#incredible how I keep winding up in these situations

[lilacxquartz]

CHASING HUMANITY • kenjaku x fem!reader

ao3 • masterlist • << previous chapter • next chapter >>

summary: finally moving on, you learn to let go of your past self.

a/n: back to posting series :) finished up a chapter last night, you can probably expect another chapter this month after this one.

trigger warning: referenced death

Chapter 6. New Impressions

Although it felt odd driving down the long and winding road with him, a sense of deja vu crept into the back of your mind, reminding you that you had been in this situation once before, except now you didn’t feel a crisis with your own identity.

All you needed was to feel shock, maybe. Something deliberating enough to jolt and shake your system. It was surely jarring though and you wondered if he thought he went too far with how much he showed you, although that likely wasn’t it. Something stirred beyond his occasionally pointed gaze, hinting at something… darker.

Was it want…? Or need? Or both…?

You couldn’t quite tell properly, yet his returning body language was still just on the cusp of being barely explorative as he drove you both through the night. You tried to relax, your mind still reeling at the events that had transpired, but you were starting to understand him more and more now, feeling the care for others slip away so long as you had your validation met with someone who enabled it.

He broke the silence after a short while, slowing down the car before it had a chance to enter the busier road that led into the city. He seemed to be taking a detour, perhaps? Or otherwise just maybe cruising around before he committed to the second part of his plan.

“You know, you’re surprisingly difficult to read,” he began while staring straight ahead at the road, partially to focus but also figuring that you wouldn’t be too fond of the pressuring stare, “is that because of…?”

Of course he had picked up on that. How strange it was for him to claim that he thought that you were a difficult read when his assessment was in fact, incredibly accurate.

You shrugged with an unsure tone. “I… I guess I was just never allowed to express myself, that’s all.”

Kenjaku nodded, the motion of him doing so ever so slightly visible from a sideways glance. “Need me to turn this car around and take care of him for you?”

You laughed at the offer, shaking your head at the very thought. “Surprisingly nice of you to volunteer, but it’s complicated. I don’t think you can.”

“Ah, you underestimate me,” he teased.

With a weary sigh, you decided to shed some light on the situation, “It’s just… he’s part of a renowned clan within the region,” you paused, considering how to explain it further before continuing, “the members from his clan have a long-running track record of participating in corrupt practices. A fair share of them are involved in national politics and well, he… he’s involved in law enforcement. You could try to touch him, but he hides behind his connections like the coward I know he is deep down.”

Kenjaku could only scoff. “Ah, so one of those,” he thought to himself in the meanwhile, letting the sound of the road bridge the gap of the inflicted silence. There was one clan in particular known for such a thing and it would be very unfortunate if you were involved in such a thing. Not just for your sake, but for his own, too. Now that you were involved with him, he had to figure out how to keep that personal conundrum from catching up to you.

He let his thoughts run again, leading to a heavy silence to further fester in the car. Given your tense and almost nervous spirit after the ramble, you were likely still also processing the torture he had inflicted upon the noodle shop guy. That was just his assessment though, he could have been wrong. Being the asshole that he was, however, he looked for the right opportunity to work such a topic into getting a reaction from you. Given that you were so terribly unsure of yourself, he could likely work that into his favour.

“It’s very unlikely that he will catch up to you,” he decided to assure, adopting a cleaner tone, one that was partially reserved for when he needed to manipulate someone with one of his many smoothly crafted lies. This ‘manipulation’ was for your own good, though, because he was damned if he was going to be travelling with someone who had scammed him of the chaotic dynamic that he was initially swooned by. He wanted that strange, slightly unhinged person back. The one that joked in the face of death. Was this really so manipulative if he was forcing you to… let go? Surely he was actually doing a nice thing instead?

You sucked at your teeth, tutting in disagreement, “Yeah, you say that, but—”

“—he wont,” he cut you off, lying through his teeth. On the off chance that it was the clan that he was thinking of, the guy was already likely on your tail. There was no way that he would have accepted your death, even if you both didn’t get along. Any grieving performance that he acted out in the media was likely just a cover to save his own face. “Just… listen to me for once, will you? Enjoy your newfound freedom. Let go. Be the person you actually want to be, not the person you’re running away from—and I’m not talking about your boyfriend.”

Kenjaku continued to coax you in with a slight touch, the back of his hand tempting your skin. The night air that sept into the partially ajar windows of the car prickled goosebumps along your arm, causing an electrifying sort of sensation when his touch met yours. You tried not to pull away, trying to ease yourself into it, but it still felt wrong.

The way you flinched didn’t go entirely unnoticed by him either, as he logged a mental note into his mind that you tried to see it through, but your reaction still wasn’t fully accepting just yet. Despite the walls you kept in place around you constantly, he continued to sweep his hand back and forth, studying your reaction carefully. He needed you still compliant, so whatever followed next wouldn’t be anything against your wishes—even though he could very much get away with applying force—but he figured that it’s actually less fun and not quite the same as opposed to when you were willing. No, he wanted for you to become clingy, needy, dependent, even. Then it would be truly fun.

He repeated those languid, soothing motions before getting the car back onto the main road and retracting his touch from you at long last. He quietly watched as you struggled to piece together what was going on, finding the sight to be nothing short of entertaining. Watching closely, he was able to at least successfully determine that this particular action comforted you, so that’s something he could use to his benefit in the future.

To get you used to his touch until you didn’t flinch anymore and then, only then, would he move forward with you. Slowly but surely, he would mould you to match his egoistic energy, making you crave the possibility of being touched by him—of being used.

Until then however, he had places to be and matters to settle. Tokyo was just over the horizon and he had a small studio in one of the lesser populated districts in a worse-off neighbourhood. By some odd stroke of luck, despite his lengthy absence, that one unit had neither been broken into nor used for god knows what.

He planned to reconnect and mingle with some old allies from about a year ago, although perhaps the term ‘allies’ was too generous of a word to use for them. Perhaps they were closer to being contacted acquaintances. It was a small unorganised(?) crime group that wanted to see a world without law, so maybe, just maybe you could get along with those misfits on your your shared trait of sticking it to authority figures, but then again… they were also a bad influence. He would know. So maybe he should keep your interactions with the bunch limited instead.

For now, he would try to dig up some dirt on the clan you were involved with. Again, he had an inkling of an idea of which one it was given that you had already fed him a couple of context clues. Either from the appointed location of the clan or the professions. Essentially, in order to maintain his position of having the upper hand, he needed to know what he was working with—or who. He joked about it in the car, but he was otherwise perfectly content with getting rid of the guy if there was such a possibility. Not because he was doing it for you, though, but rather for his interests. If he planted the idea that he did something major for you, then you would forever be in his debt.

Then you would be even more fun to toy with.

Kenjaku then parked the vehicle on the off-street parking, locking up the thing with you in tow. He then walked with you up the block, letting you inside and to his surprise, the place was completely untouched, albeit dusty. He looked around before reaching for the light, illuminating the small stretch of space, gesturing that you once again take the bed because he didn’t mind the futon otherwise and besides, he needed for you to trust him even more, so he was happy to play the waiting game with you.

“We’ll rest up and then we’ll go ‘identity shopping’ tomorrow in Shinjuku,” he announced, sprawling out on the sofa, lifting his hips up before widening his legs ever so slightly to relax.

“Yeah, okay,” you murmured before crawling into the bed feeling very much worn and although your words were surely curt and quick to the point, he could have almost sworn that were was genuine warmth in your voice.

(Was he finally getting to you?)

~~~

The streets in the Shinjuku were just as crowded as they were during the day as they were at night and Kenjaku roamed the vicinity with you closely beside him, searching for the perfect someone who would be a good face match with you. A couple of people with similar features came to mind, but it also had to be the right type of person to disappear. There was one woman in particular that he had latched onto, that given the lack of confidence and meek demeanour, that she wasn’t in the best place in life.

He made you follow along, guiding you to the road that she stuck to, taking the same train and tailing her before finally reaching a place that was just as much, if not more run down than his own studio.

Oh, this was perfect, he thought.

Breaking in was surely enough and due to the exhausted state that the mystery woman seemed to be in, it was very easy to take her out too. You wondered to yourself why identity theft had to result in murder, but didn’t question his methods too much, lest he lectured you on the sanctity of sentiment yet again.

“Now, I’m going to teach you how to really steal an identity,” he spoke up, muttering more words from under his breath. “Watch closely.”

You stared at the unconscious woman on the floor. “She doesn’t even look like me.”

He rolled his eyes in response. “She looks like you enough. As long as the look in your eyes is similar then it’ll work. My best stolen identity was a guy who was full of himself and look where that got me.”

“Fair enough,” you sulked. “In that case, anyone with the look of depression would make do, surely?”

Kenjaku could only scoff. “Is that what that is? Sure. Fine. You match her look of being dead inside, that’s why this’ll work.”

“So, what now…?” you asked, watching him dig out all forms of her identity. “Do we just bounce…? Or…? I don’t think she’s waking up after such a heavy blow.”

“Not so fast,” he replied, tugging you back with a grappled arm. “We have to make sure that the other person disappears first. This means scrubbing them clean of their fingerprints and removing major identifiers like her hair, teeth and nails—”

“—so, why not just skin her?” you asked. “It’ll take care of the hair and then all you have left is the teeth… maybe nails too.”

He looked at you for what felt like a very long time, the look on his face slowly morphing into something… genuinely concerned for the way your mind operated. “I beg your finest pardon?”

“...Just a suggestion,” you replied, “also don’t you ‘I beg your finest pardon’ me, you literally burned someone’s eyes into blindness.”

“Yeah,” he agreed before deflecting his actions, “as a spur of the moment thing,” he then cleared his throat. “I looked around and utilised the environment towards my own benefit, whereas you just had that idea floating around at the top of your head.”

“I’m just saying that if you can get rid of the skin, then you can get rid of everything,” you shrugged, leaning back against the wall.

“Right,” he replied with a deadpan tone, “and how do you suppose I do that, then? Skinning isn’t something as easy as just pulling apart their flesh from muscle. You need to mark off and section skin, making special sorts of incisions as you go along.”

You shrugged yet again, continuing to bicker with him. “Yeah? It sounds like you know what you’re talking about, so…”

“I have a background, that’s why,” he disclosed, “but… it’s more effort than it’s worth. It’s easier to break her down and then scatter the parts instead. Let’s save the effort for when I get another feeling about someone and want to study them, alright?”

“Oh, in that case, you could probably study humanity by processing decay. Cure someone in salt and then preserve them forever,” you suggested in an eerily nonchalant tone.

“What?” he blinked.

“You know, like… curing meat in salt?” you elaborated.

“I…” he sighed, holding up his hand, “I might need a moment.”

Kenjaku then stared at you again for a very, very long time, putting down the pliers in his hand over a table and then returning his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. He tweezed it tight and then simply just sighed. There was something… off about you, that he couldn’t quite stay away from. You went from being very lively to very closed off to being very creepy in just a matter of days.

For now, he chose to encourage whatever… this… was. “Glad to see you're back to being unhinged, I guess! I’d hate to admit it, but I missed that weirdo.”

In the meantime, he proceeded to break the body down as you watched for the ‘lesson’. He took out many sealable plastic bags that he brought with him and started to fold them in between piled towels. He then borrowed some bleach from her bathroom before beginning to sweep clean every single nook and crevice within the studio—luckily it was small enough—all the while you continued to talk. He listened with a troubled look on his face as you prattled on and on about how salt was actually a good curing agent, so imagine the look on the authorities’ faces when they discover a mummified body preserved like beef jerky. Despite his quickly building unease however, he felt almost… turned on?

Was this really what got him going?

You eventually quietened down however, looking down at your phone with a deep focused stare. It could have been dizziness from the sight or the smell, but something about the look on your face argued against that. No, you looked… troubled, almost.

“Something up?” he asked.

You replied with a fretting hum, “Boyfriend’s made the news,” you admitted, appearing to be reading some sort of article. From the look of it, it seemed to be one of the national papers rather than something locally confined.

Rather than asking you more about the topic, he decided to instead temporarily confiscate the phone to read it. He was damned if he was about to do this one major lead slip.

[Chief of Police] were the first few words that caught his eye, causing him to stare at the screen for a moment. Not just an officer, but an entire leader? What? Oh no, no, no. You had some explaining to do.

“What is this?” he asked, holding up the phone to you.

You tilted your head to the side. “The news?”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” he scoffed, “I thought you said that he was just an officer.”

You seemed momentarily dumbfounded. “But… he is?”

Kenjaku sighed and made you read the article again.

“Oh…” you finally replied, sounding a touch more surprised than before. “I guess that he got promoted? I suppose that this makes sense… his father was the old chief.”

“Fucking nepo babies,” he muttured in annoyance, “is he any good at all at his job?”

“Sorta,” you considered, “he’s very perceptive.”

He nodded, resuming his scrubbing at a faster, harder rate, leaving no trace of evidence that they were ever here. There was the hotel that was handled sloppily though, but maybe that’s one way his allies could be utilised right away. If only he could throw off the trail by a bit and clear the path.

…Maybe Mahito? If he was going to be reconnecting with the group anyway, then he could appoint that oddball for the job. If anyone was capable of replicating his sadistic nature to not be cast away as a copycat, then Mahito was the right one for the job. All he needed to do was shake off your boyfriend’s trail for now as the main course of action.

“So, he’s a challenge then, is he?” he asked you, having an idea to corner the guy now and maybe probe the answer to humanity through him one day, seeming almost giddy at the thought. “Luckily for us both, I enjoy a good challenge.”

~~~

Back at the studio, he sat back down on the sofa, patting against the pillow to have you join him. To his surprise, you listened to his silent request, seeming to be a little curious. In truth, you were tired with being so closed off all of the time, so you initiated the touch for a change, feeling around him in a slightly suggestive way.

