#implied/referenced police violence

[shiningjustforreid]

you missed my heart

— based on this song <3 even though title is title of another song ;)

where bau!fem!reader, Spencer Reid, and the bau deal with a case very close to home for reader.

word count: 5kish

a/n: i wanted to try to write something with a little more story line!! thus, this was born. it’s mostly angst because i fear that’s my forte, but there’s a little fluff and implied intimacy, as is my typical route <3 also wanted to mention i’m not from the town in this fic, but i am from the midwest, somewhat close to there! enjoy!!

warnings/tags: 18+ for dark themes and implied intimacy which reader cries after bc this case is a lot, referenced childhood neglect for reader, reader has trauma but she’s working on it, typical canon-level violence and dark content for criminal minds, case fic, season 10ish Spencer, spencer and reader are dating <3, Spencer is absolutely in love with reader (as he should be!), no use of y/n

- ✩ -

Cheery and bright December has molded into a bleary January, and it’s on one such morning that Penelope, dressed in an - almost garish, but who’s Spencer Reid to complain? - orange and yellow dress, to ‘combat the gray’, as she chirps, tells him they have a case. With three teen girls, all already found dead. Wincing, because he never understands why these local police forces wait until there’s multiple people dead when’s it’s clearly serial, he follows Morgan to the briefing room.

When he glances back to see if you’re coming, he finds your desk vacant, chair pushed in and files in a tidy pile, as is your nature. Frowning, he hurries to catch up with Morgan, only to find you already sat, all the color washed from your face, as Hotch discusses something clearly serious with you.

Then again, everything is serious with Hotch.

Before he can sit by you, at least to provide some comfort, Kate finds that chair, and Penelope is starting the presentation, her voice quiet, tight, as it always is when the cases make her a little more on edge.

“We are sending all of you lovely crime fighters to the small, and less lovely, town of Constantine, Michigan.”

Oh. So that’s why Hotch was seemingly deep in conversation with you.

That’s where you’re from.

“Three girls—“

She flicks through the pictures and their names, and you look absolutely sick to your stomach. Spencer fights the urge to walk to your side of the table and take your hand - you just look so scared. Taking a deep breath, Penelope braces herself to just force out the next part.

“—have been found dead just outside of town, dropped along a river that runs right along there.”

Morgan’s brows furrow, as Penelope taps through the images of the crime scenes, clearly thinking.

“This guy is bold. Dropping these girls at night is a precaution, sure, but small town like that, right by those houses, he’d get noticed.”

Rossi nods, while all Spencer can do is look at you and your tense shoulders and the way your jaw is clenched.

“He’s obviously a local. And doesn’t care if these girls get found. Sure, they’re clearly concealed some—“

He glances up at the pictures, of the teen girls wrapped in weeds and river mud,

“But he isn’t taking major precautions. I wonder why.”

Hotch nods, at each of their deductions, before he uncrosses his arms, glancing down at you before he speaks.

“Either way, three girls in 3 weeks, with the cooling off period decreasing, we need to get there soon. Wheels up in 30, no less.”

As the briefing room clears, Spencer’s at your side without pause, his palm resting against the cotton of your turtleneck, against tight muscle.

“Angel, you know you don’t have to work this case.”

You shake your head immediately, although he notices you don’t stand, hands still gripping the table in front of you with enough force to whiten your knuckles.

“I need to. I’m a part of this team, aren’t I? Plus, if there’s any way I can be of more help, since I know the area and the roads, it’d almost be wrong not to help, right?”

“Hey, breathe. I know. But Hotch already told you that you should sit this one out, didn’t he? And you told him no.”

One small movement of your head, and you finally meet his eyes. His heart twists - the apprehension in them is clear.

“I told him whatever memories this drudges up for me doesn’t compare to the lives I can potentially save. That makes sense, right?”

The hand moves from your shoulder to tuck a strand of hair from your face, thumb soothing down your cheekbone, a cold contrast to the warm flush of your skin.

“It does, angel, it does. But if you feel-overwhelmed, or too anxious, or even just a little off, please, let—“

“I’ll be fine. I can visit my hometown without having a mental health crisis.”

You didn’t mean to snap, cut him off. Sighing, you swallow thickly and look away.

“Sorry. That came out wrong. I just meant that-that I should be able to do this.”

“Should and can are two different things, my girl. You’re not weak, you-you couldn’t be. Trauma has literal physical consequences for the brain, such as making your amygdala hyperactive. Additionally, reduced activity in your prefrontal cortex can lead to—“

Letting him ramble soothes your nerves, just enough, as the two of you head to the jet. The nearly two hours of flight, where the team discusses the crime scenes and the potential profile, doesn’t have you saying much. Once, JJ asks what you think about the murder weapon, a knife, and how it relates to the unsub’s feelings about these girls. Spencer jumps in when you meet the blonde’s eyes with a deer-in-headlights look, claiming you ‘didn’t sleep well last night’ and just ‘need some time to wake up.’

In a plane full of profilers, no one believes this, of course. Rossi and Morgan’s eyes both say, you’re kidding, Reid, while JJ and Kate both sigh in tandem. Flashing Spencer a ‘thank-you-so-much-I-love-you-endlessly’ look, you then open the case file again, heart in your throat.

And your most integral organ doesn’t leave its spot in your throat when you land, and drive down a bit south to your destination, January here even more blech and dull than January in Quantico. As the SUV holding you, Spencer, Morgan, and Kate makes its way down 131, your eyes are glued out the window at the familiar landscape.

Lifeless cornfields, decorated only with gray snow and currently useless irrigation systems. Green-brown grass peeks through certain spots, and for a majority of your drive, the only buildings you pass are houses with a shutter or two missing, dirt coating the sides, shingles missing in sections, blown off by wind. The soft despair and growing hopelessness of this land is not lost on you. It never was.

As Morgan brings the vehicle into town, he grimaces, taking in the small, falling apart homes and once-was businesses.

“This is dismal, huh? I wonder how long until this place is a ghost town.”

Spencer doesn’t miss your soft sigh, or the way your fingers twist around the deep navy edge of your FBI windbreaker. When both SUVs park outside the local police station, he sets his hand on yours, just for a second.

I’m here. I’ve got you, angel girl. I love you.

Heading inside is at thankfully a somewhat new experience, at least at first - you’ve never been inside this police station, not even when you lived here. Hotch, Rossi, and JJ are already inside, and what you hoped for - that no one would recognize you on first glance - turns to be a foolish pipe dream.

“Aren’t you Paul’s girl?”

One of the officers asks, his eyes narrowing once they land on you. Suddenly, it seems like every body in this damn tiny precinct is turned your way, and you gulp down your insecurities, trying to stand tall and not turn and dash right back out that door onto salted sidewalks and into winter slush.

“Yeah. I am.”

Quiet confirmation on your part leads to surprise on your teams’ faces - sans Hotch and Spencer, of course - and a mixture of bland dislike and ambivalence amongst the officers in the room.

“Thought so. Look at you, all high and mighty. FBI, huh? I for one, would have never guessed—“

“That’s enough. She’s my agent, on this case, and you are to have no other issues with her. Am I clear?”

You thank any deity that’s listening for Hotch and his firm command, ending that officer’s insults. If he knows your dad, who knows what else he knows, and right now, you don’t want to talk to any of these men, let alone your team, who are bound to have a slew of questions.

“Kate, Morgan, I want you two to head to the morgue. Look at the wounds and see what you can add to our profile. Rossi and I will head over to the crime scene and look around. JJ, Reid, I need you to interview our victim’s families, see what we can learn about these girls.”

As half the team heads to the SUVs, you turn to Hotch, confused.

“Hotch, you didn’t tell me where I’m going.”

The unit chief sighs and glances around before turning back to you.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d be comfortable with. I can send you with Morgan and Kate, if you want?”

You shrug, still feeling people’s stares like sniper’s lasers, and meet Hotch’s eyes.

“Yeah, I could. I-I also thought I should go home. See my parents, I don’t know. They might have seen something valuable.”

Dark brows raise, and his eyes narrow almost imperceptibly.

“If you go, take Reid. It won’t do any good to go alone.”

As much as that makes you cringe - how little does he think you can handle? - you also know, at the bottom of your heart, that he’s right. That going home after all this time will do nothing but put you right back in that headspace you clawed your way out of not so long ago.

“I’ll go with Kate and Morgan. Thanks Hotch.”

He nods, and you shoot Spencer a quick look of I’m okay before you jog to catch up with your selected teammates for the day. As you climb into the SUV, both of them turn to look at you, questions in their eyes. Biting back a groan, you keep it short.

“I grew up here. Got out first chance I got. I really don’t want to talk about it right now.”

Kate looks sympathetic, and Morgan nods, soft.

“Yeah. I get that. No pressure. If you wanna talk about it ever, I’m all ears.”

Tension eases out of your muscles at Morgan’s words. Your drive to the coroner is next to silent, but as you look over the girls, covered with those white cloths, you let your mind dip into profiling mode; removed, and carefully curious.

“One stab wound, straight to the heart, no defensive wounds. That precision implies that they were unconscious when he did this.”

You muse, as you take in the colorless, innocent face of the girl in front of you.

Did I know her? Or her sister? Brother?

“There’s no marks from being restrained, either, so he had them knocked out before he did anything.”

Maybe I know their parents.

Morgan nods, looking at another one of the victims.

“They all have abrasions on the back of their heads. Enough blunt force trauma, that would knock them out.”

“He must of got what he wanted, and then disposed of them so the secret- died with them.”

Kate adds quietly, and you and Morgan both look unwell, for differing reasons. It’s not quick enough that you can drive back over to town, even though you’re dreading seeing those officers’ faces again.

Thankfully, what you see first when returning is Spencer’s face, and you make a beeline for him, as he stands by the tiny map of the - your - town. Resisting the urge to cry out the last few hours of feelings into his sweater vest, you instead take his hand, subtle, you hope. Concern immediately floods his features, but he doesn’t let go of your hand.

“Hey, you okay? Typically, you’re the one reminding me of HR’s policies regarding interdepartmental relationships and uh, ‘PDA.’”

“Mhm. One stab wound, straight through the heart. Victims knocked unconscious beforehand, which means the unsub can’t subdue them unless they’re out first.”

The hand holding yours climbs to your bicep, fingers smoothing over the crinkly fabric of your windbreaker. He hears your checked-out tone, and knows he’ll help bring you back out of the fog later.

“Makes sense. That lines up with what Hotch and Rossi learned too. Apparently, these girls walk home from school, and this guy, whoever he is, offered them rides home because of the weather. That’s all anyone has seen, but no one has a plate number yet or any good description, just, ‘tan sedan.’”

It’s not him. God, stop it, it isn’t. Lots of people drive those cars.

Nodding, you turn to pull away, go find Hotch, presumably, give the profile, but the fingers latched in your coat tighten.

“Hotch told me that you want to go visit your parents. Is it because of the case, or—?”

“Why did he tell you that?”

Groaning, you turn back to face him, clearly just itching to give this damn profile and go hunt this unsub.

“Because, angel, he knows that you would be better off if I go with you. You know that. Besides, I’ve-well, I’ve never met your parents, and as your boyfriend—“

Spencer’s ears turn the slightest shade of rosy, and you grin, barely,

“-I’d like to. Okay?”

Screw this and his sweet smile and his puppy dog eyes.

“Yeah. After the profile, I’ll go see my parents. And you can come. I guess.”

Before you can hardly think, the seven of you have gathered in front of a small group of cops. Chin held high, you stare just over their heads, and the back of the room, where a dusty clock is hung.

“Our unsub is a 40-50 year old male who lives in the area, and probably has for a while. He manages to secure his victims by offering rides to teen girls, from the high school, back home, to help them avoid walking home in the cold weather.”

Hotch starts, voice calm and sure, and then Spencer chimes in.

“Based on our geographical profile, he definitely lives in the area, and close to the St. Joe river, where he’s dumping the bodies. He has to be able to walk them there, so no one sees his car.”

“That’s why he’s picking smaller girls. So he can lift them and carry them a short distance. Additionally, so there’s less chance of resisting. He might stalk these victims beforehand, but, since this is such a small town, and he’s a local, he might already know what time their parents get off work.”

Derek explains, arms crossed, until Kate adds her piece.

“He could also be using some ruse to take them back to a garage or basement he has. Once he has them subdued, he doesn’t appear do anything else - just stabs them through the heart, ending things quickly.”

“He could be using these victims as substitutes for a girl he holds resentment for. Perhaps he feels like he’s been wronged in the past, and he’s taking out his anger.”

Rossi finishes, as the team nods along. Thank God Hotch said you didn’t have to say anything.

“Based on the acceleration rate of these kills, we guess he’ll attempt another soon. However, please don’t do anything more to make it known that we’re here - it could cause him to panic, and flee. Thank you.”

JJ tells the officers. The entire profile runs through your head on a loop, all consuming - local, 40-50 year old man, tan car, stabbing, dumped by the river, clearly confident, barely contained rage - so much so that you don’t even see Hotch coming over to you, and say your name.

“The rest of the team is going to do some interviews with potential witnesses at the high school, and look at men that fit the profile. I figured you could use this afternoon to visit your parents, with Reid.”

Discomfort pools in your stomach. Teeth catching on your chapped bottom lip, you nod, trying not to sound ungrateful - because you’re not, not really, just anxious as hell.

“Yeah. I-that’s fine. I’ll have Spencer drive us over, or I can walk, or—“

“Take a car. It’s chilly, and I don’t need either of you sick. If they’re not proving helpful to our investigation, you can always leave.”

He’s giving you an out. If you feel like you’re drowning, you and Spencer can swim right out, and Hotch knows that you need it. Nodding again, you tug your jacket tighter and nod.

“Thanks sir. I’ll- thank you. If they don’t have anything to say, we’ll go help somewhere else.”

That’s how you and Spencer end up in a squad car, with him behind the wheel - “I can drive, I can, just let me, okay, beautiful?” - and you let him, because you honestly feel like you could lose your lunch at any moment. Hands twist in your lap, and, it’s mere minutes of quiet until the tires of the car sink into the mud that’s your parents’ driveway.

Spencer almost jumps when you immediately speak, ending the silence.

“I don’t want to do this. I can face serial killers of every variety, but I can’t go in my childhood home.”

You stare out the windshield - the house hasn’t changed. The front still needs a power wash, the siding almost gray instead of white, and that one shutter is still hanging loose, barely there. Dead grass is visible through the browning slush that once was fresh snow. Vaguely, you realize that your parents gave your swingset, which sat rusting and paint peeling for years, to your neighbors. But you don’t live here anymore - and it never really felt like home, anyways.

“This is ridiculous. I need to just go in. I’m being stupid-“

“Stop it.”

Spencer interrupts, quiet, but firm. It stops your self-deprecating spiral, at least. Your eyes stray over to the mailbox, which is nearly fallen over from when those boys bashed it in with a baseball bat. Dad never fixed that. Typical.

“You have every reason to be hesitant, okay? To not want to go in there makes sense. They made your life hell for 18 years, sweet girl. As far as I know, I can’t name anyone who wants to return to hell.”

Something sort of like a smile makes its way onto your face, and you turn to meet his eyes, the coldness in your stomach warming marginally.

“But I should do this. They might know something.”

“They might. I’ll follow you anywhere, angel. You know that.”

Running shaking hands over your face, you nod, trying to collect yourself into coherent sentences.

“Mom’s probably home, but it’s-Spencer, it’s going to be a mess, and she’s not going to be welcome, just so you know in advance, and-“

Spiral slashed through again, this time because of his hand on your arm.

“Baby. Breathe. I’m not going to think any less of you. I know.”

He only calls you that when he’s talking you down from some anxiety-induced hill, coaxing you back to reality.

“I already know what I’m going to see, and I-honestly, if anything, it just gives me more respect for you. Okay?”

So, in you go. The porch creaks when your boots and Spencer’s Converse make contact, and in your mind, when your fingertips brush against the screen door and turn the knob - unlocked, how can you be surprised? - it almost feels like you’re just coming home from school.

You got out. You got out.

That mantra never left your head until almost a year of college. Inside, it’s dim - the kitchen lights are off, and that sick smell of cigarettes - ew, do you smoke? You always smell like it - hits your lungs, and you almost turn right on your toes, until you bump into Spencer. He presses a kiss to your temple, and you can breathe again, the ash cleared from your lungs.

“Paul? That you?”

“No, Mom. It’s me.”

Passing through the kitchen, trying not to look at the cracked linoleum or the days old dishes in the sink or the overcrowded countertops, you head into the living room - there she sits, in the patched together red sun faded armchair. Smoke in hand, ratty blue Bears hoodie, graying hair in a frizzy ponytail. She says your name like it’s something that somehow tastes worse than her cigarette.

The conversation you have isn’t pleasant - it never was. After she finishes making you feel as small as you ever have, you manage to give her the profile, as Spencer sits tensely next to you on the couch.

“Nah, I ain’t heard nothing.”

Sighing, you look over at Spencer, too stressed to look at body language, look for tells, to profile her, for goodness sakes. He meets your eyes, warm hazel that only shows you love, and then all that love melts away as he turns to your mother.

“Thanks, for your time, we’ll be leaving-“

Because he knows you’re on the edge of some sort of collapse, and he has his warm hand on the small of your back, when the screen door creaks again, and you freeze as boots stamp across that decades old laminate in the laundry room entry way. Keys jangle and then get hung on a worn hook, and tobacco, freshly smoked, wafts in anew.

They say you never forget the sound of your Dad coming home.

In that moment, something thick and viscous fills your lungs, and your head, and your ears ring. You hear Spencer murmur something to you, probably your name, but it doesn’t process through the molasses in your brain. He comes around the corner, and looks your way.

First comes a blip of surprise, then that lazy smirk that’s imprinted inside your eyelids when you close them for too long. Leaning against the half-wall that divides dining from living room, he looks you over. Suddenly you’re twelve, begging him to help you with algebra, and you’re nine, being called ungrateful when you ask why the heat’s off again, and you’re five, and asking when dinner is, because you just wanted to know. On instinct, you step away, and Spencer’s hand finds the curve of your back once more, grounding and sure.

“Thought I heard you. Hey kid.”

“Hi Dad.”

It’s amazing how one person can make the whole room seem so much darker, the late afternoon winter light duller now as it bleeds in through dusty curtains. When you manage to find your voice again, and tell him why the FBI is here, in this tiny Michigan town, he laughs, shaking his head, sighing.

“Damn Feds think everything is serial. I know it’s just some lowlife on ice. They won’t probably even catch him.”

Spencer makes a face, and opens his mouth, probably to make some point about the intelligence of these crimes, and someone high wouldn’t be able to do this, but you speak first.

“We should go. Help down at the station. Lots of victims’ families to interview.”

Turning to go, you flash your mom a weary smile, and then a tighter one at your dad and turn to leave, but not before cold fingers hold your arm, where your jacket’s pushed up, like a vice.

Remember remember remember remember—

“You go ahead and tell your little buddies to head home, you hear me? Both of you.”

You don’t look up, staring down at the dismally gray rug under your feet.

I slipped on that. Cut my forehead open. Let me go.

“I’ll try. See ya.”

Spencer is tugging you out the door, away from the smell of mold mixed with something distinctly bleach - mom must have been trying to clean it. He watches you, carefully, as you buckle, on autopilot, and he turns the key in the ignition. Dad’s car sits in the mud - tan sedan but they don’t mean that one do they? The SUV remains in park. Decidedly warmer hands smooth over the damp fabric of your windbreaker.

“Can you look at me, angel?”

You stare at the dirt covered siding, the pathetic grass, thumb nail headed for your wind ruined lips. It never makes it there - Spencer intertwines your fingers, hazel eyes full of quiet concern.

“That-that doesn’t define you, you know that, right?”

Shrugging, you squeeze his hand tighter. Need to feel real.

“Their lack of care, their neglect—“

“I wasn’t neglected.”

You snap weakly, even though it’s true; it just feels like such an ugly word.

