash drive that contained the proof that his journalism house published? The proof that got you thrown in prison?”

You’re crying.

Dazai’s throat swells when he sees the tears silently tracking over your cheeks. At once, he realizes that he’s never seen you cry before; he itches to reach over to you, to grab your hand or wipe away the tears. He doesn’t—partially because he doesn’t think he could move if he tried, but mostly because he knows that he’s the reason you’re crying.

He wants to assure you that none of this is true. He had nothing to do with the Guild—they kidnapped him for fuck’s sake. He didn’t know about his ability, he didn’t even know Odasaku was an assassin. And he was just… careless with the flash drive, and he shouldn’t have been, but there was always so much going on, and he was so new to having someone in his life that really loved him that he was quick to bask in it and forget everything else.

He doesn’t assure you of anything, instead he watches as Mori reaches out to do what Dazai wants to do. He brushes away your tears and turns your face to look at him, a disgustingly sympathetic look on his face.

“I know you were eager to believe that someone could love you without your ability at work influencing them, dear,” Mori murmurs, “but people like us will never find a love that pure. There will always be other factors at work sullying it—wealth, revenge, threats. You understand now what this was, don’t you?”

No, Dazai wants to scream at you. He does love you, this wasn’t some ridiculous revenge plot for family he hardly remembered until this meeting, that-

“I do.”

Dazai finally is able to make a noise when those two words leave your lips. It’s weak—something caught between a wheeze and a whimper that sounds too loud in the silent room. He feels eyes on him—Chuuya and Kouyou’s in particular. Not yours. You stare down at the table.

“Ogai-dono,” Kouyou clears her throat. “If I may… perhaps we could… send the boy away. Abroad. Ensure he never comes back to Japan so we don’t have to risk him coming back and disrupting things.”

“We could give him a seat at the table,” Chuuya interrupts, ignoring the wide-eyed look both Kouyou and Piano Man give him because of the radical idea. “We’re down an executive anyway. We tell people who he is, that he supports the new regime. It’s what you wanted to begin with, right, boss? You wanted one of the grandchildren to legitimize the passing of power. We could make it work.”

“It’s too risky.” Mori isn’t the one to speak, Piano Man is, but he doesn’t look happy to do it. “Maybe back then it could’ve worked, but the Port Mafia killed his friends and family, and hunted him down. Too much has happened, he’s an unpredictable variable that we can’t risk. We can’t trust that he’ll just accept it all, that he won’t work behind the scenes to take us down. Giving him any leverage in the organization is the last thing we should do, but what Kouyou-”

“Leave him alive and we risk everything we’ve built falling apart—a civil war igniting, Yokohama being caught in the crossfires and all of our foreign enemies crawling into the city to reap the benefits of our fall. It’s one life or hundreds—thousands, even,” Mori interrupts, voice cool. He turns his gaze onto you. “I trust you know what has to be done, dear.”

Your expression is resolved, a heavy emotion in your eyes that tells him your answer before you even speak. “Yeah, I know.”

You stand up, and Dazai knows that it’s over. When you look down at him, it’s with a type of apathy that makes his stomach twist—he’d rather hate than nothing. His lips part to speak but he pauses when you shake your head slightly, so subtly that he almost doesn’t even notice it.

“Get up,” you say flatly, and then glance at Chuuya. “Chuuya, will you…?”

“Yeah,” Chuuya replies without you even needing to finish the question. His voice is hoarse, he looks more than a little disturbed. “Yeah. Of course.”

Chuuya rises to his feet and then grabs Dazai’s bicep to pull him up to his feet too. Dazai doesn’t even have the heart to give him a dirty look in response, following along as he leads him out of the conference room and into the hallway.

For a split second, Dazai really believes that maybe you’re just trying to fool Mori, you made him think you were taking Dazai to have him killed so that you can get him out of here safely, but even once you’re out of the conference room without Mori’s eyes carefully watching you, you don’t look at him.

“Get one of the clean up crews up here,” you tell one of the guards waiting in the hall instead as you frown at your phone, typing out a quick text to someone. You pointedly ignore how alarmed they are by the offhand comment to click on the button to the elevator.

When you look back at the two of them, it’s not to look at Dazai—it’s to look at Chuuya. The two of you are having a conversation, Dazai can tell that much, and he thinks that maybe he should be putting in the effort to figure out what’s going on, what you have planned, but he’s just… tired. He’s not even sure if he cares what happens to him anymore, and he figures the worst case scenario is that he dies at your hands, and of all of the ways he could go, he thinks that would be the most preferable, because at least you would be the last thing he saw.

He doesn’t try to speak again until the three of you are in the elevator and the doors have closed.

“I-”

“Stop.”

Dazai is startled by the sharpness in your voice. He looks at you, but you’re still not looking at him, your lips are curved down as you stare at your phone, typing furiously. He glances up into the left corner of the elevator, noticing the cameras—maybe that’s why, he thinks a bit unsurely, deciding to stay quiet until out of the building.

When the elevator doors open, it’s Chuuya that urges him to keep walking by nudging his shoulder. You don’t touch him, don’t look at him. There’s nobody in the main entrance of the building, which Dazai thinks is a bit odd, but he bites back any comments he might have when he sees a black car waiting outside the building.

The doors to the building open at your approach, and Dazai inhales the crisp, fresh air greedily, not even having realized how stifled he’d felt in that room with Mori, you, and the other Port Mafia executives. He thinks maybe that you’ll sit in the backseat with him and he’ll finally be able to talk to you, but you don’t. You open the door to the passenger seat and sit there without even sparing him a glance.

Dazai’s throat starts to swell again, stopping in his tracks as he stares at where you disappeared behind the car door. Chuuya pushes him forward, not letting him linger for long—he opens the door to the backseat and pretty much manhandles Dazai into the car before taking a seat next to him.

He recognizes the person at the wheel—Albatross, your friend. He’s driven you and Dazai around before, every time Dazai gets in the car with him, he makes a sharp comment aimed to embarrass you in some manner. This time, he doesn’t even look at Dazai through the rearview mirror. He just puts the car in gear and starts driving.

A pit starts to form in Dazai’s stomach. Dazai tries to initiate conversation with you again now that you’re outside of the Port Mafia headquarters within closed quarters, nails scraping against his pants as he decides what he wants to say.

“I d-”

“Stop.”

When you cut him off now, Dazai’s stomach flips. He stares at the side of your face, trying to understand why you won’t even listen to him. You can’t actually believe what Mori was saying, you can’t. You were faking him out, tricking him into thinking you fell for it—you had to be, you have to be. You can’t possibly believe him.

“You won’t… even hear me out?” Dazai asks you quietly.

“There’s nothing left to say.”

Oh, Dazai thinks to himself, withdrawing. He stares at you for a moment before turning away stiffly, expression tight and strained as he stares out the window, watching the buildings pass by as they get closer and closer to the ports.

You believe it, he realizes dully. You believe that it was all just a scheme. You believe that everything was manufactured, that he used you for some fantastical revenge plan, that he never loved you. You believe it.

But it doesn’t make sense, he thinks desperately. He doesn’t understand how you’re not seeing through it, and if you are, why aren’t you at least giving him some hint? He should try to say something again—he knows that, but he finds himself unable to. He’s a smooth-talker, quick on his feet, but never when it comes to you—since the day he met you, he’s been fumbling over words awkwardly, but now it’s costing him everything. He finds ash in his mouth preventing him from salvaging anything he might’ve had with you.

Dig your nails in and cling, he reminds himself, but his nails have become rounded out and blunted from how long he was scratching at his pants and skin while remembering all those memories he locked away. He tries to dig his nails in and cling, but his voice fails him and his nails can’t even find purchase on your skin, you slip out of his hands as easily as an eel.

He’s going to lose you. He might’ve lost you already.

Dazai thinks that’s worse than the realization that he really might be about to die.

The car comes to a stop much quicker than Dazai had hoped, and he stiffens when you waste no time before getting out of the car. He makes no move to join you outside, and Chuuya sighs next to him.

“Get out,” Chuuya says flatly. When Dazai doesn’t budge again, Chuuya snaps, “Get out of the car-”

“-and go, we don’t have time! They’ve found us.”

Dazai draws his knees to his chest, breath becoming a bit labored as his aunt’s voice echoes in his ears. He doesn’t even realize that Chuuya has gotten out of the car until Dazai’s car door is pried open. For a split second, he confuses the executive with his aunt as he’s yanked out of the car—he’s fourteen again and being abandoned by the only person he has left, and he can just barely bite back the “don’t leave me here!” that almost spills from his lips as his knees hit the ground hard.

Dazai is instantly hit with a thick scent that makes him gag. It’s noxious, almost entirely unbearable, clogs his throat to the point he almost struggles to breathe—a blend of rot, acrid chemicals, and something he doesn’t recognize, but it’s sickeningly sweet. As he pushes himself to his feet, he notices you pass your gun over to Chuuya, but in that moment, Dazai is more concerned with figuring out where he is, and when he does, his stomach drops.

The dumping grounds by ports stretch endlessly under the heavy, overcast sky. Mounds of trash rose like grotesque hills patched with scraps of torn plastic and suspicious lumps that Dazai doesn’t have to get close to know what they are. The ground is uneven and treacherous—a mix of sticky mud and sharp shards of discarded glass and plastic, and pools of murky water shimmering with oil slicks.

It’s disgusting, and Dazai has a feeling it might be his final resting place.

He trails over to the side of the road and his gaze tracks down to the ground directly below him. It’s not a far drop, hardly a foot or two, and certainly less gross than some of the other parts of the area, but that’s a low bar to meet. He tears his eyes away from the scenery around him to look back at you, lips parted to speak but he doesn’t say anything.

You’re leaning against the front of the car, watching him with an expression that Dazai can’t describe. Sad, maybe, resigned. Chuuya is back in the car, from what Dazai can tell, he's still fiddling with your gun—he wonders if this is his way of letting the two of you say goodbye in private.

“I do love you,” Dazai says. His voice cracks over the words. “No ulterior motives. No schemes. I just loved you. Love you.”

You don’t say anything for a moment, eyes drawing from him somewhere over to the side like you’re looking for something, but after a moment, you look back at him, your face a little softer than it was before.

“I know,” you tell him quietly. “I know, Osamu.”

Dazai’s lips part to say something back—he doesn’t even know what he wants to say, because confusion fogs his mind. If you know, then why-

Why are you doing this?

He doesn’t get the chance to ask. The car door opens and Chuuya steps back out, he passes your gun back to you and Dazai sees you subtly slide something into his hand too, but he can’t tell what it is. You sigh as you look down at the gun before looking back up at him again, he holds his breath as you make your way closer to him.

His lashes flutter shut, expecting to feel the cool barrel of the gun against his forehead, but his breath hitches when he instead feels the familiar warmth of your hand cradling his cheek. Your fingertips are flaked with Ace’s dried blood, but Dazai still leans into your touch, eyes sliding back open to look at you.

Up close, your expression is twisted with regret and… is that fear? Dazai can’t tell, he doesn’t care, he’s more preoccupied with memorizing the image of you before he runs out of time to.

“Forgive me,” you whisper so faintly that Dazai almost doesn’t hear you.

“I do,” he replies just as softly.

Your face crumbles as you look away. You take a step away from him, and your hand drops down from his face. Dazai instantly mourns the loss. You let out a heavy, shaky breath, sparing one last look down at the gun in your hand, one to Chuuya who stands half a step behind you, and then you look at Dazai again.

“Forgive me,” you say again, this time as you lift the gun—your voice is raspy, breath uneven.

Your fingers tremble so violently that the whole gun is unsteady, but Dazai doesn’t even care to look at it, gaze focused on your face instead.

“I do,” Dazai repeats.

You pull the trigger.

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you

466 notes · View notes

milksuu · 9 months ago

Text

ᴀ ʀᴜʟᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴀꜱʜ & ꜱᴛᴏʀᴍ ───── ♛

pairing: dark!hiccup x f!mute!reader

wc: 1.7k

tw: yandere, implied kidnapping, obsessive/possessive behavior, mention of blood/violence, mention of death

synopsis: You regretted the day they left him for dead. And you’d regret the day you ever saw him again—he’d make sure of that.

A gleam of orange blazed in the bleakness of night.

You watched from your hilltop window—the thatched roofs off the eastern slopes of Berk twisting and writhing in flames. Even from a distance, you heard the breaking moans of ceilings, the cracks and bends of collapsing wooden structures, and the piercing wails of scales met with sharp edges of iron. Despite The Red Death’s fall, dragon raids still plagued the lands.

Perhaps it was all a sign of retribution.

You were told to stay within the safe confines of your home. Your father hadn’t wanted to risk your life, considering how precious you’d become. The next Seer in line after Gothi, gifted with spiritual wisdom, healing, and authority of officiating the next chief.

But the price to pay had been steep.

The house was dark, not even the smallest candle lit. Nothing that would draw a glimmer of attention to the home. A creak ached the roof above, and you flitted your nose up to the rafters, drawing lines across the ceiling. Nothing but your shallow breaths filled the silent dark.

The hearth then erupted with flame and spark, jolting you from back to neck bone. Had you any voice, a strangled scream would’ve ripped from your throat. Twisting, you had almost forgotten to breathe. A figure shrouded in shadow and leather stood beside the crackling firewood. Light and dark danced in an undulating battle across the strangers’ features.

Revealing a horrifying familiarity.

“Hope you don’t mind if I warm this place up a bit.” That voice, boy-ish in tone, lacked any hint of innocence or niceties. He stretched a gloved hand towards the licking flames, doing nothing to warm the ice coating his insides. “Couldn’t help but notice you looked a little cold and...alone.”

A snap of wood made you flinch; addressing him with quivering lips and dilated eyes. Your long-lost greeting didn’t forebode well.

Every piece of leather tightened around his body as he shifted. Turning to ensnare you within his talon like stare. When embers casted a sheen across his face, you braced against the sight. Soft features long since abandoned, reforged into a visage of cold iron. Carved and littered with scars and nicks across his furrowed brows, cheeks, and clenched jaw line.

“Well, this is kind of embarrassing. Wait, no. That’s not the word I was looking for. More like—disappointing. That sounds like a better fit. For you and everyone else here.” Hiccup stalked forward, a contraption of metal clanking and scratching against the splintering floors. Each step clanged through you, until he stood one heartbeat away. “After all these years, I’d thought you’d have a bit more to say. And you want to know something else? Every night, I dreamed about how this conversation would go. Just like how I dreamed things could be better than what they were. Funny how you can plan for things to go a certain way, but then…”

He pressed his hands at each side of your head, the glass window behind begging to crack from the pressure. His scent permeated, forcing you to swallow. Once smelling of spring honey and rolling glades, now sundered to singe your senses like bone ash and lightning storms.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who’s a little different.” He placed a calloused finger into the dip of your clavicle. He dug and dug until your pained gasp fell deaf to his ears. Tilting his head, he curled the lip of his mouth. “So, just like Gothi, you gave up your voice. Good—great, actually. This works out better for me.”

The smile that crept over his lips never made it up to his eyes. Not like before. Those vibrant meadows sullied into a sickly, muddled green. Thick and ichorous, and dared you stare long enough, you could never trudge your way out. Afraid of being stuck within them, your hand slipped silently into the pocket of your dress, where your fingers brushed against the hilt of a dagger.

You drew it a mere inch before his hand captured yours, twisting until he pried it into his possession.

“Come on. We both know you were never good at fighting.” He chuckled, wagging the sharpest point between your trembling eyes. “I’ll admit it. I wasn’t either back then. That’s something we had in common…until I had to be. Guess that didn’t work out in anyone’s favor on this wet piece of rock. Now, did it?”