Feeling his mind going blank, Kenjaku wondered if his luck was finally going towards that direction at long last. He reciprocated with a dominating touch, only to be met with surprise when you insisted on taking the lead.

“Are you doing this because you want to?” he asked, unsure was to why he was even stopping you. He wanted this too. He was slightly touch starved, after all.

You paused in your motions for a second before responding, “I had… a relationship of convenience with my boyfriend. We were together essentially due to politics because of my family owning a construction company and due to them having a few deals ongoing with the clan, Naoya Zenin never quite gave me a chance to say no when he first began to pursue me,” you chose to outwardly reveal, continuing to sound very sure of yourself, “and being so shy and maybe… stupid, like a fool, I never once complained.”

Kenjaku nodded, not being surprised that you even managed to get manipulated into something like that. Despite wanting to manipulate you to further his own personal gain, he would have to teach you how to avoid falling victim to such a thing. He was feeling ever so slightly territorial, after all, without a single clue as to why.

“But it was bleak, of course,” you added, resuming the touch, “I never learned what I like nor dislike in bed. I want to figure this out by myself, so no leading the way.”

He nodded once more, not turning the touch away. So be it.

Although something new made sense to him.

That thing about not knowing what you like.

After living so many identities and having to pretend to be so many people, was it perhaps… similar for him?

Maybe for once in his life, he had actually managed to find someone who understands.

[watery-melon-baller]

past me would be rolling in her fucking grave if she found out that present me is the kind of math nerd who loves doing calculus

[katierosefun]

okay so now that i’ve officially finished watching leverage i just want to say that maybe i’m obsessed with this show on multiple levels and something about how it hits so many itches in that it’s about found family and it’s about fucking over bad, rich guys (no billionaire bootlicking in this show! and i fucking love it) and it’s also about how sometimes the bad guys are the only good guys you get and it’s also about how we are all stronger together it’s about how at the start of this show, we have all of these characters who are largely used to working alone and being alone and yet the show concludes that ultimately, we are better when we are together and by being together, we might be able to leave something behind that is bigger and brighter for the next people in our generation and no man is an island and no person is meant to beat goliath on their own or whatever

[disteal]

So I haven’t talked about this on main before, but the situation in South Gaza has gotten so horrifying that I’m p much throwing caution to the wind to desperately plead for eyes on this. I’m raising awareness about stories from activists in Gaza right now, including one of our own.

My lovely, wonderful friend Swin (aka tumblr user @combaticon) was deployed as a volunteer medic to a Gaza hospital on the 9th.

When the bloodshed started, she heard they needed extra hands in Gaza, she spoke Arabic and had the training, and she went.

I’ve been in contact with her throughout. She’s so incredibly brave it takes my breath away. My heart bleeds for these children she’s taking care of and how resilient they are is… astonishing.

Swin and these poor people have been under siege for so long, and they’re in desperate need of critical supplies. They have to filter water through their clothes, and it’s getting dangerously cold. Foods finally been getting through, but there’s not enough blankets and jackets to go around and there’s no fuel for the generators.

Their comrades in the West Bank have been completely pushed out by settler thugs. It’s incredibly unsafe to even be doing humanitarian work for Palestinians. Remember this the next time a Zionist tells you they’re doing this to ‘feel safe’. The IOF is arming lynch mobs.

On a personal note, this has been the most gut-wrenching week of my life. Every day when I wake up without a text from her I feel so much fear. I fight back the grief but I don’t know how to help or what to do. It’s terrifying.

Swin has asked for nothing, absolutely nothing other than something it can show the people around it to make them feel like they’re not going to be abandoned. To make sure they’re not forgotten in some pit praying Rafah opens before Israel decides to slaughter them all.

Today was a bad day. She’s alive but beyond worrying about her privacy now; she’s asked me to share this and to beg that we not lose steam and forget about them. Please share this, and please keep being fucking annoying and loud and digging your heels in with fury because we cannot let these people die silently.

[Times of Gaza] [QUD network] [Eye on Palestine]

[link to GCC registration website as the link in this picture is broken]

Please keep in mind that the Global Conscience Convoy is NOT soliciting donations, and registration is to sign up for attendance to the actual event in Cairo. There’s a list of other actions you can do to boost awareness for their protest at Rafah on the website.

[ellecdc]

mother!!!! that recent poly!marauders + lily fic had me WEAK. if you please, could you write a part two where shy!reader finds out remus is a werewolf? I could see rem really not wanting her to find out bc he doesn’t want to scare her, but maybe severus(or somebody) spills the beans thinking she already knew, or she overheard a conversation between the boys. she’d be accepting of course, but remus freaks out when she finds out. just a lot of comfort and reassurance.

hope that gives you some inspiration, also, totally don’t have to write it if you don’t want to, of course!!! ilysm 🖤💚

I took this in a bit of a different direction but the ending's just the same! thanks so much sweets <3 <3

pt 1 // pt 2 // pt 3 // pt 4 // pt 5

4.6k words

poly!marauders + lily x shy!reader who learns about Remus' furry little problem

CW: miscommunication trope, insecurities, angst [with a happy ending], reader is feeling incredibly insecure in this fic, James cries, Sirius cries a little bit too but they all pretend not to notice for his sake

You felt terribly foolish; no, you felt worse. You felt absolutely humiliated and you had no one to blame but yourself.

And now that you were here - ‘here’ being rushing to the dungeons to lock yourself in the Hufflepuff dormitories for the next foreseeable future - you aren’t sure how you had convinced yourself that this was going to end any other way. 

It was a pipedream at best, thinking you had any place amongst the infamous Marauders and the princess of Gryffindor, and it was delusional at worst. 

Of course they’d grow weary of you, of course they’d find your nerves and anxiety tiresome, of course they’d wind up bored of accommodating you when they were all so much more than you. 

What had you been thinking? How did you manage to allow yourself to believe that this was anything but a phase for them - they saw you as a challenge, they beat the challenge, and now they were through with you. 

You thought that the sweet looks, the kisses, the affection, the effort all meant more than it obviously did.

At least to them.

To you, it meant the world.

To them, it was a chore.

You were a chore.

Foolish girl. 

You had been on your way to the library to meet up with the boys and Lily to study for the upcoming Herbology test. It was the first real group ‘date’ after the sketchiness that usually followed Remus about once a month that no one else seemed inclined to comment on, so neither did you.

Except…except, this time, some lingering tension seemed to follow the bout of sketchiness. 

And still, no one seemed particularly inclined to comment on it.

And you couldn’t help but feel like you were out of the loop somehow, but you chalked that up to being a newer addition to the dynamic, and not living with them in Gryffindor tower.

That is until you happened to be walking out of their view behind the stacks of books that their table was situated by when you overheard their conversation. 

“You’re going to have to say something to her, Rem. This is getting out of hand.” You heard Lily say solemnly, earning her a pained groan from Remus’ lips, causing you to pause behind the stacks so as to not interrupt their conversation.

“Can’t we just ignore this? Just for a little longer?” Remus bargained. “I mean, it can’t be that bad?”

“It’s worse, Moons.” Sirius corrected. 

“Y/N’s so sensitive though.” James added. “I mean, how would that conversation even go? How do you tell her something like that?”

“It has to come from Remus.” Lily stated matter-of-factly. 

Remus let out a long-suffering sigh. “And how do you suggest I go about this?”

“Listen.” Sirius asserted. “I don’t bloody care how we tell her, but we have to say something. I cannot keep living like this; it’s exhausting.”

Lily made a tsking sound and placed a consoling hand on Sirius’ shoulder as Remus let out another sigh.

“I know, I know; I’m sorry you guys. I thought we could ignore it but…I don’t think we can anymore.”

Lily, Sirius, and James all made a hum of acknowledgement.

“I think we ought to just rip the bandaid off and hope she understands.” Lily said.

You felt your stomach migrate to your throat as you turned on your heels and fled the library.

Is that what all the tension was about? Is that what this library study date was? Just a ruse to sit you down so they could break up with you?

Of course it was, idiot. You scolded yourself.  They were foolish to entertain the likes of you for any amount of time. 

So now you were here - ‘here’ being rushing to the dungeons to lock yourself in the Hufflepuff dormitories for the next foreseeable future - and you aren’t sure how you had convinced yourself that this was going to end any other way. 

“Do you think I should do it tonight?” Remus asked Lily as she finally sat down. 

“I think it would be best if we did, sweetheart. I just can’t help feeling like we’re keeping her at arms length by keeping it a secret, you know?”

“I agree.” Sirius said quickly. “It feels like she’s more of a guest than actually part of the relationship whilst we’re keeping something so big from her.” 

“I just don’t want her to hate me.” Remus admitted in a whisper.

“Remmy.” James cooed from the other side of Sirius. “Our sweet little Puffle seems completely incapable of hatred. But you know we’ve got your back 110% if she’s not accepting of you, right?”

The other two nodded in agreement but Remus only grimaced. “It just feels like I’d be ruining the relationship for all of you if the only person she has a problem with is me.” 

“Impossible.” Sirius replied emphatically. “Anyone who has a problem with you has a problem with us, Moons.”

“Even if we weren’t dating, Rem, if someone didn’t respect my friend - or anyone, for that matter - because of their lycanthropy, I wouldn’t want them around anyways.” Lily agreed.

“I don’t think we’ll have a problem, though.” Sirius continued. “Like Prongs said, she’s our sweet girl; I’m sure she’ll handle this fine.”

“Where is she, anyway?” James said, flipping his wrist to check his watch. “She was supposed to meet us like twenty minutes ago.” 

The other three shared a look of bemusement. 

“Do you have the map?” Sirius asked.

James quickly pulled the map from his book bag to scan the parchment for your name. “It says she’s in the Hufflepuff common room?”

“Maybe she forgot?” Lily mused.

“I spoke to her at dinner; she said she was going to change out of her uniform and then meet us here.” Remus replied, feeling his heart rise to his throat with nerves. 

What if she knew? What if she already found out? What if she hated him? 

“Rem, it’s alright.” Lily placated, clearly seeing his concern etched onto his face. “Maybe she wasn’t feeling well, or got caught up with something else.”

“She’s never bailed on us before…” James admitted, looking just as worried as Remus was. “Maybe we should check on her?”

“Why don’t we give her tonight; I think after all the shite we put her through this week, she’s allotted one missed date.” Sirius decided, opting to keep his tone light as he teased Remus for his ‘pre-moon angstiness’ as his partners call it.   

“We’ll catch up with her tomorrow.” Lily decided; and Remus and James shared a look of concern as they relented to study for the upcoming Herbology test without you. 

You weren’t really mad at the Gryffindor’s for their decision to end things with you; at least not at first.

People were allowed to change their minds, and you supposed that was the purpose of dating, right? To see if the person you’re interested in is someone you want to keep around indefinitely?

So, people were allowed to change their mind, and that was okay.

You also couldn’t particularly blame them; you were shy, quiet, timid, awkward in most social settings and certainly not as adventurous as them, it was only a matter of time before they grew bored of you. 

So you hadn’t been mad at them, not at first. 

But you were growing increasingly annoyed at their attempts to force themselves within your space. 

You had opted to sit at the Hufflepuff table for breakfast the next morning; there was no sense sitting at the Gryffindor table with them anymore.

But then you couldn’t handle the feeling of your heart splintering every time you heard Sirius’ bark of laughter or Lily’s giggle at something Remus said or that James did. So you quickly scarfed down your toast and grabbed a muffin to shove in your bag before fleeing from the Great Hall.

What you didn’t notice was James noticing you only as you were leaving, looking incredibly worried.

You nearly shrieked when you exited your Astronomy class that you had with the Ravenclaws and slammed into Sirius’ frame.

“There you are, dolly! We missed you this morning!” He proclaimed as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

You quickly collected yourself; heart racing from the scare and then quickly migrating to your throat out of embarrassment and hurt at this familiarity you had with him only to be about to lose it.

“Sorry, I had been running late.” You said quickly as you headed for the stairs; the long-haired boy quickly keeping up with your steps. 

“Were you feeling alright?” He asked you.

“How do you mean?”

Sirius tilted his head slightly as he considered you. “Well, you didn’t show up to the library last night, and then you were running late this morning; that’s not like you.”

A hot frustrated emotion burned in your chest that you weren’t completely accustomed to feeling. 

Wasn’t he the one to say he couldn’t live like this anymore?

It wasn’t fair of you to be frustrated though, which frustrated you even more; he didn’t know that you had shown up to the library last night, nor that you had gotten to the Great Hall on time.

They hadn’t even noticed you this morning. 

And that’s why they were ending things; you were forgettable, ignorable, unnoticeable. 

“I’m fine, Sirius. Thank you.” You said simply, and quickly headed for the girl’s loo in order to shake him off. 

Remus had approached you in Care of Magical Creatures as well, which somehow hurt more.

Perhaps it was because you knew he was going to be the one to tell you that things were over; though you had thought he’d be better than to break up with you in the middle of class. 

“Hey, dove.” He said as he gently nudged your arm with his elbow; watching as you groomed the puffskein on your table. 

“Hey, Remus.” You said quietly, not removing your eyes from the Beast you were working with.

“I missed you last night.” He admitted quietly. 

Did you? You thought petulantly. 

“Sorry.” You murmured instead. 

“You don’t have to be sorry.” He said as he leaned his elbows on your workbench; if it had been any other student, you’re certain Professor O’Brien would have scolded him for not handling the beasts with adequate caution, but Remus seemed to be allowed certain privileges and the puffskein “Kujo” didn’t seem to mind him much. “I just missed you is all.” 

And he was smiling that sweet, soft smile at you and he seemed like he actually meant it which only further contributed to your ire. 

What happened to ripping the bandaid off? Why keep up this affectionate act if it was only going to end?