“We just struggled. And they had to work a lot. And they didn’t want me to be weak. And so what if Mom would buy cigarettes by the carton, instead of milk and eggs? I didn’t want cookies, and all the fancy channels, it was fine, honest, Spence. I didn’t want those things.”

“Sweet girl, that’s- God, but they didn’t give you what you needed. You were a child. You should’ve wanted those things, but were too busy wanting hot food at dinner, and for the water not to get shut off.”

He already knew the horrors you’d crawled out of, and now, having seen your house, and the wood paneled walls, smoke smudged windows and that spot where you can see the drywall, there was no judgement in Spencer’s eyes. Dry anger, at your parents, perhaps, soft empathy for you, for sure, but no judgment.

You’re numb for the rest of the day, brain foggy, and it’s rather early when Hotch has everyone head back to the hotel, a 20 near silent minute drive up to Three Rivers. Protocol be damned, Spencer lets you hold his hand the entire way back, and instead of heading off to separate rooms - ‘HR policy’ - you follow him straight up to his, dumping your bag on the floor and turning to face him, eyes dark and empty as you work at his tie. His hands fly up to yours, stilling them.

“Easy. Hey. You’re practically dissociating, and I uh, I don’t know if I want to do this when you’re so out of it. Not because you aren’t beautiful or because I don’t want to, because—“

He stops, letting out a tiny noise that could almost be constituted as a whimper as your lips find his exposed collarbone.

“I do, I always want you, lovely, but maybe you need to process all these memories and think about this and how it’s effecting you—“

“Stop profiling me, Spence. I don’t want to think. Not about my parents, or this case, or anything. I need you to make me forget about the way those officers looked at me today-“

His shirt falls to the thin carpeted floor of the hotel. Calloused hands tug off your rain splattered coat, discarding that too.

“And the way Kate and Morgan looked at me in the SUV on the way to the morgue-“

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you feel the flimsy quilt of the hotel bed against your back as you stare up at him, sat to your right on the edge of the bed.

“-and the way that you’re looking at me now.”

Several thoughts flash through Spencer’s eyes, and he looks you over carefully - his angel, all wide, pleading eyes and cold flushed cheeks and wind whipped hair. His hand comes to hold your face on one side, thumb easing over the high plane of your cheekbone.

“Please be sure. That’s all I ask, pretty girl.”

Because God, you do look pretty. Pretty feels like a laughable adjective, quite honestly, as you nod, and whisper please and yes again, and his mouth finds yours, and then finds your jawline, and the column of your throat.

Ethereal might be better, he thinks, as he tugs away your sweater and swallows hard, hands smoothing over heated skin to unclasp your bra. Or incandescent, he muses, as your fingers curl in his hair and his fingers trace over your stomach and hips, making you arch into his touch, desperate to forget forget forget.

There’s something so entrancing about the way you meet his eyes, hazy for a different reason than resurfacing trauma, your nails carving half moons into his back, face buried in his shoulder.

Holding you after is not just his procedure, it’s law, how you meld yourself in his lap, his knuckles skimming over your spine, his lips in your hair. When your shoulders shake, once, twice, however, he sighs.

“I know you have a tendency to display post coital dysphoria, angel, but this feels different.”

He hedges, his mouth now pressed against your forehead. The technical term catches you off guard - it’s just so Spencer. Gulping back an outright sob, you nod.

“Yeah, I-this whole case is just- it sucks.”

Eloquent, you may typically strive to be, but in this moment of bliss mixed with wounds reopening, the elegant seems unachievable. Soft lips don’t move from your skin, breaths even and deep to contrast your shallow ones.

“You’re brave. You know that? My brave girl. Hotch told you that this case was one you could’ve sat out, and you came. Why?”

You shrug, even though you know why, deep down.

“Because you care. You know the world gives heaps of hurting and upset, and you just-you just want to stop it all.”

Sleep doesn’t evade you, or Spencer, and when you wake up, it’s another misty sunrise, snow falling and sludge squelching under tires as all the team arrives at the precinct.

“We don’t currently have any missing girls, but with our unsub’s level of rage, we should see one very soon. Today, we should be focused on narrowing down our list of potential unsubs based on what we know in our profile.”

While you nod along to Hotch’s morning briefing, your mind is a million miles away.

Suppressed rage. Tan sedan. 40-50 year old male. What if what if what if—

Someone says your name. Blinking, you look up at Hotch, whose frown lines are more pronounced than normal.

“Do you know something?”

Five more pairs of eyes rush to you, and you swallow, hard.

“Does anyone right now?”

Answering a question with a question.

“I have a feeling. I think that profile describes half the town, at least. Are we going to interview every man in that age range?”

Deflection. Hotch’s eyes narrow.

“If you know something, you need to tell us.”

Spencer watches you, face tight with concern.

A beat. Shaking your head again, you look away.

“No. I don’t. Nothing certain.”

Body language.

Even as the team disperses, some to the high school, some to a couple empty tables in the tiny precinct, you feel Hotch’s eyes watch you, as you pour over names and histories and potential matches for the profile. Still, your mind remains a million miles away - or maybe about two.

After what feels like hours, but is probably minutes, slender fingers land on your shoulder.

“Hey angel. C’mere. Let’s take a walk.”

Dutiful girlfriend that you are, you stand and follow Spencer outside, into the hazy morning. He shuts the door behind you and hesitantly smooths his hands down your arms, his voice quiet.

“I love you, I-I need you to know that. To remember that. But—“

Spencer stops. You don’t look up, eyes fixed on the concrete below.

“I need you to be honest, okay? Do you know, or-or think you know, who this unsub is, or might be?”

Loosely shrugging your shoulders makes him sigh, and he runs his hands carefully up, then down, your arms, tethering you to reality.

“I never want to guilt you, you know that, but if you know something—“

“Then it could prevent more deaths. I know. I know, Spence, I do, I just, if I’m wrong, there’s consequences.”

Frowning, his hands stop their motion on your arms.

“Look at me?”

It’s not a demand, but more like a hopeful ask. You acquiesce, and he grins, a little tightly. Probably because your eyes look dull.

“There’s my girl. Why would there be consequences for you, lovely? You never have to come back here again, if you don’t want to. I’d never make you.”

Heavy sigh. Glancing away, and then back, the lump in your throat grows.

“I feel like I might know this unsub. As more than just a face and a name. As a person. But I don’t know if my past experiences are just tinting my perception of this case, or if it’s a legitimate connection.”

To his credit, Spencer keeps his face blank, but his eyes go darker.

“If you know, you need to tell Hotch. Even if it’s just an inkling. It could even lead to another person we haven’t looked at yet.”

Looking back, the late morning and afternoon fell into a blur. Hotch immediately has Kate, Morgan and Rossi check out the house of the potential unsub you’d named, while you and Spencer examined other potentials, and JJ and Hotch headed to the high school for a bit. All day, you’re quiet, hoping with everything you have that you’re wrong, that you saw something that wasn’t really there. Every interaction merges together into a convoluted mess.

When the team regroups at the station, it’s dark out, and raining icy sleet - curse of the midwest winter - when a call comes to the precinct: a frantic mom of a missing girl, or at least a girl who didn’t return home.

“We need to get out there, Hotch. If she’s been missing since the end of the school day, he could be about done with her.”

Morgan’s voice is tight, and Hotch nods. Blood rushes through your ears, your pulse the only thing you hear, as everyone piles into SUVs, and drives just past the town limits, parking with lights out along in the muddy riverbank.

You see him. And you’ve heard, that your brain, when presented with a truth it cannot accept, will literally deny what it sees. Faintly, you wonder, if this is happening now, as you scramble from the SUV, amidst Morgan’s shouts and Spencer’s hand reaching blindly for your jacket, your gun held tightly. When the headlights flash, and the unsub turns, knife in hand, some nameless, faceless girl in the mud below him, the sleet seems to be inside your head.

“Hey kid.”

The sneer you see is the man you know. Not the barely contained smirk from yesterday, in front of Spencer, or the laugh as he sips coffee with his buddies at that diner in town.

Shaking your head, hair slicked with ice and water, you step into the sludge, back ramrod tight and weapon aimed clear.

“Drop the knife. Drop it. You can’t do any good with it.”

Damn him to hell, he laughs. You try to keep your face devoid of anything, but it’s becoming a challenge. Somewhere far away, you hear Morgan repeat your command, and then Hotch too, behind you. He ignores them. Ice in your veins, on your cheeks, in your heart—

“Go ahead, kiddo. Shoot. You won’t. Dear old Dad, and all that. Bet you knew the whole time, didn’t you?”

Eyes bore into the back of your head.

“Your dad? That was your parents’ house we went to earlier?”

Silver glints in the dim light, and you step forward, hands trembling so bad you probably can’t make a straight shot.

“You left us. High and mighty, thought you were too good to live the life you were born into. Broke my heart, broke your mom’s. Pathetic excuse for a daughter, who can’t even stay and care for her parents.”

Oh God. You feel ill. Knife in the heart, allegory for how he felt (or thought he felt) when you left here and yet- the guilt won’t eat you alive. You’ll starve it out of house and home.

“I deserved so much better than you ever gave.”

You hiss, not sure if the water on your face is fresh or salt laced.

“I was your baby. And you hated me from the moment I breathed your air.”

It happens so fast. He lunges forward, knife up, and you fire on training, on instinct, bullet landing solidly in his leg.

It takes you a full five minutes to feel the rain and mud that’s coating your jeans, and hair, and face, but only seconds to feel Spencer’s arms, one around your middle, clutching the front of your coat, one over your chest, as you gasp.

“I didn’t- he was- he moved, Spence, oh my God, he had that, and I didn’t—“

“Angel, I know. You just did what you needed to.”

It takes you another five minutes to come to the realization that the wretched sobbing you hear is yours. In the back of your mind, you wonder if you’d would’ve shot, even if he hadn’t moved toward you.

Two nights later, you’re wrapped in the warmth of bed, the place you decided is the safest place on earth after you began to live with Spencer Reid. Head tucked under his chin, ear over his heart, hand smoothing over the fabric of his shirt.

“Hotch said you could have a week, you know.”

He says softly, fingers dancing up your arm and over your spine, lips against your hair.

“A day is fine.”

“You don’t sound sure. You sound very unsure, actually. I’d rather you be certain before you head back.”

Sighing, you stare down at your legs, curled nearly to your chest.

“It’s our job, Spence. It’s not the first time I’ve shot my weapon at someone.”

“No.”

He allows, and you tilt your head to the side as he presses feather-light kisses to your throat.

“Do you want to, or feel like you have to meet some criteria? That this doesn’t affect you, and that you’re stronger than your past?”

“I am.”

You protest immediately, and he sighs.

“Strong enough not to let it control you, yes, sweet girl, you are. I’m not denying your strength, please, know that.”

Soft hands move your hair off your neck so he can kiss lower, and you shiver.

“But your mind is incredibly talented at allowing repressed memories to show themselves, even when you’ve pushed them down. Actually, studies show that traumatic memories are stored differently than other memories in the brain.”

“Spencer, look, if you wanna tell me about this later, I’m all ears, but-“

“I know. I know. You want to forget. Let me help, please?”

Skin to skin, after, lets you feel his heat and his lips against your forehead, kissing you even in sleep.

A house, white, siding less browned, fills your dreams. The swingset is there, rusty, even now, and the driveway has tire ruts. It must be late winter. Someone calls you, from inside, someone you don’t even know. Maybe you never knew them.

And maybe, you lived there, but it was never home. Home is burying your face in someone’s shoulder as they hug you, whether it be a tight squeeze from Penelope, or a gentle hold from JJ. Home, you think, as you turn, to walk up the road, as the voice gets drowned by wind, is sipping tea with Spencer as he reads to you, when he gathers you in his lap, when he beats you at chess, when you beat him at chess, when he undoes you with touch and tone. When he calls you his angel. The chain of that voice in your ears shatters like powder. It must have been rusted too. Isn’t everything that’s forced to endure through terrible circumstances?

Home is something you’ve crafted, where the lawn is never dead. Where your pulse never climbs in fear before you enter the front door, only in hope, in excitement, or in adoration.

May you never return to that house. In dreams, or otherwise. Home it never was. The yard will die, and wither, and fade, and the house will crumble to the nothing is always was.

Morning sunlight melts any remaining nightmare, and when Spencer smooths his knuckles along your cheek, as you blink awake, you hear the sound of a front door squeaking shut somewhere in your brain.

It never opens all the way again.

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for...

July 7th

~*~

1. Hello!

This is for itmf:

Where WY chose medical cultivation not to 'compete' with JC. Or maybe of his kind nature.

And he had a battle of wits with WQ.

All of it in no particular combination 🙂

Thank you!

~*~

2. Hello! I've got another itmf request! Currently in the mood for fics where nmj basically takes in wwx as another lil bro/family. Anything is good, but especially interested in fics where we get to see overprotective nmj! Thank you!

The Light That Fails to Dim by glowingreverie (T, 310k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mild Gore)

shades of grey spill from my veins (bleeding ink all over the page) by Reverie (cl410) (M, 58k, NMJ/LXC, wangxian, NHS/WN, POV NMJ, Canon Divergence, Joining the “Wei Wuxian raised by the Nie Sect” Club, Mentions of WWX’s life on the streets, Hurt/Comfort, Accidental Sibling Acquisition, Single Dad NMJ, NHS & WWX Friendship, Fluff, Humor, Happy Ending, Everyone Lives AU, Protective NMJ, Sunshot Campaign, Some angst, Blood and Injury, Kidnapping, Protective Siblings, Found Family)

Heart of the Beast by WaitForTheSnitch (E, 488k, WangXian, WWX Isn’t Adopted by the Jiāngs, Adopted WWX, WWX is a Niè, Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Oblivious WWX, Protective NMJ, Scheming NHS, Protective NHS, Soft NMJ, NMJ is So Done, NHS Is A Little Shit, Pining, LWJ Has Feelings)

🔒The Light That Fails to Dim by glowingreverie (T, 310k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mild Gore)

~*~

3. itmf fics where jin rusong lives.

now you’re tearing through the pages and the ink by Stratisphyre (M, 70k, JC/QS, WangXian, QS & WWX, Canon Divergence, Canon Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, JGS Being Gross, Pregnancy and Childbirth, Canonical Accidental Incest, Marriage of Convenience, Friends to Lovers, Child Abuse, Accidental Child Acquisition, Found Family, Not Everyone Dies, (but there is some), canon character death, QS POV, Golden Core Reveal, Twin Prides of Yunmeng Dynamics)

Tread Lightly on my Ground by AshayaTReldai (E, 63k, LXC/QS, WangXian, JGY/QS, JGS/QS, JRS & LXC, QS & WWX, LXC & WWX, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, PTSD, Rape, Past Rape/Non-con, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Not Really Character Death, Happy ending for LXC, Incest, Trauma)

Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained by nirejseki (G, 4k, Canon Divergence, JRS Lives, NHS is a schemer)

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4. This is for ITMF, where WWX raised A-Yuan or at least has a hand on raising him because he babysit A-Yuan often enough that when a-Yuan does something sometimes it remind other people of WWX. I know there are a tag for that but sometimes there are a fic that are not taged as such because it not the main part of the story. Yhank you @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

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5. thank you for your work ! itmf your favorite teacher wwx fics ❤️ any and all recommendations :)

❤️ Joy In the Midst of These Things Series by Glitterbombshell (T/G, 53k, WangXian, Angst with Happy Ending, Post-Canon, Teacher WWX, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff)

🔒 Due Process by Kytrin, ShotsOfSunshine (E, 280k, WangXian, LXC/JC/NHS, JL/LSZ/LJY/OYZZ, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Modern, Canon-Typical Violence, Fox WWX, Dragon LWJ, Genderfluid Character, Genderfluid WWX, WWX identifies as male, Organized Crime, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, mentions of child abuse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Found Family, Reincarnation) WWX is a professor and also secretly [but not that secret] sort of a mafia heir, dragon/fox story, LWJ is police, they work a case together and fall in love all while WWX is out there being a great mentor to the adorable juniors

🧡 paint smears on sunny days by SnowshadowAO3 (E, 53k, WangXian, Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Everyone Is Alive, Modern AU, Dadji, Mutual Pining, Happy Ending, Brief Alcohol Mention, Masturbation, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Accidentally co-parenting with your son’s art teacher, Fatherhood)

Come Around and Stay by trippednfell (M, 160k, WangXian, NieLan, Slow Burn, Kid Fic, Found Family, Modern AU, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, PTSD, Blood and Injury, Dissociation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Musicals, POV Alternating, Baking, Yunmeng reconciliation (eventually), Friend Zoning, Literal Sleeping Together, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks)

~*~

6. Any fics where lwj keeps going wherever there's chaos in search of wwx after his death?

And They Have Escaped The Weight of Darkness by cosmicmilktea (T, 10k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Memory Loss, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Screw the Cultivation world tbh, The Lan precepts deserves better, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, domestic life, Social justice boyfriends wangxian, Happy Ending)

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7. itmf!! hi is there any fics with like younger lan zhan and older wei ying but then they dont see eachother for a while and all of a sudden lan zhans like bigger and hotter i think those are so cute!! @yesibest

A Baby Dragon’s Guide To Seducing Your Huli Jing by sweetlolixo (M, 102k, wangxian, Fantasy, But still in the Cultivation World, Dragon LWJ, Fox WWX, Younger LWJ, Older WWX, Fluff, Humor, Eventual mpreg, Angst with a Happy Ending, Best Boy A-Yuan) dragon/fox story, baby dragon LWJ meets older fox WWX, falls into an intense kiddie crush that only grows as he gets older, WWX ends up in a coma instead of dead I believe, some identity shenanigans after WWX wakes up bc of course

~*~

8. Hiiii, I need recommendations. I'm in the mood for hurt/comfort cuddly but also sweet smutty wangxian. With one of them hurt and the other comforting please! The longer the better. Modern setting is my favorite AU. @gothnerdremix

the soft animal of your body by sysrae (T, 15k, WangXian, modern cultivation, Golden Core Reveal, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Animal Transformation, Shapeshifting, Getting Together, Confessions)

When the Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation takes a week off by galaxy_in_your_eyes (T, 20k, WangXian, Modern Cultivation, Canon Divergence, Everyone Lives, only those that deserve it, kind of fix-it, Zombie Apocalypse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/ComfortAttempt at HumorPOV AlternatingCanon-Typical Violence, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, Brief Mentions of Cannibalism, Zombies, We don't see the Zombie Apocalypse, It happens behind closed doors, WWX in quarantine, Wangxian being Wangxian, Mentions of Smut, Established Relationship, Courtesy Names, local necromancer gets sick with the flu)

living in my memory/living in my mouth by tardigradeschool (T, 32k, WangXian, Reincarnation, Canon Divergence, College/University, Modern with Magic, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Sharing a Bed, Nightmares, Light Angst, Epistolary, (sort of), POV Alternating, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers)

🧡 i really want to know (who are you) by Stratisphyre (M, 19k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Golden Core Reveal, Single Dad WWX, Reasonable Authority Figure LQR, Allusions to violence and murder, Hospitalization)

like a saturated sunrise by moonsteps (T, 26k, WangXian, College/University, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, References to anxiety, Family Issues, Friends to Lovers, Roommates)

~*~

9. Do u have a fic where wangxian are happily married, set post-canon, but they have a silly couple’s quarrel, but they make up later, cause they love each other lol

~*~

10. Hi! Are there any fics where the burial mounds actually appears/manifests as a person/ known entity? @karinasnowwwx

~*~

11. itmf any fanfics in which Wei Wuxian and Lan Qiren bond, gain understanding of each other, are forced to cooperate and/or are in cahoots with each other

🧡 Stunted, Starving Juvenility by TomatenMark (E, 828k, WangXian, WIP, Fix-it of sorts, Talisman master WWX, Not JFM Friendly, Study Arc, Getting together, Fluff and Angst, Engagement) LQR figures out early on that WWX is super smart & not being well treated by the Jiangs, goes from seeing him as a menace to seeing him as a third nephew

Lessons relearned by Iamnotawriter (T, 44k, WangXian, LQR & WWX, Not Madam Yu Friendly, Time Travel Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inventor WWX, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, No Golden Core Transfer, YZY Bashing) LQR travels back in time & works with WWX to change things

Good Guy Lan Qiren series by thunderwear (T, 28k, wangxian, LQR & WWX, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Golden Core Reveal, LWJ’s POV, Fluff, Everyone Lives AU, LQR finds out about WWX’s core, wwx and lqr are friends?? In My Fic? its more likely than you think, lwj in the bg like whats happening?, WWX goes to Gusu, Mutual Pining) LQR figures out WWX's missing core & persuades him to come to CR so they can fix it

❤️ Joy In the Midst of These Things Series by Glitterbombshell (T/G, 53k, WangXian, Angst with Happy Ending, Post-Canon, Teacher WWX, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff) link in #5

Inconceivable by merakily (G, 3k, wangxian, LQR & WWX, post-canon, fluff, humor, in-laws, chief cultivator LWJ)

Seasons of Falling Flowers by merakily (G, 40k, WangXian, LQR & WWX, Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Character Study, Introspection, In-Laws, Golden Core, Emotional Baggage, Family Bonding, Protective LWJ, Good Parent LQR, LQR has feelings, LQR and WWX become friends, [PODFIC] Seasons of Falling Flowers, by merakily by Spinifex)

someone like you by Basingstoke (G, <1k, WangXian, Future Fic, Cloud Recesses, Teacher WWX)

patching the road with vague intentions by loosingletters (T, 35k, LQR & WWX, WangXian, LSZ & WWX, LXC & LWJ & LQR & LSZ, WIP, Canon Divergence, Humor, Developing Friendships, WWX Resurrected By Others, Trans WWX, Case Fic, POV WWX, POV LQR, Family, Good Uncle LQR, Hurt/Comfort, Golden Core Reveal Slow Burn, Canon-Typical Violence, MXY Lives)

~*~

12. Is there any fics with reincarnation involved? Like wwx died but got reborn later (or maybe following the 13 years after his death) and then the whole cultivation went nuts and go "OMG the yllz has reborned! Stake him up bois" or something like that? ((Yeah this example is a bit silly but i do want to get some recs based on reincarnated wwx lol))

~*~

13. Hi! I would like to find find a non-specific fic. Preferably CQL canon but any canon is okay. I would just really like to read a fic where WWX regrets how he treated LWJ before dying (specifically with LWJ constantly warning him that demonic cultivation was dangerous and WWX brushing him off and turning down his offers for help etc). While I do want WWX to apologize and be held accountable, I absolutely want happy Wangxian to be together and a fluffy ending for them! (also please nothing with JC bashing, if anything I'd prefer a fic where they have a strong brotherly relationship and WWX apologizes to him as well but my main concern is Wangxian). I just really feel like a fic like this has to exist in the 40k+ Wangxian fics out there lol, I just haven't been able to find it. Thank you!