Your vision blurred. Screams of the village roared in your ears. Screeches of dragons pierced through the air, engulfed in smoke and fire. Having consumed so much in its wake, you felt the heat of chaos leech into the glass. Searing your back pressed against it.

“Woah. Hey, don’t cry. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” He swept a rough thumb over a fallen tear stain. “Not all of them will die tonight. I mean, just think about it for a second. Can’t be chief and rule over a bunch of burnt corpses. How counterintuitive would that be?”

“As for you though…” he continued, and your heart stalled as he traced the cold metal down your flush cheek and neck, pausing just above your breastbone. “I’m only standing here, watching everything and everyone turn to ash around us, all because of you. And don't tell me you don't remember. When you mended my leg. Somehow kept me from bleeding out. Just before the entire village abandoned me.” His clouded eyes narrowed down. “Including you.”

Releasing you from his pinning weight, your legs wobbled. As if he hadn’t just snatched your foothold underneath. Terror kept your feet webbed in place, watching as he twirled your dagger in his fingers like a child's play thing. Crouching near the fire, he mindlessly poked and prodded at the stoking wood. He picked away a scrap of charred chipping, before plunging the blade into the flank of the burning log. You gazed at him, chest tight, aching. How he hadn’t flinched when the fire slicked around his hand like oil.

He dragged the smoldering stump from the hearth, creating a scorched line. When the licks of fire seeped into the house floors, he rose, one vertebra at a time.

“If I’m being honest, I probably would’ve done the same thing.”

He unhooked a masked contraption from his belt buckle and tightened it over his face. The eye sockets were of yellow stained sea glass, and the mouth of it appeared like a muzzle of iron teeth.

“Leave something already weak, then crippled to survive on its own. Gambling on the high-stakes of death. So sure of the outcome, no one bothered to turn over a shoulder.” Hellfire rose and swelled in the reflection of his mask. “Maybe they should’ve.”

The rapid hunger of the hearth fire blazed and curled across the floor of the home. Heat lapped towards your skin, drawing out sweat from your pores. Dense smoke began filling the wooden death chamber. You inhaled the black snowflakes, searing your lungs once they melted inside you. You slapped a hard hand over your mouth, coughing and shuddering against it. A pang of panic willed your body to move. You attempted to open the window behind you, but to your horror, it had been welded to the frame.

Your eyes watered, hugging the wall as you traced it to the door. When the handle clattered against your pulls and tugs, a ghostly laugh floated around you. The metal was bolted shut from the outside. A bout of nausea cramped your stomach. Fear darted your eyes toward the stairs, where the flames hadn’t yet reached—but soon. Perhaps the window of your room hadn’t been tampered with.

You darted towards the steps, and before you could place one foot up, a black beast stalked from the darkness of the second floor.

The floating embers danced hauntingly over the onyx scales, and gashes rippled in the firelight. Revealing wounds healed twice, perhaps three times over. That body of night perfectly reflected it's master’s outward appearance.

And as you drowned in those feral slits of pure abandon, it was apparent they also shared the same broken, unmendable soul.

“Oh. You remember Toothless, don’t you?” Your face paled, backing slowly as the Nightfury slithered down the steps like black ink. A predatory growl rumbled above the snapping and collapsing wood around you. Hiccup sauntered to the dragon’s side, patting the thick of his neck, pulsing with power. Another laugh at your expense. “Looks like he remembers you.”

You fought the claw of unconsciousness raking over every part of you. Choking, straining against your hand pathetically covering your mouth.

“Since you did me a favor back then, I’m going to give you one last chance to make it up to me.” The mask muffled his voice, but the wickedness screamed, rattling your veins. “You can either choose to stay here and burn with the rest of Berk or…” he lifted a hand, hardly an invitation, but a devilish bargain. “You can choose me.”

In the thick of your pounding head and chest, you considered burning to death was the wiser option of the two. All that he was—what he’d inevitably become—held no promise of a life worth degrading yourself for. Nothing about you would be spared. And it wouldn’t be long till you dropped on hands and knees, begging for him to take your life. To end his drawn out game of torture. One he’d carefully crafted for years and years.

Just for you, only for you.

Still, you clung to life. A measly mortal thread. Your shaking hand lifted, painfully reaching for his fingertips. One step forward, and the world spun in wisps of red and black. Your lungs and heart throbbed, practically seizing. A calculated arm caught you, cradling you wholly, close as any lover would.

“Good choice.”

You heard the waning words of approval, and through the fading light of your vision, something fastened over your face. Your last conscious breath had been clean, airy—a pleasant contrast to the toxic fumes.

Then, nothing.

#hiccup #hiccup x reader #hiccup imagines #hiccup haddock #httyd #httyd fanfiction #httyd x reader #httyd imagines #how to train your dragon #evil!hiccup #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere male #reader insert #x reader #fem reader

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worldlxvlys · 8 months ago

Text

speed

chris sturniolo x singer! reader

warnings: smuttt, fingering, oral (male receiving), no actual p in v

a/n: this is for @annamcdonalds67 ‘s writing challenge !! hope you enjoy <33

la da da da

da da da

the crowd went crazy after hearing only the first few chords of the unreleased song that i’d been teasing for weeks.

considering the fact that they’d never heard the full song, i found it funny how many people genuinely loved the song.

if i told you how much i think about her

you’d think i was in love

i looked out to the sea of people in front of me, growing slightly nervous at the thought of every single one of their attention being on me.

i had definitely performed before, but never in front of a crowd of people this large.

and if you knew how much i looked at her pictures

you would think we’re best friends

my nerves eased a little when i actually looked at the crowd. my eyes bounced from person to person, seeing bright smiles, tears of happiness, and people singing along.

deciding to pretend as though i wasn’t singing in front of an insane amount of people, i let myself enjoy the song.

as the words flew past my mouth and into the microphone, i thought about how excited chris was when i first played the song for him.

right before i got to the chorus, i looked over to the VIP section, immediately catching his gaze.

CHRIS’S POV

when i caught her gaze, there seemed to be a glint of something in her eyes, but i couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

although her face held a sweet smile, i could tell she was about to do something that would have me struggling to contain myself.

i’m starin’ at her like i wanna get hurt

and i remember every detail you have ever told me

so be careful, baby

she began to jump around on stage, her energy and happiness becoming contagious as everyone around her seemed to bask in it.

any nerves that she may have had at the beginning of the song easily washed away as she sang.

i’m so obsessed with your ex

yeah, i’m so obsessed with your ex

her hair bounced on her shoulders as she moved her head to the beat. she looked majestic, the stage lights giving her body a soft glow.

she’s got those lips, she’s got those hips

the life of every fucking party

it was almost as those she was singing about herself, her hands running up and down her body, my eyes following them.

the confidence she had was evident in her stage presence, making her seem all the more attractive.

she laid on the ground on her side, running her hands down her body while she danced seductively on the floor.

there was something so enticing about it, she made such a simple action look so alluring.

she made her way through the song, the adrenaline seeming to course through her as she bounced around on the stage.

she showed the love and passion that she had for music through a wide smile, her eyes shut as she soaked every moment in.

the further she got into her set, the hornier i got. i tried to stop myself, but my mind was consumed with the things i could do to her in her dressing room. i just needed ten minutes.

her tight skirt inched up her legs slightly with every jump, causing the curve of her ass cheek to peak out.

her low-cut top gave the perfect view her cleavage, the pendant of her gold necklace hanging just above where her tits met.

at this point, i was so hard that i was genuinely in pain. luckily for me, all eyes were on y/n, i didn’t have to worry about anyone noticing my raging hard-on.

“hi everyone!” i heard her speak into the mic, making my head whip up to her direction.

“i hope you guys are enjoying the show so far!” she was met with a roar of applause in response, causing her to let out a light chuckle.

“we’re going to take a brief, ten minute intermission, so go to the bar and grab a drink or snack, and we’ll be back soon!” she spoke, giving a light wave before walking off of the stage.

looks like i got my ten minutes.

“going to the bathroom!” i yelled out to nick and matt, bringing a hand down to cover my crotch as i sped walked to the backstage area.

i flashed the security guard my backstage pass before rushing to y/n’s dressing room.

i knocked on the door loudly, waiting to hear her answer before opening the door.

“oh, chris!” she spoke as i closed and locked the door behind me.

she rushed over to me, a bright smile on her face as she wrapped her arms around my neck.

“i’m so fucking proud of you, baby. you’re so good out there” i spoke into her neck, pressing slow kisses to her neck.

she tilted her head to the side, letting out a small sigh as her fingers slid up to my hair to pull on the brown strands.

“such a good girl for me” i sighed into her neck, “you deserve all of the love” i spoke against her skin.

i moved my head to her chest, leaving kisses to the exposed skin.

her hand quickly found my crotch, beginning to palm me through my pants. “want some help with that?” she asked me.

“i- yes, please” i spoke, my breathing picking up as she sunk onto her knees in front of me.

she pulled my pants and boxers down with one tug, wrapping her hands around my thighs as she licked up the small bit of pre-cum that leaked out of my tip.

she swirled her tongue around it before taking me into her mouth, hollowing her cheeks.

“fuck” i moaned, my hand finding its way to the back of her head.

i attempted to control myself, refraining from moving my hips.

she momentarily pulled her mouth off of me to say, “c’mon baby, fuck my mouth” before moving to take me fully into her mouth again.

i did as she said, beginning to buck my hips into her mouth, holding her head steady.

she glanced up at me through her lashes, eyes filling with unshed tears as i pushed myself in and out of her warm mouth.

i stared down at her tits, watching as they bounced harshly from the force of my hips against her body.

when she caught my gaze, she pulled the straps to her top down to expose her boobs to me.

“oh my god, yes. feels so good” i groaned out when her nose hit my pubic bone, her head shaking side to side.

there was a sudden knock on the door behind me, catching me by surprise as she continued to suck me off.

“5 minutes until you’re on!” a voice said, leaving as quickly as it came.

i watched as her hand disappeared under her skirt, causing her to begin to moan around me.

i could hear the wet sounds of her fingers inside of her pussy, my head flying back at the thoughts running through my head.

i twitched inside of her mouth, causing her to pull away from me. her mouth remained connected to me by a long string of spit while she began to twist her hand around my length.

“ come on chris, you gonna cum for me? all over my tits?” she asked, raising her eyebrows at me.

i was only able to nod my head as my eyes rolled back, thick ropes of my cum flying onto her chest.

she stood up onto her feet, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she grinned at me.

without another word, i turned us around so that her back was facing the door.

i hooked a hand under one of her knees, lifting it up with one hand, the other finding its way under her dress.

“let me return the favor” i spoke as i moved her panties to the side and pushed two fingers into her entrance.

“fuck, chris” she squeaked as her mouth hung open, her head falling back into the door.

her tight walls squeezed around my fingers, clamping down onto them.

there was a pounding on the door behind her, making her let out a yelp in surprise.

i covered her mouth with my hand, while she moaned into it, gripping my forearm harshly.

“2 minutes !” the voice yelled through the door.

she pushed her hips down to meet my movements, desperately chasing her orgasm.

i circled my thumb around her clit, enjoying the way she shuddered under my touch.

her head fell forward onto my shoulder, while her fingers threaded through my hair. she tugged on it harshly, eliciting a deep groan from me.

“you close baby?” i asked as she began to clench around my fingers again.

“yes, please let me cum. i’m so close, chris” she moaned out as her face scrunched up in pleasure.

“let go, princess. make a mess on my fingers”

she looked so pretty like this, her messy makeup running down her blissed-out face.

her legs began to shake, hips jerking up involuntarily and her back arching off of the door.

she let out one last cry of my name before letting go, coating my fingers in her pleasure.

“here, let’s get you cleaned up” i spoke, wiping away the smudged makeup on her cheeks.

i helped her fix herself up, before doing the same for myself.

once we deemed ourselves presentable, i opened the door. i was met with a member of the stage crew, who seemed to be preparing to knock on the door.

he gave us a knowing look before speaking, “you two couldn’t have waited until after the show?”

the two of us glanced at each other, giving the man blank stares.

“you” he pointed to y/n, “need to go get your makeup touched up” he spoke, waving over her makeup artist.

“and you” he pointed to me, “need to go back to your seat. stay away from her until after the show, got it?” he asked as he placed his hands on my shoulders, turning me towards the direction i originally came from.

when i tuned back to look at y/n she was already getting whisked away by her makeup artist.

i made my way back to my seat, meeting my brothers’ gaze. “so, you enjoy your bathroom break?” nick asked, brows raised.

“yeah, it was fine” i spoke, keeping my eyes forward to avoid his gaze.

“really? cause you just came from the opposite direction of the bathroom” matt pointed out.

before i could say anything in response, the crowd broke into a round of loud applause.

i watched y/n walk on stage, lightly smirking at the way her legs lightly shook with each step.

“so subtlety just isn’t your thing, huh?” nick asked.

“never was going for subtlety, just speed”

collide (matt version)

masterlist

tag list: @lustfulslxt @flowerxbunnie @sturnssx @mattslolita @its-jennarose @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @queen161718 @cupidsword @imwetforyourmom @nickmillersn1gf @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @bethsturn @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ssturniolo @blueeyedbesson @mxqdii @sturniolowhore @readerakayourname @defnotayonna @urmom2bitch @rootbeerworshiper @starsturniolo @hearts4chriss @theyluv-meee @carolinalikesthings @itzdarling @chrisstopherfilmed @judespoision @sstvrnioloo @nicksdrpepper @chrisloyalgf @robins-scoop @fandomhopped @chr1sgirl4life @bbglmfao @55sturn @nicksmainbitch @meg-sturniolo @yamamasjumpercables @vanteguccir @ineedchriscock @junnniiieee07 @breeloveschris @luverboychris

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shellxrls · 1 year ago

Note

(lil young Snow ramble):

that man 10000% has a breeding kink and while i usually don’t really fuck with that, I’m somehow on my knees when thinking about this … 🧎🏻‍♀️ (Coryo, what have you done to me?)

I’d love to read some headcanons about this, but of course, only if you’re up for it!

(my inbox is closed for actual requests at the moment, but i can explore this a bit rn and possibly revisit it with a proper piece of writing another time - probably soon bc you got me thinking ab it.)

mdni | 18+ content

i 100% agree with you. i think with snow its always about control and obsession - almost every single thing he does has those as subconscious motivators, whether he realises it or not.

with that being said, both of those things connect to form the perfect opportunity for him to have a breeding kink.

making you so pregnant you have to rely on him for everything, allowing him such intimate control of your life and becoming so susceptible to any sort of manipulation. he could practically get you to do anything, completely at his mercy and blinded by this star-struck love for your child and your budding family.

he's also almost baby-trapping you in a sense as well? this child will be a confirmation that you will never leave him, needing him for child support as well as likely caring about your child too much to put them through the pain of splitting with him.

lastly, snow would already be infatuated with you, with your body. so naturally he would give absolutely anything to be able to see you growing, your boobs becoming bigger and your body expanding to create space for something he helped create. he thinks its endearing, and he won't be able to keep his hands off you especially with all the extra space he now has to mark up and ruin.

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velvetvexations · 1 month ago

Text

you’ll see a trans boy be like “i dont personally have the power to oppress you” and then later the same day 3 of their little trans boy friends will start calling you out for making the first trans boy cry so hard he almost died (by disagreeing with him) and then all the cis women in the space will instantly side with the fragile little boys against the scary big [t-slur] who uses intimidating words like “transmisogyny” and thats how the whisper network against you starts, leading to far reaching professional and social consequences that never leave you

This didn’t happen.

Not this way, at least. All marginalized people are at all times at risk of being canceled unfairly. Their marginalization tends to play a major part in that, obviously. Trans women get hit with it a lot and that fucking sucks, and some transmascs are in TERF-y circles and can theoretically use that against transfems should they feel the need to.