Remus looked like he was going to say something when the Professor announced the end of class. 

“I’ll catch up with you later.” You offered quickly before you all but threw Kujo back into his pen and took off towards the castle.

The final straw had to be Herbology, though.

You shared Herbology with the Gryffindors, and because you were a new addition - your the four Gryffindor’s all shared a potting bench whilst you worked alongside another Hufflepuff.

Today, however, it appeared that James had other plans.

Before Sadie-Jane could take her seat beside you, James had plopped himself - rather carefully for the notoriously boisterous quidditch chaser, mind you - on the stool beside you.

“Hey, angel.”

Again, with the pet names. 

It felt torturous at this point; part of you wanted to rip the bandaid off yourself.

But you looked over at the sweet, warm, inviting face of James Potter and any resolve to tell him to shove it completely dissipated. He was all messy curls, round frames, and warm eyes.

And you might have been [must have been] mistaken, but you felt you could see anxiety and worry painted in his features.

You supposed breaking up with someone could do that to a person, though.

“Hi Jamie.” You whispered back as you opted to ready your supplies for today’s lesson.

“I was wondering if you were going to come to the game tonight?” He blurted then, looking slightly embarrassed at his outburst. 

Right…the game. The game against Slytherin. The game that would have you sitting between Remus and Lily as they cheered for James and Sirius. That game. 

“I...uhm, well…”

Rip the bandaid off. 

But it was James. 

And you were in class.

And you could see Lily and Remus trying - and failing - to not look like they were watching you and James whilst Sirius had no such qualms and was actively staring at the two of you. 

“Yeah, I’ll…I’ll see.” You offered James, mustering up what you hoped was a convincing enough smile.

You could tell by the divot that appeared in James’ brows that you were not convincing in the slightest.

Thankfully Professor Sprout appeared then, instructing everyone to take their seats for class to begin, and Sadie-Jane came to claim her seat from the Gryffindor. 

You didn’t go to the game that night.

Gryffindor lost. 

And though you didn’t know at the time, James cried, but it wasn’t about losing to Slytherin. 

“So, why are you hiding in the dorms?” Caroline asked as she rolled away from her open magazine on her bed, clearly preferring potential drama you could offer her than whatever was in this week's Witch Weekly. 

“I’m not hiding.” You muttered back, not looking up from your cross-stitch you were working on instead of, you know, dealing with your problems. 

“Right.” Caroline agreed, not sounding like she agreed with you at all. “That’s why you’ve started and quit several hobbies over the weekend and have been going to the kitchen’s to grab food instead of eating in the Great Hall like a normal person.”

You looked over at your half finished gem ‘paint-by-numbers’, the scarf you’d crocheted that looked more like the skin of a messed up snake that had a terrible time shedding, and the guitar you had borrowed from Fenwick and nearly broke in a fit of rage when you couldn’t get it to sound the way you wanted it too.

“I just…can’t face them right now.” You admitted dejectedly.

“I don’t blame you. Helga, have you seen the lot of them? If I’d known they were accepting more I would have made my shot.” She mused as she laid back on her bed.

Grief and jealousy intertwined within you as you thought about them dating anyone else but you.

But you supposed that was their prerogative; they were allowed to change their minds. 

“Yeah well, you may still have a chance.” You muttered, capturing Caroline’s attention.

“What?” She asked quickly, but you didn’t have a chance to answer before there was a knock on the door. 

“Were you expecting anyone?” She asked with a salacious wink, causing you to glare at her.

“If it’s them, I’m not here; please.” You practically begged your roommate as she rolled her eyes and moved to the door to your dorm room. 

“Oh, hello Evans.” Caroline greeted, causing you to scrunch your eyes closed from your place currently hidden from view of the door. 

“Hi! Erm, is Y/N around?” Lily asked, sounding uncharacteristically awkward.

“Uh…no, she’s not in right now. I can let her know you stopped by, though?” Caroline offered.

You heard Lily thank her before Caroline closed the door again. 

“You sure you don’t want them? ‘Cause those Gryffindor’s are fine.” She sighed as she returned to her bed.

She let out a squawk when your pillow made contact with her head. 

Lily stepped out through the barrel to find Sirius and Remus exactly where she had left them (albeit far more tense) as James came running from down the hall where he had been pacing nervously. 

“Well?” James asked.

Lily pursed her lips. “Her roommate said she wasn’t there.”

Remus looked down at the map to the place where your name was etched beside your roommate’s in the seventh year Hufflepuff girls’ dormitory. 

Either the map was faulty [fat chance], or you were avoiding them.

It was official. 

For whatever reason, they were losing you. 

You had somehow managed to avoid the Gryffindor’s all Monday; taking a moment to thank every deity that you only had Divination with the Gryffindor house, and none of your Gryffindor’s had opted to take it.

You wondered if you could call them your Gryffindor’s anymore…

You had run over to the kitchens - all but a hop skip and a jump from your common room - to grab dinner and were stepping back out through the portrait of the pears when you came face to face with Sirius.

“So nice to see you, Y/N; I’d almost forgotten what your face looked like.” He said; his tone taking on a harsh tone you weren’t accustomed to hearing directed at you causing you to wince.

“Pads…” Remus warned from behind him, though he was looking at you just as warily as Sirius was.

As was James and Lily.

Shit. 

“I’m glad to see you’re still eating…” Remus commented dejectedly as he nodded towards your smorgasbord of a plate that Winky had helped prepare for you that now looked horribly unappetising. 

“I…yes. Erm, what are you guys doing here?” You tried.

It had, apparently, been the wrong thing to say.

Sirius let out a derisive scoff. “Cut the bullshit, Y/N. What the hell has gotten into you?”

“Sirius.” Lily warned.

“Would you guys stop?” He barked back at them before returning his burning gaze back to you. “I’m tired of this; of running around the school looking for you, of being disappointed every time you bail on us, of having to hold James whilst he cries because you’ve let him down, of being lied to. So I’m going to ask again - what the hell has gotten into you?”

“Nothing has gotten into me…” You tried to argue, though it sounded feeble even to your own ears. 

James had cried? You made James cry…

The disappointment in Remus’ eyes, the concern in Lily’s, the anger in Sirius’, the sadness in James’... it was too much, too much, too much. 

“You’re going to stand there and lie to my sodding face?” Sirius asked incredulously.

“Sirius, stop it.” James ordered; his voice far more severe than you have ever heard from him. “Angel, please. Just…just tell us what’s wrong. Tell me what I can do to fix this.”

Any sadness that had settled in your chest bubbled into anger at his word choice.

“Fix this?” You repeated back to him. “Why? Why bother fixing anything if you’re all just going to leave me!?” 

The four Gryffindor’s stood staring at you with different levels of bemusement; Lily and Sirius at your words, Remus and James at you having raised your voice for the first time…well…ever. 

“What do you mean ‘leave you’?” Lily asked cautiously, causing you to scoff. 

“I heard you guys - in the library.”

“In the library? But…you never showed?” James asked.

“Yes, I did - and I heard you guys talking about me, so I decided to stay out of your way thinking that maybe I’d make it easier on you all. But then you’ve spent the past week absolutely torturing me; showing up at my classes, trying to sit beside me, showing up to my dorm room like you weren’t just biding your time.”

“Y/N, what exactly did you hear us say in the library?” Remus queried.

“That you couldn’t do this anymore! That someone ‘had to tell me’ because it was ‘getting out of hand’. That you couldn’t possibly live like this anymore and hopefully I’d just understand. And I do! I do understand; but what I don’t understand is what the point of chasing me around the bloody castle is if you-”

“Whoa, whoa. Okay, alright just breathe, darling, I’m sorry.” Lily attempted to placate, holding her hands up as she approached like you were some kind of feral cat.

You sort of acted like one when you swatted her hands away from you.

“No! No, it’s not fair! I’m sorry if I’m too much, or if I’m not enough; I get it, okay? I do; sometimes it doesn’t work out and that’s fair but if that’s how you feel then just leave me alone!” You shouted back, feeling the tears trailing down your neck at this point. 

“Y/N, please, listen okay? Just relax and we can talk this out.” Lily tried again as James let out a pained breath that sounded awfully close to a sob. 

“Remus, please.” He begged, turning his pooling hazel eyes to his scarred boyfriend who was looking at you in abject horror. “Please.”

“Y/N, you’ve misunderstood, dove. I-I’m sorry, It’s my fault, but what you heard…that wasn’t us talking about breaking up with you. I… It was about me.”

You wiped angrily at your face and set your now cold plate on the ground - you weren’t hungry anymore anyways. “It’s not you, it’s me?” You sneered half-heartedly.

“No, no…Merlin, Y/N I- I’m a werewolf. Okay? I have lycanthropy, I was bitten when I was four; that’s where I go once a month and why I get…weird. We were talking about the fact that I needed to tell you because it was hurting us to keep it from you. Dovey, I’m so sorry you’ve been so upset. Please, please take a breath for me.” 

You held your hands over your eyes as you tried to control your breathing.

Sketchiness…tension…disappearances… 

“You’re going to have to say something to her, Rem; this is getting out of hand”

“Can’t we just ignore this? Just for a little longer? I mean, it can’t be that bad?”

“Y/N’s so sensitive though… How do you tell her something like that?”

“It has to come from Remus.” 

“I don’t bloody care how we tell her, but we have to say something; I cannot keep living like this, it’s exhausting.”

“I’m sorry you guys. I thought we could ignore it but…I don’t think we can anymore.”

“I think we ought to just rip the bandaid off and hope she understands.”

“I’m a werewolf. I have lycanthropy…that’s where I go once a month.” 

“Please…baby, please say something. I-I’m so sorry.” You heard Sirius plead quietly; his shaky voice in stark contrast from the way he’d been barking at you just moments before. 

You pulled your wet hands away from your eyes to see all four of them looking at you with nothing but worry and heartache on their faces; though none looked quite as vulnerable as Remus did. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He whispered.

You sucked in a shuddering breath as more tears fell. “So…you don’t hate me?”

Remus let out a disbelieving laugh when you heard what sounded suspiciously like a sob from James.

“No! No, no dove, that- I’m rather quite in love with you, you know?” He pressed, daring to step closer to you. “Do you hate me?” He asked then, tone turning vulnerable once more.

“No.” You whined emphatically. 

“Oh my poor girl.” Sirius whined sympathetically. 

“Can I hug you? Please?” James all but begged, stepping in front of you with his arms open already; poised for you to say…

“Yes.”

You’re not sure he even waited for the affirmation to leave your lips before he had you encased in his arms.

You shoved your face into his chest and fisted his shirt in your hands; pulling him as close as you possibly could to your person. 

You weren’t sure how long you’d been standing there - directly in front of the kitchens and awfully close to your own common room - sniffling into James’ shirt as he sniffled into your hair, but you heard a sniffle come from beside you.

You turned to see Sirius’ grey eyes shiny and red as he looked at you imploringly. 

“I’m so sorry I yelled at you, sweetness. I’m such an arse I just…I-”

“It’s okay.” You whispered.

“No it’s not.” Sirius argued immediately. “I…I get like that sometimes; just horribly defensive and then I go on the offensive first. I didn’t even give you a chance to talk to us before I was attacking you; I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Siri.” You offered again, holding a hand out to him which he took readily. 

“I can’t believe you’ve spent this whole week believing we wanted nothing to do with you.” Lily whined from your other side. “I’m so sorry we left you feeling like that, darling girl.”

Though you were quite content in your muscled hideaway, you pulled away from James’ chest to wipe at your face again, feeling awfully self-conscious of how blotchy your face must look from your tears.

“I shouldn’t have assumed.” You admitted shamefully; voice scratchy from both the shouting and the crying.

“The way you described it, I can understand how our conversation sounded to you, babygirl.” Sirius contended. 

“So…you’re really not leaving me?” You asked again.

“I feel like I should be asking you that, dove.” Remus replied.

“Why would I be leaving you?”

Lily shared a knowing look with Sirius and James who in turn moved their gazes to Remus with expressions reading “see?”. 

“Not everyone would be accepting of a werewolf.”

You felt your eyebrows furrow as you looked at the others as if saying “are you hearing this right now?” 

“But…I love you? I…I don’t even know what else to say…I just… love you so, that’s fine.”

“I just love you so that’s fine.” Sirius repeated as he looked at Remus arrogantly. “I knew I should have placed a bet on how she’d respond; I’d have made five galleons!”

“We were not going to bet on how our girlfriend would respond to Remus’ furry little problem, Sirius.” Lily chided as she playfully swatted at his shoulder. 

“Besides,” James added, pulling you closer into his side again. “You would have lost because I don’t think any of us would have bet that she’d misinterpret our disastrous conversation as us trying to leave her and then spend the week believing we were waiting for the perfect time to break up with her only for us all to shout and cry when we realised what happened.”

“No, that's true.” Sirius agreed readily, looking back at you with sympathy. “I really am sorry, baby.”

“Me too.” Lily continued.

“Me most of all.” Remus added.

“I knew we should have gone looking for her that night.” James mused aloud mostly to himself. “Could have saved us all a lot of heartache.” 

“Yeah, yeah Prongs. You’re right again; I’m sure we’ll never live it down.” Sirius said with a playful eye roll. 

“How can we make it up to you?” Lily asked as she placed her hand at the juncture of your neck and shoulder and traced shapes along the column of your neck with her thumb.

You shook your head shyly and looked at your feet. “It’s not necessary guys.”

“Nonsense.” Sirius scoffed.

“Let’s start with some dinner, yeah? And maybe a cwtch in the boys’ dorm upstairs?” Remus offered to the group, though he seemed to be waiting for you to answer.

You nodded at him and he opened his arms in invitation which you accepted readily.

“I’m sorry, dovey.” He whispered into your hair.

“I’m sorry too, Rem.”