(also obviously no WWX bashing either! I love WWX and I completely sympathize with the reasons he did the things he did, I don't want a "WWX is wrong and sucks" fic, I just want to explore that sometimes he might owe the people he loves an apology)

~*~

14. Hi how are you doing 💖 I’ve a request for ITMF I’m looking for a summer vibes type of fic if that makes sense like late nights out the beach and bonfire type stuff ❤️

🔒 California Here We Come (Right Back Where We Started From) by LizzyPanic (M, 23k, WangXian, LXC & LWJ, Getting Together, Misunderstandings, Communication, Breaking Up & Making Up, Miscommunication, Pining, Modern, America, Break Up, Insecurity) starts out w/ summer vibes.

~*~

15. This is for itmf! All I want is a good modern fic w loads of fluff, but also I love angst. So really anything. (just no wips pls)

Thank u! @bunnycoffeeumcat

Blooming Days by Atsushiis (G, 7k, WangXian, LWJ & LXC, LWJ & MM, Modern, College/University, Meet-Cute, First Dates, First Kiss, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, LWJ Has Feelings, Let LWJ talk about his feelings agenda, Romance, Falling In Love, Wangxian are softer than a baby bunny, gratuitous handholding, Give LWJ hugs agenda, LWJ Protection Squad, Spanish Translation Available)

🔒 sleep in your bed by copperwings (E, 12k, WangXian, Modern, College/University, Fluff, Humor, Smut, Attempt at Humor, LWJ is a doctorate student and a librarian, WWX is just lazy, WWX is also a mischievous little shit, JC is perpetually facepalming at WWX's bullshit, WWX sucks at emotions, Boys Kissing, Emotional Sex, Anal Sex)

🔒💖 blue-ribbon bunny by cicer (G, 15k, wangxian, modern, shapeshifting, supernatural elements, fluff & humor)

Let's Play Pretend and Live Our Lives by Tassos (E, 50k, WangXian, Modern, On Purpose Baby Aquisition, Accidental Husband Aquisition, Idiots in Love, WWX Has Self Esteem Issues, Domestic Fluff, Kid Fic, Light Angst, the Lans and Jiangs make an appearance, NHS Gives Great Advice, Pining, Getting Together)

Covered in Bees by ScarlettStorm (T, 8k, WangXian, Modern AU, Beekeeping AU, For reasons, Meet-Cute, Comedy, Fluff, Bees, come for the flirting, stay for the bee facts, and the bee puns, kinkmeme fill, no actual kink)

i know who i want to take me home by ScarlettStorm (E, 16k, WangXian, Modern AU, no magic, bartender WWX, Drunk LWJ, Caretaking, Meet-Cute, meeting your soulmate because someone got him drunk AF and left him at your bar, late-night diner food, Fluff, Comedy, Smut, Minor Angst, major shenanigans)

Love Cats series by so_shhy (T, 14k, wangxian, modern, Meet-Cute, Fluff, WWX is wet and adorable in a tree, With a Cat, LWJ had no chance, Don’t Try This At Home, First Dates, Falling in Love) this series is so sweet I die every time I read it

🔒you’ve ruined my life (by not being mine) by cicer (E, 132k, WangXian, Modern AU, Developing Relationship, Idiots in Love, Awkward Flirting, teenage romance, Shameless WWX, slowburn, Demisexuality, references to lqr’s a+ parenting, references to jfm’s a+ parenting, but we’re gonna get a happy ending ANYWAY, references to yzy’s a+ parenting, Background NMJ/LXC, hints of nmj/lxc/jgy, bottom LWJ in chapter 15) which is long and, although not tagged as fluff, is super sweet and fluffy

~*~

16. I'm looking for fics where people don't believe LWJ and WWX are together. Could be modern or canon. I'm specifically thinking stuff like "The F-Word" by raspberrymocha or "Marital Claims" by yeolinski but anything along the same lines could work for me.

~*~

17. Hello, I would like recommendations on Wangxian and Wei Wuxian gets pregnant after practicing double cultivation @jikookjiminjungkook91

Impermanence, Transience, Permanence by Best Bepsy (BepsyGray) (E, 39k, wangxian, canon divergence, unplanned pregnancy, mpreg, gore, sunshot campaign, assumed miscarriage, medical procedures, childbirth, golden core reveal) This is probably more closely aligned with what you want, (as the effects of duel cultivation are more important to the overall plot here) but you might’ve already read it.

Until The End by abCEE (M, 365k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, war changes people, resulting to OOC, no pinning, Established Relationship, Mpreg, Good Uncle LQR, a little grey LWJ, a bit of JC bashing from LWJ, BAMF JYL, 16 years of yearning, mainly CQL verse but has scenes from the novel as well, LSZ is WangXian’s Child, WWX Has a New Golden Core, Canon Rewrite, Happy Ending, Fix-It of Sorts) it is also unforeseen, and a relatively small part of the larger fic. It does happen early on though. (I do recommend reading this tho)

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

[visceravalentines]

cold blue summer

a slasher movie AU for The Passenger (2023)

Elliot Sheppard, a third-grade teacher at Central Elementary, abused children for many years before being exposed and taking his own life. Now, twenty years later, the school is being demolished, and something has awakened.... Strap in for the cruelest summer on record.

An homage to classic slasher movies with a summer romance flair.

Read the intro below and read the first chapter (and the rest as it updates this summer) on ao3! Mind the tags--suicide, implied/referenced child abuse, graphic depictions of violence.

School lets out early that year.  

The kids don’t question it, no matter how many times they catch the adults cutting conversations short when they walk in the room.  You don’t look too hard at a gift like that, four extra days of blue sky and no schedule.  

The school makes a statement that says everything and nothing, tries to keep the details vague, but word spreads anyway like kudzu.  The parents sit and fret, cancel camps, extend family vacations.  Stand in the hallways late at night and peer through cracked bedroom doors and swallow their dread down whole and kicking.  Read statistics.  Count their blessings.  

It’s a weird summer, gets off on a weird foot, like trying to hopscotch wrong-foot-forward.  

It’s early Monday morning, too early for teachers to arrive yet.  The schedule change allows extra time to tear down posters, enter the final few grades.  Nobody’s in a rush, though, to sit alone in the empty classrooms.  To sit in the silence of that building and let imagination run wild.  To be there, in the place where it happened.  In proximity to the unthinkable, guilty by association.  By ignorance.  By inaction.  

Elliot Sheppard has been missing for three days.  

The playground for the younger grades sits on the east side of the school at the base of the hill.  The kids call it the Little Toy, relative to the Big Toy, which is on the other side of the building and reserved for the older grades.  Weeds have already started their seasonal conquest, bursting up at the edge of the wood chips and in the shade of the slide.  The foursquare courts need repainting.  A kickball sits half-deflated in the grass at the bottom of the hill.  

The lonesome call of a mourning dove trembles over the dew.  The sun stretches its arms over the lowlands, rosy and resplendent.  In the pale dawn light, blood drips black onto the wood chips.  The gun sits mere inches from the thick-fingered hand that dropped it.  Very little of the man remains above the bridge of his nose, mouth rent asunder, a tooth fairy’s bounty.  Flies already swarm around the pale blue sinkholes of his eyes.  

He will be found in less than an hour by the secretary who bid him good morning every day since she started at Central.  The police will identify him immediately and do their damnedest to keep these details out of the media too, in the name of protecting privacy, protecting dignity.  In an effort to shelter the soft and innocent from the uglier parts of life.  

This time, at least, they might succeed.  

-

Three miles away and twenty years later, Benson Rousseau jolts awake with a scream in his throat.  

[swamiiyasssss]

Dragonfly In Red

Jason Todd x Vigilante!OfficeSiren!Reader

This Hood would never have thought he'd fell in love with a goddamn suit. Tall, dark and gorgeous, she was the wildest of his dreams. A dragonfly amongst the birds, the bats, standing out too much for his own liking.

The suit's got secrets; He intends to take it all for his own.

Dragonfly In Red by yasswami Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics), Batman: Arkham - All Media Types, Batman: Under the Red Hood (2010), DCU, DCU (Comics), Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Batman: Arkham (Video Games) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con Relationships: Jason Todd/Reader, Jason Todd/Original Female Character(s), Jason Todd/Original Character(s), minor Luke Fox/Reader Characters: Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Titus | Damian Wayne's Dog, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Stephanie Brown, Joker (DCU), Cassandra Cain, Tim Drake, Lucius Fox, Luke Fox, Arkham Asylum Inmates, Arkham Asylum Staff (DCU), Riddler (Batman 1966), Jim Gordon Additional Tags: Slow To Update, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Episode: s01e09 Enemies and Lovers, Lazy Sex, Hate Sex, NSFW, Smut, Angst, Heavy Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Death, Canonical Character Death, Vigilantism, Vigilante Reader, Blood and Violence, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Blood and Injury, Blood Kink, Blood As Lube, Recreational Drug Use, Bondage and Discipline, Chair Bondage, Non-Sexual Bondage, Body Horror, Body Worship, Corporate core, Office Sex, Police Officer Dick Grayson, Restraints, Angry Sex, Angry Kissing, Fake Character Death, Survivor Guilt, Power Imbalance, Power Play, Office SIREN reader, suits & bandages, whump, can u notice i got a thing for blood aha

Jason bares his teeth. “ I find a dragonfly, ensnared in my trap.”

Red Hood/You. Dark & Explicit Themes. Mind the Tags.

[aizawashuichi]

Chapter 6: Ryuzaki & Mei

Read on ao3

Fandom: Death Note (Anime & Manga) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: L/OFC Tags: Slow Burn, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Identity Issues, Grief/Mourning, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, The Kira Case becomes irrelevant at some point, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Police Brutality, POV First Person, Violent Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Non-Graphic Violence, Present Tense, Unreliable Narrator, Self-Hatred, OC-centric, and I mean it, L is a yearner, MC is a sucker, character-driven

CHAPTER SUMMARY (bear with me, this is my first time trying this, but only on here so I don't embarrass myself):

As Jessica still actively tries to ignite their honeymoon, she is met again with a roadblock: the task force she has already dismissed as a liability. Fortunately, her growing frustration is slightly eased by Corky and a brief glimpse of the L she still waits for.

or Jorking being co-dependent and L giving Jessica something to chew on for the time being, to mitigate her hunger.

Cameos en passant: Rie (@lawlietscaramels) and K (@nic0-r0bs - I somehow managed to mention her too, lol).

[la-muerta]

Title: one hand on the trigger (the other hand in mine) // 暗线

Fandoms: 莲花楼 Mysterious Lotus Casebook (TV)

Warnings: Rated E. Canon-typical violence, implied/referenced drug use.

Relationships: 笛飞声 Di Feisheng / 李莲花 Li Lianhua; 李莲花 Li Lianhua & 方多病 Fang Duobing

Summary:   Ten years ago, Li Xiangyi went undercover to investigate a crime syndicate known as the Di Family Business. When his adopted brother dies during a failed raid, because of his mistake, he goes underground.

Meanwhile, a fellow bright young police recruit named Di Feisheng, who was in the academy with Li Xiangyi, rises steadily through the police ranks…

Ten years later, when his adopted brother's only son Fang Duobing joins the police academy as well, Li Xiangyi is forced to face the secrets of the past.

--

Chapter One: 一将功成万骨枯 Li Xiangyi turned the collar of his leather jacket up and quickened his pace, trying not to look around too obviously as he checked if he was being followed. It was drizzling, not heavily enough to warrant getting out an umbrella. But most people on the streets were walking briskly, trying to get to shelter before it started raining properly, and plenty of them were looking down at their phones or pagers. [Read on Ao3; currently at 5,460 words]

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning || AO3 || My Website

Chapter 92: July 2017

“—So fuck the Rose, and you as well—”

Jon actually couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed himself this much. A bit strange to say he was enjoying himself, considering he was standing in the most secluded, unobservable part of the street they could get to and still be able to see the House of Wax, watching the fire consume it, and still clutching the detonator that had caused it, but he was. Partly it was the energy of the song, the first sea shanty he’d ever really learned and that only because the Mechanisms had used it as the basis for a song on their first album, and the fact that he was standing shoulder to shoulder with his friends, his family, with his hand safe and warm in his boyfriend’s as the rain pattered down in fits and starts, not enough to quell the burning even if it were a normal fire. Partly it was the fact that they’d done it, they’d successfully stopped the Unknowing, that it would be centuries before the Stranger could try again, and that they’d all made it out of the building safely. He was almost giddy with relief.

The others seemed to share his elation. Daisy was smirking. Basira wasn’t, but she was at least tapping her foot in time with the music. Melanie’s eyes danced, seeming to reflect the fire’s glow, and she kept bumping into Jon as she sang. Martin stood straight and tall, his eyes fixed on the building and a concentrated determination on his face that honestly made Jon fall in love with him all the more.

Gerry was actually the only truly worrying part of the whole thing. His eyes and hair had both changed when he’d…done whatever he did to the not-a-waxwork in that last room, and while they’d gone back to normal at first, the more the building burned, the more they changed back. At that point, his hair was almost pure white, with a single streak of black that was rapidly fading to grey. His eyes, too, had lost all color, with only the faintest of lines delineating his pupils and irises. And even as he sang, it didn’t escape Jon’s notice that the few raindrops that hit him had settled on his shoulders as a dusting of snow.

But that was a problem they could deal with later. They had a “later” to deal with it in, which was even better. For now, they could just watch the wax museum, and all the things in it, burn to ash.

They probably couldn’t really be seen where they were, but just in case, Basira had her hand to her ear as if she had a phone—which she, like the rest of them, had left in their room at the inn—so she could look like she was calling 999 if anyone did see them just standing around staring. Not like they were the only gawkers, Jon was sure, but since they weren’t near the more tourist-heavy areas, they might stand out a bit. The singing probably didn’t help with that.

Someone had called 999, anyway. Sirens were beginning to wail in the distance. Jon couldn’t tell what direction they were coming from, or if they would come by where the Archives group stood, but right about now, he felt invincible. Whatever happened next, they could handle it with ease. They were on top of the world.

“—is no excuse, boys, let us fly—today is not the day we die—“

Later, he would think back on that moment and curse himself for being an idiot.

“Bend your backs and break your bones, we’re just a thousand miles from home—“

“Guys!”

Startled out of the song, Jon looked, stupidly, up at Martin first. He had suddenly tensed up, his attention away from the burning building, his eyes a piercing green. Jon followed his gaze and felt the blood rush from his face.

Staggering towards them, teeth bared in angry grins, clothes still smoldering as if they’d barely escaped the fire, were two nondescript, unremarkable deliverymen who could only be Breekon and Hope.

“No,” Jon gasped. If they had survived, if they’d gotten out…had they really done it after all? Had it actually worked? Gerry—surely Gerry wouldn’t be—

“Melanie, don’t!” Martin grabbed her arm as she shoved in front of him, but she pulled away, snarling, without taking her eyes off the approaching pair.

“Martin, get back.” Gerry’s tone was firm and determined as he, too, stepped in front of Martin. His appearance caused Breekon and Hope to check, but only for a moment.

Suddenly, Jon became aware of another sound over the crackle of the flames and the sizzle of the rain and the sirens growing ever louder. A faint humming, like a chorus of angels singing in the distance. Then he saw the coffin the two burly men carried between them and realized what was going on.

The coffin was the Buried. Both Joshua Gillespie’s statement and Daisy’s had made that abundantly clear. Why two beings of the Stranger were toting it around was beyond him, but that didn’t matter. It was still the Buried.

I was lucky to get out alive, and I won’t be so lucky a second time. Martin’s words from that first morning after the attack at the Institute, almost a year ago now, sounded in his head. Jon knew, with absolute certainty, that he couldn’t let that coffin get anywhere near Martin. He shouldered forward to stand with Melanie and Gerry, preparing to sell his life dearly to protect Martin’s if he had to.

The tiny part of his mind clinging to rational thought told him he was being a bit melodramatic, and that Martin would never let him do that, but he was prepared to and that was the important thing.

“Well, well,” said one of the two men, nastily.

“What have we here?” said the other. The statements were right, those were dreadful Cockney accents.

“Come to watch the show?”

“Think you can stop us that easily?”

I can certainly try, Jon thought. He tried to recall the feeling he’d had in the tunnels the time he’d made Melanie stop and accidentally called on…something. It hadn’t felt right, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t the Eye, but maybe if he could call on that…

He concentrated on the feeling of compelling someone to do, not to say, and forced out the words. “Go away.”

There was the static, or something like static anyway, but it sounded and felt different. Still, for a moment, Jon thought it worked—Breekon and Hope actually checked briefly. Then they shook it off, and their grins sharpened as they focused on Jon.

Well, at least they weren’t focusing on Martin.

“That was interesting,” said the first one.

“But we can do that to.”