This that I’m quoting, however, is a fantasy. It’s a page from a dream journal. People are giddily imagining things like this happening because they live in a world where trans women are feared and have their reputations ruined by lies, and they want to exploit that for their own benefit. The best way of doing this is putting themselves above other trans people, because cis people don’t give enough of a fuck to care or get involved with these bullshit arguments, but if you whine about other marganalized people they will actually be affected by it and forced into the conversation you created out of thin air. It’s not so much a victimization complex as it is a death cult fascination with the misery of transfemininity identical to the TERF obsession with fymyl suffering, defining ‘trans woman’ as 'the thing that feels pain always and forever.’

It’s disgusting and I can’t imagine identifying with such a sniveling and pathetic vision of what being a trans woman is like. It’s so undignified it makes my skin crawl. It’s embarrassing. There’s nothing in this crying little effigy covered in pins and needles I can relate to. I can’t tell if these people need more self-esteem or less. I’m so fucking tired of this wounded gazelle shit.

But for the TRF, transfemininity is all about the abuse. Just look at the beyond absurd assertion, made over and over again, that trans women are maliciously called the t-slur by other trans people. That’s just. No? No. But in claiming that the t-slur can only ever refer to trans women, and that transfeminine suffering takes priority above all else because everyone forever at all times hates trans women more than anyone else, it again becomes necessary to construct this false vision of intercommunity dynamics where “scary big t-slur” is a stereotype that exists within the community in the first place, and which trans men are constantly using against trans women.

It’s just so blatantly selfish for one to act like a transfeminist when all one does every single day is bitch about other trans people. We’re all about to get fucked harder than ever and there are people who profess to sincerely believe they’re fighting the revolution by making up lies about their siblings. I’m easily triggered by transphobia outside of the community and yet even I manage to engage with actual transphobes and make them considerably less transphobic, yet people who don’t even know enough about what TERFs believe to understand they hate men too will fritter the day away on how they could theoretically be canceled if they did something bad ,and wouldn’t that be the worst thing ever? Oh, what if I broke up with someone and our mutual friends believed I was the jerk, because that’s a situation that exclusively happens to poor helpwess twans women and the mere suggestion I could possibly be a jerk in the first place is unthinkable? Hate to keep saying this, but trans women are being actually murdered and this obsessive fixation on “social murder” within the trans community exists purely to spice things up with a feeling of danger because the spaces we’ve managed to carve out for ourselves are otherwise a little too safe and it feels more authentic to the Laura Palmer Ultimate Victim narrative. Massively popular transfems with over ten thousand followers will happily sic them on people for the most upsettingly asinine reasons and then cry-type about how they’re the underdogs in every possible social situation.

But most obnoxious of all is the implication here that, because this can only happen to trans women, gossip and slander does not happen to other trans people, or other marginalized people in general.

That’s fucked, considering how much this discourse has attacked specific targets. It’s most maddening to see that “the coiner of the word transandrophobia has dykebreaking+detransitioning-of-transfems kink” has evolved to “most people who believe in transandrophobia have those kinks” because I constantly see TERFs making huge compilations of transfem blogs engaging in cis dykebreaking kink from the dom perspective. Just transfem dom blog after transfem dom blog enthusiastically into cis dykebreaking, which TERFs use to paint us in a way that fits their narrative.

Literally the only example they can ever give of a transandrophobia-connected person* being a dom for dykebreaking with transfem subs is someone who was being paid by a transfem. Detrans kink is overwhelmingly non-transfems, but almost exclusively as subs to either transfems or cis men, and those transfems aren’t getting paid for it, they actually are just in it for the love of the game. There’s nothing wrong with that, but people want to act like there is when it’s anyone else, and that’s not only weird but also setting up a bear trap to step in later.

Which gets to the point that, hey, wow, I’ve noticed a lot of cis women in particular who self-identify as TME are super into anti-shipping. You cannot possibly imagine you’re safe for trans women if your big issue with trans men articulating their oppression is “they masturbate evilly.” Popular transfem blogs will talk at length about how you shouldn’t judge transfems for their kinks but cis women are so eager to kinkshame transmascs that they not only make shit up out of thin air, but specifically copy and paste kinks almost entirely made up of transfems onto transmascs. Someday very soon a TERF is going to show them it’s much more convenient to be a general transphobe and not make special exceptions for the ones that use the same pronouns as you. They’re going to show your anti-ship cis lesbian friend one of those transfem dykebreaking blog compilations and she’ll take Trans Rights Are Human Rights out of her bio within the hour.

Like, even if you didn’t care about being monstrously inhumane to others, all of this is so against transfem self-interests in the long run, but people who consider themselves the most transfeminist transfeminists there are, of a radical nature, one might say, care more about notes than helping anyone, least of all the transfems they’re feeding into a grinder of paranoia and isolation. Especially the isolation.

It’s a little hard to take it seriously when I get accused of calling all trans women groomers for thinking it’s bad when people talk about “curing” other trans women’s “comphet,” how “TMEs” are obligated to bottom for them to compensate for transmisogyny, and writing long treatises on why it’s one’s moral responsibility to throw forcefem kink at random men because they may like it. Like, am I saying trans women are groomers, or am I saying some people use being members of a marginalized community to be kinna gross? People somehow find it in them to be angry at gay men who cross boundaries in spite of the messaging that they’re all sex abusers for the past two hundred years. Especially since 90% of the concern is for other trans women.Like, sorry, but I care enough about trans women that I’m going to say something if I think you’re putting them in a bad situation, and someone being a trans woman doesn’t make them immune to that. But oh, it does if you assume that this is all just common sense transfeminism, and I am in fact making this accusation of most trans women instead of an extremely niche group.

Never mind that in the screencap people use to accuse me of calling trans women “rapists” I was saying something a self-identified TME said was coercive, and whose identity as a Not a Trans Woman I explicitly noted.** Never mind that I’m the not the one telling people to name their blogs after the original transbian separatist group that famously fell apart after resulting in heavy sexual abuse. Never mind that I have said over and over again that TRFs act no more entitled to people’s bodies than lesbian TERFs who treat people they perceive as women the same way.

But I’m supposed to believe that those cis anti-shippers who post things like “every time someone says kinks are fine they’re just protecting predators in the LGBT community” is a great ally and I’m a traitor because they hate men and I don’t?

Sorry, no, not a traitor. A “pickme begging to be beaten to death with hammers.” Who’s probably not even actually a trans woman. Great transfeminism, yall. You’re really fighting transmisogyny.

It’s especially galling now that TRFs have taken to calling transandrophobia “reactionary,” the most bullshit possible way to call a group that includes a huge number of PoC, who they constantly accuse of tokenization, a pack of Nazis. What is transandrophobia reacting to? Bigotry? Golly gee, I guess so! Or maybe it’s “reacting” to transmisogyny as part of the completely absurd idea that trasnmascs steal everything from transfems. Like, yeah, sure girliepop, and we stole misogyny from cis women, right? Sorry you failed to not sound exactly like a TERF yet again but maybe try again tomorrow and you’ll finally earn not being called a radfem.

But isn’t it sooooo mean of me to compare a small amount of trans women to radfems? Like their oppressors? Well, first of all, they regularly refer to Jewish people as Nazis, discourse aside that they do that is simply a true fact which shows they indeed think it’s possible to justify comparisons like that, although in their case it’s just because it feels like getting off a sick burn and rhetorical W to go “ah, but what if this Jewish person…was a Nazi? Checkmate, Zionists.”

Secondly, for as much as TRFs want to claim TERFs only hate them, that’s simply not true and I have conclusively proven this with basic use of Tumblr’s search function and the tag “radblr.” Twice. If you believe they love transmascs and only want what’s best for them, congratulations dipshit, you fell for their propaganda so hard I’m surprised they haven’t managed to convince you you’re not a woman. Or is it only an obvious lie when it’s about you?

Most annoyingly, just on a personal level, is the way TRFs get pissed off at non-transfem feminine AMAB people for daring to exist. The idea that femboy is a slur for trans women would be laughable if it weren’t grotesque in it’s ignorance. The things I’ve read people say about how transmisogynistic it is for an anime character to be a crossdressing man instead of a trans woman are just infuriatingly racist. Not everything is about you and it’s not actually a big deal if people talk about others once in blue moon.

The constant posts about how non-transfems are evil for not making more transfem headcanons, or for headcanoning the TRF’s favorite canonically male character wrong, are particularly childish. I can’t even go into MY favorite blorbo’s tag without seeing people call transmasc headcanons of him inferior literary analysis completely without irony, and every single time they shit like this, they do it while making up the most convoluted and nonsensical explanations for why the character can only be transfem instead, as though the hostility is defensiveness born out of their particular blorbo requiring a lot of creativity to headcanon that way, necessitating going to war to prove they can’t really be a man to assert it as The One Truth. Then they’ll complain until the fucking heat death of the universe about how everyone loves transmasc headcanons because of transmisogyny.

It’s the same unbearable on-sight hostility as when a TERF sees a child on the subway and goes home to type up a novel of a post on how he had the eyes of a future wife-beater, and it’s so irritating to see it spread from one corner to another. Literally, TRFs say that trans men will always turn on trans women and eventually detransition to wield their wymbnly power against us, and I’m expected to not see that as having severe hang-ups about people born into what they want to transition into and have denied to them by society’s transphobia?

What about the fact that they constantly mock AFAB trans people in ways specifically targeting that trait, calling non-binary people “theyfabs,” joking it’s easy to misgender trans men when they have large breasts, and reduce transmasc stereotypes to feminine “soft bois?” Like, yeah, okay, you’re not projecting any gaping insecurities you may have about assigned sex and gender roles when you say transmasc music is ukuleles and transfem music is heavy metal, next tell me about how transmascs all enjoy tea parties and transfems all go to football games.

But it’s not even mostly trans women who keep this shit alive in the first place. A higher percentage of total trans women on this site are into this framework, but the total number of non-transfem trans people and cis women so outweighs them in the first place that it cancels that out. Like, if x is higher than y, and x% of trans women on Tumblr agree but only y% of “TME” people do, that’s still a movement mostly consisting of “TME” people. The full separatist angle would very quickly reveal how little air it has to burn if trans women truly only had themselves to watch out for each other. Unfortunately, self-identified TMEs are much more likely to get TERFier rather than simply less TRF-y when the spell breaks and they realize how fucked up this shit is, while the people who’ve been batted at continue to exercise the patience of a saint and continue to fight for trans women anyway.

And that! Is what hurts! The most! The fact that people do not care about transmascs and in particular the ones who believe in transandrophobia are constantly tripping over themselves to defend and help trans women as much as they possibly can. I wish people saw that. I wish that mattered. It’s like watching a black hole suck up an endless font of goodwill and love. And then going “lol reactionary transandrobros hate trans women.”

That’s it, though, the great irony of it all is that if it were true, it’d never have become popular in the first place. It’s kept aloft by self-identified TMEs who are well-meaning if not especially good at critical thinking, except for the the contingent that are convinced trans men are all misogynistic because they personally are, or even outright seem to get gender euphoria from the idea they have male privilege. But for whatever reason, if “TME” folks didn’t care? The people making up elaborate tales of their potential (social) murder would have to find some other way to get attention.

I suggest throwing on a big red nose and joining a circus.

*and I specify “transandrophobia-connected” but you’d have a hard time rustling up transmasc doms in general from those scenes

**also, despite it being something I saw with my own eyes, I notably did not even feel it hit the level of needing to directly name someone as being who I was basing my assessment of sexual coercive behavior on as being sexually coercive, because I think it's much more a prevalent attitude of pressure in sexual contexts than individual behavior

#I posted this for literally about a minute before deciding it was too aggressive #but I got an email from someone replying to it in that very brief window of time that preserved the text #and I was like oh thank God this is actually normal and fine actually people will like this #so angry about so many things #transmisogyny #transandrophobia #exorsexism #discourse #trans radical feminism #cw slurs #cw sa

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hollowed-theory-hall · 4 months ago

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Still going through the slowest Deathly Hallows reread, and I encountered this lovely Tomarrymort moment I felt like sharing. I mean, I saw some people mention how Hermione refers to their mental connection as a relationship:

“You never really tried!” she said hotly. “I don’t get it, Harry—do you like having this special connection or relationship or what—whatever—” She faltered under the look he gave her as he stood up. “Like it?” he said quietly. “Would you like it?” “I—no—I’m sorry, Harry, I didn’t mean—” “I hate it, I hate the fact that he can get inside me, that I have to watch him when he’s most dangerous. But I’m going to use it.”

(DH, 202)

Above Harry clearly denies it, but later in Deathly Hallows, there's a moment I didn't see talked about as much, where Harry, in his own mind, agrees with Hermione:

Harry was just able to make out the indistinct features of an object that looked like a skull, and something like a mountain that was more shadow than substance. Used to images sharp as reality, Harry was disconcerted by the change. He was worried that the connection between himself and Voldemort had been damaged, a connection that he both feared and, whatever he had told Hermione, prized. Somehow Harry connected these unsatisfying, vague images with the destruction of his wand, as if it was the blackthorn wand’s fault that he could no longer see into Voldemort’s mind as well as before

(DH, 375)

Not only did Harry lie to Hermione but he actually prizes his connection to Voldemort for its usefulness and for the sense of purpose it gives Harry. Now, I want to expand on the latter one.

I already talked about how in Deathly Hallows, Voldemort's sole purpose and obsession is Harry, but, Harry isn't much different. Like, he has a few other things going on, but a lot of his sense of purpose and sense of self hinges on Voldemort.

The reason these visions from Voldemort become so important to him is that he feels it's the only useful thing he can do since they're stuck on the Horcruxes' front. They give him a sense of purpose. The fact he connects the loss of his connection with Voldemort and the destruction of his wand is so fascinating to me.

Because Harry's wand is so important to him, he describes it as a piece of himself, like a living thing that is part of him:

The holly and phoenix wand was nearly severed in two. One fragile strand of phoenix feather kept both pieces hanging together. The wood had splintered apart completely. Harry took it into his hands as though it was a living thing that had suffered a terrible injury. He could not think properly. Everything was a blur of panic and fear. Then he held out the wand to Hermione

(DH, 300)

Without realizing it, he was digging his fingers into his arms as if he were trying to resist physical pain. He had spilled his own blood more times than he could count; he had lost all the bones in his right arm once; this journey had already given him scars to his chest and forearm to join those on his hand and forehead, but never, until this moment, had he felt himself to be fatally weakened, vulnerable, and naked, as though the best part of his magical power had been torn from him.

(DH, 303)

Connecting something he thinks about like this and his connection to Voldemort is... well, it's interesting, to say the least.

I mean, of course, there is the twin core and its protection, and it's clear why he would connect his wand to Voldemort, but Harry was always fond of his wand despite its connection to Voldemort, not because of it:

Harry had never shared this piece of information with anybody. He was very fond of his wand, and as far as he was concerned its relation to Voldemort’s wand was something it couldn’t help — rather as he couldn’t help being related to Aunt Petunia.

(GoF, 310)

So, I find all this kinda interesting. How during the final book Harry's sense of purpose and being becomes more and more hinged on Voldemort while essentially the same thing is going on with Voldemort who forgot about the ministry entirly and is only focused on killing Harry.

#harry potter #harry james potter #tommarymort #harrymort #deathly hallows #hollowedrambling #hp #harry potter and the deathly hallows

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lovecla · 3 months ago

Text

TAKE YOUR PAIN AWAY | quinn hughes.

chapter seven:

➴ chapter warnings: mention of depression/depressive episodes, calories, bad relationship with food and shitty family, hurt/comfort.