“Let’s never fight again.” James decided enthusiastically as Lily and Sirius stepped through the pear portrait into the kitchens.

“Sounds good to me, bubs.” Remus agreed as he bent down to press a kiss to James’ lips whilst keeping you secured to his side.

You were sure that after this week, these four wouldn’t be letting you out of their reach.

After this week, you weren’t sure you minded that at all.

[nereidprinc3ss]

strange perfections

in which spencer reid and fem!reader meet by accident at a coffee shop. and then they keep meeting there. they've really got to stop meeting like this. (no, seriously. hotch is pissed.) / do you believe me now? bonus chapter!

series masterlist

fluff! warnings/tags: meet cute:) some dark humor, romantically inexperienced reader, spencer reid graduated from caltech, mit, and the derek morgan school of rizz a/n: this can absolutely be read as a standalone BUT it was written as a prologue for my series do you believe me now? to explain how spencer and r met! completely optional, if you're only here for the smut no worries! reading this bonus chapter might make the next chapter better though as it contains discussions of how they met:) anyway, I LOVE YOU!! let me know if you like this silly little random thing! kisses

The café door opens again. A blustery wind raises goosebumps on your arms and makes your bones ache again. You look up at the latest intruder—a hobbling elderly man in a newsboy cap and a knit red scarf. 

Stupid scarf, you think. 

Stupid door. 

Stupid wind. 

Your mug is empty, and the table you’re sitting at is sort of sticky and rickety, and there are so many papers in front of you that you wonder why the hell you thought it’d be a good idea to print the PDF out and annotate it that way instead of just doing it on your laptop like a normal person in the 21st century. Nothing is going right today. It’s the third café you’ve tried in the past few weeks as you attempt to find some place that feels homey, lucky, but this one just feels… inconvenient. 

You look at the stack of papers and sigh. 

Stupid Lord Byron. 

Stupid cafe. 

Usually, cafés are relatively quiet and peaceful—a refuge for the overworked to bask in the luxury of quiet jazz and the smell of dark roast as they continue to overwork themselves. This particular establishment, however, today hosts a group of teenagers—presumably playing hooky—who have commandeered a big booth in the back and keep walking right past your table because��apparently they couldn’t have just ordered their drinks at once and they all have to do it separately and loudly. 

One of them has an incredibly irritating, gratingly pubescent laugh, and they think everything is hilarious. This whole situation is unbearable. 

Just as you’re gearing up to go, of course the fucking door opens again. This time, it’s accompanied by a particularly strong gust. 

Strong enough that Lord Byron doesn’t stand a chance. 

Your printed copy of his works blows off the table, at first page by painstakingly annotated page and then before you can even process it, all at once. 

Yeah. This is definitely not your lucky café. 

As you curse and go to stand up, you run into one of those dumb kids. His huge ceramic mug goes flying, careening against the edge of your table and completely splattering you and all your stuff in 16 liquid ounces of scalding espresso and milk. 

It’s silent for a second, save for a few drips from the puddle on your table to the floor, before the kid is apologizing profusely and turning red as a tomato. You can’t even respond—you look down at your ruined favorite sweater, and then around at the pages of Byron littered with color-coded sticky notes, overflowing with angry and purposeful red ink that you spent so much time on, scattered all over the floor. 

Eventually the boy catches on that you’re not going to forgive him and he skitters away, back to his friends, who whisper and giggle profusely. Only a few of them get up to start gathering the fallen pages with you. Several other patrons end up helping as well, so the sheets of paper are gathered and returned into your sticky hands fairly quickly. You thank each person without looking up as they hand you their respective stack. All you want is to get out of here. 

“Here—I’m really sorry about this,” someone says—a tenor-ish male voice, distinctly sympathetic as he holds out a rather larger stack of papers than anyone else had bothered to pick up. 

“I’ll live,” you sigh, straightening up. “But thank… you.”

The man standing in front of you is the kind of man who makes you want to untuck your hair from its usual spot behind your ears, and to stand up straighter, and to try and not stare even though you want his attention. He’s gloriously beautiful in a way that repels and attracts you. He’s the type of man who wouldn’t have given you the time of day in high school and probably wouldn’t now. Instantly you feel both insecure and reduced to a former version of you who would simper and fawn over boys who wanted nothing to do with her. You feel like going to the other side of the café and sitting in the best light and staring out the window poetically and hoping he’s looking at you. 

“On the one hand, I feel bad for being the person who opened the door and let the wind in. On the other… I feel compelled to say at least they’re not covered in coffee like the rest of your table is?”

You laugh vacantly, a second too late, positively coveting the awkward smile on his angular face. Then you make eye contact, and his eyes are so the opposite of angular—they’re huge and inviting and the warmest golden-brown you’ve ever seen, and they’re looking right back at you—and you have to look down. Fuck. You hate when you do that. 

Think of something normal to say!

“Yeah, true. Now I just have to reorder 264 pages. That… that don’t have page numbers.”

You shuffle through the papers. They are hopelessly scrambled. Your heart sinks just a bit.

“Um… I might actually be able to help with that, if you want?”

You frown, glancing up. What kind of sex trafficking ploy is this?

“That’s okay. Might be easier with just one person.”

He laughs—it’s similarly awkward, similarly endearing. 

“Do you mind letting me just… try? It’ll only take a minute.”

Only take a minute? Is this beautiful man deranged? Why are the hot ones always crazy?

But, perhaps because you’re a pushover who can’t stand up to people, much less beautiful people, much less beautiful men who are paying you undue attention, you find yourself giving in. You hold the stack out. 

“Sure. Give it your best shot. I’ll be impressed if you can even figure out what page one is.”

He’s already flipping through the papers with a drawn brow, walking away with them, and barely looking over his shoulder as he mutters, “I have Byron memorized. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

You follow him, because hello, he has all your annotations. He’s definitely insane, you think, as he sits down at a table and starts rapidly sorting the sheets into separate piles. 

All you can do is stand awkwardly behind him as he stacks papers seemingly at random, barely glancing at them before deciding where they go. 

Maybe a minute, maybe a few go by, each of which have you progressively more flabbergasted, before he’s tapping the edges of a stack of paper on the table and standing, handing them to you with his lips pressed into a thin pleasant line. There’s almost a glow about him—like he couldn’t be more in his comfort zone. 

“There you go. Should be in order now.” You sport a frown bordering on a grimace as you take the stack and flip through it a bit. Sure enough, it seems that everything is in order. You keep looking between the man in front of you and the papers, incredulous as you wait for something to be in the wrong spot. 

“How did you do that?” 

His cheeks turn slightly pink. 

“I know Byron really well. I know how each passage ends and begins so I put them together like puzzle pieces.”

“How did you read that fast?”

“Uh. I’m a speed-reader?”

You scoff, taking another look through the stack. 

“I think that may be underselling it.” A thought occurs to you as you’re grazing over one of your longer annotations—full of expletives and strong opinions. “Oh, god. You didn’t… you didn’t read my notes?”

The man’s eyebrows raise as if he was waiting for you to mention that and he smiles like he doesn’t quite know how to break it to you gently. 

“Maybe a few,” he eventually decides, laughing under his breath. “I appreciated the commentary on his relationship with Augusta. It was… colorful.”

Heat rises in your cheeks as you mumble. 

“Yeah, I had a hard time appreciating the romantic poems. They’re less cute when there’s like a fifty percent chance he’s writing about his sister.”

“Half sister,” he corrects. You give him a look. 

“Does that make it better?”

“… no,” he realizes. “Not even a little bit.”

You laugh, relieved that his face looks as warm as yours feels. 

“Well… thank you, for the help,” you say after a silent second. 

“Of course. Sorry, again. I, um—I hope your day gets better?”

“Yeah, well. I feel like statistically it has to, right? It’s kind of a low bar.”

He smiles, a perfect, perfect smile, and gives you a little wave as he leaves. Without coffee. Checking the clock on the wall, you realize it’s approaching one in the afternoon. If he’d been here on his lunch break, he sacrificed it to organize your stupid Byron texts. You smile to yourself. 

He was totally in love with me. 

And he can’t prove me wrong because I’ll probably never see him again. 

All things considered—this coffee shop does seem pretty lucky. Maybe you’ll stick with it for a while. 

The next time you see the mysterious sexy speed reader is four days later—though you’ve been here every day since. He catches your eye right as he walks in, and his brows jump in pleasant recognition. You smile. He smiles back, before going up to the counter and ordering a coffee with a ludicrous amount of sugar in it. 

I should take note for when I make him his coffee in the mornings, you think to yourself, and then you snort at your own delusions, shaking your head at your book. Obviously you’re not that divorced from reality, but you’ll entertain the fantasy forever until one of you stops showing up to this café. 

What you’re absolutely not expecting is for him to walk up to your table with his to-go cup. 

“Hi,” he says. 

“Hi!”

Jesus. Tone it down, girl scout. 

He gestures to your stack of papers: now secured in a three ring binder. The cup says Spencer. 

Spencer. Spencer. 

It feels important. 

“I see you’ve upgraded.”

“Yes! Yes, I did,” you laugh self-consciously, still struggling to meet his eyes. “Thank you for the help the other day. I would still be sorting through all of this if it weren’t for that, so… yeah. Thanks.”

“Of course! I’m glad I could be of use.”

“Spence!” Someone calls from the cafe door. You both look up to see a stunning blonde beckoning him away. 

Ah. Naturally. The girlfriend who is one trillion times prettier than you. 

Spence. 

Reality sets in. 

“Coming!” He replies, with all the eager compliance of a child, before turning back to you. “Um… well… I’ll see you?”

It’s an awkward way to say goodbye to a stranger, but you suddenly don’t care enough to dwell. Instead you nod once, less enthusiastic now that you know he has a 10 waiting for him on the sidewalk. 

“I am a creature of habit.”

Another wave as he walks away. 

The two disappear from the doorway, but the perpetual breeze seems to carry a snatched bit of conversation your way. 

“Who was that?” 

“Uh… I don’t actually know.”

Yeah. Reality definitely sets in. 

Over the next few days, you break your café streak. Life is busy. There’s not always time to artfully ponder Romantic poetry and drink a six dollar coffee while waiting around for certain people to show up. 

Okay, so… maybe it has more to do with him than you’re letting on. But you’re not going to do that thing you do again, where you become limerently obsessed with a man you don’t know and who is way out of your league just because you can’t form an actual attachment to anyone to save your life. Besides, you remind yourself; we probably wouldn’t be compatible anyway. He’s probably a huge loser. Or secretly a douche. Or chews with his mouth open. Obviously nobody that attractive can also have a good personality. 

Not to mention he has a girlfriend. That should put you off, too.

But you hadn’t been lying when you’d proclaimed to be a creature of habit—you return to the café once you feel sufficiently detached from this Spencer character. 

He’s there. Of course he’s there. Why had you been expecting for him to not be there? It’s not like he was a figment of your imagination. 

This time he’s accompanied by a different blonde woman—a bespectacled blonde with a big floral headband and a patterned dress and a red cardigan and tights and heels that look self-injurious. She’s quite eye-catching; you want to keep looking at her, but you seem to draw her attention, too. Her big eyes widen minutely and briefly you wonder if you’re supposed to know her, but certainly you’d remember meeting a person like that. She doesn’t seem easily forgettable. Both of you look to Spencer at the same time, who’s looking between you with an almost panicked expression. 

“Oh! Th—” the woman whispers, cutting herself off when she realizes how loud she’s being in the otherwise silent establishment. “Ah! Okay, right. Never mind.”

 Spencer sighs. You want to laugh, but you’re baffled by the whole thing. So you go back to reading. 

Ten minutes later, they draw your attention once more. 

“Go, go ahead! It’s more problematic for you to be late than me. I’ll be like, thirty seconds tops.”

You don’t look up as Spencer leaves the café—but are you supposed to gather that these two eccentric individuals are coworkers? And what of the first blonde woman, who you’d presumed to be his girlfriend? Where is she?

While you’re wondering all of this, the new blonde teeters her way over to your table. 

“Hi!” She says pleasantly, waving a purple-tipped hand and wearing the biggest grin. 

“Uh… hi?”

“I’m Penelope. You’ve met my friend Spencer. He just left.”

“Oh—sort of,” you smile weakly, closing your book. “Not formally. I didn’t know his name.”

That’s a lie, but maybe feigning non-chalance will make it real. 

“Well, I just wanted to come over and say I love your bag. And your jewelry and your coat. I love your whole look. I bet you’re a really cool person.”

“Um—thank you!” You perk up, smiling genuinely now. The compliment warms you—you didn’t think your look was all that interesting today. “You too. I love your outfit.”

“Great! You’re—you’re great. This is good information. Um… just out of, like, sheer curiosity, could I get your name, age, and occupation? Oh—and your zodiac sign?”

What kind of convoluted sex trafficking ploy—

“Garcia!”

Spencer is at the doorway again, looking adorably miffed. 

Adorable? Get a grip. 

“Wh—I’m just making a new friend! Is friendship illegal, now?”

“This is the kind of friend-making that gets you a restraining order,” he urges. 

You look up at Penelope Garcia, enamored by their whole dynamic. They clearly care for each other, despite the squabbling. What kind of job do they have where they talk to each other like this?

“It’s fine,” you smile, introducing yourself to her.

“That is such a good name!” She says, and you’re getting the sense she’s kind of always this enthusiastic. “So now we know each other’s names—we should probably definitely be friends, right?”

“Yeah! Um, definitely!”

“Yes? Oh my god! I love this! Okay, um—we work at Quantico, so, we’re like, 10 minutes away—but this is better than the coffee shop that’s closest to the building, so we come here all the time. Usually it’s just us and five grouchy old men, which makes this is really exciting.”

“Quantico… that’s the FBI academy, right?”

“Other stuff, too,” she nods, still smiley. 