“Jon.” Martin sounded genuinely scared, in a way Jon hadn’t heard from him in a while. Especially since his return to the Institute after Leitner’s murder, he’d never known Martin to be anything but calm and capable. Angry, sure, stressed on occasion, but scared? That was an emotion he’d almost forgotten Martin could feel. It was enough to make his resolve waver, anyway, but it firmed up instantly when he felt Martin start to step forward. “Leave them alone, I’m the one you want—”

Melanie’s arm shot out at the same time Jon’s did. He grabbed her hand tight to keep Martin from pushing through them—he’d go around them, maybe, but he wouldn’t push through them, he wouldn’t hurt them—and stood his ground as Breekon and Hope leered. It was his turn to be brave, if Martin was going to be afraid. He wasn’t very good at it, but he would have to try…

“Shit, I should have brought my gun,” Basira hissed from behind them.

Gerry rolled his shoulders back and took a deep breath, obviously preparing to do…something. Breekon or Hope noticed and scoffed at him. “You think that’s going to help?”

“Think you can kill us?”

“We’re like you.”

“We can’t die.”

“Not in a way that matters.”

“Wanna bet?” Daisy snarled. And it was an actual snarl, almost an animal one, and Jon shied away on instinct before remembering he was trying to be the brave one here. She moved to the front of them, hands clenched, crouched slightly, and shot a glance sideways at Jon, or possibly Martin. “Go.”

“They—” Martin started.

“Go,” Daisy repeated forcefully, not taking her eyes off Breekon and Hope this time. “Get them out of here.”

“Daisy,” Basira said, voice full of foreboding and almost pleading.

“GO!” That was almost a roar, and as she yelled it, Daisy sprang, straight for the nearest of the two, who dropped his end of the coffin as she leaped for him.

“Run!” Martin grabbed Jon’s arm and Melanie’s and practically threw them down the sidewalk, shoving them along in front of himself. “Go, go, go! Gerry, Basira, come on, move!”

Jon stumbled briefly, but recovered and pounded along after Melanie. Yells and snarls echoed from behind them, mingled with screams and the ever-growing sound of the sirens, and it began to rain harder. It was chaotic and terrifying, and adrenaline sang in his veins. Still, he managed to reach back and find Martin’s hand.

The last time he’d run from Breekon and Hope, they’d caught Martin because he wasn’t keeping hold of him. He could not let that happen again.

“Does anybody know where we’re going?” Basira shouted. She sounded angry. Jon had to admit he wasn’t surprised.

“This way! There’s a bridge!” Melanie turned up a street. Nothing in Jon said to do anything other than follow her.

Eventually it got too dark to see where they were going, and they were all audibly exhausted (Jon would have said visibly, but he could barely see his hand in front of his face, let alone anyone else’s) and soaked to the bone. Melanie found an abandoned shed and forced her way in; it wasn’t much, but it was at least dry, and they collapsed to the ground. Jon didn’t even really have time to consider whether it was a good idea or not before he fell into the sleep of total exhaustion.

He had no idea how much later it was that he woke, but there was a little more light—not much, but enough that he could make out shapes. He’d fallen asleep sitting up, his back against a wall; opposite him, Basira was also sleeping sitting up, in a corner as far from the door as possible, her arms folded over her chest and her legs splayed out. Melanie had tucked herself under what might have once been a tool bench and curled into a dense knot of humanity. Martin’s head rested on Jon’s lap, and while he lay still, his breathing light and easy, something about the tension of his face suggested his sleep was anything but restful.

A very, very faint click caught Jon’s attention. He turned his head slightly and saw, a few feet away, Gerry sitting on…something, he couldn’t quite make out what. His face was illuminated more than anything else in the room thanks to the lighter. A moment later, the flame vanished, leaving behind only the cherry red glow of a lit cigarette.

“Those things will kill you, you know,” he said, his voice a bit hoarse.

Gerry laughed quietly. “Go back to sleep, Jon.”

“What time is it?” Jon asked.

“Early. Or late, depending on how you look at it. Sun’s not up yet.” Gerry drew on his cigarette, then eyed Jon for a moment before tapping his front pocket. “Want one?”

Jon did. Badly. He was stressed and strained and the nicotine fix would undoubtedly help…but he hadn’t one since Leitner’s murder, and the memory of the story Melanie had told him, about Liliana Blackwood stubbing a cigarette out on her son’s chest, was a powerful deterrent. He looked down at Martin’s sleeping face. “Best not. I’ll just sit here and breathe the secondhand smoke.”

“Fair enough.” Gerry took another inhale and glanced down at Martin. “How is he?”

“Sleeping,” Jon said honestly. As carefully as he could, he brushed a few curls back from Martin’s forehead, then looked back up at Gerry. “You should try to sleep, too, you know. I-I assume you still need it.”

“More or less, but I won’t be sleeping until we’re back in London,” Gerry replied. “Can’t risk it out here.”

“What—what do you mean?”

Gerry was silent for a while. Finally, he said in a low voice, “I have…flashbacks. Don’t properly know how to explain them. But essentially, when I’m about to fall asleep…I get thrown back into moments in the past, like I’m reliving them as they happen. They suck. A lot. And I don’t want to fall into one out here in front of you lot, especially in front of Martin and Melanie, not when we’re all still raw from what happened today. Besides, someone has to stay awake in case…” He trailed off.

Jon’s stomach twisted unpleasantly, and he curled his arm around Martin’s head on instinct, as if he could somehow protect him from anything that came after him. He felt stupid almost the minute he did it, but he didn’t stop.

They sat quietly for a while, listening to the rain patter on the roof. That was good, Jon supposed, it would give them a bit of cover, and they’d be able to hear if the coffin came anywhere near them, a thought that made him shiver. That had been far too close…

“Was—has there been any sign of—of anyone…following us?” he asked.

Gerry sighed. “No, unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?” Jon repeated, a little louder than he meant to. Martin tensed and made a small noise in his sleep, and Jon instantly stroked his hair soothingly to get him to calm down. It seemed to work, anyway.

Once he was sure Martin was still asleep—he needed his rest—he looked up at Gerry again. Trying to keep his voice to a whisper, he asked, “Why unfortunately?”

“I was hoping Daisy would catch us up,” Gerry said. “Not that I like her all that much, but…you know, I’d feel better if we knew she won, at least.”

Jon bit his lip and glanced over at Basira briefly, who was still sleeping. Her face was hard to read at the best of times, and she had followed Daisy’s instructions and come with them, even if she’d sounded—understandably—angry about it. But still…he remembered the panic he’d felt before he’d reached back and found Martin’s hand. He wouldn’t have been able to stand knowing Martin was staying behind to fight off the Stranger.

“I don’t think they’ve got anything like that going on.” Gerry’s voice was soft and pensive. “Not like you two have, or like Tim and I have, or like whatever it is Sasha and Melanie are pretending they don’t have. I think she just resents us leaving Daisy behind, even though it was Daisy’s choice, because she’s convinced we were looking for an excuse to do it.”

Despite himself, Jon chuckled. “More of the Beholding in you than you thought, is there?”

“Do yourself a favor, Sims. Never play poker.” Gerry blew a smoke ring into the air over Jon’s head and smirked.

“At least not when I’m too tired to mask well, I suppose.” Jon watched the smoke ring dissolve into particles. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

Gerry shrugged. “Gertrude. It’s one of maybe half a dozen things she actually taught me. I’d offer to teach you, but, well, you know, you’re not smoking.”

Jon smiled ruefully. “Yes, well, I’ve made it five months and two ‘where’s Martin’s without one, so maybe it will actually stick this time.”

Gerry let out a bark of laughter, seemingly before he could stop himself. Melanie jerked upright, slammed into the underside of the bench with an echoing thud, and swore at the top of her lungs. Basira shot up into a half-crouch before she seemed to even be fully awake yet, her whole body tensed at the ready. Martin’s eyes snapped open, and Jon instinctively flinched back in surprise at the twin spotlights beaming up at him.

“Well, fuck, I guess we’re all awake now,” Gerry said with a heavy sigh.

Martin made a small noise in the back of his throat and closed his eyes again, scrunching his face up slightly in a way Jon was coming to recognize as him throttling back the Eye. He struggled to a sitting position, shook his head slightly, and opened them again. This time they were…well, at least not glowing. “Wh—Melanie, are you—”

“Fine. Hit my fucking head.” Melanie crawled out from under her makeshift shelter, scowling. “What time is it?”

“Three forty-seven,” Martin replied automatically, then winced and thumped his temple lightly with the heel of his hand. Under his breath, he muttered, “Fuck off.”

A year ago, even six months ago, that might have been funny, but after the last few weeks Jon wasn’t even tempted to laugh. Basira settled back into a sitting position, but she still looked tense. “Any sign of Daisy?”

“Neither hide nor hair,” Gerry replied with a shake of his head.

“She probably doesn’t know where to find us. With all this rain—and we didn’t exactly run in a straight line…” Basira patted down her pockets. “Anyone got a phone?”

“They’re all back at the inn,” Jon reminded her. He checked his pockets and winced. “Ah…along with my wallet, I think.”

“Mine, too. I didn’t want to risk dropping it in there and having the police pick it up after the explosion,” Melanie muttered.

Basira let out an exasperated sigh. “Then, obviously, we need to head back there—”

“Tried earlier,” Gerry interrupted. “The whole area’s still closed off. Police and fire both. From what little I overheard, they, well, found a lot of remains.”

Jon shuddered. “How many is a lot?”

“You don’t want to know,” Martin and Gerry said in unison.

Melanie looked back and forth between the two of them. “When you put it like that, I do, actually.”

“Melanie—” Martin began, his voice tight.

“How many of those waxwork things were people once? Did they just, what, cover the dead bodies in wax?”

The sudden burst of static was the only warning they got before Martin’s eyes glowed once more. “They weren’t dead. The Anglerfish never killed its victims, only lured them in, and the Stranger was never one to waste perfectly usable parts. It needed a ballet corps and a chorus, and why take two when you can use both parts, the skin to dance and the body to sing? But the Unknowing needed more than just bodies and skin—”

“M-Martin,” Jon interrupted, his voice shaking.

“—it needed fear, and after what happened in 1787 the Stranger knew it couldn’t risk spectators. One person filled three roles, then—the Movement, the Voice, and the Fear…”

“Martin,” Jon said, a little louder this time. Horrified fascination at what Martin was saying was beginning to give way to fear that he couldn’t seem to stop saying it.

Martin didn’t seem to hear him, just continued to stare into space, the static building as he continued. “They weren’t meant to die as part of the ritual, either. They would have lived to see the world remade in the Stranger’s image, and whatever was left beyond it, well, they’d have lived through that, too. And who knows what would have happened to them after, if death would have even been possible if—”

“Martin!” Desperate and lacking any better ideas, Jon slapped Martin across the face as hard as he could.

Martin gasped. The static died instantly, as did the glow in his eyes, and he blinked, obviously disorientated. He took a few deep, slow breaths and closed his eyes, lowering his head. “Um, sorry.”

“Jesus fuck.” Melanie sounded shocked. She didn’t even stand up all the way, just lunged across the shed and threw herself at Martin’s neck before Jon could even think about giving him a hug or an apology of his own. “No, don’t you fucking apologize. Don’t you dare. You tried to stop me and I didn’t listen and—that was my fault. I know better than to do that to you. I’m sorry.”

Hesitantly, genuinely not sure he was welcome to, Jon cupped the cheek he’d just slapped in his hand as gently as possible and rubbed his thumb across the spot, like he could erase what he’d done. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have—I-I just, I couldn’t think how else to stop you and—”

“It’s—” Martin sighed heavily and hugged Melanie with one arm, then reached out for Jon with the other; Jon went to him readily enough. He turned his head and kissed Jon’s palm before he could take it away. “I don’t think there was any way of keeping that from happening, honestly. The, the monologue, I mean. It was hard enough to keep from giving you an exact number when you asked, Jon—the second someone pressed, it was going to come out. And it’s not like you guys haven’t been startling me out of that sort of thing for almost a year now.”

“We have?” Jon said, surprised and not a little guilty.

“First thing Gerry did when I started going on about the Twisting Deceit was put his hand on the back of my neck because he knew the cold would shock me out of it,” Martin pointed out. “You pinched me to stop me Looking too hard in the tunnels that time we almost found Leitner. First time it’s been that…extreme, maybe, but I definitely wouldn’t have stopped before the Ceaseless Watcher was done if you hadn’t, and I’d probably have passed out again.”

Basira snorted and crossed her arms. “What, didn’t get any energy out of that?”

“What, exactly, about blowing up a building do you think the Ceaseless Watcher got any satisfaction out of? Let alone any part of it that has to do with what I generally feed off of?” Martin huffed at her. “There were no statements. No secrets being spilled. If I’d known at the time the waxworks were alive, sure, maybe I could have tried to extract a statement from them, but that would have taken time we didn’t have. I didn’t spend a lot of energy because Jon stopped me from Looking for evidence of the Web, but I didn’t get any either, and I didn’t think to record anything before we left. I’m more or less running on fumes right now.”

Jon hadn’t even thought of that, and he found himself leaning a little harder into Martin, as if he could somehow loan him strength by osmosis. “So…so, ah, wh-what do we do? Just…wait here until the coast is clear, head back to the bed and breakfast, get our things, and head back to London?”

Gerry leaned over and hesitantly ruffled Martin’s hair. “Might take a couple days.”

���What’s the alternative? Walk?” Basira sneered.

“Which would also take a couple of days.”

Martin sighed. “We probably should stick around, at least for a little while. If we just up and leave all our things in the B&B, it’s going to—Ger, did you talk to anyone while you were there?”

“No, but I will.” Gerry got to his feet. “Who feels up to pretending to come back from a night on the town with me?”

It surprised Jon a bit that Basira was up instantly. “I’ll go. Drag your drunken ass back if I have to.”

“Melanie? You coming with us or staying with them?” In response to Martin’s look, Gerry added, “Don’t even. You don’t need to be anywhere near there if those bastards are still lugging around that coffin, and I know Jon’s not leaving you alone.”

Melanie hesitated, then pulled away from Martin a bit. “Staying. Wait, here, trade shirts with me.”

“Why?”

“So you have a reason the rest of us aren’t coming back with you. You turn up acting drunk, it’ll be ‘where are the others, still causing trouble in a bar?’ But if you’re wearing a Ghost Hunt UK shirt, you can claim we’re trying to get the show going again, we’re staking out somewhere trying to film, and I sent you back for, I dunno, the spare camera battery or something. Bullshit them. You’re good at that.” Melanie stripped out of her shirt and threw it into Gerry’s lap.

“Good call,” Gerry admitted. He shrugged out of his leather coat, peeled out of his own shirt, and dropped it on Melanie before pulling on hers. It was a bit short on him, but it worked. “Right. We’ll be back. Hopefully with more information.”

“And Daisy,” Basira muttered. Gerry shrugged wordlessly, and they stepped out into the early morning drizzle.

Melanie struggled into Gerry’s shirt, grumbling under her breath the whole time about cigarette smoke and man sweat. After a moment, she stared—or rather glared—at the peeling, faded letters Jon couldn’t quite read in the dark, then got to her feet. “I’m going to pretend I’m going outside for a pseudo-shower and not to give you guys a chance to be all lovey-dovey,” she announced. “Back in ten minutes. Or so.”

“Melanie—” Jon began, a bit nervously, but she was already out the door before he could finish the words.

“She’ll be fine.” Martin sounded tired. “She’s probably just going to stand right outside the door, somewhere she’s sort of invisible but able to keep watch to make sure nothing gets at us.”

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Jon said, aware he was a bit of a hypocrite, since—up until fairly recently, anyway—he’d occasionally been known to do that himself, without meaning to.

“It’s not the Eye, Jon. I’ve known Melanie since we were seven, and more crucially I’ve known her since I was old enough to start holding hands with boys at school and call it dating. That’s what she usually does when she ‘steps out for air’ or ‘goes for some tea’ or whatever. This is just the first time it hasn’t been because she’s staying close enough that she can break down the door and beat whoever I’m with to death if I scream.”

Jon wanted to laugh, but he suspected Melanie would do exactly that. “Did she ever have to?”

“My self-esteem might be shit, but I can honestly say I’ve never dated someone who would actually hurt me.” Martin paused for a second, then added, “At least not more than once.”

“I am sorry.” Jon shifted so he could see Martin better and reached up to touch his cheek lightly again. It still felt slightly warm.

“No, no, that wasn’t—”

“No, I-I wasn’t…that wasn’t what I meant either. I just—since we’re alone, and there’s…” Jon leaned up and pressed a kiss to the spot. “It didn’t escape my notice that you didn’t actually accept my apology. Or Melanie’s. You only pointed out why we’d done it. A-and I don’t, I know I don’t deserve you to forgive me, but—”

“That’s not how forgiveness works,” Martin said gently. “It’s a gift to be given, not a prize to be earned. Also, accepting an apology and forgiving someone are two entirely separate things.” He leaned over and kissed Jon’s nose. “I do accept your apology. There’s nothing to forgive, but if you want forgiveness, it’s yours. I guess I just thought the one who needed forgiveness in that situation was me. I…I know I scared you.”

“More that you didn’t seem to remember I was there than what you were actually saying.” Jon considered for a moment. “I mean, that was…bad. Very bad. But the worst part of it—to me, anyway—was that it seemed like you were…gone somewhere, someplace I couldn’t reach you. It—it scared me. Like I was losing you while you were right there in front of me.”

Martin pulled Jon into his lap and hugged him tightly. Jon hugged him fiercely back, burying his face in Martin’s shoulder. He would not cry. Not now. Not until…

“I wish I could promise you won’t,” Martin whispered, and suddenly not crying got a lot harder. “All I can promise is that I will never be angry at you for pulling me back. Whatever it takes.”

“I’ll, I’ll try not to hit you again,” Jon managed. Martin gave a small, slightly wet chuckle. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

They held each other for a while, until Jon felt the tears fade back, until they both felt a bit calmer, at which point Melanie came back in slightly soggy but overall seeming fine. She settled down on top of the bench this time. “Sun’s rising, sort of. Going to be a grey and gloomy sort of day.”

“Better to hide in, I suppose,” Martin said. “Any sign of the others?”

“Not yet, but we ran for a bit, and if they’re walking it’s going to take a while.” Melanie huffed. “Hope they bring food. I’m starving.”

It took significantly longer for Gerry and Basira to return than Jon would have thought, even so. Long enough for him to get twitchy. Martin and Melanie tried to distract him at first by teaching him shanties that hadn’t also been Mechanisms songs, and then by telling him some of the more lighthearted stories from their childhood. It actually did help, a bit, but any good feeling Jon had built up burnt away when Gerry and Basira did finally returned, grim-faced and carrying nothing but a couple of bags from what looked like a convenience store.

“Couldn’t get in?” Melanie asked.

Gerry sighed and sat down next to her. The bench creaked alarmingly, and he immediately got up again, but he did set the bags down on it. “They’re still clearing things up. Everybody in a three-block radius has been evacuated. Apparently they’re not sure the building is stable, and they’re worried about secondary explosions.”

“That’s the story, anyway,” Basira added. She leaned against the wall, arms crossed once more. “Probably just trying to avoid more Section Thirty-One forms.”

Melanie’s sigh was exasperated, but Martin’s was bone-deep weary. It was Martin who asked, “So, are we walking, then?”

“Let’s—let’s wait,” Jon said. “It can’t be that much longer…” He hesitated. “Can it?”

“Cops said they’d probably be done by tonight. One of them was a Ghost Hunt UK fan and seemed kind of surprised to hear you were trying to revive it, Neens, but at least it made him less suspicious, so thanks for that,” Gerry added. Melanie grunted. “Jon’s right. Let’s wait it out a bit longer. If they still haven’t cleared us to go back and get our things tonight, well, Officer Nevins was kind enough to get me my wallet, at least, so I can probably get us all tickets back to London. On the other hand, replacing all your identifying documents is the most annoying bureaucratic bullshit in the world, so if we can spare you lot that, we will.”

“Thanks,” Melanie said dryly. She poked the nearest bag. “What’s in this?”

“Well, I thought you might want something to eat other than rotting wood and loam.”

“Cool. What about for the rest of you?”

It started raining harder about midday, so none of them were terribly keen to go out. Instead, they kept telling stories, moving into the more serious ones. Jon was curious about some of the more dangerous events Martin and Melanie had referenced, but he knew better than to ask about them now. He did ask about the burning of A Guest for Mister Spider, though, and Martin was happy to tell him exactly what they’d done to it.