➴ word count: 2.3k

�� from me to you: and now, TYPA has officially surpassed IYLMLMK word count!! how are we feeling about that? i’m feeling like the world’s biggest yapper ever but i just feel like quinn and maddie’s relationship reaches a whole other level of love and intimacy and i want u guys to feel that. by the end of this story, please let me know (hah) if i reached my goal :) enjoy this chapter and ily all so much! wrote this while listening to madison beer and while it was raining, cannot think of a better combo. also, this chapter hurts and heals me at the same time, and i hope it does the same to you.

౨ৎ

2024, MAY.

“THIS ISN’T much casual of us, is it?” you joke as you leave the car, opening the back door so you could get Bella while Quinn got your bags.

“Where’s the fun in being casual?” he jokes back, making you bite your lips, trying to hide your smile.

You and Quinn had decided to start over again, and take it easy. You were best friends and he knew you like no one else, but you grew up and, even if you didn’t want to admit it, you’d changed.

When he suggested that you go out for date nights and things people do whenever they want to be with someone, you thought that it would be a great idea. Spending time with him was one of your favorite things about living in Vancouver, so there was nothing to worry about.

Until he started to ask questions– nothing unexpected, just things like “is your favorite color still blue?” (no, I prefer purple now,) or “do you still like chocolate chip pancakes?” (more than I like myself, really,). And in the beginning it hadn’t bothered you, no, it had actually made you feel happy, wanted.

Until you remembered who you’d become.

After he and his family left, it was just you and your thoughts alone with each other, both wanting to run away but stuck inside your head. It was the things you heard from your mom, the fact that she liked to remind you that you were nothing but a shadow inside your own family and unless you were perfection itself, you wouldn’t have anything more than what she was willing to give you.

It was hearing your father, who barely spoke to you, yell at you for the tiniest things and look at you like you were the worst thing that has ever happened to him.

It was watching Peter, who once had been your best friend, your rock, your safe person, distancing himself from you, ignoring you whenever you spoke to him, leaving the sink full of dishes whenever that housekeeper wasn’t around because he knew you’d be the one cleaning them.

It was too much, and you were only fifteen. You were alone, with nothing but your thoughts and the intense, obsessive stalking of Quinn’s Instagram account, trying to understand why it was so easy for people to leave you behind.

But you didn’t blame him, or your family, how could you? It was all your doing. Maybe if you hadn’t spent too much time at the Hughes’ house, maybe if you hadn’t asked Peter to play with you so much, maybe if you were thinner and more like the models that worked at your mom’s magazine, maybe if you had been born a boy who also went to Med school, like your brother, then maybe, just maybe, things would’ve been different.

And then you moved to Los Angeles and just when you thought that things would get better, that you would get better, it all starts again. The dark days where you couldn’t do anything besides laying on your bed all day, sleeping for hours and eating perhaps a single meal per day– when and if you managed to get out of bed.

Showering became a dreadful thought because just the idea of seeing yourself in the mirror made you want to disappear. Realizing that the girl who once loved everything she touched, the girl that wore her heart outside of her body like an accessory turned into this lifeless body that rotted in bed for days made your stomach hurt and the tears run down your face.

Nicholas had been the one who helped you get out of that dark, evil place your mind had trapped you in, even when he didn’t know the reason behind it. He suggested that you should adopt a dog, the idea initially making you laugh because “I don’t want to can barely take care of myself, Nicholas, why should I adopt another living being?”. But he said that maybe you just needed a reason to keep going, and a pet could be one.

You ignored his advice, because it sounded ridiculous to you. But, one day, when you were on your way home from work, you walked past a shelter and decided to just take a look– leaving an hour later after a long cuddle session with the old dogs and Bella in your arms, eyes wet with tears when you noticed her sitting by herself, alone.

I know what it feels like, you answered when one of the workers asked you what made you choose her.

And she helped you get better, day by day, week after week. You finally spoke more than five words a week and you weren’t sleeping by yourself for the first time in years.

It felt nice to take care of someone.

But even though you got better, some days that sad, ugly feeling still made your skin crawl and your head hurt. It still came back, it still made you feel like shit.

And you didn’t want people to see that, you didn’t want Quinn to see that.

You knew that he would worry and try to find a way of helping you, just like he did whenever you had a sad day when you were younger, but you couldn’t do that to him, it wasn’t fair.

Besides that, you’re going to leave Canada in September. This thing you had going on with Quinn, no matter how happy it made you, was temporary, it wasn’t meant to last forever.

So you had to make sure that the time you spent with him was anything but perfect.

“This is so pretty” you compliment the cabin he had rented for the weekend, your first weekend off ever since you started working with your favorite brand, watching Bella roll on the green grass. “Feels like a movie.”

Quinn chuckles, opening the door for you and Bella before he gets inside with your and his bags.

If you thought the outside was pretty, the inside was ten thousand times better. The interior was a mix of stone with dark wood, the walls covered with floor to ceiling windows and the floor filled with fluffy, warm rugs. The living room couch could perfectly fit twenty people, and the kitchen had the most beautiful view you’d ever seen.

Bella started running around the second you unleashed her, jumping on the couch and sniffing the rugs, going upstairs and barking happily.

“I think Bella also likes the place,” you smile, getting closer to Quinn and kissing his cheek. “Thank you.”

He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer before initiating a sweet, gentle kiss, briefly caressing your tongue with his. He tasted like coffee and toothpaste, a weird mixture that you couldn’t get enough of.

“Don’t need to thank me, sweets,” he whispers against your lips before giving you a peck. “I asked the owners to fill up the pantry with baking stuff. I know you like to bake when you’re stressed.”

Your first instinct was to deny that you were stressed and say that you were just fine, but as always, he could see right through you. It had been a stressful week, with weird schedules and locations, besides getting used to living in another city, again.

But you thought you were doing a great job at hiding your true feelings from Quinn.

Well. Maybe not.

“I’m much better now,” you answer, not exactly lying. You are much better now. “But I guess it won’t hurt to bake a pie or two.”

“Great.” He hugs you closer, resting his chin on the top of your head. “Let’s organize our things, and you’re free to go.”

You smile, excited to forget about your responsibilities for two days straight.

౨ৎ

BAKING FOR Quinn was now your favorite activity.

He didn’t try to get in your way like most people do whenever they see someone cooking, no. He sat on one of the stools and played with Bella while you explained to him the steps for baking the most perfect blueberry lattice pie in the entire world.

You noticed something while spending these past few weeks with Quinn: whenever you were around him, it was like calories and dieting didn’t matter. It was almost as if that voice that lived inside of your brain, who liked to remind you that you shouldn’t, couldn’t gain weight— because then you wouldn’t be perfect, the only thing your mom wanted for you— vanished, and only nice thoughts remained.

You have read about this before, in books and posts online— about people getting better because of other people. And even though you knew it was possible for someone to enjoy living again because of something (it happened with you and Bella), the thought of getting better because of another person hadn’t crossed your mind before having Quinn back in your life again.

It was nice.

The pie was ready after an hour and a half, looking deliciously tasty and perfect, which made you smile and snap a bunch of pictures of it.

You and Quinn sat down at the living room table, watching the sun setting through the windows and arguing with each other about which place had the nicest sunset: Vancouver or Los Angeles. You cut him a slice, which earned you a quick peck on your lips and a raspy thank you, watching as he munched on the pie, satisfied with his pleased reaction.

“This is my first time eating blueberry pie ever since you left.”

Quinn’s statement makes you pause, fork mid air, a slice of pie falling back onto your place.

You frown, confused. “What do you mean? You spent the last seven years without eating your favorite pie? Why?”

“What made this pie my favorite one was the fact that you were the one baking it,” he laughs humorlessly, staring at the half eaten slice on his plate. “When my mom tried making it for me a few years ago, I ended up snapping at her and earning a slap from my dad.”

“That wasn't very nice of you,” you chuckle, putting the fork down. “But I get what you mean. After you left I–” I stopped caring about everything else. “I stopped baking. Mom didn’t appreciate how caloric my food was and my dad—” he called my cooking disgusting once. “Well, he’s not a fan of sweets.”

“I’m sorry.” He apologies, and you’re not even sure why.

“What? No, it’s fine, you didn’t do anything wrong by leaving—”

“I meant I’m sorry about your family.”

You stare at him, fighting back the tears that immediately formed in your eyes. Blinking them away, you shrug.

“It’s fine.”

“It isn’t, Maddie, and you know it.” He grabs your hand underneath the table, running his thumb up and down on the back of your hand, the familiar touch making you smile.

“They’re the only family I have,” you tried to sound playful, only being half successful. “It’s alright, Quinny, I swear. Besides, we’re not here to talk about my family.” you change the topic quickly, not wanting to ruin the vibe with stories about your not so happy family.

He raises his right eyebrow at you. “Then why are we here?”

“Bella, look at him asking dumb questions,” you turn around, talking to Bella who was currently extremely busy destroying her carrot shaped toy on the carpet. “We’re here to watch my favorite movies and drink hot chocolate.”

“It’s May,” he points out.

“And?”

“It’s almost summer. No one drinks hot chocolate in May,”

“Oh my God, should we call the police? Should we invite Willy Wonka?” you laugh, getting off the chair. “Come on. I know you want it.”

“Do I at least get to choose the movie?” he theatrically sighs, also getting off the chair and following you around the gigantic cabin.

“I’ll see what I can do for you.”

You end up letting him choose the movie while you prepared the hot chocolate, which later you would regret, because he had chosen The Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind, a movie that you had never seen before and will probably never watch again.

You were sitting beside him, trying your hardest to hide your tears and sniffles, because, surprisingly, Quinn looked like he was enjoying the depressing, extremely sad movie.

But you probably weren’t doing a great job because— “Baby?”

You only hum, hiding your face in your knees.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” he whispers, changing his position on the couch, grabbing your hand and pulling you close to his chest, adjusting your body so you were lying on top of him, face buried in his neck. “There’s no need for you to cry, baby.”

“‘M sorry,” you mumble, feeling embarrassed and somewhat childish for breaking out like this in front of him, when he was clearly enjoying the movie.

“What are you sorry for? There’s nothing wrong with crying because you’re sad,” he kisses your temple, wrapping his hand around your waist and pulling one of your thighs up, fitting you perfectly against him. “I should be the one saying sorry. I saw Jim Carrey and thought the movie was going to be funny.”

You let out a wet chuckle, inhaling his comforting scent and wishing you could stay like this forever.

He runs his thumb on your cheeks, wiping the tears away. You feel him moving around and suddenly the movie’s sounds stop, and you wonder what he’s doing, too lazy to look up and see it for yourself.

But after Mabel’s characteristic laugh, you find yourself smiling and lifting your head to stare at Gravity Falls playing on the huge TV.

“Do you still like this dumbass cartoon?” Quinn asks, making you smile wider.

“It’s not dumb. And, yeah, it’s still my favorite.”

“Good.”

After that you both stay quiet for a long time, the only sounds coming from Bella’s snores, the TV, and occasionally, your laugh.

Quinn knew exactly what to do with you, even when not even you knew what had— needed— to be done. He held you close that night and your heart felt lighter and steadier.

You wanted to be his.

So. Bad.

౨ৎ

liked by vic_alonso, justinbieber, lhughes_06 and 701,013 others

madisoncarter spring day

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user1 ?????????

user1 MADISON WHAT THE HELL

vic_alonso Oooooh myyy goddd

maddiecarter_updates Is this a soft launch? What?

user2 maddiecarter_updates you know shit is bad when even maddiecarterupdates is confused 😭

user3 let’s not assume things guys omg leave her alone

user7 madison you’re going to get fatter with all these carbs xx

jackhughes user7 fuck off.

user4 GUYS LOOK AT QUINN’S STORY

user5 user4 LMFAO THEYRE NOT EVEN HIDING IT

user6 user4 I’m losing the idgaf war…

user8 user4 DID YOU GUYS SEE JACK’S COMMENT WHICH ONE OF THE HUGHES IS SHE BANGING

_quinnhughes added a new story!

taglist: @hischierswhore @ru-kru @alwaysclassyeagle @he6rtshaker @nope-i-am-done @nngkay 🤎

#quinn hughes x oc #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes angst #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes fluff #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes smut #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes #nhl x reader #nhl players #hockey #TYPA

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r6s6r · 1 year ago

Text

constellations

cole walter x reader

warnings : angst, 18+, swearing, kinda long, mentions of anxiety and anxiety attacks.

i have been obsessing over MLWTWB recently so i am currently trying to make myself chill out so i am making this

——————————————————————

y/n had met alex at school and they instantly became bestfriends. they bonded over their love of video games and books

it went on like that for years. they were attached at the hip and she became like a part of the family

she was always around that they never even questions when she doesn’t go home some nights

of course they made sure she slept in a different room, which she always curled up on the recliner in the living room so danny could make his way down to watch his movies, careful not to wake her up. even if he did, she didn’t mind. she would be lulled back to sleep by the sound of the tv.

that was until jackie came to live with the walters

she didn’t mind jackie, she actually liked having a girl around but all of a sudden alex was in a trance over the olive skinned girl.

she felt pushed to the side.

forgotten.

———

she stood against the counter while alex stared at jackie, her heart broke a little bit.

she didn’t feel jealous, she hadn’t seen alex that way whatsoever. he was her bestfriend but he was distracted and that made y/ns mind spiral.

she had always had a problem with that. her mind never ending and always telling her she would be forgotten. she wasn’t good enough. she’s replaceable.

her mind then spiraled and she felt lightheaded. she needed air right then or she would burst into flames

she pushed herself from the counter and started towards the front door

“hey! you okay?” jackie smiled at her

“ye-yeah i’m okay, jackie. i’m just gonna go take a walk.” the tears were coming and she knew it

“do you want me to come with?” jackie offered warmly, almost like she knew the look on y/ns features

“oh no, jacks that’s okay”

“okay…” she looked at y/n to analyze her, jackie looked over to alex and saw him with his book to his face and then looked at y/n who was already out of the door and sighed.

y/n made her way down the steps as fast as she could.

her heart was pounding so loud she couldn’t hear anything going on around her. she just kept walking

she couldn’t think of anything else to do, her feet taking her to god knows where

until she ran right into him.

cole walter.

her coley poley.

she grabbed his arm and pushed herself up to keep upright, her whole body was shaking. she prayed he hadn’t noticed but cole knowing her like the back of his hand

he knew something was very wrong

“hey, doll. what’s going on?” he grabbed onto her to keep her steady.

“c-cole. i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to run into you. i’m sorry. i just needed some air. i’m sorry” the apologies just kept coming and the tears were on the brink of spilling

she could barely hear her own words over her speeding heart.

“hey. hey, it’s okay. talk to me, y/n/n” she looked at him, seeing his eyes for the first time since running into him

they looked helpless

she saw pain and sadness behind them

but the way the sun hit them just right, she saw hope. she saw a little cole running through the fields of the ranch with her, she saw life in his green orbs

they reminded her of the fields here in spring. the different patterns that swirled in the color of his eyes.

she took a deep breath and tried to tell him

but she choked and started to panic again.

he grabbed her face in his hands “look at me y/n/n” and she did

he talked to her slowly but nothing made it to her conscious brain. she just focused on the way he was taking breaths and the golden color his eyes had become

she tried to mimic his breaths, slow and deep.

“will you walk with me, coley poley?” she basically begged and he smiled and nodded at her.

so they did, they walked for what felt like forever before she finally calmed down enough to discuss why she had panicked.