Oh! Cool. So they’re FBI agents. 

So that’s cool. 

You’re cool with that. 

Her phone starts ringing—she locks eyes with Spencer. 

“Hotch?”

“Ooh, we are in trouble,” Penelope sing-songs, leaning down to write her number on your notebook without asking. Not that you mind, of course. She adds a little heart and a smiley face next to her name before capping your pen and toddling away. “Bye, new friend!” She calls over her shoulder, waving goodbye with just her fingers. 

“Bye,” you manage, though it’s probably too quiet. 

Spencer flattens his mouth into an approximation of a smile and waves again. 

You accidentally find yourself mirroring his goodbye, facial expression and all. Fuck. You hope he doesn’t notice. You hope he doesn’t read into it. 

Nah. Boys are dumb. 

You text Penelope later that afternoon—a simple greeting so that she can save your number—and then you forget about it. 

It’s not until five days go by without sign of any of them—the two blondes, Spencer, this mysterious and foreboding Hotch figure—that you start to seriously question your sanity. Did they drop off the face of the planet, or what?

But of course, just as you’re sitting at your usual table, Spencer walks in. Alone. 

He sees you immediately, but instead of the wave you’d come to expect, he immediately flushes, looks down at his shoes and hurries into the small lunch-rush line. 

Weird.

You corner him at the coffee bar, where he’s adding more sugar to his coffee. How are his teeth so nice if he does this to himself every single day?

“Hey,” you say, affecting casual confidence as you bus your empty mug. “… Spencer, right?”

It’s comical how you’re pretending you haven’t turned that name over and looked at it from every angle hundreds of times since the first time you heard it. 

He nods, only glancing up at you as he stirs. To your surprise, he knows your name, too. When you give him an odd look, he smiles almost apologetically, finally looking at your face for longer than half a second. 

“I heard you introducing yourself to Penelope. Sorry if that’s…”

“No, no! Is she around, today? I texted her last week, but she never responded...”

“Today is operating system update day, so I don’t even really have a way of knowing if she’s alive in her office.” It’s funny to him, but you just smile, baffled. He notices your silence and catches on, scrambling to explain himself. “She’s our tech analyst. There are 243 computers in our building and she has to update them all remotely, which requires getting every agent to agree to not touch their computer at the same time for an hour or so.”

“Oh… does the FBI not have, like… an IT guy, or something?”

He laughs again—the way his eyes crinkle when he does it makes you a little breathless. 

“You should say that to her. I think you would become her favorite person.”

It’s hard not to smile when he’s smiling because of you—however indirectly that may be. Quickly you realize you’ve both been standing in front of the coffee bar for too long. 

“Alright, well… tell her good luck, for me?”

“I would, but I’ve been kicked out for an hour while she does the updates.”

Your brow furrows and you laugh. 

“From the whole building? You just can’t keep your hands off your computer for an hour?”

“Not if I want to do my job, no. And I am kind of obsessive about my job. I’ve been the reason she had to start the whole process over again before and I’d rather not be that person again.”

You say it before you can think too hard. 

“Well, if you have an hour to kill… there’s an open seat at my table? No pressure, obviously.”

And that was the first of thousands of hours you would come to spend with Spencer Reid. 

After that, it sort of becomes a regular thing. He comes almost every day—except for occasional week or so long stretches, which you have discovered are a part of his absolutely fucking insane job—and sits with you, sometimes with Penelope, once with the other blonde, JJ, who you’ve since deduced is not his girlfriend, most often alone. Usually he can’t spare more than ten minutes, but he begins pushing it, little by little, until thirty minutes go by and you think surely his boss (the great and all-powerful Hotchner) must be beginning to notice. 

One day, during your usual lunchtime rendezvous, his phone rings. He talks right on through it, like it’s not happening.

It ceases. And then it starts again. 

Your head drops to your shoulder, something like pity or regret softening your features. He catches your eye and melts slightly, mid-sentence—like he knows you’re about to tell him to be responsible. 

“Do you think you should…”

His hands drop from where they’d been enthusiastically positioned mid-air. 

“They’ll be fine if I’m late from lunch one time. I’m usually more punctual than any of them.”

You roll your lip between your teeth—it’s not that you want to tell him to go; in fact, those delusions you’ve been harboring about your future life together are only getting worse with each inexplicable minute he entertains your company. 

But his job is important. 

“What if you have a case?”

“Then I would have gotten more calls from more people by now.”

Your head tips back as you laugh lightly at his unwavering insistence.   

“I’m flattered that you so enjoy my company that much. But I can’t with good conscience keep taking up your work hours like this.”

As the laughter fades, he just… watches you, lips slightly parted, eyes intense but not entirely present. 

“You’re probably right,” he finally breathes. “Maybe… you should start taking up my other hours, instead?”

Spencer Reid, you unexpected charmer. 

You balk.

“Like… we would hang out? At a different time of day? Not here?”

“Those are the basic premises, yes,” he chuckles, nodding affably. “I’ve never actually seen you anywhere else. For all I know you could be a ghost eternally tethered to this building.”

“Where would this hanging out take place?”

Fuck, you’re totally being weird. His brow knits. 

“I don’t know. Where else do people hang out?”

He’s not genuinely asking you, he’s gently turning you in the right direction. You charge forward blindly. 

“Restaurants.”

There’s that pretty smile of his again, the one that makes all the thoughts drain from your head like cold bathwater. Though, there’s a sort of mischievous edge to it now that you haven't seen before.

“That’s certainly an option. If I asked you to hang out with me at a restaurant... would you say yes?”

You look down. God, your face feels warm. 

“Would you be asking me out on a date? In this hypothetical scenario that we’ve constructed, I mean.”

Spencer seems to think about it for a moment, which fills you with unexpected panic. When you look back up anxiously, he has the same smile on his face, but his eyes are a little softer now. 

“I would.” 

More panic sets in—just a bit. But you don’t let what is undoubtedly a tidal wave of anxiety break through the emotional guard-dam. Keep it together. This is a good thing. This is what you wanted. 

Unfortunately, you are perhaps more transparent than you’d realized. Spencer begins to look slightly worried, leaning forward in his chair. 

“You don’t have to say yes. I know we don’t know each other very well, I just—”

“No!” You find yourself assuring him, though you curse yourself because you kind of want to know what he was going to say. “I would say yes. I’ve just, um—god,” you laugh gustily, self-consciously. “Sorry I’m being so weird. I’m out of my depth. Nobody’s asked me on a date before. I don’t really know the etiquette.”

Spencer chuckles. 

“You’re doing great. Don’t worry about it.”

Not, what?

Not, you’ve never been on a date before?

Not, that’s crazy, or that’s weird, or how have you gone your whole life without being asked out?

With the implication being, you’re odd. Different. Maybe not in a good way. 

He says none of that. 

“But I should probably actually ask you, huh?” His cheeks turn pink as his laughter is redirected inwards. 

“Sounds like a good first step.”

Spencer is still smiling as he says your name and it sounds so good from his mouth. It makes you sound so real. 

“Will you go on a date with me?”

Butterflies in your stomach doesn't begin to brush what you're experiencing—your entire abdominal cavity is like a Monarch sanctuary.

“I’d love to.”

He seems genuinely relieved as he beams, slumping back in his chair. 

“Oh, thank god. I was so nervous you’d say no. I never do that. Thank you for not saying no. Not that you couldn’t have said no—it would have been completely fine and obviously within your rights to—”

His phone rings again. Both of you are relieved that he was interrupted—but admittedly you thought his rambling was super cute. 

“I should—”

“You definitely need to go.”

“Yeah,” he agrees with a still-breathless smile. “Um—what’s your number?”

You look around fruitlessly for pen and paper. 

“I don’t—”

“Just tell me. I’ll remember.”

He’s so weird. 

A breeze hits your skin as he opens the door. You’re already writing your wedding vows in the back of your mind as you watch him go. 

-

part four

[norrizzandpia]

I’ve Got You (LN4)

Summary: In the midst of the FIA determining whether his lap times will be deleted, Y/n finds her boyfriend sitting in front of multiple cameras, but that doesn’t matter, he’s upset and she’s got him.

Warnings: none <3

Note: this is based off when Lando’s quali lap times were deleted and he was just sitting there looking at his hands all sad :(

“Where is he?” Y/n threw the headphones off her head the moment she caught wind of the news.

Andrea approached her softly, a hand up, “He’s doing the post-quali interviews, Y/n.”

She shook her head at him, “So, what? He’s just sitting there as they converse about his lap time? Andrea, you know how he gets with these things. He shouldn’t be alone.”

Andrea stepped in front of her when she tried to maneuver around him, trying to get to Lando, “Y/n, there are too many cameras. We can’t ensure PR.”

She blinked at him, “Are you fucking kidding me? Fuck PR. I don’t care about anything, but getting to him right now. He should not be alone right now. I mean, look at him!” She waved her hand toward the TVs, screens showing Lando picking at his nails as clear embarrassment sunk into his body, “He doesn’t even want to be alone right now.”

Andrea huffed, eyes glancing to the side before landing back on her and nodding, “Fine, but no major PDA.”

She loved Andrea, she truly did, but she gave him a nasty look before rushing off.

—

She weaseled her way through the crowds, tears springing her eyes at the image of Lando sitting idly by himself. A man stopped her when she tried to get passed the barriers, “Miss, you do not have authorization to enter into this area.”

She smiled at him, “I’m his girlfriend.”

That didn’t mean anything in the eyes of security, “Okay.”

A frown found its way onto her face, “Sir, please. I’m trying to comfort someone I love.”

He continued to shake his head, “I understand, but I cannot allow you into this area. I can’t confirm who you are.”

Hands tied, her eyes spotted Oscar and she yelled him over. When his feet landed him feet away from the situation, he didn’t need anytime to realize what was going on. Oscar grabbed Y/n’s arm, “It’s okay. She’s with me.”

The man thought for a moment before allowing her through, a smile on her face as she thanked Oscar. He waved it off, asking her to promise a happier Lando. She would try, she said.

Lando saw her feet first. Her white sneakers that she loved so much aligned in his vision and he stopped picking at his fingers. His gaze slid up her form as she sat down next to him, hand sliding under and around his arm softly. She heard the murmurs, they were incredibly loud, and the camera clicks, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. She could practically feel the upset melting off Lando. She hurt so much for him.

His body relaxed at the feeling of her warmth and when she laid her head on his shoulder, he laid his on the top of her head.

“I’m sorry, baby.” She whispered. Maybe lip readers would figure out what they said.

His hands went to fidget with the nails on his fingers, but she stopped him, linking their hands and softly rubbing his skin, “It’s okay. I need to work harder. I can’t keep failing like this.”

She squeezed his hand three times, a silent confession of love, “You’re not failing. You haven’t failed, Lan. Everybody is proud of you. Racing is a hard sport and you are one of the most talented drivers here. You’re so so hard on yourself, love.”

Lando chuckled, “Y/n, you have to say these things. You’re my girlfriend.”

She pulled her head back lightly, giving him a moment to get his off her head before looking him in the eyes, “Lan, I don’t have to say anything. When have I ever lied to you? When have I not told you that an outfit looked bad when it did? When have I not told you that a move you did in the race screwed you over when it did? When have I not told you you handled a situation badly when you did? I’ve always been up front with you. This is a hard track. You are not a failure, Lan. Nobody thinks that.”

He was quiet for a moment before pecking her lips, “Even though part of me is still beating myself up over this, knowing you’re proud of me helps it subside a bit.”

She smiled, kissing his cheek whilst still rubbing his hand, “Of course, I’m proud of you. Lan, I will always be proud of you. Even when you don’t give your all, I’m proud of you for being you. Fuck anybody who thinks different, you’ve got this. You have shown time and time again that you’ve got this. I’m sure you’ll give it your all tomorrow and you’ll continue to show just how much you’ve got this.”

His head fell to the side with a soft grin, “You think so?”

She brushed the hair around his face away, “Yes, I do think so. And, hey, even if you don’t, if you DNF, I’ll buy you your favorite ice cream and we’ll watch a sad movie, have a good cry. We can turn anything bad into something good.”

He laughed, “How is crying a good thing?”

She gave him a deadpanned look, “Baby, you love a good cry.”

He leaned into her as he giggled, “You’re right. You know me too well.”

She nodded, “I love you, don’t I?”

“I love you too. Thank you.” He whispered, kissing her lightly in fear of the cameras. He never told her often, but Y/n had the greatest ability to talk him out of his moments of self-doubt. Whether it was small or big, she always knew just the things to say to make him snap out of his anxieties. Her superpower, turning his frown upside down.

He wished he was as good as her at it, but she was Y/n, his favorite person, she did everything better than everybody.

He loved her for it, he lived for it, he continued for it.

He loved her, he lived for her, he continued for her.

And when they told him his lap times had been deleted, the weight didn’t feel as heavy. Her arm wrapped around the side of his body as they walked away and her whispers of reassurance in his ear, the lap time situation began to feel smaller.

He accredited it all to her. Her words worked wonders, but, if he was being honest, a small look sent his way from her would do the trick. He guessed it was how much he felt for her, how much of his happiness lay with her.

Under the Qatar Grand Prix lights, Lando found peace. When the reporters asked him how he was coping with the loss, he had the same response every time.

“Some time spent in the presence of my girlfriend will work wonders.”

[callsigns-haze]

I love your Tyler stuff! I have so many ideas in my head I just suck at writing lol

Could you write something where tyler and reader are married and They are out filming having a good time there and the reader who normally rides in the front seat with tyler switched to go with Lilly last second so javi could join tyler and the tornado shifted out of nowhere and reader and Lilly were right in the path. Reader gets hurt from the the car flipping over and it takes awhile for the rest of the crew to find them and the whole time tyler is freaking out and almost in tears. They finally find them and you can end it how you want.