Jon had to confess he was relieved.

The rain petered out late in the evening, and Gerry rousted everyone for the two-hour walk—more trudge, and it took closer to three at that rate—to the Hive. Thankfully, the police presence had died down to a minimum and tightened more around the actual building that had burnt, the fire apparently now safely contained, and they were able to get into their rooms. Jon somehow wasn’t surprised when Martin collapsed instantly, or when he slept for pretty much the entire next day.

He wasn’t surprised, but he was concerned.

“We’ve got to get him back to the Institute,” he told Gerry, trying to keep the panic out of his voice, and Gerry simply nodded and headed to the nearest station to buy their tickets. Obviously driving one of the Breekon and Hope vans back would be out of the question, even if Daisy wasn’t the ones with the keys. Hope though they might, she never yet had turned up.

They checked out early the next morning and began the long journey back to London. Jon noticed that the closer they got, the more energized Martin got, although that could have also been the tea or decent food on the train. He seemed almost like his old self when they finally got on the Tube towards the Institute. Gerry came with them. Nobody questioned it. It was as if they’d all decided that, at this point, secrecy over Gerry’s existence was pointless. Either Elias knew he was back—likely, if he’d been watching the Unknowing—or he didn’t, but either way, he was probably anxious to see Tim.

There was a police car parked outside the Institute, right on the curb. As they started towards the side door to the Archives, the main door to the Institute opened, and Jon stopped in astonishment—and, honestly, delight. Two police officers, heads held high and malicious smirks on their faces, were marching out of the Institute.

In between them, hands cuffed together in front of him and suit jacket thrown over his shoulders but otherwise looking like this was a normal business meeting, was Elias Bouchard.

Several faces appeared around the still-open door, and even from where he stood, Jon could hear the shocked murmurs of his colleagues. One of the cops caught Basira’s eye, and his smirk broadened; she didn’t react. Melanie’s hands curled into fists, but otherwise her expression never changed.

Elias turned his head briefly and made eye contact with Martin, his face placid and unbothered. Then the officer shoved his head down roughly to get him into the backseat, although it was probably unnecessary force; he didn’t seem to be resisting too hard. The slam of the door echoed off the buildings, and the officers peeled away with a thoroughly unnecessary squeal of the tires. For several long moments, they stood in the same stunned silence as the crowd in the doorway.

Finally, Jon broke it, pressing back into Martin but still staring at the spot where Elias had last been a free man. “Did we win?”

[heartthrobin]

making merry, oh my little fairy (2)

sam winchester x fairy!reader

wc: 5.3k

warnings: soulmate!au (partners share scars), fem!reader, implied age gap (reader is early 20's), hella pining, tooth-rotting fluff, destiel is canon, town being mean to reader, some shaky police jargon, references to thick reader (everyone cheered) but can be ignored, dean being dean, canon-typical warnings (child kidnapping, violence ect.)

an: part 2 of my little fairy series! it's been sitting in my drafts for weeks and part 1 was pretty unpopular so i've been hesitant to post it but then i realized i write for myself and not for recognition! so enjoyyyyy. remember to comment and repost to support your favourite writers :)

summary: you flew around Sam's mind with your pretty little wings all night and all day, it doesn't help that you're popping up around every corner of this case. he's trying not to think about it.

part one part three part four

They'd sat in the car parked out front maybe longer than they should have. Sam noticed you peak through the curtain at the twenty minute mark, he only noticed because he could feel your curious gaze.

It disturbed him enough to allow Dean to fly down the neighbourhood road noisily at too many miles an hour.

Naturally, sleep became a stranger.

Dean was long passed out on the questionably lumpy motel bed and Sam was still at the desk. The white light off his laptop made his eyes itch.

A dryad is a tree nymph, commonly inhabiting oak trees, and generally born into the form of beautiful women. Many dryads were considered to be originally human or children of the nature Gods and it is widely believed that they take on the physical characteristics of the trees they protect.

Your eyes returned to him again, if not for the hundredth time that day. The way the greenery reflected off of them at him. The strength of your legs, how they were wide and grounding like the tree that engulfed your house. Your movements, your walk, how you floated like how the leaves shivered in the forest beyond your garden walls.

Sam had given considerable thought to his soulmate, as most people did.

He was turning thirty-one in a few months time and it had occurred to him that maybe you were on the other side of the world. Maybe you were dead. But people had warned him that he'd know if that were true. He'd feel it, like a gaping wound in his soul.

Castiel had appeared to Dean in a flash of light. In a heroic swoop of love, and Sam thought maybe that could happen to him too.

His thumb was warm where it ran over the scar down his arm.

He wondered if you thought the same.

If you dreamed of his arrival the way he'd dreamed of yours.

It was a silly thing, to dream of meeting your true love. Far too trivial in the life of someone like Sam Winchester when the fate of the world, of good versus evil and heaven versus hell was always in the palm of his hand.

But your figure was burned into his corneas like a blinding torch.

It scared him. Not an easy feat for the man who'd seen it all.

Sam had asked Dean a few years back.

Can someone live without their soulmate?

Dean had shrugged. "Sure, plenty of people do."

Sam had sunk back another sip of his beer at the time, they were somewhere in Florida.

"What if they'd already met them? Can they decide that they don't want to be with them?"

Dean chuckled at that. "I doubt that works out very often."

It was already long after Dean had met Castiel. Long after he'd survived his "my soulmate is an angel and a man what the fuck--" stage.

"What makes you say that? I'm sure some people have a strong enough willpower."

Dean had answered him by referencing some movie, one that Sam knew he loved and it took a bit of pestering for Dean to admit he knew the quote by heart.

He'd blushed nearly red and shrugged, accompanying it by another long slug of his beer.

"It's like at the end of the movie--" When Harry Met Sally, specifically, "When they're at that New Years party and Billy Crystal goes up to Meg Ryan and gives that whole speech, and he says that line."

Sam was grinning by then. "What line?"

Like he hadn't seen the movie enough times to know.

"You know, he when says ... when you realise you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."

Sam had long made peace with the fact that even if you did ever come around, that it would be better to leave you be. To leave you in the safety of a life different to his own.

At least he had.

In the slim hours since leaving your doorstep he'd found himself choking over the thought of never seeing you again. Of his eyes never laying again on your face that gazed so happily up into his own, like you felt his warmth in a cold winter.

He was plagued, possessed, by the thought of never knowing more.

Never knowing the way you liked your tea, how you looked first thing in the morning, or worse, how your lips would feel slow and warm against his own.

He wanted to know your favourite song, and your worst fear. He wanted to know where you came from, how you found Fernglade, Washington. What's your favourite book, do you like to read? Would you like it if he read to you instead? Maybe you would, you'd be tucked against his side in bed and he'd tell you about his favourites. His favourite movies and the way he drinks his coffee and the shampoo he used. Maybe you'd play with his hair, braiding little flowers into the ends--

Sam groaned. His face fell into his hands.

This wasn't supposed to be happening. Not now.

But he supposed there would never be an adequate time for your arrival.

And god, you weren't even human.

Cross species soulmates weren't impossible - improbable, sure (about as much as being hit by lightening) - but not impossible.

It was only Sam's luck, the Winchester's luck, that they'd both been struck.

Castiel was an angel, but the concept seemed to fade off Dean quickly at the time.

Dean himself had been little help on the matter during the blurry drive back to the motel. "Hey. I mean, all things considered, fairy sex must be crazy."

Sam closed the tab on Dryads: A Modern Day Delve into Greek Mythology. Another page blinked up at him.

When the sun was still setting and Dean was still seated across from him, he had managed to do some work.

It distracted him, barely, but he managed to somewhat narrow the list of potential suspects.

The filters helped. Creatures that steal children. Creatures that live in the woods.

In all the webpages and in some text from John's journal he'd found a common thread. A thinly veiled one, but a lead regardless.

Goblins are generally found living in communities in burrows of forests across Western America. They are known to be mischievous and malignant spirits which often feed on small animals or easy prey and hunt during the warmer months before hibernating in Winter.

Children are easy prey, Sam thought.

Some subspecies were believed to be able to shift into the form of naughty children and sneak into nearby villages to prey on young humans.

It was the last thing his eyes ran over before he slipped the laptop shut. He crawled to the bed, wishing more than anything that his mind would cut him a break, before sliding under the sheets: seeking respite from the crisp autumn Washington

-

"Rise and shine, Sammy."

The hangers reeled noisily against the rod where Dean had ripped open the curtains and the stark light brought Sam to gasping consciousness.

Sam pulled the pillow up over his face, grumbling into it.

He made out the sound of Dean setting a coffee mug on the side table.

"What time did you get to sleep?"

Answered by another indiscernible whine, Dean sunk into the chair at the tiny table in the room. "Fine, fine ... but did you find anything helpful? Besides fairy porn probably."

It earned him a well-aimed smack in the face with a pillow.

Dean laughed jovially, "Okay, okay."

Sam rose up into a sitting position with a moan. He ran a hand over his face, the other grappling for the already cooling coffee mug on the table.

"Goblins." He muttered around the rim.

Dean paused his own sip, face falling into incredulity.

"Did you just say "goblins"?"

Sam nodded. He didn't elaborate.

"Listen, I know it's a conversation you probably don't wanna have ... but are you sure we're ruling out your little garden fairy from this equation? I mean, it really doesn't look good for her--"

"You're right. I don't want to have this conversation."

Dean shrugged. He fiddled with the coffee mug against his hand.

"It's not her." Sam added quietly.

Nodding slowly, Dean watched his brother with tentative eyes. "Have you thought about that? What you're gonna do?"

Sam rose from the bed, stripping off his shirt. "I don't know man. I don't even think she knows."

It had been a thought that occurred to him at some point in the previous night, that you didn't know. That it was probably selfish to keep it to himself.

"Right, well anyway," Dean reached into the tupperware you'd gifted them the previous afternoon. He'd already cleared out his own and was starting on a pastry from Sam's box. "I was thinking we should go speak to the third vic's mom. Kelly Williams. We haven't spoken to them yet and maybe they can tell us more."

Sam nodded. "Sure. You got an address?"

"No, but she's working a stall at..." Dean picked up a leaflet from the table that Sam assumed he'd found on his coffee run before he was up, "The Fernglade Sunday Market. We can find her there."

"Fine."

He disappeared into the bathroom, Dean heard the shower turn on.

"And you can tell me about this goblins story on the way there!" He called after him.

The door slammed shut.

-

"So you think goblins are coming into town and stealing kids out their back yards?"

The morning was warm and the market made it more so. It was out on a farm a couple roads down from the boys' motel.

There were little set-up stalls as far as he could see over lush green grass, selling cakes and jewellery and home-made soaps. Couples strolled hand-in-hand and children chased their parent's ankles.

Sam shrugged. "I mean yeah, it makes sense. Dad mentioned about the trees, Y/n mentioned about the forest too."

Dean nodded, his eyes rolling over the scenery. "Sure, but goblins? I've never heard of that anywhere, I mean, how do you even kill it?"

"Them." Sam corrected. "They live in groups."

Dean sighed. "Well that's gonna be fun."

Somewhere down the row, a man was singing behind a set up microphone with a guitar in his lap. A small crowd had formed to watch him.

Sam's stomach had begun churning with that feeling that made his organs feel like jelly again. He shrugged against the collar of his shirt.

"Right, well, there's Kelly Williams' stall." Dean glanced again down at the pamphlet, "Rings and Things ... how creative--"

But Sam's eyes had found on another stall. One further down from Kelly Williams', a little set-up of vases and stain glass sculptures. Rather ... they found the woman standing in front of it.

Of course it was you.

Standing against the breeze in another, unsurprisingly, light green dress. It was ruffled and shimmering and glittery and short. It made Sam's airways tighten to a shut.

You seemed intent on avoiding wearing anything that draped any further than just over the curve of your ass, and Sam prayed to anyone listening that it would stay that way.

"Sammy?"

Dean's face shrunk in confusion, he followed his brother's line of sight. He began to laugh, clearly finding you, and jostled Sam with a hand on his shoulder. "Well, isn't this just your luck."

Sam was sucking in deep breaths again. Dean shoved him in the side.

"Go talk to her, I'll speak to Mrs Williams."

Jumping back into semi-consciousness, Sam shook his head, "No, no, it's fine. We'll go--"

"Stop being a baby, Sam." Dean shrugged him off. "You're gonna have to talk to her eventually. And I hope you do a better job than you did yesterday, because that was a train-wreck."

"Thanks."

But Dean's figure was already retreating.

"Asshole." Sam muttered under his breath.

Eyes found you again, they strained against the sunlight. He could make out your face from where he stood: it was twisting, falling into a creased brow that Sam didn't like the look of.

His legs began moving before he had chance to instruct them and it only took a couple paces of his long structure to find your side, heart thumping violently in his ears.

Your eyes lifted from the table, there was an elderly lady sitting in the shade of the cover and looking unimpressed.

"Sam." You smiled up at him and he swore in that second he could listen to you saying his name forever on repeat and never grow bored. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Hey." He sighed, it was louder than he anticipated and he could feel his cheeks growing warmer. "W-What are you doing here?"

You stuttered, "Well, I was just looking at this cute little crocodile--"

His eyes found where your hand was motioning over the woman's table. He was unsurprised to find it littered with stained-glass sculptures of animals. Lions and fish and elephants among others.

But the woman interrupted before you could find the end of your sentence.

"I don't sell to kidnappers."

Her elderly face was curled up in disgust. Sam was taken aback by her directness.

He was more taken aback by your polite smile at her.

"That's fine. I'll be on my way." You nodded kindly, looking back up to Sam. "Wanna take a walk?"

Sam's bones had begun aching with fury in the small seconds since he'd arrived. His brow-bone was heavy set against his eyes.

He glanced over at the crocodile you'd referenced. It was about the size of a shoebox, glassy in bottle green tones and grinning a mouthful of sharp teeth up at him. He could already see it sitting happily on a spot between your books and photo frames, maybe up on the mantle above your fireplace.

Brushing softly against your elbow with his hand, a movement that sent a stone cold shiver up his whole body, he shook his head. "Just one sec--"

He turned to the woman, sticking his finger in the direction of the lifeless creature.

"I'd like to buy that crocodile please."

"Oh, Sam, you don't have to--"

But the woman was unmoved, "No. I'm not selling anything to anyone associated with her."

She stuck a shaking finger in your direction and Sam suddenly wanted to rip the stall to pieces.

"We should just go..." Your voice was small and he fought hard against pulling your frame into his side.

Instead, he reached into his jacket pocket for his FBI identification: flipping it out into the daylight for the woman to see. Her eyes widened behind thinly framed spectacles.

"I said I'd like to buy that crocodile." His voice was stern, heavy laden with his trembling aggravation. "How much is it?"

The woman's face flickered between emotions, before settling on vexation. "Forty dollars." She mumbled.

"I'm sorry?"

"Forty dollars." She replied more clearly, face turning red in embarrassment.

Sam slipped away his badge and dug for his wallet in his pocket, he flipped between the notes and handed her two twenty dollar bills. The woman was quiet while she wrapped the creature, avoiding your and Sam's eyes in the process.

She handed it over with a scathing, "Get away from my stall."

"With pleasure." He turned to you, your face was a cherry red shade. "I'll take you up on that walk."

You stepped away, offering a small sheepish "thanks" to the woman scowling at your and Sam's retreating figures.

"Here." He handed you the crocodile gently, and you took it with tentative hands. "Get a lot of that?"

But you shrugged off his question, grabbing for your purse. "You really didn't need to do this, Sam. Let me just pay you--"

Sam stopped, taking your forearm into his hand - the tingle it sent up his body again didn't go amiss - and he huffed. "Please, please. Don't. It's a gift."

The sun was shining off your dress and it made your face seem lighter. "Sam, really, I can't ask you to--"

"Please?"

You paused, lashes blinking carefully up at him and god he could really kiss you right there--

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

Smiling again, easing the tightness in Sam's chest, you nodded. "Fine."

You held the crocodile up to your face, "What are we gonna name him?"

"We?" Sam laughed and you laughed back at him.

"Sure, he's ours now." You tucked it under your arm again.

Ours. He was fragmentally taken away with the thought of something belonging to them, to us. A house, a couch, a dog (or a fox if that's what you wanted)--

"Anyways, where's the other one?"

Sam was brought back to the conversation.

"Oh, uh, Dean?" his eyes grazed over the stalls, pointing over to where Dean was talking with the tall Kelly Williams behind a tray of seashell necklaces. "Talking to one of the victims."

"Right, I almost forgot." You fiddled with your bag over your shoulder. "He decided whether he's killing me yet?"

His mouth tilted teasingly. "What makes you think that I've decided I'm not here to kill you?"

You shrugged, teeth flashing in a gut-wrenchingly beautiful smile. "Well, you bought me this, and ... you don't seem the type."

"The type?"

"Nah, you're too sweet on me already."

Sam's stomach did a somersault in his chest. "I--"

"Besides, you couldn't do it here. Too much blood, too many witnesses ..."

Sam's hair flicked over his shoulder where he tossed his head back to laugh. "Right. You've thought about the logistics already."

"Sure have." You nodded. "Any headway on the kids?"

"Some." He shrugged. "There's this fairy--"

"Dryad."

"--living in this petting zoo in this cottage on the outskirts of town..."

"Fine." You conceded. "I won't ask."

"No, but we have--"

"Ah, look at you two. Getting along like a house on fire."

Sam hadn't noticed his brother's approaching footsteps. Dean clapped a jolly hand over his brother's arm.

You smiled in greeting. "Good morning Dean."

He nodded. "'Morning Tinkerbell."

"Dean."

Chuckling you nodded. "Good one. Haven't heard that before."

The sun was hot on Sam's shoulders, Dean was making it hotter with his conspicuous side eye.

"What's that you got there?" He motioned over the figure under your arm.

You lifted it up proudly, "It's my crocodile. Sam got it for me. The lady wouldn't sell it to me."

"Oh, Sam got it for you, huh?" Dean smirked, relishing in the admission.

"Yep."

The glitter in your eye was making Sam's knees buckle.

"W-We should get going ..." He shifted from his one leg to the other. "Work to do ... and stuff."

"Right," you agreed, fixing the strap over your shoulder again. "I should also head home, not very welcome 'round here anyways."

Confusion glazed briefly over Dean's face but he said nothing on it.

"Yeah, stuff to do." He nodded.

You began your walk past them, finding Sam's gaze. "Thanks again, Sam. I'll see you boys around."

His eyes followed you where your crystals were clinking around your neck. "Yeah. No problem."

Barely out of your earshot, Dean turned to Sam. "A crocodile, huh?"

"Shut up."

-

It wasn't another two days before Sam saw you again.

The boys dove head first back into research, Mrs Kelly Washington hadn't much more to add beyond the fact that she heard another child's voice in the moments before her daughter's disappearance.

"I mean, there was some mention in the lore about goblins being able to turn into kids. Naughty ones at that."

Dean sighed over his bar-top lunch. He took another swig of beer.

"Okay, so what, these ... goblins are coming into town as children and grabbing the kids from their yards? Maybe they'd met somewhere before then, at school or the park?"

Sam shifted the salad around his plate, bored. "Yeah, maybe."

There was a depressingly thin amount of information in John's journal on goblins and the website lore was too broad to even begin sifting through it before another child was taken.

"Well we know that eight kids are taken each time, right?"

Nodding, Sam took an unenthusiastic bite of tomato.

"That means there's still two kids to be taken. I mean, there's only been six victims and autumn is two weeks away from ending, if the story is true that they hunt before winter."

The boy's didn't have to wait long. They were less than an hour clear of the dilapidated bar they'd stopped in for lunch when the call came over the police monitor in the car.

"Units, this is dispatch. We have a suspected 134 at 98 Calvary, requesting assistance."

Code 134. Kidnapping.

Dean found Sam's eye across the front seat before taking a screeching turn into the next street.