“i just feel replaceable. since jackie got here alex has been, well, distant and we haven’t been hanging out as much. i’ve just been wandering around the house and the ranch with no real place to be anymore. without alex, where is my place here? is he gonna forget about me?” she looked at cole and his expression softened

“well, truly you are unforgettable. none of us would have you anywhere else. we all love you, you know that right, y/n/n? plus, she’s without. if you were my best friend, i would make sure you knew that.” he sighed looking off in the distance then back at her

“you would?” “i would”

“cmon, i wanna show you something” he stood up and offered his hand to her which she took and he brought her up with ease.

he turned his back to her “get on”

“what?” she questioned

“a princess does not get to walk to a secret location” he smiled at her over his shoulder and with a sighed she hoisted herself onto his back.

“giddy up cowboy.” she smiled at him

“yes ma’am.” he winked with a fake southern accent

and he began to make his way towards their destination.

when they made it, her eyes lit up. their destination was at the pond that had hundreds of flowers growing around it, it was truly beautiful around this time of year.

she jumped down and raced towards the pond, to a group of flowers and she laid right down. she closed her eyes and took in the scent of the air around her

cole made his way to her and smiled down at her.

“lay down with me coley poley”

“you gotta stop calling me that. the girls will never let me get close to them if you don’t”

“oh like you need anymore girls flocking your way. you basically have all of them worshipping the ground you walk on” she rolled her eyes and elbowed him as he sat down with a strained face

she knew it was hard for him since the incident with his leg.

she could never imagine how hard it must really be

“not all of them” he mumbled looking right at her

she made eye contact with him once again, his green eyes staring hard into her e/c ones.

she started counting the light freckles on his face and she began to speak “well i can’t be taken down by the cole effect. i am too strong” she smiled and flex her arms like she was the worlds strongest man

he laughed at her “i swear i’ll never hear the end of ‘the cole effect’ i don’t get it”

she scoffed at this “you don’t get it? okay let me try it on you. give you a little bit of the ‘y/n effect’ i would like to call it”

“okay give it to me y/l/n”

she peered out to the water where the sun was shining and leaned towards cole real close, close enough to smell her strawberry scented perfume and lotion.

she pointed to the water and gently touched his back “you see how the sun just shines on the water, coley poley?” she started, keeping her voice low and smooth

she rubbed a circle on his back which made cole shiver but she ignored it

“it shines right into your eyes, you know? makes them look so,”

he looked at her

“so green and gold. they sparkle, i could just look at them all day. they remind me of a meadow right as the sun is about to set”

her hand continued to rub his back

he looked like he had never been told this before

almost like it wasn’t the truth, y/n had just made it more seductive and sensual.

“it’s just like that, huh?” he whispered

“it’s just like that.” y/n pulled away but he grabbed her wrist quickly

“y/n”

“coley poley”

“y/n.”

“cole”

“did you mean it?” he leaned closer to her

“every word.” she smiled at him and leaned with him

“y/n!” she heard alex’s voice and the gallops of feet. her and coke scrambled up quickly and saw alex and jackie riding together

jackie must have said something to alex and he immediately came to find me, not noticing something was off until of course jackie said something.

jackie must of been good at reading people, y/n hated that. she hated being seen through like glass.

cole was standing behind her, pulling the leaves out of her hair and brushing off the back of her shirt.

alex looked at cole with a hard look. knowing what happened between them was rough but they were all still like family.

“what are you guys doing out here?” alex questioned them

“i just needed a walk and cole tagged along. i needed the company” y/n sneered back.

he was acting like she did something wrong

their problems weren’t hers, she needed someone by her side and alex obviously wasn’t gonna be there drooling over jackie.

“why didn’t you ask me?” his eyebrows furrowed when asking

“because you were busy, alex. come on, cole.”she answered perplexed, as if he didn’t know why.

she put her hand out towards cole and he took it. they started walking back to the ranch and whatever alex and jackie did wasn’t on her mind.

they made it back to the ranch

“thank you, coley poley. i really needed that” she smiled facing him

he pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, “of course, doll. anytime you need me, i’m only a shout away.”

y/n made her way into the house to see isaac and lee playing mortal kombat on the couch so she plopped herself in between them and called the next round

————

y/n had fallen asleep in the recliner but woke up to the house of the front door closing. she adjusted her nightgown and threw on a jacket by the front door and made her way outside. she saw the lights on in the barn where cole worked on his truck

she knew it had to have been him. she stood outside and enjoyed the breeze for a moment before walking out to the doors. her hand reached for the handle and she took a deep breath before opening it.

“coley poley?” she questioned as she closed the doors, she heard light music in the back.

she never pegged cole to listen to this type of music

lights are turned off

music is on

minds are unlocked

this feeling is amazing

“hey doll. did i wake you?”

“kind of but that’s okay. you weren’t loud, i’m just a light sleeper.”

he looked around the hood and started to lower it down before closing it completely

he was wearing a white tank top and his hair was messy around his forehead

she walked over to him and smiled at her “no scary monsters that need scaring away, right princess?”

“why no, of course not my knight. only you” she snickered at him

he feigned hurt “i could never hurt my princess. even if i am a monster”

“you’re no monster, cole walter.” she stepped closer to him

“what if i am? would you run?” he stepped even closer to her

“never.” she whispered, face to face with him.

when i hit the spot you know i hit it perfectly

and you taste so sweet

leave me wanting more soon

as we get out the sheets

he reached up and cupped her cheek his hand hands

he caressed her cheek with his thumb and she leaned more into it

she reached her hand up to his and held on to it, scared it would disappear if she didn’t.

she closed her eyes and sighed at the warmth of him.

he then pulled her to him and closed the gap between them.

he swayed them back and forth with the music.

lights are turned off

music is on

minds are unlocked

this feeling is amazing

hands on your waist

liquor is all that we taste

your freckles lead the way

i trace your constellations

she looked up at him and he was already looking at her big e/c eyes.

his eyes were that beautiful gold that they got at certain points when looking at her

all he could think was how ethereal she looked.

the dim light shining on her face, making her eyes sparkle and shine.

she lips plump and pink and her lashes looked long and wispy

she embodied natural beauty.

he didn’t feel himself leaning into her

but she was leaning in too.

he stopped himself thinking about how alex would really feel about this.

cole questioned himself for a second before y/n cupped his face to look at her and the look in her eyes threw every thought of doubt out of the window.

he grabbed her face and their lips finally met.

sparks had never been a thing for cole, he just did it to make other girls happy but this was different for him

it was for her too

now isaac had been her first kiss when they were young and of course Dylan, coles friend taking her virginity at a party after they had both had too much to drink. she never told anyone and she was sure he didn’t either, cole would’ve killed him.

this was different like it was what was missing from her life.

like she was waiting for the perfect moment and this was it.

cole knew this was different.

they pulled away and looked at each other for a split second before he started backing her against the front bumper of his truck

“cole..”

“y/n” he whispered, putting his forehead against hers.

before their lips met once again. more urgency behind this one

her wraps wrapped in the hair at the base of his neck and his hands made her way to her neck

her skin felt like it was on fire

he lifted her to wrap around his waist making her gasp as his lips trailed down her neck and to her collarbone.

she pulled at his hair to bring his lips back to hers and he groaned at the tug of his hair.

alex is gonna be so mad if he ever finds out what happened in the barn that night

i trace your constellations

#Spotify #cole walter #cole walter x reader #my life with the walter boys #mlwtwb #alex walter #the walters #isaac walter #nathan walter #oneshot #constellations #my music #gif

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rottingcorps3s · 7 months ago

Text

god i’m obsessed with men eating box. sue me.

konig is ravenous for some putang. little bit of mean!konig, but not too bad. overstim. mention of bruises. siiiizzeee kink bby.

this was not proofread. who has the time? ENJOY!

i see konig as someone who isn’t fully aware of how strong he actually is to a normal person. like yeah, he obviously knows he’s big and strong, but thats when he’s being compared to other military personnel. it becomes evident once you enter the picture. he doesn’t mean for it to happen. you’re just so fragile and…sensitive in so many ways.

once you guys were ‘official’ is when it started. konig had always been respectful of your space and your body. having never gone out of his way to seek physical contact unless you initiated it first. it was like a light switch had been turned on, day to night within weeks.

his hands were constantly on you in one way or another. first off, his hands are MASSIVE. no matter who you are or what size you may be, his hands will always dwarf your own. he was rough, unintentionally…mostly. the finger print bruises on your hips, your ankles, your ass; the hickeys that littered just below the neck of the shirt you wore. juuuussstttt barely out of sight.

it had started in a play fight, one you had initiated and frankly, weren’t prepared for. konig had just come back from the gym, adrenaline and testosterone still coursing through his veins. he just looked sooooooo good…irresistible, really. sweaty and slightly out of breath from his run back. he b-lined straight for you, like he always did when he arrived home. he yearned for his ‘welcome home’ kiss.

his arms encircled around your waist, his neck craning down to collect what was rightfully his. his eyes flashed with disappointment when his lips made contact with something other than your lips. he thought maybe he had accidentally missed your lips, but when he tried again and was met with your forehead, he pulled back. a shit-eating grin spread across your face.

“fucking kiss me.” he’d demand, his eyebrows furrowing in frustration. you had yet to say anything, only offering a quick ‘no’, smile still on your lips. before he had a chance to retaliate, you were gone. running down the hall and disappearing.

he was on you within seconds, he was a professional after all. you had just made it thru the doorway of your shared room, konig grabbed you by your arm, his leg kicking the door closed behind him. he spun you around to face him. his hands now holding both of your biceps, his fingers digging into your soft skin. definitely leaving behind a trail of bruises.

you squealed in pain from his tight grip, “ow! konig you’re hurting me!” you whined, a small pout on your soft lips. his eyes held a dark stare, your small protest not affecting him in the slightest. you’d played the same card in the past, faking being hurt to get him to knock his guard down before you’d strike. he had you this time.

“ooooohhh, schatz…” he said in a fake tone, almost as if he were mocking you, “i’m sooooo sorry…” he apologized, his grip on you loosening slightly, but not all the way. he could see the excitement in your eyes, thinking you had him wrapped around your finger again. “let me make it up to you…” he said, a wicked smile threatening to appear. you only nodded, smiling sweetly at him.

you know what they say about men with big hands…

big tongues 0_0

anyway…

just the thought of the big…hot…wet appendage toying with your clit for hours…oh brother. and it would be hooooouuuurrrrsssszzz (yes with a z).

he’d pull you by your ankles to the edge of the bed. completely towering over you as he worked on getting your shorts off. which was easy enough considering he was able to maneuver your body in ways no one ever had. your thighs would sit comfortably on either side of his shoulders, his arms wrapped around the backs of your legs, holding them tightly in place as his tongue made its first assault.

your thighs would tremble from the sudden stimulation. broken curses falling from your lips as his tongue would flick your clit back and forth, unrelenting. tears would prick your eyes as your first orgasm approached at the speed of light.

“ko-n-ig,” you pleaded desperately, your fingernails digging into his scalp to try and push him back to relieve some of the pressure. he was as still as a statue and as strong as a bull. his grip around your thighs only tightened.

the pleasure was overwhelming, washing over you like a giant wave, boarding on painful as his pace didn’t falter. tears had now begun streaming down your cheeks. so soft and sweet…one of konig’s favorite spots to kiss…

he didn’t stop, no matter how much you tried to beg and plead your case…i mean he did warn you that he was going to make it up to you…you just never asked how.

only after you had your third orgasm did he stop, his grip on you finally relaxing, his face pulling away from your wet cunt. his face dripped with saliva and cum. his breathing was labored. similar to how he walked into the house earlier, the only difference being his pupils that was blown out to the size of saucers.

oh and the cum on his face.

Oh my gawd i had to force myself to stop writing 😔 would’ve been here for hours.

#call of duty #cod modern warfare #modern warefare 2 #cod konig #smut #konig x reader #konig mw2 #konig smut

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starryevermore · 10 months ago

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the house of snow (10) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board| ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his.

chapter summary: coryo haunts your every moment.

word count: 1,737

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later

chapter warnings?: another shorter chapter rip, reader is conflicted, pet names (petal), not proofread

“Get out of bed!” your mother said, grabbing at your blankets and trying to pull them off of you.

“I shall not!” you protested, holding onto the blankets with all your might. She tugged harder on them, but you wrapped yourself around the edge she wasn’t holding so that you could become further cocooned. Your mother let out a frustrated shout before finally releasing her hold.

“And why not?”

“I…am ill.”

“The King is expecting you at the ball.”

“The King can kiss my ass,” you mutter.

Your mother shouted your name so loud that you were sure the Cardews, who lived on the other side of the square, could hear her. She made another grab for the blankets, yanking so hard that you were pulled out of bed with them.

“I refuse to go,” you snapped, throwing the blankets off of yourself and attempting to crawl back into bed. Your mother grabbed at your ankle, stopping you from getting much further from the foot of the bed. “Tell the King I am sick or that my courses have came and I’m in terrible pain.”

“I will not tell your betrothed about your womanly issues,” your mother hissed. “Why must you be so difficult? Weren’t you getting along so well with the King before?”

Oh, you were getting along with him, if only because you were playing the role of a dutiful bride. You called him Coryo, you accept his kisses and kissed him in return, you let him hold you. When you found yourself bored out of your mind at home, you would traipse over to the palace. You would pretend it was an effort to stay close to Coryo, but truly you only sought out the comfort of the vast library. (Though, it was not as if you despised his companionship like you did before. Was he poisoning your mind by keeping you in such close proximity?)

“I can get along with him after we are married.”

You barely saw your mother rolling her eyes. “You would best get used to getting along with him now. After you are wed, you will have to do whatever he pleases regardless of your own feelings on the matter.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She let out a long sigh before sitting next to you on the edge of your bed. She stared at her lap for a moment, then reached over for your hand. You were sure it was more for her comfort than anything for you. “When you are wed, there are things that you must do to appease your husband. To produce an heir, you will…have to lay with him.”

Your mother continued with an awkward description of what “laying with him” meant. To your chagrin, she did not spare any details about the discomfort you would experience with the act. How men are seldom kind with it. How, even after you gave him children, he would still force you into bed for his own pleasure. How you might never experience pleasure from it. Would Coryo be like that?, you wondered. He was like other men in a lot of ways. He could be cold and callous and demanding. But he was different, too. He let you be mouthy and do as you please. You often thought he enjoyed the way you would never just let things be. Coryo could be kind, in his own strange way. Would he be like other men, or would he surprise you? Would he treat you differently?

“…I think I might actually be sick now,” you murmur. You squeeze your mother’s hand, grateful for once for her presence.

“I don’t say all of this to scare you, dove,” she continued, “but I would be a failure as a mother if I let you go into this union completely blind. I would be like my mother. I would not forgive myself if kept the realities of marriage from you.”

And, suddenly, it dawned on you why your mother seldom cared for your father’s presence. He, too, was like other men.

“I …thank you.”

Your mother squeezed your hand back, then let go. She stood up, smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress. “I will give you a few moments to collect yourself, then I shall send your lady’s maid in so you may get ready for the ball.”

You cannot change my entire perspective on how a marriage operates and leave like nothing happened, you wanted to say. But you still felt queasy. You worried if you said anything, you might be sick all over yourself and the floor. It would take so long to make you presentable again, you would surely be late for the ball. Coryo may be a kind man at times, but you knew him well enough to know that he would feel disrespected if you missed this event. Especially when he through all the trouble of planning it.

So, you nodded and took deep breaths, trying to control yourself.

“Well, if you aren’t the perfect picture of a bride-to-be, I don’t know who is,” Livia said, joining you at your side as you entered the palace’s ballroom. “It almost makes me wish I was getting married.”

“I’ll be sure to let your mother know you think so. There are still plenty eligible young men, and plenty of time left in the season,” your mother said, holding back a laugh, before slipping off to join the other mothers of the ton.

Livia nearly grimaced. “Perhaps I should have waited until you were alone to say that.”