Not so cruising

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Reader

Summary: During a storm chase, Y/N and Lilly are caught in a tornado after a last-minute seat swap, leading to a harrowing rescue by Tyler and the team, with Y/N injured but eventually safe.

Chapter Warning: Intense storm danger, car accident, and graphic descriptions of injuries.

The open road stretched out under the vast Oklahoma sky, the sun dipping low on the horizon as Y/N and Tyler cruised along, the truck’s engine humming steadily. The storm they’d been tracking all day was finally forming, and the anticipation in the air was electric. This was the thrill that had brought them together—two storm chasers with a passion for capturing nature’s most powerful and unpredictable displays.

Y/N normally rode shotgun with Tyler, the two of them an unstoppable team. But today, their crew had grown with the addition of Javi, an old friend and fellow chaser. Y/N noticed Lilly, their new meteorologist, looking a bit tense in the backseat. She decided to switch things up.

“You know what, Ty?” Y/N said with a grin. “I think I’ll keep Lilly company in the other car. Javi can ride with you.”

Tyler glanced over, surprised, but nodded. “Sure, if that’s what you want. Just be careful, okay?”

Y/N leaned in for a quick kiss before hopping out and heading over to the other SUV where Lilly was prepping her equipment. Javi climbed into the front seat of Tyler’s truck, the two men exchanging a few words before pulling away to follow the storm.

Y/N slid into the passenger seat next to Lilly, who smiled gratefully. “Thanks for joining me. I was feeling a little out of my depth with this one.”

“No problem,” Y/N replied, fastening her seatbelt. “Let’s go catch this beast.”

As they sped down the road, the sky above them began to churn. The storm had grown rapidly, dark clouds swirling ominously as lightning flashed in the distance. The radio crackled with updates from Tyler and Javi, who were just ahead, urging everyone to stay alert.

“We’ve got rotation,” Tyler’s voice came over the radio. “It’s starting to drop. Be ready to reposition.”

Lilly’s hands tightened on the wheel as she drove, following the lead vehicle closely. Y/N could feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins—the thrill of the chase, the anticipation of capturing something incredible.

But as they continued, the storm suddenly shifted, the tornado’s path veering unexpectedly. Y/N looked up, her eyes widening in horror as she realized the funnel was now headed directly toward them.

“Lilly, we need to move!” Y/N shouted, her voice edged with urgency.

Lilly swerved, trying to steer the SUV out of the tornado’s path, but it was too late. The powerful winds hit them with full force, lifting the vehicle off the ground. The world outside became a blur of chaos as the SUV flipped over, tumbling violently. Y/N felt a searing pain as she was thrown against the door, her vision going dark for a moment before everything went still.

Tyler’s heart stopped when he heard the crash over the radio. Javi, sensing the gravity of the situation, immediately tried to raise Y/N and Lilly, but there was no response. Tyler’s hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios.

“Y/N, Lilly—do you copy? Y/N!” Tyler’s voice was thick with fear, almost breaking. When there was no answer, panic clawed at his chest.

“Ty, we have to go back!” Javi urged, his voice tense. “They could be in serious trouble.”

Tyler didn’t need convincing. He whipped the truck around, tires screeching on the wet pavement, and gunned it back toward where Y/N and Lilly had been. The wind howled around them, debris flying across the road as the storm raged on.

Minutes felt like hours as they raced against the tornado, Tyler’s mind filled with images of Y/N hurt—or worse. He could barely breathe, the fear suffocating him. He’d never felt so helpless, the thought of losing her driving him to the brink of despair.

Finally, they spotted the overturned SUV in a field, half-buried in mud and debris. The tornado had moved on, leaving behind a path of destruction, but Tyler’s focus was solely on the wrecked vehicle and the two people inside.

He barely registered Javi’s voice as they jumped out of the truck and ran to the SUV. Tyler’s heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he frantically yanked at the door, which was jammed from the impact. With Javi’s help, they managed to pry it open, revealing a grim scene inside.

Lilly was conscious, dazed but moving. She was bruised and shaken but seemed otherwise okay. Y/N, however, was slumped against the door, her face pale and a gash on her forehead bleeding steadily. Tyler’s breath caught in his throat as he reached out, his hands trembling.

“Y/N… Y/N, please…” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion as he gently cupped her face.

She stirred at his touch, her eyelids fluttering open. “Tyler…?”

Relief flooded through him so intensely that he almost collapsed. “I’m here, baby. You’re gonna be okay. I’ve got you.”

Javi was already on the phone with emergency services, coordinating their location. Tyler carefully unbuckled Y/N and pulled her from the wreckage, holding her close as she winced in pain.

“Just hang on, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice shaking. “Help’s on the way.”

She leaned against him, too weak to speak, but she clung to his hand as if it were the only thing anchoring her to reality. Tyler could feel his tears welling up, but he held them back, focusing on keeping Y/N conscious and calm.

Lilly, despite her own injuries, managed to climb out of the SUV with Javi’s help. She was shaken but coherent, and she sat down on the grass beside Y/N, checking her over with what first-aid knowledge she had.

“Tyler,” Lilly said softly, her voice filled with sympathy. “She’s going to be okay. You got here in time.”

Tyler nodded, though the lump in his throat made it hard to speak. He didn’t trust himself to say anything without breaking down completely. Instead, he just held Y/N tightly, whispering reassurances and promises that everything would be okay.

The sound of approaching sirens was a welcome relief, and soon, paramedics were there, carefully taking Y/N from Tyler’s arms and loading her onto a stretcher. Tyler refused to leave her side, climbing into the ambulance with her, his hand never leaving hers.

As the ambulance sped toward the hospital, Tyler finally allowed himself to breathe. Y/N was alive, and she was going to get the care she needed. The fear that had gripped him so tightly began to ease, replaced by an overwhelming gratitude that they had found her in time.

Hours later, after what felt like an eternity in the hospital waiting room, Tyler was allowed to see Y/N. She was resting in a hospital bed, her head bandaged and her arm in a sling, but when she saw him, she managed a small, tired smile.

“Hey,” she whispered, her voice weak but full of warmth.

Tyler moved to her side, sitting down and taking her hand in his. “Hey. How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” she admitted, wincing slightly. “But I’ll be okay. They said nothing’s broken, just a lot of bruises and a concussion.”

Tyler nodded, his eyes brimming with tears he could no longer hold back. “I was so scared, Y/N. I thought… I thought I was going to lose you.”

She squeezed his hand, her thumb brushing over his knuckles in a comforting gesture. “I’m still here, Ty. Thanks to you.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the day’s events settling over them. But now, in the safety of the hospital, with Y/N by his side, Tyler felt an immense sense of relief. They had faced the storm, and though they had come out battered and bruised, they were still together.

“I love you,” Tyler whispered, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“I love you too,” Y/N replied, her voice soft but sure. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

As they held each other close, the storm outside finally began to calm, the winds dying down as the skies cleared. The danger had passed, and now, all that mattered was that they were safe, together, and ready to face whatever came next—side by side.

Requests for Tyler are open be free to send in as much as you wish!

tagging some:

@senawashere

@saviorcomplexrry

@cevansbaby-dove

@saynotononsense

@missdottie

@willowisp7

@taorislover94

@eloquenceinpurple

@86laura11

@rosiahills22

@jessicab1991

@kmc1989

@shanimallina87

@eternalsams

@teen-antisocial

@katiemcrae

[azrielbrainrot]

Such a Perfect Place To Start

Pairing: Azriel x Healer!Reader

Description: Something happens that has you questioning the nature of your relationship with the shadowsinger.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3911

Notes: When I started writing this I didn't think it was going to lead to that. Hope you like it!

Healer!Reader Masterlist

When you were called to the House of Wind so urgently by the High Lady herself you were expecting a more pressing matter, a life or death situation like you're used to, not exactly a library full of books. You don't know how long you've been sitting in this chair but you couldn't feel your butt anymore, no matter how many different positions you tried to sit in. You were used to doing some research while studying new healing techniques or herbs but these millenia old books on magical symbols were a little different.

There had been some attacks across the Night Court, including in the mountains surrounding Velaris, with some pretty disturbing details. After being killed, the victims' eyes had been removed and a symbol had been carved into their chests. All the symbols were different and, at this time, their meaning was still unknown. Unfortunately, none of the victims had survived either so there weren't any witnesses and, even after Azriel's thorough investigations, there was no evidence left behind by the culprits. It was as if no one had even been there.

You had heard some rumors about this before getting called in. Gossip spread around fast in Velaris and, even with the Inner Circle's efforts to keep panic to a minimum, people had found out about some of the details. The area around Velaris is relatively safe so to have multiple killings in a short time and in such gruesome ways was causing a bit of a fearful atmosphere to fall upon the city of dreamers. The increase in security wasn't easily missed either.

After being summoned to the River House, Feyre and Rhysand had briefed you on everything they knew and asked you for your help, seeing as they could only trust a few select people. Since there were no other clues left behind besides the symbols, the High Lord decided that, for now, everyone should focus on finding their meaning, so he sent his most trusted people to his private library to look through every book that might help.

You had obviously felt incredibly honored and happy that they trusted you this much. You've been getting closer to the inner circle after your talk with Azriel a few months ago, and sometimes still feared your friendships were a bit one sided.

As honored as you felt that they trusted you, though, you had spent days searching through old books just to come up empty. It was more tiring than a week at a war healing tent. Not to mention having to do so by Amren's side. You had no personal problems with the newly turned high fae but she still scared you profusely. Your power gave you a sense of people's aura and hers had always felt unsettling at best, even after getting turned.

At least, you weren't alone with her, everyone in the Inner Circle and some of the Valkyries had shown up at the library to help at some point. There was no way of knowing who could be behind these attacks and, from what you gathered, these fae had been moving across the court too easily, meaning they could be from the night court or even Velaris, so you couldn't involve the priestesses in the library.

The sky was already completely dark outside, making way for the millions of stars to shine in the sky. The atmosphere was a little too quiet for this time of night, usually there would still be fae walking around the city, in and out of bars and theaters. Amren had already left. The ancient one had tucked a book under her arm and walked out without much of a goodbye, leaving you with Feyre and Azriel in the library.

“I think it's time to stop for the day,” your High Lady's voice cut through the silence suddenly, “Rhys just finished at the office too.” Sometimes you envied how convenient the daematis abilities were. As her eyes glaze over and a smirk threatens to play at her lips, you know her mate is giving her a good reason to go home.

“I'll stay a bit longer,” you hold your finger over the passage you were reading, these old books had tiny fonts and you'd already lost yourself in enough of them to know better now, “I have to go to the clinic tomorrow so I wanted to at least finish this book.” There were only about half a dozen pages left of it so, even if your body was screaming at you to go to bed, you wanted to get this done first.

“Alright,” the High Lady adds her last book to the pile and looks at you one more time, “Don't stay too long. We need you to be focused at the clinic.” Her eyes shift to the shadowsinger and narrow slightly, her tone a little sterner, “You too, Az. Get some sleep.”

The spymaster nods dutifully at his friend's warning and she seems content enough with the response or in enough hurry to meet her mate, as she gives you both one last smile and turns to the door, saying one last goodbye over her shoulder.

Azriel stayed with you, even though his book had just started and there was no way he would finish it tonight. You were torn between thinking it was because he didn't trust you in the House by yourself, as the ever protective spymaster, and just writing it off as his willingness to help his court even at the risk of his own health and comfort, you don't even wanna think how many sleepless nights the spymaster has spent working lately.

You shake off your thoughts and keep reading the boring book. The sooner you finish the sooner you can go to sleep. Even your healing abilities can't do much to fight the headache you were feeling after spending the whole day reading symbols and their uses in dark magic, some of the rituals described were also making your stomach queasy.

Just as you're about to finish the last page, you hear a soft groan coming from Azriel and can't help but look up at him. His head was thrown back, showing off the column of his neck. His eyes were closed tight like he was fighting the same headache as you. With his wings stretched as far as they could go, it looked like they were taking up most of the private library, not that it was a small room by any means.

The spymaster looked exhausted. He's been spending his days meeting up with his spies and informants all around Prythian, trying to find any information on the attackers and investigating any strange movement in the court. At night, he comes home and joins you in the library to help with research, sometimes even staying up later than everyone else. You know he will do the same thing tomorrow and the day after, until you find any relevant clues and catch the killers.

Azriel takes these things more personally than maybe even the High Lord and Lady. His job as spymaster is finding any threats to the court after all, preferably before they happen. You know he must feel like he's failing his court and you wish you could show him that he's doing more than enough, that it's not his fault. Under the tough exterior and immense power, Azriel has an extremely kind soul, you've felt it. He'd make the impossible happen if it meant he could protect his court, his family, even if it cost him his own life.

“You should go to sleep,” you can't help but worry for him, “You were out all day before you came here. You must be really tired.”

You wonder how long it's been since he's had a good night of sleep. Even before this situation, it was no secret that the shadowsinger was a bit of an insomniac. You had given him a few sleeping tonics before in hopes of helping him have at least a few moments of peace.

“I'll wait for you,” he tells you, meeting your eyes. You can see the fatigue swirling around in his unguarded gaze, it seems you had been right to assume he hasn't been sleeping. “You're almost done.”

You look back down at your book and wonder how he's been keeping track of what you've been doing while reading his own book. Still, if finishing this means Azriel can go to sleep, you'll do it as fast as you can. Reading through the last page intently to make sure nothing escapes you.

Just as you're about to finish you make a silent request to the House, and two steaming cups of tea appear in front of each of you. Passionflower tea to lessen his stress and help with sleep, you've given it to him before and he told you it helped so you hope it does the trick once again.