Cavalry road was just a few streets down and the scene was as they'd expected. Burning red and blue cop cars littered the street and Dean pulled the Impala into a space between them.

There was a scuffle of officers, in the corner of the driveway a man holding a sobbing woman to his chest. The parents.

Dean and Sam flashed their badges at the nearest deputy.

"What's the situation?"

The officer huffed, tightening his grip on either side of his belt. "We think the kid was taken, Frankie Moore. Disappeared about two hours ago, the parents only called in the last twenty minutes. They thought he'd just run off."

Dean nodded and Sam watched over the scene around him.

"Any witnesses?"

The cop shook his head, Taylor, his badge read. "None. Right out the backyard, just like the others."

"Did the parents see anything, hear anything?" Sam pressed.

"Not from what we can gather from them right now, they're pretty out of shape." Taylor motioned back to where the Mrs Moore was desperately pushing out sentencing between racking sobs. "But we've got a suspect, they're out fetching them right now."

Dean glanced over the officer, "A suspect?"

Sam's hands were starting to itch. He twisted them against his the cuffs of his sleeve.

"Yeah, neighbour saw them out in the forest about an hour ago. Called it into dispatch. They never took it seriously until this call came in."

Somewhere behind them a short siren yelped from one of the cars.

"Did they have the kid or what?" Dean's face was laden with confusion, the story twisting around his brain.

"No, but they've been taken in on suspicion. Talk of the town and such." Taylor responded and Sam's heart sunk to his knees.

There was a click over the officer's radio. "Suspect is in custody."

He pulled it closer to his mouth, "Copy that."

Sam tugged up on the end of his sleeve, revealing his wrists in the afternoon light. They were turning a pinkish red. Handcuffs.

"Dean."

Dean's back stiffened at his brother's tone, eyes finding his wrists. He sighed. "You've got to be kidding me."

Sam's brain was turning muddy. "The suspect, is she a woman?"

Taylor nodded. "As far as I know, yes."

-

There was nothing else said.

Sam fled the scene as if the perpetrator himself. He flew into the passenger's seat with the force of an attacking bear.

Dean chased after him, slotting the key into the ignition: setting the car alight.

"Sam, I know what you're thinking--"

Houses flew past the car, streets and pedestrians, but Sam had no space to consider them.

"You don't know what I'm thinking."

But Dean was persistent, knuckles white around the wheel. "She's your ... your soulmate, I get that, but our leads are thin. Have you considered that she could really be doing this?"

The station came into view at the end of the road. Lights from the cars were flashing in Sam's eyes. His head spun.

"She's not a monster, Dean."

"But she is, Sam! She is! She's not a human."

Dean pushed down on the brake in front of the sheriff's station and Sam was out the car before it had fully pulled to a stop.

He threw the doors open. Officers were flocking around like seagulls over an abandoned hot dog.

Sam grabbed the arm of the nearest one, firm in his grip.

"The suspect, where is she?"

"Uh, they've just moved her to--"

The doors swung open again behind him and the rumbling of the station was overpowered by a loud low whine. It was followed by an equally distressed yelp.

Sam turned to find a row of officers, leading one after the other like ducks, each with a rattling metal cage of a different animal. Your animals.

Goose was yipping wildly in the confines of the box. A woman holding Lydia followed him. They come in procession: the rabbits, the ferrets, the ducks, the budgies.

"What the fuck!" An officer close to the door jumped out the way where Lydia hissed angrily at him from between the bars.

"No, please!"

Sam spun on his heel. His hands felt heavy with helplessness. It was your voice, echoing across the station and reverberating in his brain.

"Please, just leave them! They're not gonna hurt anyone. I haven't done anything--"

His feet chased after the sound. Sam found a long corridor near the back of the room, there were two officers tugging on either of your arms. Your eyes were bouncing wildly between each of the officers where they disappeared into the evidence room with your pets.

Your gaze found his own. "Sam!"

"Y/n." He was bounding down the corridor, long stretches of leg, but the officers were adamant in their grip.

"Sam, I promise I didn't-- it wasn't me. I swear--"

There was a loud huff and a heave and you stumbled backwards into a closed holding cell. Your hands wrapped between the bars.

"I know," Sam was breathless. "I know you didn't--"

Suddenly there was hands on his chest. "Sir, you need to get out of here."

"I need to speak with her--"

"Sir you can't do that. You need to speak to the sheriff."

Sam's chest was rumbling with a frenzied desperation. He couldn't pull his eyes off the fragments of your figure behind the bars.

The officers shoved him again. "Sir--"

He ripped himself off their grip, hair flushed back against his reddening face and he turned back down the corridor.

Dean was already at the sheriff's desk.

"--suspicious behaviour--"

"What the hell is going on?" Sam's voice rumbled across the room. "On what basis are you holding her?"

The sheriff was a small man and he looked smaller under Sam's furious stature.

"It's like I was telling your partner here, agent," He was patting a handkerchief over his balding head. "Y/n Y/l/n is being held on the basis of suspicious activity."

"What exactly is your definition of suspicious activity?"

The sheriff shrugged, "Well we got a call in of her roaming around the forest--"

Sam could feel his fists tightening at his sides, "What are people not allowed to go into the forest in this town or does that make them all kidnappers? You have no evidence--"

"Sammy, calm down." Dean's hand found Sam's chest but he shrugged him off.

"Release her. Right now."

But the sheriff shook his head. "Unfortunately, not even FBI have the power to do that. State's laws say she can be detained for 12 hours pending investigative procedures."

"Investigative procedures--?"

By then, Dean had him by the arm. "Okay, okay. Let's go cool off--"

He tugged Sam towards the door, surprising both himself and Dean by allowing him to do so successfully.

The cool dusk air rushed over his face. Sam took a deep breath.

"They have no evidence, Dean--"

"I get that, but you need to calm down. You're not helping the situation by threatening the sheriff."

An officer passed them with another cage. Three hedgehogs.

Sam ran a hand over his face. He took a deep breath.

"You don't even believe she's innocent, Dean."

There was quiet for a long moment.

Sam fell into a bench bolted against the side of the building. His hands found his face again. After a moment, Dean crouched into the spot beside him.

"Look." He sighed. "If you believe her, I believe you. Alright?"

Sam's eyes were watching his shoes. He nodded, only half believing his brother's claim.

They sat like that for nearly an hour with evening settling over Fernglade around them and the autumn crisp seeping into their suits.

After a long resounding silence, one that had stretched on past Dean's wide yawn, Dean rose to his feet.

"Sammy, we should go home. Get some headway on this goblins angle."

At that, Sam shook his head. "I'm gonna stay."

"What, until she's out?"

"Yeah."

Dean's eyes were dripping in pity and it made Sam's blood boil.

"That's--" he raised his watch into his eyeline, "She's still got another ten hours. It's only six o' clock now."

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"Sam--"

"Dean."

Another cold silence.

Sam pressed his hair back with a wide hand, conceding. "Look, I'm sorry. But I'm gonna stay. You head back to the motel, do some work and get some sleep. I'll be fine."

Dean considered him, but he made no further argument and Sam thought momentarily it was maybe because he knew he couldn't budge him in the same argument with Cas.

"Alright. Fine." Dean nodded, tugging his jacket closer against the cold. "I'll see you in the morning."

Sam watched his brother's retreating figure all the way until the Impala had disappeared down the next street before going to stand.

The doors swung open with a whine, the station had cooled to a quieter buzz than when he'd first burst in. The sheriff had disappeared into an office off in the corner of the room.

Finding the nearest officer, Johnson, behind a short wooden desk, Sam approached him.

Officer Johnson glanced warily up at him from the papers he'd been filling out. He'd probably been witness to his first outburst.

"Uhm," Sam cooled his voice to a deferential timber. "The animals at the back, what's gonna happen to them?"

The officer set his pen down, "Well I'm doing the paperwork on them now. They'll be released if and when she does."

"If?"

He shrugged, "Yeah, if they don't find anything they'll let her go. Only got twelve hours."

Sam shifted his weight, running his eyes over the station. Somehow it was colder inside than the bench he'd just abandoned.

"Right."

The image returned to him again of your tiny green dress, the satin sleeves that reached down over your arms - he wondered for a moment if you wore them to cover all his scars - and the shiny ends that left your legs a prize for the bite of the freezing air that nipped at him even through all his layers.

He dug his hands into his coat pocket, pulling out his badge and his wallet and his phone to slip them into his pant pockets. Then he shrugged out the jacket.

Sam held it out to the officer. "Would you mind giving this to her?"

The officer took it with tentative hands, he gave it a glance over but made no move to stand.

"There's nothing in it." Sam huffed. "It's freezing in here, and unless you want her to die of hypothermia before morning, I suggest you do what I've asked."

He was considering it, Sam could tell by how his eyes flickered over the office door behind which the sheriff was hiding, but eventually elected to stand.

"Fine."

-

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[aftgficrec]

I was searching for a fix where neil is at a small town maybe placed there by the police, Andrew ran a bookshop. Kevin inherited some sort of magic monster that the moriyamas wanted him to sign away. It's kevandreil

I’m about 99% certain this is the fic you’re looking for, anon. - S

The Town and the Trees by letsjustayhere [Rated T, 37548 Words, Complete, 2021]

Kevin didn’t look up when Neil neared, simply said: “I can’t answer your questions, Neil.” “What,” Neil said, a bit breathlessly and endlessly curious, “are you so afraid of?” And something about Kevin - flickered. Something in his shoulders and in his head as it hung, just for a moment, in defeat. He looked impossibly tired, exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with sleep and everything to do with the burdens they both ignored were there. “Monsters are real, Neil.”  “I know.”

tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: alcohol, tw: implied/referenced alcoholism, tw: panic attacks, tw: violence, tw: blood, tw: implied/referenced murder

[mania-sama]

gojo satoru's guide to being a good father: cheating is only tolerable if it happens in monopoly

Before He Cheats - Carrie Underwood

➼ information ❧ Jujutsu Kaisen ❧ Pairing: Fushiguro Megumi & Fushiguro Tsumiki & Gojo Satoru, Fushiguro Megumi & Gojo Satoru ❧ Additional Characters: Itadori Yuuji, Kugisaki Nobara ❧ Tags: implied/referenced cheating, no curses au, guardian-ward relationships, gojo satoru adopted the fushiguros, parental! gojo, protective! gojo, vandalism, threats of violence, father-son bonding via car vandalism: the fic ❧ Summary: In which Tsumiki gets cheated on and, really, Gojo has been waiting to destroy a bitch's Maserati. ❧ Word Count: 4,054 ❧ Cross-posted from Archive of Our Own ❧ Original post date: 1 January 2024 ❧ Now available as a podfic!

Gojo receives a text from Tsumiki saying that she’s coming home to visit for a couple of days, and two seconds later the front door slams open. A loud bang echoes in the house when it hits the wall. Oh, good. Megumi’s home.

“I’m going to kill that bastard,” he hears the boy fume, forcing the door shut with even more vigor. That poor abused door. Maybe Gojo should consider a therapist for it. “I’m going to chop his dick off and feed it to him.”

“Good afternoon to you, too,” Gojo greets cheerfully. Looking up from the living room couch, he sees his irate ward stalk to the kitchen and pilfer through the various sharp knives in the steel-colored knife block. Not good. He’s already picking out his murder weapon before taking off his backpack. “What’s going on?”

Megumi spares a side-eye so full of anger that Gojo doesn’t even have it in him to feel disrespected. “He cheated,” he says simply while drawing out the chef knife from the block. The noise it makes is a sharp shing, a telltale sign of crimes yet to come.

“Who cheat— oh.” That would explain the short, out-of-the-blue text message from Tsumiki. Suddenly Megumi’s fury seems a lot less irrational. Gojo has a short, beautiful vision of beating Tsumiki’s boyfriend to the point where even his mother wouldn’t recognize his face.

“Yeah.” Megumi holds the large blade out for a second, giving it a long, examining look. Apparently, it satisfies his criteria because he drops his arm by his side and starts heading for the door. Oh shit. He’s actually going to go chop his dick off.

Not that Gojo doesn’t want to either, it’s just that, well, he’s not supposed to indulge in body mutilation. Besides, if Megumi gets caught with that knife in his hand, he’ll get arrested, and Gojo really doesn’t want that to go on the boy’s permanent record. Satoru, unfortunately, cannot woo police officers out of prison sentences like he has for teachers to throw out Megumi’s detentions.

“Hey, hey, hold on!” Gojo jumps up and vaults over the couch in one swift movement, carefully sidestepping whenever Megumi carelessly turns around. The knife’s tip swipes where Gojo’s stomach had once been. “You cannot go around castrating people!”

Megumi glares at him with the heated fury of a thousand burning suns. His lips are pulled so far down into a scowl that Gojo’s unsure his facial muscles are ever going to let him smile again. “Oh, you’re going to start disciplining me now?”

Okay, wow, Gojo did not ask for commentary on his lack of proper child anger management.“I’ve disciplined you plenty,” Gojo insists, though Megumi looks unconvinced. “Listen. I know he deserves it. But do you even know where he is or how you’re gonna get there without anybody catching you with that knife?”

Satoru holds out his hand expectantly while Megumi stares at him hard, his nose scrunched up and green eyes alight with unrelenting ire. Eventually, he sighs hard and presses the handle of the chef knife into Gojo’s palm.

“You’re not seriously going to let him get away with this, are you?” Megumi asks, his voice marginally calmer and less accusatory than it was before. Deciding to be responsible, Gojo slides the chef knife back into its proper spot and stands firmly in front of the knife block. Just in case his ward makes another attempt at righteous vengeance.

At the question and Megumi’s impatiently crossed arms, Gojo has to think. Obviously, he isn’t going to let this go unpunished. To imagine that any man could think they could hurt his sweet Tsumiki who has never done anything wrong in her entire life — okay, there was that one time that she thought it was okay to spend three thousand dollars on Robux but she didn’t really mean to do that — and run away scot-free sends a violent shiver down Gojo’s spine. 

He never told Tsumiki this, but he doesn’t think her boyfriend is all that attractive or intelligent, emotionally or scholarly. What he did tell her was that as long as she was happy, he would be happy. Not before a talk with said boyfriend where he promised he would do much worse things to him if he ever dared make Gojo’s ward cry.

So, what could he do to a twenty-one-year-old university student without mutilating any body parts but still following through with his promise?

Gojo smiles at Megumi, whose eyebrows are raised in anticipation. “Megumi, you have a lot to learn about revenge. What is the one thing a self-absorbed, cheating man loves more than anything in the whole world?”

“His dick,” he responds confidently.

“No!” Satoru laughs and points a finger at Megumi’s nose, watching as he goes momentarily cross-eyed. “Good guess. I’d put that at number two. But Megumi, dear, you must understand. There is nothing he is more prideful of than his car.”

Noticing his ward’s skepticism, he brings his index finger upwards. He uses the rest of his fingers to list off with his words. “One: It’s hard to get away with castration. As much as I hate to admit it, no way you’re going to chop off his dick. Two: Cars are feminine. Men like him love to own anything they can call a she. Three: Cars are expensive and he is a broke college student. I imagine his parents paid for the one he owns now, which is a nice Maserati Ghibli. Four: He will be without a vehicle and have to own up to his parents that his car got destroyed, and the only correlating event that would lead up to such a tragedy would be his cheating. Do you understand now, Megumi?”

Truly, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Megumi comprehend anything so well in his entire seventeen years of life. His ward gives him a short nod.

“Good. Unfortunately, we can’t enact our revenge today. We can’t show up wherever he is and destroy his car. No, we have to first get him to park in a secluded lot, then occupy him for a few hours,”  Gojo informs. Megumi listens intently, and, oh, it’s been so long since he’s gotten this boy to actually pay attention to everything he says. It makes Satoru feel all warm inside. “Got any friends that can help us with this?”

Megumi doesn’t hesitate to pull out his phone. “I bet that bastard likes them younger, too. Kugisaki can help.”

“When you’ve come up with a plan, tell me and we’ll review it.”

His ward nods and sends a text on his phone, presumably to Kugisaki Nobara. Gojo waits for Megumi to leave the kitchen to go to his room before he pries himself away from the counter. He chooses to stay in the living room in preparation for the scenario where Megumi decides that he can’t wait any longer and a castration must be performed. He also wants to be the first person to greet his older ward when she gets home.

—

The next three days are spent comforting Tsumiki while carefully planning the glorious demise of her ex-boyfriend’s car. She is too kind, even in mourning of her year-long relationship. She has barely a bad word to speak of that roach of a man. Instead, she cuddles with Gojo as they watch her favorite movies and comedy specials, eat all sorts of unhealthy food and home-cooked meals, and play various board games that Megumi reluctantly joins them in.

It’s the closest they’ve been since Tsumiki left for her second year at university while Megumi works on graduating high school. Gojo works at a different university about a mile away, so he’s nearby at all times. If he cancels a few classes, nobody says a word to him. It comes with being the most highly acclaimed physics professor in all of Japan.

It would be perfect if it weren’t for the weight of a cheating ex-boyfriend dampening the mood at all times. Gojo is happy to be with his kids — wards, technically. Wards — but one of them isn’t, and the other is too involved in a revenge plot to be fully invested in the time they are spending together. Whatever, he consoles himself. It’s the best he’ll get until summer.

In the midst of watching The Human Centipede 2, which, for the record, is a horrifying franchise and he doesn’t understand why Tsumiki likes it so much, he gets a horrid vision of both of his children away in university. Then them in apartments of their own, and they only get together again once or twice a year for holidays. He isn’t able to hold them close on his living room couch on a mundane Tuesday afternoon to watch a deranged scientist attach humans together via mouths to buttholes.

Gojo pulls Tsumiki a little tighter to his side and places a careful arm around Megumi’s shoulders. His son — ward — stiffens for a moment, then leans his cheek on Satoru’s bicep. While both of their eyes are fixated on the screen, he gives a small glance to both of the kids. He feels their steady breaths against his body.

It takes everything in Satoru to smother his smile.

Then the fated day finally arrives.

The plan consists of five participants, four willing (Gojo, Megumi, Nobara, Yuuji) and one unwilling (Tsumiki’s ex-boyfriend). Megumi and his two friends did all of the planning and arrangements while Gojo bought the necessary equipment: two Louisville sluggers, gloves, hats, brass knuckles, a box cutter, and the special edition Tokyo Monopoly. He also rented a sparkling silver BMW because Gojo refuses to be outclassed by a broke college student.

Oh, and they need it so his actual car won’t be recognized. That’s why everything he bought was either new or could hide their appearance, aside from the brass knuckles and board game; if the police catch them, Megumi will never forgive Gojo for not letting him perform a well-deserved castration.

At precisely two thirty in the afternoon, Megumi and Satoru bid Tsumiki a hasty farewell. Gojo doesn’t trust either of them to lie well enough to her, so they don’t give her enough time to ask where they are going. Her shouted question is left as an unanswered echo behind the closed front door.

It takes them thirty minutes to arrive at the designated location, a hole-in-the-wall bar in the rundown part of Ueno. Predictably, there aren’t many people there on a Wednesday before happy hour. Most people had classes or work at this time, and besides, drinking at three in the afternoon without any good football or baseball games to watch is just sad.

Unless, of course, someone had good company with them. A group of friends or a date with a seventeen-year-old girl who insisted that the only time she could get with him was at three on Wednesday! Really! She’s busy the rest of the week and her parents are oh-so restricting…

Since Satoru is a responsible adult, he made sure that the bartenders were paid off in advance to pretend that they are serving alcohol to young Kugisaki. She will simply act like she is getting drunk off of sparkly orange and pink drinks. Then, when the time is right, the ex-boyfriend will lead her to his car to take her to his apartment with only the most pure of intentions. Obviously. But what he will find instead is a pile of mutilated metal and deflated rubber.

There were only two glaring holes in the plan when Megumi originally proposed it to him, which they patched up by including Yuuji. The first: Gojo knows Nobara can bench twice her weight and take down a man with a hairpin, but he needs to be one hundred percent sure she will be entirely safe. There’s no telling what an enraged pedophile may be able to achieve. Additionally, she needs a quick getaway. The second: A video of the man’s reaction is required, and nobody involved will be in a position to record.