You shook your head. “Don’t worry about that. She doesn’t mean it. She can’t tease me anymore since I hit back harder, so she’ll aim for anyone she perceives as weaker.”

Livia looked unconvinced as she watched your mother laugh with hers. “We’ll see. If I end up engaged by the end of the week, I will write you to a letter to say I told you so.”

“Or you could tell me in person.”

Livia blinked. “In a week’s time, you’ll be in your honeymoon period with the King. By the time I see you again, I could be married and off for my own honeymoon.”

“Oh. I…I forget that it’s so soon. So much has happened in such a short while.” And, oh, how you wanted to tell her. Or perhaps not Livia specifically, but someone. Tell someone about the secret deals between your father and Coryo, how Sejanus tried to convince you to run away with him, how you’ve pretended to like Coryo for so long that it didn’t quite feel like pretending anymore.

“Perhaps then I should remind you?” a teasing voice came from your side, followed by a kiss to your cheek. You painted a smile on your face as you looked up at Coryo. “I can’t have my bride forgetting such an important day.”

“You shouldn’t have swept me up in such a whirlwind then, Coryo,” you said. It still felt strange to call him by his nickname, especially in such a public setting. It was a bit more natural in private, when there wasn’t prying eyes and listening ears abound. This felt too…vulnerable. Like you were exposing yourself to the ton.

Coryo beamed, his pretty white teeth sparkling. Even if calling him by his nickname left you feeling vulnerable, you knew it put you in his good graces. You had hated seeing him so enraged at Sejanus, worried about the lengths he would go to prove you could not be stolen away from him. Calling him Coryo was the only way you could get him to see reason.

“Ah, but then I couldn’t do this, could I?”

In front of everyone, Coryo pulled your face close to his, planted his lips right on yours. It wasn’t his usual sort of kiss, all tongue and teeth. No, this was softer, gentler. A kiss that made you believe that maybe he did love you all of these years, that he did truly propose three times before finally getting to call you his. When he pulled away, a soft smile on his face, you had to force yourself to tear your eyes, to ignore the quick thump-thump-thump-ing of your heart.

Oh, but looking away was worse.

For it seemed like the entire ton was enraptured by your kiss with Coryo. So you looked back at him, hoping that the ton would fade away from your peripheral vision.

Coryo’s hand found yours. He intertwined his fingers with your own, his thumb rubbing the top of your hand. “I want to show you something,” he said to you. To Livia, he said, “If you’ll excuse us, Miss Cardew.”

Without waiting for her to say anything, Coryo pulled you away. He led you through the crowd, ignoring anyone who attempted to start a conversation with him. He was the perfect picture of focused.

“Do I get to know where you’re stealing me away to?”

Coryo huffed out a laugh. “I’m hardly stealing you away, petal. You looked overwhelmed out there. I thought you might like some fresh air.”

He took you out to the balcony that overlooked the gardens. You chose to focus on the beautiful rose bushes you could see, the white petals shining under the moonlight. “That tends to happen when everyone is watching an unmarried woman be kissed.”

A brow raised. “I can’t kiss my wife?”

“Of course you can,” you said. You offered a teasing smile. “When I am your wife. Until then, it’s private kisses only.”

“We’re in private now.”

“How convenient for you.” You placed your hands on his chest as he grabbed your waist. “Did you bring out here on false pretenses? Playing the role of my knight in shining armor so that you might continue to defile me before we wed? My, my, you are such a snake.”

“Would you blame me if I did?”

Yes. No. Maybe. You were never less sure of anything than you were about Coryo. He burrowed himself under your skin, tore you from the inside out. But when he was sweet, oh, he could be sweet. When he was like that, you were half convinced that your teeth might just all rot away. Snow was everything that you hated, but Coryo could be everything that you loved. Damn him for containing multitudes.

“Just kiss me. Please.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

#the house of snow: a royal coryo au #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #coriolanus snow x female reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x y/n #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fan fiction #coriolanus snow fanfic #coriolanus snow fan fic #coriolanus snow fic #starrywrites #starryevermore

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babymetaldoll · 8 days ago

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Are you mine - Chapter fifteen: "Love is pain"

Summary: Cat Adams kidnapped Diana Reid and Spencer has to do whatever it takes to bring her back safe, including facing his marriage ain't perfect in front of Adams. Will the Reids be strong enough to fix this? Word count: 9.480 Warnings: Cursing, spoilers of Criminal Mind Ep 22, angst A/N: So, Spencer didn't go to jail, but life wasn't easy for him either. I hope you guys enjoyed it.

Series' Masterlist - Author's masterlist

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Spencer’s point of view

The minute I stood before Prentiss and she said Cat Adams had my mother, my entire world crumbled. It was the worst plot twist in history. It meant my darkest fears were becoming true. A fucking psychopath was after my family, and who knew how far she could get to hurt me.

- “We need your help”- Prentiss went straight to the point- “If we want to find your mother, we need you to talk to her.”

- “No fucking way!”- (Y/N) reacted right away.- “That fucking lunatic is obsessed with Spencer. If you take him to her, you are giving her what she wants”

- “It’s the only way we can find Diana.”- Emily added and looked at me. (Y/N) dropped my hand and widened her eyes, shocked.

- “It’s ok, Chipmunk.”- I whispered.- “I have to do it, for my mom. Before she hurts her.”

- “Then I’m going with you.”- my wife replied, and before I could argue, she added- “And this time, I am not taking no for an answer. If you wanna go, I’ll be there with you.”

- “(Y/N), I don’t think…”- but whatever Emily was about to say to my wife, was never heard by anyone, ‘cos one look from (Y/N) silenced her in her spot.

- “The jet is ready. JJ will be going with you.”- Prentiss finally said and I just nodded.

We didn’t talk much during the flight to Iowa, to the Mount Pleasant Women's Correctional Facility. (Y/N) drank coffee while I just stared out the window, thinking about every single word I had said to Cat the one and only time we had talked. She kept asking about my mom, and she knew I had a pregnant wife. She had clearly done her investigation about me, the same way I had done about her. But why couldn’t she let go? Why did she say we had unfinished business?

I knew Cat had been in solitary confinement for almost six months. I knew what that could do to the psyche of an inmate. At best, they suffer from delusions. At worst, they're psychotic. And I knew with her, it was always the worst scenario possible.

As we walked into the facility, I tried to focus. I wanted to be able to treat that case as I’d treat any other. I wanted to take my mother out of the equation, but I couldn't. Of course, it was impossible. My head and my heart were one. And though I knew I had to try to keep a cool head to save my mother’s life, the fact I had to break a psychopath’s act to get to her made everything impossible to bear.

- “Remember Spence, I’ll be here the whole time.”- JJ said and I turned to her in silence. My wife held my hand and didn’t say a word. I knew she would never leave me alone. I stared at Cat Adams from the other side of the glass, sitting at a table in the interrogation room and I knew I was ready to get my mother back.

- “If she gets too close, I’m gonna kill her.”- (Y/N) whispered as JJ walked to the door and opened it.

- “I’ll be ok, chipmunk.”- I replied and squeezed her hand. My wife tried to smile but failed miserably.- “Please, stay here.”

- “No, I’m going in there with you.”

- “(Y/N), I don’t think it’s a good idea”- JJ said, supporting me.- “If Cat has any fantasy about Spencer, having his wife around won’t help her at all.”

- “Trust me, I’ll be fine. And you’ll be near me the entire time.”- I whispered to my wife.- “Please.”- she just nodded, and I quickly kissed her forehead.

- “Ok, ready?”- JJ asked, and before I could say a word, I found myself walking into the interrogation room.

- “Spencie.”- Cat said and smiled at me like she was actually happy to see me.

- “Where is my mother?”- I demanded to know immediately.

- “I missed you.”- she ignored my questions and sighed, staring at me, while I did my best to remain calm. Which, of course, didn’t work.

- “What did you and Lindsey do to her? How did you…- but my questions were ignored, Cat raised her hand and stopped me.

- “Now stop. You don't get to walk in here and hiss at me like I'm the criminal.”- I had a million comebacks for that statement, but I let her talk. I needed to read her and force her to make a mistake.- “Now, we do this my way.”- Cat kicked the chair in front of her and I took it right away.- “Have a seat. How is (Y/N)? And the kids?”

- “We are not talking about my family.”

- “I thought we were gonna talk about your mom. She is family too, right?”

- “Where is she?”.

- “It's not fun, is it? Not being in control of the whole situation?”- a silly grin hung from her mouth as she stared at me. JJ stood against a wall, crossing her arms on her chest, keeping an eye on every move Adam made.

- “What do you want from me, Cat? Revenge ‘cos I put you here? This is where you belong. I didn’t lock you here, you got yourself in here.”

- “How do you stay sane with two kids?”- Cat asked the most random question, trying to force me into her conversation.- “A brain like yours needs stimulation, and I don’t think kids provide any.”

- “Being a father is the most rewarding thing I have ever done.”

- “Yeah yeah, whatever you say. I bet you miss reading.”

- “I still read.”

- “You need time for yourself. Time to be the boy genius you are. Being a genius and being a dad are two way too different things.” - she smiled at me like she knew how I felt. Like she could relate or understand how it felt to be a parent.

- “My kids are the best thing that has ever happened to me, Cat. But I don’t expect you to understand that feeling. It involves thinking about someone else except yourself.”

- “That's still not enough. You have to go someplace up here.”- she said pointing to her forehead. - “Somewhere to hide from all that madness, yells, diapers, Play-Doh... plus your mom around. That had to be crazy.”

Cat made a brief pause and stared at me. I just kept looking at her, trying not to move a muscle.

- “Do you want to see where I go? I'll show you. Come here.”- she moved her index fingers as she spoke, so I leaned on the table, resting my hands on it. Cat smiled and raised her hands to my eyes, but before she could do anything, JJ commanded.

- “No touching.”- but of course, Cat ignored her, she just touched my eyelids gently as I closed my eyes.

- “Close your eyes. Good. Now keep them shut. Sit back and relax. Now, when you open your eyes, I want you to look at me like I'm the first woman who’s not your wife you've seen in your life. Now... Open.”

- “Hello, Cat.”- I whispered as I played along with her fantasy. She giggled and stared at me pleased to see me. Honestly.

- “You're here! You're really here.”

- “There's nowhere else I would rather be.”- I replied and smiled at her.

- “You're good at this. You're so good at this, I almost believe you don't want to kill me.”

- “I don't want to kill you.”- I replied as she raised an eyebrow and kept looking into my eyes seductively. I wasn’t lying, I didn’t want to kill her. Unless she hurt my mother or any other member of my family.

- “No?”

- “No.”- I shook my head and did my best to remain calm.

- “What if I let your mother die? Then would you kill me? Or would you just… hurt me?”- the way she said that last word let me know she didn’t mean it in a bad way.- “Would you pin me down and leave bruises that don't go away?”- I leaned over her and kept staring into her eyes. I knew my wife hated every second of that conversation, but I had to get in Cat’s head.

- “Is that what you want?”- I whispered in a low voice.

- “I guess I just want to know if you would. If you could.”- she murmured looking at the ceiling, trying to look innocent and sexy.

- “No.”- I simply replied, not breaking eye contact.

- “No?”

- “It's not the kind of man I am.”- I guess she was pleased with my answer, ‘cos she bit her lips and simply demanded.

- “Do me a favor and tell blondie over there to step aside, because we're gonna play another game. And this time, we're going to find out exactly what kind of man you are.”- I didn’t say a word, I just turned to JJ and nodded. She hesitated for a second before walking toward the door to meet my wife at the other side of the glass.

- “Let’s play.”- I said staring at Cat's psycho smile

- “Let’s!”

I don’t know if my wife was ready for what was about to happen, but I knew it was going to be way worse than last time.

- “Are you hungry?”- Cat asked randomly.

- “No.”

- “Me neither.”- she replied, looking bored of the conversation.

- “So the same game as last time? I answer every question you ask honestly?”- I tried to set the course of the conversation, sitting back on my chair and looking at her.

- “No, this time you get to ask the questions.”- she proposed and I raised an eyebrow, trying to look intrigued.

- “About what?”

- “Well, I know a secret. About you. And you can ask me as many questions as you like to figure it out. But you only get one guess as to what it is. Now, guess correctly, I take your phone, I call our friend Lindsey, and I tell her to release your mother unharmed. If you don't…”- Cat tried to look all innocent as she put two of her fingers inside her mouth, pointing like a gun, and pretended to blow her brains out as she giggled.

- “Is there a clock?”- I asked, trying to look unaffected by her performance.

- “There's always a clock. Give it to me.”- I handed her my wristwatch and she stared at her carefully. - “Now, you'll have 4 hours.”- I opened my mouth, but she stopped me in a second.- “Not yet. You have to wait till the second hand comes around.”

- “You want to give me a hint before we start?”- I whispered as she kept staring at my clock.

- “Do I look like a girl that gives hints?

- “Actually you do.”- and I did my best to sound like I was flirting a little bit. I knew a little would go a long way in her head.

- “Ok, how about this? It's a secret you'll never admit to.”- there was a long and tense pause between us, where we just tried to read each other, and failed in the process.- “Go!”

(Y/N)’s point of view

Hell is a place on earth, and for me, that place was right there, in that waiting area, hearing that interrogation. It was ten times worse than it had been two years before, when Spencer and Cat had that “dinner date”, if you can call what they had a date.

I had to stare at her flirting with him, and my husband was letting her, even making her believe he was enjoying her attention. ‘Cause, of course, he is not enjoying her attention. No way. I am not even going to consider that thought.

- “I know what the secret is.”- Spencer announced.

- “You do?”

- “Why else would you put me through all this?”

- “Ooh. Phrasing it in the form of a question. That way it doesn't count as a guess. Very smart, doctor.”- Cat replied, playing with Spencer’s watch. I hated watching it in her hands. Something that was so Spencer’s. Something that he loved, tainted by her.

- “I'm gonna walk you through a scenario and your face is gonna tell me how close I am.”- my husband used his softest voice as he stared at her. And she didn’t move, she looked hypnotized by him. - “From the moment I arrested you, you watched and waited for the right time to take your revenge. When you learned I was taking my mom to live with us, you took it. You and Lindsey planned to kidnap my mother so I would know how it feels to have a parent manipulated because you want to prove that you and I are the same. Am I right?”

Cat yawned as Spencer stopped talking, I clenched my fists and just stared at the scene unfolding in front of me from the other side of the glass.

- “Mmm, sorry, I couldn't hold that in any longer. What were you saying?”- Cat teased, but Spencer didn’t even move as he replied.

- “Psychopaths get bored easily.”

- “You're right. Let's speed this up. Shall we?”- Cat stood up and walked toward my husband. My first reaction was to take a step closer to the door because I wanted to get there and stop her, but JJ grabbed my arm.

- “Wait. Let him do this.”

- “Sure, let’s leave Cat sit on my husband’s lap and fulfill her fucking dream.”

- “(Y/N), I don’t think she’s…”- but JJ couldn't go on talking. Cat Adams was, in fact, sitting on my husband’s lap. And he wasn’t arguing with her.

- “He is doing what he has to do to get his mother back”- I whispered and closed my eyes, trying to convince myself it wasn’t such a big deal.

- “Why don't you think about all the pain you've suffered in your life.”- Cat’s voice was soft and seductive. She even dared to play with the buttons of his shirt. - “What would I capitalize on, do you think? Is it the death of your mentor, SSA Jason Gideon?”

- “No. Because we caught the man who killed him.”- Spencer replied, not reacting to any of her movements, even when she was moving her fingers against his chin clearly mimicking oral sex.