Since you're focused on the book, you miss the way his eyes finally stray from your form to look down at the tea now sitting in front of him. You also miss the smile on his face when he reaches for it and the way his shadows let him know you were the one who asked for it, gushing about how you took care of their master.

“Do you still not trust me, Spymaster?” You close the book and put it into the ever growing pile. Stretching a bit before taking your tea into your hands and blowing on it gently.

“I trust you with my life, sweetheart.” The seriousness in his statement makes you pause with the cup halfway to your lips for a moment. You didn't need the Morrigan's gift to know he was telling the truth. The nickname takes a little longer to register but as soon as it does color rushes to your cheeks.

“Then why wait for me?” You hadn't actually thought he didn't trust you in the library but you still weren't sure why he had stayed behind after Feyre left.

“Wanted to keep you company until you finished,” he shrugged. His voice is a little gravely with sleep which is a big problem for the butterflies already fluttering in your stomach. “We've been spending a lot of time together but we've barely talked.”

He wants to talk to you. You can't help the smile or the giddy feeling washing over you. He's tired but he chose to stay up a little longer to do something as trivial as talking to you.

“What did you want to talk about then?” The way he's picking at the painted decorations in his teacup makes you think he might be feeling a little nervous but you're not sure why.

“Anything you want,” he answered a little too fast. Maybe it's the low lights in the room but you swear there's some color dusting his cheeks.

“It's hard to pick a topic like that,” you say before biting your lip slightly. For some reason you suddenly feel a little pressure to come up with a good topic, not wanting to disappoint or bore him. “Lately, all I can think about is this,” you run your finger over one of the books' spines, “It's hard to focus on anything else after spending hours in here.”

“If you feel like this is too much you can tell me. I'll talk to Rhys and he'll send you back to the clinic,” he frowns. His shadows reach a little towards you, as if wanting to comfort you. You didn't mean to worry him.

“That's not what I meant,” you start, “I want to help. I've just never dealt with anything like this. I've been to war but this… killing innocent fae in such a disturbing way is different.”

“I understand,” he nods, “If you need anything you can tell me. Even if you just want to talk.”

“Alright.” Azriel has a way of talking that leaves you not knowing how to respond sometimes. He's so sincere in what he says that you almost feel like any response would fall short. “You too. If you need help with anything I'm always here for you.”

He gives you a single nod before hiding what looked like a bashful smile behind his tea. You finish your teas like this, enjoying each other's company in the quiet of the night.

You can't hold back a yawn when you set your teacup down. As much as you'd love to stay up talking to Azriel all night, your body is about ready to crash on you.

“We should go to sleep,” he says as he stands up, making the teacups disappear. “You have to be at the clinic early.”

“You're right,” you agree with a sigh, standing up to follow him to the door. You've only been going to the clinic twice a week ever since Feyre asked for your help with this case so you know you'll have a long day ahead of you. “Will you fly me down tomorrow?”

“Of course,” he tells you as he opens the door for you, “What kind of male would I be if I let our favorite healer walk down the thousands of steps by herself?”

“Favorite? I'll tell Madja you said that,” you point your finger at him playfully.

“Second favorite then,” he takes it back with a wink, making you laugh. The smile lingers on your face all the way to the guest room you're staying in and it only deepens when you realize he walked you all the way to your door.

You turn and look up at him expectantly. It looks like he wants to tell you something with the way he's searching your face and his shadows pool at both of your feet. If you didn't know any better you'd think they wanted to crawl up your legs. You've found that they can give some of Azriel's emotions away sometimes, when he doesn't have a grip on them at least.

Your body doesn't react when he bends down slowly, pausing for a brief moment before kissing your cheek softly, murmuring a good night against your skin. It doesn't react after either, when he pulls back to watch your reaction. In fact, it's not until he walks over to his door and lets out a small chuckle, that you finally move and almost crash into the room, fumbling with the doorknob and slamming the door behind you.

As you lean your back against the door, you put your hand over your chest and stare wide eyed at the window across the room. You almost thought you were imagining things. He can probably hear your heart beating all the way in his room across the hall, you wouldn't be surprised if everyone in Velaris could hear with how loud it's beating. You let yourself slide against the door until you're crouching.

You hadn't expected him to kiss you. You know Azriel isn't one for a lot of physical touch. You've only gotten a hug out of him once, during the war after an attack on the healer's tent. He had thought you were dead then, after watching so many die he'd just been glad to see someone he knows still breathing. Actually, you might have been the one to hug him first. You had never been so close to death and were scared out of your mind. It was your first war after all.

You and Azriel had been getting closer over the months, closer than you were with the rest of Inner Circle. Even before your talk that night, he's always been friendly to you, but the shadowsinger was kind to all the healers - to everyone that wasn't his enemy really - so you never thought much of it. But this felt different. Tonight felt different.

You hadn't fully admitted it to yourself yet but the more time you spent with the shadowsinger the more your crush evolved. What had once been a silly crush based on appearance and his kind nature had quickly turned into palpable feelings. You liked him. A lot.

However, acknowledging this could destroy the friendship you had built with him for the past few months, maybe with the rest of his family as well. That's what you thought before at least. You assumed Azriel would never have feelings for you. The idea seemed so preposterous it never even crossed your mind, but now you're not so sure.

Maybe it seemed like you were exaggerating to think this after a little kiss, on the cheek no less, but this kiss made you think back on the last months you've spent with Azriel. He's been insisting on flying you up and down the stairs every time he's around, usually this task would be left to Cassian, who loved showing off his wings to you.

He's been going to the clinic more often too, stocking up on anything he can think of when he's never done that in the century you've been working in Velaris. Azriel was always one to not think much of his own health, it bothered you to no end. He also came to you with every injury. Usually when a member of the Inner Circle was hurt, Madja was the one who was called. You'd only accompany her if she needed assistance or go in her place if she wasn't able to go herself. Of course over the years they'd come to use you more and more, which is why you didn't even think of it, but looking back now… You don't know what to think anymore.

Getting up with a sigh, you make your way to your closet to change. Your thoughts consume you while you get ready for bed but your tiring day catches up to you as soon as your head hits the pillow. However, this doesn't spare you from dreaming of a certain shadowsinger.

You take longer to wake up than usual, making you hurry through your morning routine. Your body isn't used to the schedule you've been putting it through lately, and it's starting to show. But because of this, it isn't until you go to open the door to the guest room that you remember Azriel is going to fly you down to the clinic. And the incident that had you spiraling before going to sleep.

Deciding walking down the steps by yourself isn't a viable option, you go to find him and pray to the Mother things aren't too awkward between you. It had just been a little kiss on the cheek and your lack of reaction could totally be blamed on the long day, your brain was just having trouble catching up, that's all. It had been a completely normal exchange between friends, not that you're blushing just thinking about it or anything. You could just pretend it didn't happen.

As you make your way to the front door, the shadows dancing around in the hallway catch your eye instantly. You've seen them do this before, when Azriel doesn't need them and they don't want to brave the light, they just linger around the room in curious little wisps. You can't help the smile as they gravitate slowly towards you.

Right after they notice you, their master appears through the door. One of them must have warned him of your arrival, they're so cute sometimes you forget they're spies. Of course they'd tell on you.

“Good morning,” he greets. Azriel may be a shadowsinger but he looks breathtaking in the morning light. His skin glows beautifully and his eyes look a little lighter, it makes him look younger. Gods, how can he be so beautiful?

He looks a little relieved to see you. Maybe he thought you'd escape by yourself or ask someone else to fly you to the clinic to avoid him. It makes you feel a little bad that you had him worried but it's his own fault for playing with your heart like that.

“Good morning,” you smile, walking up to him. “Are you ready?”

“I was just waiting for you,” he says as he extends a hand for you to take. This has the nerves already lingering inside your body make themselves more noticeable. You almost forgot flying you down means he'll have to carry you. It had taken a while for you to get used to not only the flying but also the way he had to hold you - funny how you never had this problem with Cassian.

You take his hand and try not to move too much or gasp as he picks you up off the floor like you weigh nothing. He immediately starts walking to the edge of the stairs, holding you close to his chest.

“Hold onto me,” he breathes into your ear, extending his wings and getting ready to take flight. You do as he says and wrap your arms tighter around his neck, praying he can't feel your heart beat inside your chest.

You'll never get over how stunning Velaris looks from above or how the wind passes around you as you soar through the clouds. It's a real shame that you weren't born with wings. You understand why Illyrians are so protective of them, after knowing what this feels like, it's hard to imagine never being able to do it again.

“You know I won't drop you.” You look away from the landscape and meet his gaze. He can probably feel how tense you are but you can't tell him it has nothing to do with the height or any fear of him letting you fall.

“I know,” you assure. “What would you do without your favorite healer?” He lets out a small laugh in response and your body finally relaxes.

The flight doesn't take long, and, before you know it, he's landing right outside your clinic. He helps you get down and even holds onto you a little longer, giving you a once over to make sure you're steady on your feet.

An idea passes through your mind and you bite your lip, wondering if you'd truly lost it. You take a quick look around before you lose your nerve. It was still early enough that the streets were almost deserted, no one should see you.

Turning back to the shadowsinger, you hesitate again when you notice him watching you, probably wondering what you were up to. If you read the situation wrong this could make things very awkward for the two of you.

Deciding not to let your anxiety reign your life, you grab his shoulder gently so you can pull him a little closer to your height. Standing on your tiptoes to clear the rest of your height difference. You hold onto his cheek and place a soft kiss on the other side of his face, murmuring a “thank you”.

You step back again and look up at him, still slightly bent from where you pulled him to you and looking at your face with wide eyes. You're not sure if you've ever seen the feared spymaster so caught off guard before. There was a small smile playing at his lips though, so you assume you hadn't completely misread the situation. You can't help but form a grin of your own and turn around to go inside the clinic, leaving him behind just as he did to you last night. Your heart soaring higher than you had just been.

[mikichko]

i have another gaz thought…

this was inspired by @buttdumplin so blame him for the debauchery

mdni. unedited :)

there’s no way you’re seeing things right.

the sun shines brightly, no cloud in the sky, no shadow on the grounds below but you swear you’ve got to be seeing things. you must be. it’s the only logical explanation.

because there’s no way that your awfully kind and incredibly handsome neighbor would put himself in this situation.

at first glance, he’s not doing anything wrong. just lounging by the complex pool, his smooth dark skin on display, with a book in hand. he even matched his sunglasses and swim shorts to round out his look.

it’s on second glance, when you let your eyes trail over him and linger that you notice it. how his shorts do little to hide anything, no imagination needed. especially not when his girthy long cock strains against the thin material.

he’s got his right leg splayed open, the meat of his inner thigh to the sun, with his left leg stretched out in front of him. you can see right where the base of him starts, the fat of his balls accentuated by the way the fabric is pulled taut against them. you can trace the curve of his cock, tucked along the inside of his thigh. down, down, down until there’s something peeking out and something wet against-

you immediately look away as the realization dawns on you. you’re sure he can’t seen you, the glare of the sun too fierce to see into your apartment, but your hands still tremble. you feel the ache between your legs as you make sense of what you saw. try to figure out why there was a single patch of wetness on your neighbor’s thigh while the rest of him was bone dry.

how the fuck are you supposed to focus on work now?

———

gaz knows his pretty thing keeps their desk along their window. likes the way the natural light warms them up while their coffee wakes them up.

he also knows they love to stare out their window . loves to watch the wind ruffle the trees, the way the city moves, how the people act. and with such a lovely view of their pool, gaz might as well give them something to look at, right? he’d be a bad neighbor if he didn’t

it takes a few weeks to choose the right spot for him to lounge. some are too close, angled such a way where they can’t watch him. others too far, they’d miss the important details they need to see. finally, he finds the spot. right in the line of sight of their window, it’ll let them see everything he wants them to.

he starts off small, just lounging head thrown back towards the sun, but he hates that. he can't see them. he settles for an incline next, but with no glasses he's sure they’ll see how his eyes don't stray from them at all. how can they when he can see how the waistband digs into their skin in a way that has his tongue running over his teeth. he wants to bite, sink into their soft flesh.

finally he sets himself up with the glasses and book. holding it so that he’s able to look right over the edge of the page and stare straight through their window. so he can watch the sweet thing he’s been stuck on since he bumped into them in the lobby.

its a wonder it takes you so long to notice his reaction to you. gaz isn’t sure how you’ve gone so long without noticing when just the thought of you watching him has the blood flow redirecting. how his dick twitches at the thought of the pool. the way he leaks when he’s in the chair setting himself up for you.

he blames it on the shorts. too practical, too concealing. he’s not here for any of that, he’s here for you to see him. to see the outline of his pretty cock. the one he’ll be driving into you if he plays his cards right.

so he gets to fixing that right away. his shorts loose a few centimeters every time he’s at the pool, excitement bubbling up as he notices the way your eyes trail over him. always so polite and proper like you don’t want to intrude on his privacy. completely unaware to the fact this whole moment is being entirely curated for you.

his dick is straining before he even gets to the pool. he can feel the fabric digging into the fat of his ass and the seam rubbing along his head, already aiding the drip of slick from it. he’s tingling with the anticipation, dying to know what you’ll do when you see him.

he picks a “casual” position, especially chosen so thar his shorts can ride up to expose him. so that you can see the way he drips for you. squeezes his balls just a little before he settles so that his dick can drip a little more. enough so that it pools on his thigh.

he twitches when he noticed how long you’re staring. the way your eyes slowly make your way over his body after holding out for so long. can see the exact moment you see his shorts with the way your eyes widen and your mouth opens slightly. knows you’re tracing the length of him when your eyes drift downward and you lick your lips. and when your pretty eyes stop and your tongue catches in the corner of your mouth he knows you’ve spotted it. how he weeps at the thought of being buried in you.

you turn too quickly. hand trembling as you reach for your water bottle. he can see how you adjust yourself, drinking water, turning your little desk fan. all in an attempt to keep yourself looking dignified.

but gaz know’s he’s finally pushed enough to break past your facade. it’s just a matter of time before he has you under him, trembling.