So, Megumi kindly asked Itadori Yuuji to hang out in the parking lot in his car, inherited from his dearly departed grandfather, and be at the ready with both his phone and brass knuckles should the situation escalate so far. Gojo hopes it doesn’t because that would make for a terrible reaction video.

The parking lot is situated at the back of the bar, which has no windows for an unsuspecting cheater to look out of and witness a crime being committed on his prized possession. Gojo parks a couple of spots to the right of the pearly white Maserati, spotting Yuuji’s old red Nissan on the left. The windows are barely tinted, allowing them to make eye contact with each other. Or rather, Itadori looks at Gojo’s shades for a split second before waving enthusiastically to Megumi. His ward returns the gesture with a small wave of his own.

Before Gojo can say something that will undoubtedly embarrass Megumi and spoil the mood, he swings his orange-and-blue slugger over his shoulder and adjusts his black cap with a gloved hand. “I’m feeling generous,” he declares. “You take the first swing.”

Megumi looks up at him, gives him a malicious grin, and steps close to the right wing mirror. Instead of swinging it, he slams the butt of the bat into the glass. It takes one more shove to send the wing mirror crashing to the ground. Glass shatters on the asphalt. Luckily, Gojo made Megumi wear a jacket and a pair of designer shades that would protect him from spray shards.

Laughing at the broken display of vandalism, Gojo pats Megumi on the shoulder. “Hit a home run into his headlights! I’ll work on getting in the car.”

“Destroying the inside?” Megumi asks, already stepping around to the front of the car. He gets into a proper batting stance, just like how Gojo taught him when the boy was playing the sport in middle school. The sun reflects brightly on the black-and-yellow Louisville slugger.

“Can’t leave a job half-finished, can we?” Satoru grins. His ward knocks a clean hole into one headlight at the same time Gojo leaves a spiderweb of cracks in the driver’s window. When the glass shatters inwards, he’s able to reach into the car and press the unlock button. The Maserati Ghibli has a slight off-white leather interior. Gojo takes a second to run his hand over the seat, savoring the beauty he’s about to destroy.

It’s a morbid pleasure to slide open his box cutter and carve jagged lines into the clean interior. White scars are left behind when he pulls the blade from the leather. He takes special care to draw little broken hearts and a cat with a pair of sunglasses on. When he’s done with the front and back seats, he finds that Megumi has already made a full round with the car. Thin streaks were keyed into the car doors, and every inch of the once pristine Maserati is filled with deep dents.

Megumi admires the view with Gojo, his breath coming out in small pants. “Well?”

“It can be better. Go again,” he answers, even though the car is so beautifully destroyed that it makes his heart swell. The teacher who said his kid was destined for failure was sorely mistaken; this is a sign of great things to come.

Megumi nods and lifts his slugger to smash another dent into the back window. It was already shattered, but now the only indication glass was ever there in the first place are the shards lying scattered in the trunk.

Gojo could cry with how proud he is of his son. His ward. Son.

Pushing out the blade of the box cutter again, Gojo crouches and slashes a hole into the first of four tires. He watches in satisfaction as air rushes out to rejoin the natural atmosphere. It has the same impact as releasing a caged, rehabilitated animal back into the wild. Probably. Satoru hasn’t done that before but he figures this is pretty much the same thing.

He moves on to the next tire after golfing the fenders three times with his bat. Megumi meets back up with him on the last tire, and this time there’s sweat dripping from his face. It’s a decently hot day, Gojo can admit. A few straggling wisps of clouds drift lazily across the sky, leaving the sun to bake the creatures on Earth. His own neck is uncomfortably wet and sticky.

“Here,” he hands over the box cutter, a shade duller than it was before. “I’ll leave the final honor to you.”

Megumi holds the box cutter in his hand like it’s the Holy Grail. When he rips into the tire, Gojo hopes he’s imagining a dick being sliced off instead like Gojo is. It’s the closest they’re going to get until one brave woman decides that enough is enough.

They step back to admire their work. It should be displayed in a museum next to Winged Victory of Samothrace or Perseus with the Head of Medusa. The whole world should lay their eyes on the perfect mound of metal and rubber they have molded. It’s barely even recognizable. The dark inside machinery of the car is visible from the parts Megumi tore off with his hands or batted away with the slugger. It sits closer to the ground than before thanks to the tire deflation. Several holes fall open in the cracked windows.

Gojo wraps an arm around Megumi’s shoulder, tugging him to stand closer to his side. His ward doesn’t put up a fight against his guardian and even rests his head against Gojo’s collarbone.

No language has an accurate word to describe the feeling that courses through his body. It’s a concoction of every good and bad thing Gojo has done in his life; every misstep he’s taken in raising the Fushiguro kids, and every moment he’s experienced overwhelming pride, fear, and joy for them. It’s twelve years all at once, tucked away under his arm.

“Your sister is going to kill me when she finds out about this,” he says. Megumi snorts.

“It’ll be worth it.”

Megumi’s voice is low with fondness, the only kind that can be produced after a long rush of adrenaline.

A great amount of strength allows him to open his mouth. “We need to leave before they get out here,” he mutters. Slowly, as if reluctant, Megumi detaches himself from Gojo’s arm. The warmth of his son’s body is lost immediately, replaced by the distant uncaring sun.

They wave Yuuji farewell and hop into the car, blasting the air conditioner and the playlist containing both the perfect, glorious, angel choir songs Gojo likes and the obnoxiously emo songs Megumi listens to. About halfway through the drive, Satoru asks if Megumi’s hungry.

Megumi looks up at him from his phone, his eyes squinted with something mischievous. “Can we have—”

“We are not having KFC,” Gojo says firmly.

Instead of frowning, Megumi’s lips contort into a half-smile of some kind. Like he’s trying to hide the fact that he’s enjoying being in the car with Gojo. And Gojo — Gojo can’t help himself. This is his son. The prickly five-year-old he met in an alley is now seventeen years old, looking down at his lap with his face scrunched up in a failed attempt at keeping his composure. He’s not laughing only to maintain his image. Megumi is happy.

It’s not enough to get Gojo to go through a KFC drive-thru because some wounds will simply never heal, but he does pull into the parking lot of the next best thing: Subway.

“So, I was thinking tonight we’d play Monopoly,” he suggests as they gorge themselves on two foot-long sandwiches and a large bag of Doritos. Megumi tries to scowl, but his full cheeks make him look more like a chipmunk.

“No. You always cheat at Monopoly,” Megumi says after swallowing his food.

“I don’t! I play fair and square.”

“You always have to be a banker so you can steal money and give us incorrect payments,” he deadpans.

Gojo ignores him. It’s not his fault they won’t play by the objectively correct rules of Monopoly. “But it’s Tokyo Monopoly! You can own Shibuya Crossing!”

Megumi’s gaze is unimpressed, but he doesn’t retaliate anymore. Gojo doesn’t bother to hide his shit-eating grin. Another day, another victory for one Gojo Satoru.

—

Tsumiki is waiting for them when they get home. She’s leaning against the wall of the foyer, her gaze stupidly hard for someone who’s supposed to be grieving the end of a relationship. It takes them exactly two point three nanoseconds to see that she has them figured out.

“Where were you two?” She asks them as if she doesn’t know. The air cracks with tension.

Gojo smiles and shoves Megumi forward. “You know, Megumi has been dying to tell you!”

His son glares at him in disgust before fully facing his sister. “We, uh,” he clears his throat. “We vandalized your ex’s car.”

The house is silent for five whole seconds. Megumi stares at his sister with bated breath, waiting for his soul to be wiped out of the mortal plane in the form of an hour-long lecture. But Gojo knows better. He knows because this is his daughter.

She sags forward, a smile ghosting her lips. Her eyes carry heavy eyebags, but they shine with expectation. “Do you at least have a video?”

Of course, she wants to chop his dick off, too. And of course, she recognizes that the next best option is destroying his pearly white Maserati Ghibli. She was raised by Gojo Satoru, after all.

Before Gojo orders her DoorDash Subway, they watch the video Yuuji sent to Megumi’s phone — the contact photo for the young Itadori is hilariously cute in comparison to Nobara’s, making Satoru give his son a knowing shoulder bump — on the big screen.

His reaction is priceless, what with the screams and caressing of the broken angles of the car. He moves to furiously grab Nobara’s shoulders, but she digs her heel straight into his balls before he can lay a finger on her.

Yuuji lowers his phone as she gets in, kicking his car into reverse so they can peel out of there before he gets up off the ground. The video ends with the kids’ glorious laughter and Nobara shouting, “It worked! Go, Itadori! Go!” Tsumiki’s giggle gives Gojo more joy than the actual process of destroying the car.

Well. Okay. Her giggle is almost better than destroying a Maserati Ghibli. What can he say? It was the most fun he’s had since he decided to stop breaking the law to set a good example for his kids.

Later, when they sit down to play Tokyo Monopoly, he may or may not tone down his strict following of the rules. Perhaps he embezzles a little less, and perhaps he switches out Tsumiki’s house for a hotel when his kids aren’t paying attention. He still wins after five hours of playing but that’s beside the point.

The day ends with a hug from Tsumiki. He doesn’t fully hug his kids often. Even when they were young and missing both parental figures who should’ve been giving them hugs three times a day, Gojo didn’t let himself get close enough to them. Realistically, he knows it’d been a product of his own young age and inexperience. Growing up in a cold family didn’t help matters; his only model of parents were his own unfeeling ones and what he’d observed of other families from afar.

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt when he hesitates to hold his children, unsure if they would want to be touched by their legal guardian. It’s worse to see them withdraw from touching him, too, like they’re worried he’ll pull away in disgust.

So, this is nice, the hug from his daughter before she goes to bed. She smiles at him from the top of the staircase. She is happy.

Yeah, it’s certainly better than destroying a Maserati Ghibli.

… Well. Maybe not. Maybe nothing will be better than that. But he swears that Tsumiki’s happiness is a very, very close second.

[immadatdisney2]

Second Chances by ImMadAtDisney

"Look Sunshine, Im just saying. We're picking the kid up from a holding cell, not exactically the best first inpression"

To say that Eugene was less than excited to be woken up from his beauty sleep and driving to work at eleven fucking pm was an understatement, they weren’t supposed to be picking up their new foster child until next week but when he received a call that Varian had run away from the foster care center and then had been arrested.

Whoo fucking hoo

“It’s not anything too bad Eugene! The officers told us it was just shoplifting-”

“Oh just shoplifting, well let’s give the kid a medal”

The car slowed to a stop as they pulled into the small Corona County Jail where they would be picking up a kid they hadn’t seen since he’d sorta killed lost his dad and attacked Rapunzel and her family. Now they’d be taking him in to live with them.

Eugene wanted nothing to do with him at first, he was still mad at the kid for all he’d done to his girlfriend (now soon-to-be wife). Then he heard Varian had been put into the system (that he knew from personal experience was usually shitty) and it took a lot less convincing for him to finally set him and Rapunzel up for classes to get their fostering license.

Rapunzel loved kids and couldn’t wait to have some of her own, so when she heard of a chance to foster her old friend she was ready to jump at the chance and convince her fiance, plus it has been years since the accident and her father promised to get him help, and now she could give him a home.

Varian had to be fine now… she would make sure of it.

Read the rest here: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/57230560"><strong>Second Chances</strong></a> (11996 words) by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImMadAtDisney"><strong>ImMadAtDisney</strong></a><br />Chapters: 6/?<br />Fandom: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/tags/Rapunzel&#39;s%20Tangled%20Adventure%20(Cartoon)">Rapunzel&#39;s Tangled Adventure (Cartoon)</a><br />Rating: Mature<br />Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence<br />Relationships: Eugene Fitzherbert | Flynn Rider/Rapunzel, Hugo/Varian (Disney: Varian and the Seven Kingdoms)<br />Characters: Varian (Disney), Hugo (Disney: Varian and the Seven Kingdoms), Nuru (Disney: Varian and the Seven Kingdoms), Amber (Disney: Varian and the Seven Kingdoms), Yong (Disney: Varian and the Seven Kingdoms), Donella (Disney: Varian and the Seven Kingdoms), Rapunzel (Disney), Eugene Fitzherbert | Flynn Rider, Lance Strongbow, Angry | Keira (Disney), Red | Catalina (Disney), Lady Caine (Disney), Andrew | Hubert (Disney: Tangled)<br />Additional Tags: Foster Care, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Varian Needs a Hug (Disney), Hurt Varian (Disney), Sad Varian (Disney), Varian Angst (Disney), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Police, Team Awesome | Eugene Fitzherbert | Flynn Rider & Varian Friendship, Eventual Relationships, eventual Varigo, Good boyfriend Hugo, Emo Varian, Good friends Keira & Catalina, Neighbors, High Varian, Shitty foster parents, I want to kill Andrew, Shitty Person Andrew, Foster Care Suvks, Shitty Freinds Rapunzel & Eugene, Shitty Foster Parents Rapunzel & Eugene, Varian Deserves Better, evil author, sorry not sorry bitches, you should have read the tags, I'm Bad At Titles<br />Summary: <p>Varian is a fucked up kid who everyone has given up on...including himself</p><p>Rapunzel and Eugene, his friends turned foster parent looking to set thing right...but it might be too late</p><p> </p><p>Or</p><p> </p><p>I throw so much shit and trauma at Varian even I drowned in the angst.</p>

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

my shadow (it follows behind)

by Silvers_Universe53 Gotham has lost the Joker. GCPD doesn’t know how he escaped from Arkham Asylum or when. Your team is called in to find him, and figure out what he might be up to, or even if he’s still alive. Criminal Minds x DC Crossover Week Day 7 - Sunday, February 9th Backstory Reveal || Undercover Justice League || Profiling a Rogue/Bat || "Life is a hell of a thing to happen to a person." Words: 9041, Chapters: 2/3, Language: English Series: Part 5 of Silver's CMxDC week 2025, Part 5 of Silver's Batfam!BAU!Reader 'verse Fandoms: Criminal Minds (US TV), DCU, Batman - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: Gen, Other Characters: Reader, Aaron Hotchner, Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan (Criminal Minds), Jennifer "JJ" Jareau, Emily Prentiss, David Rossi, Penelope Garcia, Dick Grayson, Jim Gordon (DCU), Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake (DCU), Stephanie Brown, Alfred Pennyworth, Joker (DCU), Harleen Quinzel, Pamela Isley, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain, Duke Thomas Relationships: The BAU Team (Criminal Minds) & Reader, Batfamily Members (DCU) & Reader, Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel, Alfred Pennyworth & Reader, Alfred Pennyworth & Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown & Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Duke Thomas & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne Additional Tags: Tags missing to avoid spoilers, The BAU Team as Family (Criminal Minds), gender neutral reader, Batfam!Reader, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Background Character Death, Batfamily Dynamics (DCU), Detective Dick Grayson, Gotham City Police Department, Autistic Reader, Autistic Aaron Hotchner, Autistic Spencer Reid, author is autistic, so i end up writing characters with quirks that are autistic coded, author is jumping through hoops and bending over backwards to avoid using pronouns, no y/n, no beta we die like jason todd, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Eventual Aaron Hotchner/Reader, Protective Aaron Hotchner, Weird Gotham City, Jason Todd Gets A Hug, Good Grandparent Alfred Pennyworth, Reader is a Member of the BAU (Criminal Minds), The BAU Team is Concerned About Gotham City and its Citizens, Dialogue Heavy, Non-Graphic Violence via https://ift.tt/0kLev2V

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for...

~*~

1. itmf fics where wwx time travels to cloud recesses era but thinks he's dead? in the vein of Contrapuntal by WithBroomBefore. could be crack, treated seriously, or wump angst

~*~

2. Hi, do you have any Wangxian fanfiction recommendations with WWX/LWJ being concerned about LWJ/WWX being too skinny or losing weight & then taking care of the other/eachother?

💖 the absence of hunger by parsnipit (M, 27k, wangxian, angst w/ happy ending, eating disorder, PTSD, food as a metaphor for love)

a kind of emptiness by ScarlettStorm (E, 11k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Eating Disorders, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorder Recovery, tricking your brain into better habits, bad choices, followed by good choices, low angst, Happy Ending, Tender smut, Frottage, Praise Kink, Additional Warnings In Author’s Note)

#2 of the recent ITMF reminded me... does anyone else remember the modern AU where LWJ doms WWX into taking better care of himself using a smart watch? thanks!

Lessons in Kink by preciousbunnynoiz (E, 23k, wangxian, modern, Dom/sub, Sub WWX, Bondage, Biting, College/University au, Comedy, Humor, Hair-pulling, public display of dominance, Kink Negotiation, Rough Kissing, Dom LWJ, Safe Sane and Consensual, BDSM, Blindfolds, Food Kink, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Safewords, Aftercare, Cock Warming, sub space, Gags, Self-Destructive Tendencies, Pampering, Lingerie, Vibrators, Overstimulation, fleching, Rough Sex, Possessive Behavior, Falling In Love, Mirror Sex, Crying During Sex, Rimming, Blow Jobs, Masturbation, Exhibitionism, Failed Sex, Emotional Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feels, Feelings, Porn with Feelings, Riding, Face-Fucking, Kinbaku, Shibari)

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3. Hello! For the next itmf, I would love to get recs for first where wwx falls in love first (preferably not modern aus). Thanks to all the contributors and mods for your work 😘

And Time Is But a Paper Moon by sami (M, 139k, WangXian, XiChengQing, Time Travel, Fix-It, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Healing, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Depression, BAMF WWX, BAMF JC, BAMF LWJ, BAMF JYL, Getting Together) I'm not sure if this is what they're looking for, but -- is a time travel fic with a post cannon wwx going to CR arc and is already in love with LWJ

if you can’t beat them, recruit them by moeblobmegane (T, 228k, Time Travel Fix-It, Conspiracy, Spies & Secret Agents, Team as Family, Found Family) the same thing, but to the start of th SSC instead of CR arc

~*~

4. For the next “I’m in the mood” serial killer Lan Wangji.

singularity by azuresummer (E, 7k, WangXian, Modern AU, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominant LWJ, Submissive WWX, Serial Killers, Dark LWJ, Possessive LWJ, Protective LWJ, Serial Killer LWJ, Doctor LWJ, Stalking, Manipulation, Obsession, Mentions of Murder)

Who Else Knows? by thewanderingcat (M, 2k, wangxian, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage, Modern, Police au, Police Procedural, Forced Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Underage Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Child Abuse, Child Abandonment, Murder Mystery, Murder, POV Outsider, Abuse of Authority, but not at WWX's expense, Angst with a Happy Ending, Age Difference, Dark LWJ, Protective LWJ, POV LWJ, Serial Killers) is a modern AU with outsider POV on a SK!LWJ

Oh! My Empress! by dandelion_san (T, 3k, wangxian, F/F, Royalty au, Humor, Female LWJ, Female WWX, Dark LWJ) is a royalty AU where all of f!LWJ's fiances all mysteriously die before reaching the wedding bed.

🧡 scienter Series by synonemous (E, 67k, WangXian, Modern AU, Serial killer WangXian, Eventual happy ending, WangXian's Canon Kinks, Smut, A/B/O, Mpreg, Smut, Wangxian's Canon Kinks, Modern Yi City arc, Angst with a happy ending, Family Feels)

~*~

5. Hi for the next IMTF can I pls request for smtg modern au that deals with social issues? It doesn't have the be the main focus of the fic but I don't want it to be something that's mentioned in a throwaway line and never touched on again. So maybe something similar to A Temporary Fix by bosgood which touches on immigration or you know you'll get in trouble by SecretStorm that deals with the treatment of Uyghur ppl in China? @some-random-person-hi

Hot sun, cool fire by bylambd (E, 34k, WangXian, Modern AU, Porch AU, Neighbors, mentions of LWJ/others, Mentions of WWX/Others, Minor XiYao, Past NieLan, Light Angst, Accidental Voyeurism, Summer Vibes, hyperspecific setting, immigration & diaspora, family and community feels, Getting Together, poor sound insulation as a plot device) I found it! It was this one! I liked the way it touched on immigration in America without being the main focus of the fic

social issues, I wonder if the roots in my heart (also grow in yours) by halfdemonvash (M, 16k, WangXian, Modern AU, Plants, Botanist WWX, Botanist LWJ, the burial mounds are a greenhouse, Fluff, Mild Smut, WWX POV, Getting Together, A-Yuan being adorable as always, Falling In Love, Sexual Content) would fit? wwx starts an illegal garden to grow food to give to others in need (the Wens, I think?)