- “What about Agent Morgan?” Cat paused and stared at his reaction. Still, Spencer didn’t give her any, so she moved closer and whispered in his ear. - “And your guilt over not visiting his little boy.”

- “He understands, I was taking care of my mother.”

- “Yeah, but you could make the time if you wanted to.”- Cat whispered and her lips were too close to his neck. I was getting close to my limit. I wanted her away from my husband.- “Why didn't you go?”

- “Truthfully, I got distracted. I was trying to figure out a way to help my mom. She didn't have time.”- Cat nodded and moved her lips closer to Spencer’s ear, ready to kiss it, but he just continued talking.- “Morgan, Savannah, and little Bobby did. So there's absolutely no shame in admitting that. Morgan would understand.”

So that was what Spencer was trying to get. How Cat had all that information. And by saying baby Hank’s name wrong, he got it.

- “I agree. That's why that's not the secret.”- Cat stood up from his lap and returned to her chair. JJ grabbed her phone and dialed Emily. As for me, I let out a small sigh and wished I could hold my husband tight. I knew he was going through hell. He even turned to look at the glass when Cat had her back at him, and I wish I could smile at him.

- “I love you, honey.”- I whispered, though I knew he couldn’t hear me.

- “Go ahead, JJ.”- Rossi’s voice on the other side of the line took me to reality. JJ had called the guys to tell them what was happening, ‘cos we needed to make progress and find Diana soon.

- “So Cat has a deep background on Spence. She knew about Gideon’s death and Morgan leaving the team for his family.”- JJ explained quickly.

- “She's throwing him off-balance.”- David pointed out.

- “Yeah, but Spence also purposely gave the wrong name of Morgan's son, and she didn't correct him.”

- “She must have gotten her hands on Reid's confidential FBI file. It would mention relevant team information but wouldn't name Morgan's baby because of confidentiality reasons.”- Emily barely breathed as she spoke. I turned to look at JJ, and she locked eyes with me as Rossi added

- “We were thinking she's been getting help from someone inside the prison. This goes deeper than that.”

- “So there is someone from our side helping Cat?”- I asked before JJ would hang up.

- “(Y/N), you know technically you shouldn’t…”

- “Oh come on, Emily!”- and I snapped before she could finish talking.- “We all know it’s impossible to keep any of us away from an investigation. So don’t waste your time, and tell me, is someone from our side giving Cat information? Does someone hate Spencer that much?"

- “We don’t know that yet, but we’ll tell you as soon as we can.”- Prentiss replied. JJ rubbed my arm, trying to calm me down, and I whispered “Thank you” to everyone and anyone who could hear me.

I turned to the glass again, Cat was still playing with Spencer’s watch, the one I was clearly going to replace with a new one ‘cos I didn’t want to think of her every time I stared at it.

- “Working deductively, the secret wouldn't be any of the topics you've already volunteered, because you wouldn't want to make it that easy on me.”- Spencer said and Cat looked annoyed by every word.

- “Genius, truly.”

- “So what is left that I wouldn't want to admit?”- my husband paused, and I hated the word that left his lips next- “Love. Is that what this is all about, love?”- Cat didn’t even blink as Spencer added- “Or my mother?”

Adams stopped moving, and kept her hands still for a moment, as Spencer played to read her. I don’t know if he was actually going somewhere with that statement, but I guess he had a plan.

- “No.”- he finally whispered- “For you. You want me to admit that I am actually in love with you.”

So far, I wasn't excited with that statement.

- “Don't get me wrong, I love my fairy tales, clearly, as much as the next girl, but I'm not delusional. I know you have always been in love with the same boring woman”- at least that bitch knew where she was standing.

- “Are you sure that’s not what you wanna hear?”- Spencer asked, raising an eyebrow as Cat laid back on her chair and smiled.

- “Very sure. So sure, in fact, that I had Lindsey leave a clue for you in your little scrapbook in your house.”

I remember Spencer had told me JJ found an XY written on Diana’s scrapbook, he thought it was related to Mr. Scratch, but clearly, it was part of Cat’s plan as well.

- “I couldn't have you come all the way down here and make a guess until I was positive. That is... Until I tested positive.”- and just like that, Cat rested both her hands on her belly and looked at it with… tenderness?

- “What, you're pregnant?”- Spencer spat those words in disbelief, lost in the way that conversation was going.

- “We're pregnant.”

What the fuck had Cat just said?

- “No.”- Spencer shook his head as Cat just smiled and lifted an imaginary glass to toast.

- “Oh, yes. Mazel tov.”

Spencer’s point of view

What Cat was implying made no sense whatsoever. I knew I hadn’t slept with her, I hadn’t even touched her. There was no way she was pregnant if she had been in solitary confinement, and if she was carrying someone’s baby, it wasn’t mine. We had never slept together.

- “It's not possible.”- I argued right away as I stood up and put my hands in my pocket, turning to stare at Cat’s reactions- “Even if you are pregnant, the baby's not mine.”

- “Except for the part where it is.”- she argued and smiled as if she had just won the argument.

- “That's completely preposterous. You've been in prison!”

I moved back to the table and sat down again. Cat wanted to take my mind off what was important: finding my mother. And to be honest, she found an effective way to do it. Now I couldn’t stop thinking about (Y/N) on the other side of the glass, hearing every single word that we were saying. Of course, Cat knew she was there, and she was enjoying torturing my wife.

- “And?”

- “And we've never…”- before I could say it, Cat interrupted me.

- “I know. We've never…”- she didn’t say it either, she just smiled pleased and demanded- “Ask me how I did it. Come on, ask me.”

- “How did you do it?- at that point, I was annoyed and tired of playing her game.

- “I had Lindsey dose you in Mexico. You lost time.”

How on earth did she know I went to Mexico? And how was I going to explain that to (Y/N)?

- “Mexico?”- the word was a whisper that let Cat know she had hit the jackpot.

- “What? You don’t remember that fun weekend? or… wait… your wife doesn’t know you went to Mexico to get your mother some experimental natural drugs?”

- “How did you know about that trip?”

- “I had eyes on you, Spencey.”- she replied, grinning like a Cheshire cat. - “Lindsey went on that trip along with you and you never noticed. She managed to drug you and that was it. And I gave her very specific instructions to get you in the mood.”

- “What, did she pretend to be you?”- the sarcasm in my voice was clear, and Cat replied the same way.

- “Why? Would that have worked?”

I leaned on that table and kept my eyes on her as I simply answered:

- “No.”

- “Yeah, I know, I know. Believe me, I know exactly where I stand on the Spencer Reid hot or not list. I told her to pretend to be (Y/N). The love of your life. Who you managed to love in silence for over four years, Spencer. That has to be a fucking record. I bet your balls were blue the entire time. So silly... Yet so useful.”

- “You're lying.”

I knew very well that none of that was true. Cat just wanted to drive my wife crazy. Create doubt, considering the only thing that was real about her speech was my one big mistake: I had gone to Mexico behind my wife’s back.

- “Honey bunny, it's (Y/N). It's ok. Honey, hon... It's ok. Come here. Shh. You want this. It's ok. You want this.”

The words “Honey Bunny” felt tainted after leaving Cat Adam’s lips.

- “It didn't happen.”- I shook my head and tried to remain calm. But none of that mattered to her. She just went along with her lie.

- “Hey, I was thinking, if it's a boy, we should definitely call him Spencie Junior. And if it’s a girl…”- I stood up and stormed out of that room. But Cat just kept talking, and nearly laughing.- “But if it's a girl, I think we should call her (Y/N). I mean, it could be a tribute to your ex-wife, ‘cos after this, I don’t think she is gonna want to see you, ever again!”

- “Chipmunk, let me explain.”- I whispered as I stood in front of my wife. Her eyes were puffy and filled with tears as I tried to hold her hands, but she yanked them away quickly. - “Please, (Y/N). Let me explain. Yes, I went to Mexico behind your back, but none of what she is saying actually happened!”

But my wife didn’t even open her mouth. She just turned around and walked out of the room. I tried to follow her, but J grabbed my arm and gave me a file.

- “Spence, we might have something. Cat is three months. The timeline matches, but that doesn't necessarily mean…”

Of course, Cat wasn’t going to pretend to be pregnant and just leave it at that. No. She was going to ruin my life along the way. I threw the file against the glass and turned around to hit the wall.

- “I'm sorry, it's not you. I just need a minute.”- JJ stared at me in silence and nodded as I made my best effort (probably failing) in keeping my shit together. I looked at Cat on the other side of the glass. It took all the energy and sanity left in me not to open that door, walk in, and kill her. That woman, that psychopath, just wanted to ruin my life. And she was very good at it.

Instead, I walked out and tried to find my wife. I needed to explain and come clean in front of her. Tell her what had really happened. Why I had ended up in Mexico, and how I had never been drugged or whatever Cat had implied.

- “Not now, Spencer.”- (Y/N) whispered when I found her. She was just walking out of the bathroom, trying not to cry. I shook my head and held her hands. They were cold and still wet.

- “She is lying.”- I tried to explain

- “You didn’t go to Mexico then?”- my wife raised an eyebrow as her eyes were glued on me. She wasn’t even trying to read me, she didn’t need to. She knew me that well.

- “I did, and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lie, I just didn’t know how to…”- (Y/N) raised her hand and pointed at me with her index, and I stopped talking right away.

- “Stop it, right there. We’ve known each other for almost twelve years, been married for six. I know this is not the first time you lied to me. But I want you to think very wisely about the next words you’ll say, ‘cos if you try to tell me you felt scared and didn’t want to let me down, or that you didn’t know how to deal with what you were feeling ‘cos you were scared to lose me, I swear, I’m taking all my things, the kids, and you’ll never see me again!”

It wasn’t a threat. It was a fact. I knew my wife enough to understand where that was coming from. We had a history, a past of fears and hidden truths I couldn’t escape from. It wasn’t just my story with Dilaudil when we were just friends or how long it took me to deal with my feelings and tell her I loved her. It was how my fears would constantly make me trip and overthink every single thing I did. It was me getting Dilaudil when they told us Emily had died, and keeping it behind (Y/N)’s back instead of telling her how I actually felt. It was me being constantly afraid of not being enough for her. It was so much to even begin to deal with that day outside a bathroom in a high-security prison in Iowa.

- “I just didn’t know what else to do to help mom.”- I whispered and sighed. It was my truth. At least the majority of it.

- “We are a fucking team, Spencer. Not just for work. For better or worse, at home, you and I are the ones calling the shots and making shit work, together. If we don’t do it together, then we are fucked. And right now, it feels like we are fucked.”- my wife’s eyes were filled with tears as she looked around the hall and shook her head.- “But we have no time for this ‘cos we need to find Diana. So let’s go back to the room and you are gonna keep talking to that psycho until she gives us something that’s not a lie.”

- “I am… so sorry, (Y/N).”- I whispered and held her hands as I did. - “But believe me, I never… she is not pregnant with my baby.”

- “I know.”

I kissed my wife’s forehead and whispered I loved her before I walked back to the interrogation room. Cat was sitting with her arms on the table, looking rather bored.

- “Let's pretend you're telling the truth.”- I said.- “That means I guessed it, right? The secret, the one I don't want to admit to? It's my child?”

- “Is that your guess? You only get one, remember?”- she replied and looked at me, honestly bored. I made a pause, playing the part. I knew now what I had to do to make her trip.

- “No. It's too easy.”- I murmured.

- “Believe me, getting pregnant with your baby was not easy, kudos to your wife for doing it twice.”- Cat stated and I sat in front of her, correcting her.

- “You misunderstand. It's too easy emotionally. Because I can take your child from you. The child I had absolutely no role in creating, but a child that I would care for better than you.”

- “That's rude.”

- “It's true. You can't be a mother, Cat. I'm not trying to insult you.”- those were facts.- “It's your psychological makeup. You literally do not have the emotional skills to care for another human being. You'd lose interest in your own baby the way a 6-year-old loses interest in a pet hamster.”

- “Does that happen to Raven a lot? I know she is not six yet, but it sounds like you know the feeling.”- Cat smiled as she rested her back on the back of the chair and looked at me.- “You are such a good father. I’m happy our baby will have a strong father figure.”

But I choose to ignore her.

- “This baby is simply a means to an end, which is to keep me here playing your game, guessing like a fool, assuming something I never should have assumed in the first place.”

- “And what would that be?”- Cat was honestly intrigued, I could tell by the way she asked immediately about my inference.

- “My mother's already dead. She was dead before I walked in here.”

- “She's not dead.”- her words were filled with anger as if I had just insulted her.

- “Yes, she is.”- I answered as I stood up and walked toward the door.

- “No, because that would be cheating and I don't cheat. You cheat!”- I cheat. Why would she think so? Because of my stunt with her all those years before?

- “I'm done playing.”- I ignored her and continued walking.

- “Get back here!”

- “Goodbye, Cat.”- I opened the door and was about to walk out of that room when I got what I wanted.

- “I'll let you talk to her!”

Bingo.

I looked at my wife from the corner of my eyes and she nodded. I turned around and walked back to Cat. I knew JJ was going to arrange for Garcia to trace that call from my phone. I took it from my pocket, unblocked it, and gave it to Cat. She dialed and put it on speaker, and her eyes were glued to mine the entire time.

- “You're early.”- Lindsay’s voice announced at the other side of the line.

- “Yeah, I know.”

- “Did he guess?”

- “No, not yet. We need proof of life.”- Cat said as she kept staring at me. I was anxious, I needed that call to last enough so Garcia could track it.

- “All right. Hold on.”

- “Spencer!”- I heard my mother’s desperate voice and my heart broke into a million pieces for the hundredth time that day.

- “Mom! Mom! Are you ok?”- I asked as I quickly grabbed the phone from Cat’s hands.

- “I don't... know.”

And before I could ask another question, or mom could tell me how she was, a gunshot interrupted us and I never heard her voice again.

- “Mom!”- I lost it at that minute, I couldn’t keep it together any longer.

- “Gotta go.”- Lindsay announced and ended the call.

- “Mom!”- I yelled and turned to Cat, walking closer to her as JJ and (Y/N) stepped into the room. - “What the hell was that?”

- “I don't know!”- she replied and I could hear JJ behind me, telling me to calm down. But I couldn’t.

- “Lindsey said you were early. Was that a signal?”- no answer, I hit the table and kept looking at Cat, trying to make sense of what had just happened. -“Was that a prearranged signal to kill my mother?! Tell me the truth!”

- “I am!”

- “Tell me the truth!”- I hit the table with my fist again, and Cat just started yelling.

- “I am!! Do you want to know the truth? Your mother is an Alzheimer's-ridden moron who's getting dumber day by day, and if she's dead, it's your fault.”

And that was when I actually lost it. I pushed the table and the chair away from us, grabbed Cat by the shoulder, and pushed her against the wall, as hard as I could as my hands wrapped around her neck, choking her.

- “Spence!”- JJ yelled and tried to stop me.

- “I'm going to kill you.”- the words left my mouth with venom, as an honest threat. I wanted to do it. End her right there, and avenge my mother and my family for all the pain that woman had put them through.

- “Spence!”- JJ grabbed my arm but I continued squeezing.

- “I'm going to kill you!”

- “Spencer, she's pregnant!”- it was (Y/N)’s voice that brought me to reality for a second. She grabbed my shoulders and tried to force me to stop hurting Cat.

- “I'm going to kill you.”- I repeated as a mantra, my eyes stuck on hers, evil filling her look. I was choking her and she was in fact enjoying it.

- “She's pregnant! Stop it! Spencer, please!”- my wife repeated and pushed me harder. My eyes were glued to Cat as I dropped my hands and watched her coughing a few times. My wife and JJ pushed me out of that room before I could finish what I had started.