~*~

6. for itmf - it would be amazing to read something like this post!!! (wwx has to respond to inquiry post burial mounds since he came so close to death)

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7. Hi! I think what you're doing is great. I have an ITMF request. I recently read a MDZS fic that was in the format of a reddit post (an AITA one specifically) and really enjoyed it, I was wondering if you knew of more in that style (Reddit format to clarify), it doesn't have to be from a specific characters point of view, just the style. @i-like-snakes-and-spiders

r/relationships by vespertineflora (T, 8k, WangXian, Modern AU, Social Media, Viral Reddit Post, Pining, Crushes, Friends to Lovers, Awkward Flirting, Romantic Gestures, Romantic Comedy, Love Confessions, Kissing, Happy Ending)

Honk, Honk by sassybluee (M, 1k, WangXian, Modern AU, reddit, Forum Posts, Relationship Advice, Implied Sexual Content, Humor, Fluff, Age Difference)

~*~

8. Hey, I was wondering if you could rec some BAMF/ Protective Wei Wuxian (in character and not totally consumed in revenge) like silk threads and precious metal by Sevidri (I have read all recs under the tag) thank you and sorry for bothering…

~*~

9. Hi! I am in the mood for fics where Lan Wangji has friends among the Lan clan? So often he is portrayed as this very isolated character, but I would love to see him interacting with other disciples his age. Thank you so much!

Vagabond by xantissa (E, 65k, WangXian, Slow Burn, Mystery, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Frottage, Case Fic, murders, Supernatural, Angst, Fluff, Happy Ending, extreme fluff, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, badass!LXC, top!LWJ, Bottom!LWJ)

A Mother’s Love by FirefliesNLightningBugs (M, 170k, WangXian, XuanLi, Canon Divergence, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Mostly combo of the Untamed and MoDaoZuShi timelines, Unreliable Narrator, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Miscommunication, Family Feels, Found Family, PTSD, Post-Sunshot Campaign, Political Intrigue, Mystery, POV Multiple, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Strong Female Characters, Additional Warnings In Author’s Note, Good Brother In Law JZX, Genderbent WWX, Intersex WWX, not a/b/o, POV Original Character, Expanded Universe, Unplanned Pregnancy, Golden Core Reveal, WWX Has No Golden Core, Cultivation Sect Politics, Bisexual WWX, YLLZ WWX, Yunmeng Shuangjie, Pining WangXian, Parent-Child Relationship, Getting Together, Protective Yúnmèng Jiāng Sect, MXY Lives) not quite what ur asking for, but in -- lz's BFF is a girl named Lin Huang who lives in the woods near the sect, and Lan Jingyi's parents Chen Aizhong and Lan Heng are like his and lxc's doting gossiping older cousins. Also in rise of the divine oracle by blaksalt u meet lz's childhood BFF as adults (BFF grew up in caiyi) and he was like a bountyhunter or something. Both canon era

~*~

10. Hi! ITMF spicy fics like Lead Me On Through, On The Way, and Fentao-laoshi’s Guide to Cut-Sleeve Pleasures please! thank you so much for your hard work!

❤️ Teach Me The Ways by likeafox (E, 58k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, The Porn Is the Plot, lots of banging in here folks, [slaps side of fic] this baby can hold so much weird sex stuff in it, but also many many feelings)

Man on My Mind by brooklinegirl (E, 50k, WangXian, Modern AU, Sex Cam Worker WWX, Identity Porn)

~*~

11. fic where lsz is lwj and wwx's son pls thankyou!!

~*~

12. Hi I've never done this before but I was hoping someone might have recs for my very specific craving? I really want more lwj centric long fic preferably with some angst or an intense secret like A Narrow Bridge by FrameofMind, Turn Left by kianspo or Lan Yuan’s War by BurningTea. In Narrow Bridge I like how despite Lwj's secrecy wangxian still develops a deep emotional connection with smut plus a focus on Wen remnants is always great! Sorry if this is vague and thanks for all the work y'all do♥️ @fellerbat

~*~

13. hello!! (＾▽＾) for ITMF I would like something where WWX sets a boundary with JC, like he is tired of doing all the emotional labour between the two if them or something like that (＾▽＾) thank you and have a great day!

~*~

14. Hello! For the next ITMF, I would love any fics dealing with the Guanyin Temple scene, any canon and any rating. Whether it’s more wangxian focused, or more generally about the scene/characters present, either would be great. Thank you ❤️❤️❤️ @dottie-wan-kenobi

~*~

15. This blog is like one of my comfort places. Thank you for still continuing this.

ITMF nerd Wei WuXian. Like he's in Stunted, Starving Juvenility. @tinyfoxpeach

💖 Lessons relearned by Iamnotawriter (T, 44k, WangXian, LQR & WWX, Not Madam Yu Friendly, Time Travel Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inventor WWX, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, No Golden Core Transfer, YZY Bashing)

Alter by DarkStunning (E, 149k, WIP, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, except a few bad guys, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Panic Attacks, Sex Pollen, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Swearing)

🧡 CSI: Gusu Edition Series by Stratisphyre (M, 39k, WangXian, WWX & LQR, Modern with Magic AU, College AU, Golden Core Reveal, Single parent WWX, Good Uncle LQR, Hospitalization, Allusions to violence and murder)

Free Wifi for Heroes by JJSparrow (E, 50k, WangXian, XuanLi, Modern AU, Pro Heroes (MHA), Switching, Engineer!WWX, Hero!LWJ, CEO!WWX, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Inventor!WWX, Top/Bottom Switch WangXian, Explicit Sexual Content, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fluff and Smut, First Kiss, First Time)

Wind Rose in the Clouds by PaidSubscription (M, 202k, wangxian, post-canon, slow burn, hurt/comfort, getting together, first time, smut, fluff & angst, case fic, social commentary, ptsd, sick fic, communication, inventor WWX)

🧡 One Can Keep A Secret (If He Does Not Know It's There) by H_Belle (T, 5k, WangXian, Modern Cultivators, Inventor WWX, Secret Identity, Identity Reveal, YLLZ WWX, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Pining LWJ, POV WWX, Background Wangxian Getting Together, Jiangs are only mentioned in the passing, inspired by a tumblr post)

Whistler by carriecmoney (T, 108k, WangXian, ZhuiZhen, Modern AU, Office, Texting, artifact fiction, Canada, Embedded Images, Epistolary, Animated GIFs, Mutual Pining, Multimedia, Inventor WWX, Lawyer LWJ, Implied Sexual Content, COVID Happens)

🧡 To have and to hold by Moominmammashandbag (M, 78k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Major character injury, CQL verse, Happy Ending)

~*~

16. for the next ITMF, can you guys suggest some fics with:

a) wwx secretly protecting lwj (bonus: if lwj doesnt know about it)

b) underrated modern w/o magic/university completed fics.

c) innocent wwx + dark lwj

thank you so much!

16A)

Concord by Deastar (T, 41k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Gūsū Lán Sect Rules, Depression, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending)

16B)

A Soft Storm by AvoOwO (Not rated, 47k, wangxian, modern au, hurt WWX, LWJ pov, protective LWJ, not SS friendly, car accidents, hurt/comfort, heavy angst w happy ending, sexual harrasment, stalking, crying, blood & injury & gore, major character injury, college, slut shaming, insults)

Just Ask Me To Stay by mrcformoso (M, 21k, wangxian, modern, no powers, past JXN/WWX, Dancer WWWX, Musician LWJ, Roommates, Best Friends, Friends to Lovers, Break Up, Post-Break Up, Recovery, Family, Realizing Your Best Friend is the Love of Your Life, WWX Has Self-Esteem Issues, And LWJ is not having it, Sex as Self Worth Reaffirmation, Fluff, Light Angst, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Oral Sex, LWJ Has a Big Dick, WWX Has a Breeding Kink, Size Queen WWX, Belly Bulge, Porn With Plot, WWX Has Friends, LWJ Has Friends, Hurt/Comfort, Romantic Comedy, Cute, Feel-good)

16C)

A Matter of Time by mrcformoso (E, 41k, wangxian, LXC/NMJ, Time Travel Fix-It, POV LWJ, POV JC, Dark LWJ, LWJ goes crazy, Manipulation, Grooming, Except Lan Zhan and Wei Ying are physically the same age, but Lan Zhan kept his 30 year old mind, wangxian Get a Happy Ending, Consensual Underage Sex, Except problematic please read warning in first chapter, Blood and Violence, Insane LWJ, Manic LWJ, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Conditioning, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Anal Fingering, Lan WWX, Minor Character Death, Golden Core Reveal, Good Friend NHS, WWX not Adopted by the Jiāngs, Abusive Jiāng Family, not Jiāng Family friendly, POV NHS, Dark NHS, Anal Sex, Marathon Sex, Dual Cultivation, QHJ Lives, LWJ Has a Big Dick, Self-Lubrication, Plot Twists, PWP, Sunshot Campaign, not Lánlíng Jīn Sect friendly, Scheming NHS, Manipulative NHS, BAMF LWJ, BAMF WWX, BAMF NHS, Burial Mounds Lore, Sentient Burial Mounds, Married wangxian, Implied Mpreg, Adopted LSZ, Breathplay, Dark WWX, Yandere LWJ) LWJ snaps, kills a bunch of people, goes back in time, & grooms WWX to be his perfect partner

~*~

17. ITMF canonverse fics where JC is forced to fix his anger issues (or at least someone calls him out on them). Not necessarily outright JC-bashing (though I'm open to that). But his anger is always brushed aside as 'how he shows love', & JL picking up those same traits is treated as cute instead of lowkey horrifying, & I want to see fics where he gets told that he can't just treat people as punching bags @thispatternismine

A Mother’s Love by FirefliesNLightningBugs (M, 170k, WangXian, XuanLi, Canon Divergence, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Mostly combo of the Untamed and MoDaoZuShi timelines, Unreliable Narrator, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Miscommunication, Family Feels, Found Family, PTSD, Post-Sunshot Campaign, Political Intrigue, Mystery, POV Multiple, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Strong Female Characters, Additional Warnings In Author’s Note, Good Brother In Law JZX, Genderbent WWX, Intersex WWX, not a/b/o, POV Original Character, Expanded Universe, Unplanned Pregnancy, Golden Core Reveal, WWX Has No Golden Core, Cultivation Sect Politics, Bisexual WWX, YLLZ WWX, Yunmeng Shuangjie, Pining WangXian, Parent-Child Relationship, Getting Together, Protective Yúnmèng Jiāng Sect, MXY Lives) link in #9 not quite what ur asking for, but in -- there is a bit of a theme of wwx and jc both trying to work through those type issues w/ each other? Like both trying to be more open and confiding with each other? Like actively attempting to

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

[aizawashuichi]

Chapter 9: Kantsubaki Nerikiri

Chapter 1: Prologue to Play Pretend Pattern

Fandom: Death Note (Anime & Manga) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: L/OFC Tags: Slow Burn, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Identity Issues, Grief/Mourning, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, The Kira Case becomes irrelevant at some point, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Police Brutality, POV First Person, Violent Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Non-Graphic Violence, Present Tense, Unreliable Narrator, Self-Hatred, OC-centric, and I mean it, L is a yearner, MC is a sucker, character-driven

I actually don't have a chapter summary for this one because it's mostly a discussion about the Kira case lol

But! L's rhinoplasty debut (probably the most important thing in this chapter).

I just want to thank @nic0-r0bs and @stardust-in-your-eyes for their support <33

[la-muerta]

Title: one hand on the trigger (the other hand in mine) // 暗线

Fandoms: 莲花楼 Mysterious Lotus Casebook (TV)

Warnings: Rated E. Canon-typical violence, implied/referenced drug use.

Relationships: 笛飞声 Di Feisheng / 李莲花 Li Lianhua; 李莲花 Li Lianhua & 方多病 Fang Duobing

Summary:   Ten years ago, Li Xiangyi went undercover to investigate a crime syndicate known as the Di Family Business. When his adopted brother dies during a failed raid, because of his mistake, he goes underground.

Meanwhile, a fellow bright young police recruit named Di Feisheng, who was in the academy with Li Xiangyi, rises steadily through the police ranks…

Ten years later, when his adopted brother's only son Fang Duobing joins the police academy as well, Li Xiangyi is forced to face the secrets of the past.

--

Chapter Three: 因果循环 "Who are you?" Fang Duobing demanded, trying to jerk away from Li Lianhua. Li Lianhua tsked at him. "Don't move, you'll make your wound bleed again. Besides, if I was going to kill you, I would hardly be wasting my effort dressing your injuries first, would I? My name is Li Lianhua." [Read on Ao3; currently at 12,921 words]

[asimplearchivist]

☽ 𝕄𝕆𝕆ℕ 𝕂ℕ𝕀𝔾ℍ𝕋 𝕄𝔸𝕊𝕋𝔼ℝ𝕃𝕀𝕊𝕋 ☾

☾ 𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 ☽ ☽ [header(s) credit] | [divider(s) credit] ☾ ☾ Follow @asimplearchive and turn on notifications for updates! ☽

‘ 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐊𝐄𝐏𝐓 . ’ | 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓

[ AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST ] 𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 ⤏ (Khonshu/SingleMom!Avatar!Reader) 𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂 ⤏ Khonshu possesses as many facets of divine responsibilities as the moon has its phases—a warden of protection and vengeance has been his primary identity for centuries. In addition, one might add, he patrons fertility and childbirth. However, fatherhood is another matter entirely. 𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 ⤏ dubcon (only in first chapter), cheating/unfaithfulness (not performed by reader), mild/implied/referenced sex(ual content), infertility, divorce, labor/childbirth complications (non-graphic), near death experience(s), gun violence, gunshot wounds, mild gore, blood and (minor) injury, mental breakdown(s), death threats, intimidation, jealousy, possessive behavior…[more tags to be added] 𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓼 ⤏ canon compliant, pre-canon, angst, (domestic/tooth-rotting/family) fluff, hurt/comfort, (attempts at) humor, pining, slow burn, eventual romance/relationships, strangers to lovers, (magical) (unplanned) pregnancy, kidfic, ancient egyptian literature & mythology (references), protectiveness, vulnerability, miscommunication, banter, (denial of) feelings (realization), holiday/Christmas fluff, ballroom dancing, growing up…[more tags to be added]

☽ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 ☾

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈  ☥ [𓅘𓏏] (‘𝓷𝓗𝓽’ | 𝓹𝓻𝓪𝔂𝓮𝓻, 𝔀𝓲𝓼𝓱)

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈𝐈 ☥ [𓋩𓏏] (‘𝔁𝓽𝓶𝓽’ | 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽)

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈𝐈𝐈 ☥ [𓂋𓎨] (‘𝓻𝓱𝓷’ | 𝓽𝓻𝓾𝓼𝓽 [𝓲𝓷])

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈𝐕 ☥ [𓈐𓊪𓇋𓇋𓅱] (‘𝓱𝓻𝓹𝔂𝔀’ | 𝓼𝓾𝓫𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓰𝓮𝓭, 𝓭𝓻𝓸𝔀𝓷𝓮𝓭)

𝐂𝐇. 𝐕 ☥ [𓂧𓁷𓏏] (‘𝓭𝓗𝓻𝓽’ | 𝓫𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼)

𝐂𝐇. 𝐕𝐈 ☥ [𓎿𓇋𓇋𓏏] (‘𝓗𝓼𝔂𝓽’ | 𝓯𝓪𝓿𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓭)

𝐂𝐇. 𝐕𝐈𝐈 ☥ [𓂾𓏏] (‘𝓻𝓭𝓽’ | 𝓰𝓻𝓸𝔀𝓲𝓷𝓰)

𝐂𝐇. 𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈 ☥ [] (‘ ’ | ???) {𝐓𝐁𝐀}

‘ 𝓒𝓞𝓝𝓢𝓣𝓔𝓛𝓛𝓐𝓣𝓘𝓞𝓝𝓢 . ’ | 𝓜𝓐𝓢𝓣𝓔𝓡𝓟𝓞𝓢𝓣

[ AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST ] 𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 ⤏ steven grant/reader | marc spector/reader | jake lockley/reader 𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂 ⤏ everything you thought you knew will fall apart. 𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 ⤏ mental health issues, anxiety, panic attacks, depression, (inaccurate/canon-accurate depictions of) dissociative identity disorder, sleep deprivation, mental breakdown, self-esteem/worth issues, insecurity, (background/canonical/minor) character death, divorce, robbery, breaking and entering, canon-typical violence, tension, suspense, blood and (minor) injury, police, ambushes and sneak attacks, chases, arguing, kidnapping, attempted murder, concussions, confrontations...[more tags to be added] 𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓼 ⤏ canon compliant, pre-canon, post-canon, angst with a happy ending, fluff and angst, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, first meetings, love at first sight, coffee shops, bookstores, friends to lovers, meet-cute, ancient egypt(ian literature & mythology/deities), self-indulgent, therapy, cooking, established relationship, domestic fluff, denial of feelings, dancing, worry, investigations, texting, first aid, first meetings...[more tags to be added]

☽ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 ☾

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈  ☥ ‘ 𝓾����𝓽𝓲𝓵 𝓶𝔂 𝓿𝓸𝓲𝓬𝓮 𝓲𝓼 𝓰𝓸𝓷𝓮 . ’

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈𝐈  ☥ ‘ 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭𝓼 𝓯𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓯𝓵𝓪𝓽 . ’

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈𝐈𝐈 ☥ ‘ 𝓪 𝓶𝓪𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮 . ’

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈𝐕 ☥ ‘ 𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓼 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓭 . ’

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈.𝐈 ☥ ‘ ??? ’ [𝓣𝓑𝓐]

𝕄𝕆𝕆ℕ 𝕂ℕ𝕀𝔾ℍ𝕋 𝔼𝕍𝔼ℕ𝕋 | 𝕄𝔸𝕊𝕋𝔼ℝℙ𝕆𝕊𝕋

𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰(𝓼) ⤏ steven grant/reader | marc spector/reader | jake lockley/reader ||| khonshu/reader 𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂 ⤏ all of my entries for the ‘23-'24 bingo event found here: @moonknight-events, hosted by @juneknight and @spacecowboyhotch! :) 𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 ⤏ …[more tags to be added] 𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓼 ⤏ …[more tags to be added]

𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑺

☾ “𝓘𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓶𝔂 𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓻𝓽?” ☥ [jake lockley/reader-centric | constellations!verse] ☽

☾ 𝓢𝓹𝓮𝓮𝓭 𝓓𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 ☥ [steven grant/reader-centric | constellations!verse] ☽

☾ 𝓑𝓻𝓾𝓲𝓼𝓮 ☥ [marc spector/reader-centric | constellations!verse] ☽

☾ 𝓡𝓲𝓽𝓾𝓪𝓵 ☥ [khonshu/reader | promises kept!verse] ☽

☾ 𝓢𝓪𝓭 𝓔𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰 ☥ [jake lockley/reader-centric | constellations!verse] ☽

☾ 𝓕𝓲𝓻𝓼𝓽 𝓚𝓲𝓼𝓼 ☥ [steven grant/reader-centric | constellations!verse] ☽

☾ 𝓗𝓲𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰 ☥ [marc spector/reader-centric | constellations!verse] ☽

☾ 𝓒𝓱𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓲𝓬 𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓷 ☥ [khonshu/reader | promises kept!verse] ☽

☾ 𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓲𝓯𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 ☥ [jake lockley/reader-centric | constellations!verse] ☽ [TBA]