(Y/N)’s point of view

I had never seen Spencer lose it the way he did that day. Never. It was a side of him that only Cat Adam brought up and I didn’t like it. It wasn’t normal. She was a nemesis. It was toxic, and somehow I was in fact jealous of her. But I couldn’t deal with it at the moment. Calming my husband down, trying to keep a cold head, and bringing Diana back were the only things I had to worry about at the moment. And trust me, it was enough with all that.

He had stormed out and JJ kept telling me we had to go after him.

- “Give him a moment to breathe”- I replied the third time JJ said we should keep an eye on him.

- “Did you see what had happened there? I had never seen Spence acting like that.”

- “His mother might be dead, what did you expect?”- it felt like I had to draw a picture so JJ could see things clearly.

- “Why are you so mad at me? I haven’t done anything to you!”

- “I am not mad at you! I’m just telling you, you have to let Spencer breathe!”

- “We don’t have time, (Y/N)! We have to catch Lindsay!”- JJ’s phone rang and ended our argument. A very hyperventilated Garcia started rambling about an explosion reported in Richmond County, which gave us hope Diana was still alive and well.

- “Thank you, Garcia.”- I whispered before JJ hung up the call.

- “We should let Spencer know this. He is probably sure his mother is dead.”- I sighed and nodded, and JJ nearly sprang out of the room to find my husband.

He was sitting on the floor in one empty cell. It broke my heart to look at him like that. I was mad at him, of course, but I still loved him and I didn’t want him to be so miserable. I knew both his mother’s health and what he had just done to Cat were hunting his head.

- “Richmond County police just reported a gas station explosion. One victim, a male. Whatever Lindsey did, we have to assume your mom's still alive.”

JJ whispered as she sat on the floor next to him. I stood in front of him and locked my eyes on his features. His hair was a mess, he looked exhausted. His head was clearly going a hundred miles per hour. And yet, he looked so sweet and caring. It was hard being mad and worried about him at the same time.

Spencer looked at me and I held my breath for a short second. He wanted to tell me he was sorry and ashamed of what he had done. I knew it. It wasn’t himself at that minute, and to be honest, I couldn’t blame him. Cat Adams brought the worst of him every time they were in the same room. It was toxic.

- “I'm really scared this is who I am now.”- my husband murmured and looked at his hands ‘cos he couldn’t look me in the eyes.

- “No. Don't say that.”- JJ replied and reached for his hand. I just stared at them, not really knowing how to act or even reply to Spencer at the moment.

- “Jennifer, I want to kill her.”

- “But you didn’t.”- JJ caressed his arm and I sighed, kneeling to look him in the eyes, even when he couldn’t look at me as I spoke.

- “Spencer, you can’t blame yourself for losing it with Cat Adams. She knows how to push the right buttons to drive you crazy.”

- “I shouldn’t let her get in my head.”- he replied, still beating himself for his actions.

- “She messed with your family. I understand why you did it.”- Jennifer tried to console my husband, but he didn’t take it.

- “You wouldn't have.”- he said looking at JJ.- “Neither would have you.”- Spencer finally looked at me and despite the fact I was still crazy mad at him, I cut him a short smile and held his hand.

- “I would have if anyone tried to hurt my family and come up with a crazy plan to convince my husband I’m pregnant with some other man’s baby. Trust me. This prison would be on fire right now.”- Spencer tried to smile but his lips barely curled up.

- “What happened doesn't make you a bad person, Spence.”- JJ added- “'Cause you know who does think like that? That... that in you doing what you had to do to survive somehow makes you a psychopath? She does!”

JJ said those words and somehow it all made sense.

- “That's the secret. What I don't want to admit about myself.”- Spencer said as he looked at me. I knew immediately what he meant: that Cat knew there was a dark side of him he didn’t want to deal with. A dark side who was sick and tired of his mother’s disease. A side that wanted to give up, that was too tired to continue trying, and just wanted to quit taking care of her.

A side of him that didn’t even want to try to fix things anymore.

- “And she knows ‘cos Lindsay told her everything happening at our place”- I added, embarrassed, mortified, but yet at the same time, relieved we knew what Cat wanted us to figure out.

- “She must have heard every argument, every little fight…”- Spencer’s eyes were bursting with anger one more time. We just looked at each other for a few seconds, reliving in our heads our worst moments in the last couple of months. It’s sad to admit there hadn’t been a few. And the fact Cat knew about it made them ten times worse.

- “Hold up.”- JJ said, lost in our conversation.- “Let's play this out because she will not lose to you twice. She already said that this wasn't about the two of you being the same.”

Spencer and I stood up, and both of us started pacing across the room as JJ looked at us, trying to make sense of our ramble.

- “She's all about the game. She thinks that I cheated last time because I lied about her dad, so it's integral to her that she beats me by following the rules.”

- “Yeah, but, be honest: she is not gonna let you win this one. She wants to hurt Diana. She’ll make sure she’ll win.”- I added, knowing I was speaking a very painful fact.

- “Which means she needs to make sure I’m at my lowest with you, with my mother. Playing by her rules a game I can't win, so she…”- my husband stared at me and for a second, I could see a hint of hope in his eyes.- “I got it.”

Spencer’s point of view

I stormed back into that room and looked at Cat. She was sitting, playing with my watch, like there weren’t lives at risk as we spoke.

- “Guess that's one way to get you to put your hands on me.”- Cat said and didn’t even look at me.

- “Dance with me.”- I demanded as I stood in front of her. She didn’t pause her movements, but raised her eyes at me, curious by my demand I guess.

- “Why?”

- “Because I don't want the people watching us to hear what I'm going to say next.”- that was enough for her to yield and stand up. I held her right hand and wrapped my arm around her waist as I felt hers on my shoulder. I hated every second, and it only made it worse to know my wife was watching from the other side of the glass. But I needed to get that shitty situation over with.

I knew there were cameras in that interview room, and that Penelope could stream everything that was happening in there to any computer she wanted.

- “You had eyes on me besides Lindsey, didn't you?”- I whispered as we danced to no music, making circles slowly.

- “Spencie, don't ruin the moment.”

- “I don't want to, but I'm on the clock. Answer my question. Am I right?”- Cat had her head on my chest as we danced and moved to lock her eyes with mine to answer.

- “Yes, you're right. I wanted to make sure things were just as uncomfortable for you at home as they were for me inside this hole.”

So someone else was helping her. Someone who probably had connections at the bureau and could tell her all the details of our life to a serial killer in jail. If it was a guy, he was the one who got her pregnant, that was for sure.

- “That's how you timed everything so perfectly. Like kidnapping my mom the weekend we were out of town and my relationship with my wife was in a rough spot.”- I murmured and we continued dancing. Cat moved her arms and wrapped them both around my neck as she stared at me, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

- “Rough spot? Aren’t you going easy on that description? You were hating your wife, your mom, and your life.”

- “No, I wasn't.”- I replied staring right into her eyes.

- “Please Spencie, she can’t hear you. Just face it.”- I sighed, pretending to struggle to find the right words. That was what Cat wanted. She wanted me to face the fact I was a bad husband, a bad son. A bad father. Just like hers.

- “Look, you are the last person on earth I want to discuss my marital issues with. But if you must know, things aren’t always easy, and sometimes you…”- I paused as she stared at me in silence.- “Well, sometimes you just wanna leave.”

- “Well, look at that. You might end up saving your mother's life after all.”

We continued dancing in silence for a moment. My mind kept going a hundred miles per hour, keeping my facade in front of her, and trying to be two steps ahead of her.

- “They won't get there in time.”- Cat said suddenly, letting me go. - “They must be on their way, right? Your team is too good to wait around, but, you know me. I always have a contingency plan. So, they're walking into a trap.”

My heart stopped as she spoke. I hated her so much it was taking everything in me not to kill her.

- “And the only way out is if you give me your phone and your guess, right now.”- she added, as she played with my necktie. I reached for my phone and gave it to her. She grabbed it quickly and sat down on the chair. All I could think of at the moment was about all the pictures of my babies I had in there that I didn’t want her to see.

- “When we first sat down, you said you were going to show me what kind of man I am. And you have.”- I said as I sat on the table in front of her and watched her dial a number.

- “Every time I touch this, you're getting warmer.”- she replied and bit her lower lip. I hoped Penelope was ready to stream that conversation.

- “At first I was furious because the secret had to be the baby inside you. How could it be anything else? But then I realized that somehow, you knew how I felt about my mother and my marriage.”- I confessed, and she smiled.

- “So which is it, Spence? Come on. Don't fumble it now. You're at the one-yard line.”

- “You're not pregnant with my child.”- I said and leaned closer to her.- “You got pregnant with Wilkins to put me in as compromised a position as possible. But it should be mine.”- I paused for a second, ‘cos I knew what I was about to say was going to hurt my wife, and I didn’t want her to listen.- “I wish it were mine. Because you and I... We deserve each other. That is the real secret.”

Cat Adams stared at me with tears in her eyes as she held my phone tight between her fingers for a few seconds, until she finally dialed.

- “Kill her”- I froze but tried my best not to show. That was what I knew Cat would say, but apparently nothing happened at the other side of the line, ‘cos she stood up and repeated her command- “Lindsey, I said…”

- “You bitch. You're pregnant?”- I overheard and Cat turned around with fire in her eyes and looked at the security camera on the wall.

- “Lindsey, sweetheart, it's complicated, ok?”

There was a long silence, all I could hear was my heart beating on my throat. Until the door opened and JJ stormed in.

- “We're clear.”- I took my phone from Cat’s hand immediately and turned to Jennifer.

- “Is my mom ok?”

- “Yeah. She's fine.”- she replied and I felt my whole life returning to my body. (Y/N) was standing behind JJ, tears rolling down her cheeks. I wanted to run and hold her, but Cat’s words stopped me from moving.

- “We do deserve each other, by the way. You guessed right.”- she sat down and pretended to be unbothered by losing her game.

- “You lied, by the way. You were going to kill my mother regardless.”

- “Yeah, I think you are actually sorry I didn’t kill your mom. I wanted to do you a favor, you know. And all those arguments with your wife, that’s gonna leave a nasty scar in your perfect marriage. You have thought about leaving this behind, and once you cross that line, you can't ever go back.”

I walked to her in a quick move and handcuffed her to the chair. I kept my eyes on her the entire time and before I left, I simply whispered:

- “Watch me.”

But Cat was right about one thing though: my idea of leaving the BAU behind was stronger than ever. She thought I wanted to leave my family. But in reality, I was planning to leave my job.

I walked out of that interview room and rushed to hold my wife tight. I knew we were at our lowest. I knew things were tough. But there was nothing I wouldn’t do to fix it. To show her I was the man she wanted me to be. I needed to prove to her I loved her more than anything.

- “Let’s go to the jet.”- JJ whispered and rubbed my back.- “We shouldn’t be here when they take her back to her cell.”

But my arms were wrapped tight around my wife and I didn’t want to let her go. She took a deep breath and moved her hands from around my neck to my side.

- “I can’t do this without you.”- I whispered, and though it was a statement, it sounded like a plea. I didn’t want her to lose her faith in me after what had just happened. I knew we had to talk and fix things, but it was a fact: I was never going to do anything right in life if she wasn’t by my side. No doubt.

- “You won’t have to.”- my wife replied and held my hand.- “Let’s go get your mom.”

The jet flight felt eternal. We called (Y/N)’s parents to tell them my mother was safe. The kids were already asleep so we couldn’t see them. It just made the trip feel longer. I needed to make sure my whole family was safe, hold them close to me, kiss their cheeks, and tell them I loved them.

Of course, I couldn’t talk to my wife about the trip to Mexico and how to fix our problems. I knew she was still mad at me, but I also knew we were going to fix things between us because we loved each other. Marriage isn’t easy, not even when you are crazy in love. Love is not enough, who would have thought? You need a lot more than just love to make it work. Luckily, we wanted to make it work.

I held (Y/N) close to me the entire flight. My arms were around her waist, my hands held hers and when I stood up to get us some tea, my eyes never left her for longer than 30 seconds.

- “She is going to forgive you for lying.”- JJ whispered when she stood next to me- “You did it to protect her.”

- “I think I did it ‘cos I was embarrassed.”

- “Of what?”

- “Not being able to deal with everything.”

- “No one can.”- JJ rubbed my arm a few times, trying to be comforting.

- “I thought I could.”- I confessed and turned to look at my wife, who was wrapped in a blanket looking at the night outside the window. - “Now I know I just need her by my side to deal with life.”

When we got to the BAU, at three in the morning, the entire team was waiting for us with my mom outside the elevator. I held her tight and broke into tears. She asked me to never leave her again and my heart broke at those words. I loved my mom. No matter how bad things were, she was the only person who took care of me growing up. I couldn’t leave her. I was the man I was because of her effort and work.

We drove to Sofia’s house ‘cos (Y/N) didn’t want to go to our apartment yet. It felt like a crime scene after what had happened, and it was the last push I needed to finally start looking for a house to buy.

My mom and wife fell asleep as soon as they rested their heads on a pillow, but I wasn’t as lucky. I kissed (Y/N)’s forehead and looked at her sleeping as I held Vincent in my arms. He was drooling, looking adorable. Raven was hugging her mother as she dreamed, and my whole world felt at peace, finally. They were safe.

Derek Morgan knocked on the door at five am, holding donuts and coffee. I had barely slept an hour, but I needed to talk to him more than I needed to rest. Sofia woke me up, saying someone was looking for me, and of course, the first thing on my mind was that an unsub was going to try to hurt my mom or the kids.

I was shocked when I saw Morgan there, with a short smile, donuts and coffee in hand.

- “I got the feeling you need a good talk right now.”- I didn’t reply, I just hugged him and broke into tears. Morgan tapped on my back a few times.

- “I’m here kid. Tell me everything.”

It only took Morgan half an hour to understand everything that had happened in the latest months. How living with my mom had been a noble gesture, but a critical mistake for our family. How I had messed up everything by taking one trip to Mexico to get experimental homeopathic drugs to give my mother. How for the first time, me and my wife had fight after fight, knowing it was all due to exhaustion and not because we didn’t love each other.

- “You know kid, marriage is work. No matter how much you love each other. You have to remember that.”- my friend tapped on my back as we sat on Sofia’s front steps, eating donuts and drinking coffee.

- “I know. I just… never imagined we would be like this. I love her so much it hurts, I can’t picture my life without her. I would kill for her… but I also have to do the dishes.”

- “Yes, and you have to do the fucking dishes, man..”- Morgan chuckled and finished his coffee.- “Now, don’t be a stranger, Reid. I miss you”

- “Me too. A lot.”

- “I’m a phone call away. Maybe you and your pretty girl could come over with the kids for a weekend. I’m sure you two need to get out of town as soon as you find a new facility for your mother.”

- “We do, we definitely do.”

- “Then it’s settled. You are all coming to visit and you’ll get away from all this…”- Morgan made a pause, trying to find the right words to define our job.

- “Murder?”

- “I was going for chaos, but that works just fine.”- I chuckled and we both stood up.- “Now, kid, I have to go. My wife and baby boy are waiting for me back home.”

- “Thank you for your visit. It really means… the world to me.”

- “You are my kid brother, forever. I will always be there for you. Never forget that, ok?”- Morgan hugged me and I just nodded, a knot in my throat made it impossible for me to speak.

- “And take care of that pretty girl of yours. She is a force to be reckoned with, and she loves you more than anyone I have ever met.”- I nodded and felt Morgan tapping on my back one more time before he walked away.

I wanted to spend the day with my wife, our kids, and my mother, after the hell we had been through. But as soon as I stepped into the house, I found (Y/N) rushing down the stairs, holding her phone as tears fell down her eyes.

- “Scratch has Emily.”

I surely didn’t see that coming.

- “And Stephen is dead.”

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