[krashlite]

Anyways my hot take abt the cheater’s arc is that all four of them were in the wrong but it was mostly Grian’s fault things went so horrendously since man was the reason why the actual Cheating part of the cheater’s arc happened (characters, obviously)

But yeah here’s how they were all wrong yes

Grian was being incredibly controlling because he didn’t trust Scar to keep them safe. Man was scared of his own damn shadow for a lot of this, but his way of ensuring his own safety was basically to tell Scar to stand in one place and not move. He pretty much disregarded the fact that Scar is a grown man capable of making his own decisions And capable of keeping himself, and the both of them, alive. The fact that they were last on green doesn’t reassure him, only confirms that he is in the right for being so controlling. He thinks his behavior kept them alive. He only loosens up once they hit their red life since at that point danger is assumed. Grian DOES NOT learn to respect Scar here, just puts his paranoia on hold for another day. His conclusion is that he was right and Scar was unreasonable

Scar was pushing back against said control since he knew it was unfounded. Again, he’s a grown man capable of making his own decisions. He has a tendency to mock people to show when they’re being ridiculous, something he does here through being purposefully careless. It’s both to point out how ridiculous Grian’s being and a way to punish him for being so obsessive. Instead of having the intended effect, Scar just pushes Grian further away. He later winds up just following everything Grian says, which doesn’t address the root of the problem here. Except he has no way of knowing what’s wrong because Grian doesn’t tell him. From his perspective, the only thing that got Grian back at his side was murder- since the only times they actually stood on equal footing was when there was a plan for a kill or when that plan went well. Scar’s conclusion here isn’t that he was unsafe, but that he was boring. So it reaffirms that he’s in the right and Grian was being unreasonable

BigB is not and never was the mistress in this situation. Had Grian never approached him, he would’ve never left Ren. He was using his Secret Soulmate as an escape from normal relationship problems he was too scared to address. BigB mainly felt overlooked because he has a quieter personality than Ren, meaning Ren wound up making most decisions for the two of them. BigB did a lot to mirror Ren and to be Ren’s other half, but didn’t give himself space to be his own person in the relationship. This is something that’s brought up in couple’s counseling and something they at least started to address before dying. BigB never intended to hurt either of them, since he did love and value both Ren and Grian- something that’s affirmed by how he talks to them after dying. BigB and Ren talk about how they stayed together until the end and B takes the time to forgive Grian for murdering both him and his soulmate

Ren was doing his best to keep Box afloat but failed to meet BigB’s needs. Since B wouldn’t communicate what was wrong, Ren kept trying to course correct in ways that inadvertently made the situation worse. Ren’s instinct is to be protective- to find an enemy to defend against. That enemy was first Pearl and then Clockduo when Bdubs inadvertently got BigB killed. He also reacted to news of B cheating by distancing himself from BigB. Which, reasonable!! Ren wasn’t obligated to save them if B was the one who left. However, this action only pushed BigB away since Ren was so quick to assume they were over. Ren has a habit of isolating himself when something’s wrong, assuming the worst of a situation when things can be fixed. It worked out between him and BigB in the end but goddamn was that rough

Anyways the four of them are very!! Very messy, I love them dearly

[blue-devil-of-the-lord]

Saw requests opened for Kurt and was wondering if you were interested in writing something for x-2 Kurt. Something like the reader is Charles' daughter, who left years before after a massive fight, and when Storm and Jean go to find Kurt, they also find the reader and it is revealed at some point the reader and Kurt are married and everyone is shocked because they are so different( maybe the reader is a necromancer(if a mutation needs to be mentioned)). Hope this isn't as confusing as I think it's coming off. Describing things is not my strong suit. Thank u

Against all Odds

Alan!Kurt Wagner x fem!reader Words: 4.6K A/N: This took so incredibly long?! Really hope it was worth it. I also feel like I kind of messed up in the end, but I wanted to post it anyway.

It wasn't a smile that was on Jean's lips as Ro turned back to the centre of the church with misty eyes, but it was fascinating to see how quickly her friend could change from nice to scary. A strong wind blew up and caused the tarpaulins in the church to flutter. Pigeons soared as Ro spread her arms, eyes fixed on the bar above them, where the teleporter they had been searching for was perched.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, getting closer and closer, until seemingly out of nowhere, a bolt of lightning flashed through the room and struck the bar he was perched on. A scream escaped him as he fell, but before he could teleport away, Jean raised her hand, catching the mutant in mid-air.

His heavy breathing echoed off the walls and Jean twisted her hand slightly as she stepped closer, causing him to spin in the air.

"Got him?" Jean smiled at Ro from the side. "He's not going anywhere."

By now he was hanging upside down in the air, which allowed them to take a closer look at his face. His blue skin stood out clearly from his strange clothes and his golden eyes travelled rapidly around the room, wide open in panic. "Please, don't hurt me," he pleaded softly, still out of breath. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone."

Ro raised an eyebrow beside her and the sarcasm in her voice highly amused Jean, despite the tense situation. "Where could people have gotten that impression from?" His eyes continued to dart back and forth between them.

"What's your name?"

Before he could answer, however, it became freezing cold in the church. Jean's gaze flew over to Ro, who shook her head. This was not her doing. Her breath became visible and a glance at the mutant in front of them showed her that it wasn't him, but he knew whose doing it was.

All at once she heard whispering. It wasn't much at first, just a lone voice that quickly swelled into a jumble of voices that gave her a headache. There was a cracking sound, similar to breaking bones, and Jean could see Ro turning round, looking for the source of the noise.

"Put me down, please." His voice was calm and he didn't seem remotely afraid, much more concerned for her well-being. "She's not in a good mood today, I don't want to..." Jean would never know what he didn't want, because at that moment a loud, cold, cutting voice echoed through the room.

"How dare you?" It was no more than a hiss, but it echoed off the walls, making it louder many times over. "How dare you threaten him, hurt him, touch him." The voice seemed to come from a corridor next to the altar and it sounded shockingly familiar to Jean, even if she was unable to determine exactly where. The floor began to shake beneath them, cracks appearing across the stone, and Jean had to lean on one of the benches to keep from falling.

The man, still in the air, shouted something she couldn't understand. It made no difference. Jean reached out in her mind for the person, hoping to reach them, but to her surprise was pushed out with a sharp push that gave her another headache. The tremor intensified, but Jean was not afraid. The small glimpse into the person's mind was enough for her to recognise them.

"Reaper, that's enough!" The tremors subsided and the cracks stopped spreading, but the whispering and rustling remained, as did the cold. She looked over to the corridor, from which a shadow finally emerged, slowly approaching. Jean had already realised who it was, but she couldn't truly believe it until the light shining through the church hit her face. Next to her, she heard Ro gasping for air. "Reaper?" A hiss sounded from the woman in front of them, who was now standing almost directly behind the man. "I haven't been a the Reaper for years." Her head turned to Jean. "Now put him down."

Her voice was pressed, almost threatening, and Jean lowered the man carefully. As soon as his feet touched the ground, she stepped to his side and wrapped an arm around him as he slumped to the floor, groaning, taken by the stress Jean had put on him. As she murmured something to him, to which he only nodded, Jean noticed how the whispering slowly subsided and the coldness receded. She glanced at Ro. Neither of them had expected this, not even the professor.

~**~

She knelt beside him, her arm on his back, and let her eyes wander over his body, looking for wounds, but couldn't see any. "I told you not to do anything stupid," she murmured, smiling slightly at him. "I can't let you out of my sight now, can I?" His smile was half-hearted, but he returned it. "I'm sorry, Liebling."

Tenderly, she ran her fingers over his cheek, the symbols of his skin under her tips so familiar by now that she could draw them in her sleep. "It's okay, I'll take care of it." She tried to get up, but he held her back by her wrist. "Don't do anything stupid." She smiled down at him and pressed a kiss to the back of his hand. " Oh, I won't."

Kurt grinned slightly and let go of her wrist so that she could stand up. As soon as she turned to the two women, however, her loving smile turned into a mask of coldness. "What do you want?"

Jean stepped lightly on her, disbelief still clearly present on her face. "How long have you lived here? Where have you been? Why-?" She didn't let the redhead finish. "You know exactly why," she hissed quietly, clenching her fists as she slowly pushed herself in front of the injured Kurt. "What I want to know is why you're here?" Jean, still somewhat taken aback, didn't seem to want to answer as Ororo stepped forward instead. "We're here because of him." She nodded over to Kurt. "Your friend has done some things that have put us all in danger."

By now her fingernails were cutting into her palms and she looked at the white-haired woman with narrowed eyes. "You will not touch him. You will not hurt him." The ground began to shake beneath her feet again and she could see the two women exchanging glances, but she didn't care. If necessary, she would fight them both - even if Kurt didn't like it, she would do it on sacred ground.

No one would snatch Kurt from her a second time, no one. Not her, not the government, not anyone else. "He's innocent. Go!" It wasn't a plea and her voice was clearly dripping with venom, which was why Jean raised her hands. "We don't want to hurt him, just talk. Whether you want to realise it or not, he did attack the President of the United States."

She heard Kurt flinch and anger boiled up inside her. It had been a long time since Kurt had even been able to look her in the eye and she wasn't going to let them put the burden of guilt on his shoulders again.

"He's innocent," she hissed and more cracks began to appear across the marble tiles in the floor, though it all came to an end the moment something tentatively wrapped itself around her wrist. Kurt had his tail wrapped around and was shaking his head tentatively. "Please, don't."

Instantly, the hot knot of anger in her stomach disappeared and she could feel her features soften. "Okay." Her gaze slid back to the two women, cold and unyielding, but no longer murderous. "Go, please. It wasn't his fault. He couldn't hurt a fly. Please." She didn't give either of them another glance as she helped Kurt up and led him over to the altar, where he settled down, groaning slightly. She knew that both Jean and Ororo were still in the church, even approaching, but her priority was to tend to Kurt.

She gently helped him out of his coat, jacket and shirt, the latter stained with blood, and shook her head at the sight before her. The security guard's bullet wound was on his arm, but she could see several bruises and smaller wounds scattered across his torso. "You really need to take better care of yourself," she muttered as he lay down and she began to search in her pockets for the disinfectant and cotton pads.

Kurt gave her a weak but sincere smile. "But I have you to fix me up." She gave him a small smile, though she knew she wouldn't be able to remove the worry from her face. Continuing to ignore the two women, she dipped the cotton ball with the tweezers into the disinfectant and looked over at him. "This is going to hurt."

His tail wrapped around her waist and squeezed lightly and confidently. Carefully, though not hesitantly, she pressed the cotton ball onto his wound. His body tensed, stiffened and his back arched up from the altar. A pained groan escaped him and she closed her eyes for a moment so as not to see the agony on his face. It had been five years and she still couldn't bear to see him hurt and in pain.

"It's all right, you're doing great," she murmured and hurried to clean the wound as best she could. Thank goodness the wound wasn't deep, so there was no need for stitches. "Good boy." He snorted in amusement, albeit painfully, and she gave him an equally pained smile.

She gently lifted the cotton pad and another hiss escaped him, which she tried to calm by making soothing noises. She applied the bandage as quickly as she could, even though he still let out the odd groan of pain, but he seemed to grit his teeth. " You see? Already over." She leant forward and pressed a feather-light, barely perceptible kiss over the bandage. "I need to take all this away and get you some new, clean clothes. Can I-?"

She didn't finish the sentence, but a twitch of her eyes in the direction of the two women was enough to convey what she wanted to say. Kurt smiled slightly and gave a barely perceptible nod. "You go ahead. They won't hurt me."

She seemed to look sceptical, which she was, as he groped for her hand and took it in his. "It's okay, Liebling. I can take care of myself." "We've seen that," she murmured, but stroked his forehead affectionately before standing up and glaring at Ro and Jean. "I'm right next door. If one of you even thinks about hurting or touching him, you'll more than regret it." She didn't have to look at them to know that they'd heard her warning, the tension radiating from them a clear sign that the message had been received.

Kurt mumbled something quietly, but it was in German and her knowledge was not yet good enough to understand him at such a mumbled volume. She contented herself with running her hand through his hair and affectionately tugging at a strand in warning before leaving the room.

The rubbish was quickly disposed of and on her way back she grabbed some fresh clothes, hurrying back as fast as she could. Once there, she was disgruntled to realise that Ororo and Jean had moved closer and were now standing right next to him. She could just hear the last words coming out of the redhead's mouth. "- the professor."

Instantly she tensed, still covered by the shadows of the pillars. It didn't take a telepath to know who they were talking about and she didn't like it at all. She had managed without him for five years and she wouldn't need him now.

Kurt, however, seemed curious as he cocked his head slightly. "The professor?" Neither of them answered his question, instead Ororo gently ran her fingers over his torso. Instantly, her grip tightened around his clothes and she had to suppress a snarl. She wasn't territorial or some other primitive instinct, but she didn't like it when people touched Kurt without asking him. Especially when it came to his scars, which were more than a weak spot for him.

"Did you do these yourself?" She closed her eyes, hesitant as to whether she should intervene. It wasn't up to her to talk about it, it was Kurt's business and she didn't want to come across as any more overprotective than she already was, so she continued to keep to the shadows. The rising whispers, however, were hard to ignore.

Kurt didn't seem to want to talk about it though, as he gave nothing more than a faint "yes" before turning round. She slowly emerged from the shadows, but not before Jean had discovered something on the back of his neck. "And what about this?"

"I told you it wasn't his fault." Her voice was sharper and colder than she intended, but she couldn't suppress it any longer as she stepped forward and placed herself between Kurt and the two women.

She hated it when Kurt had to talk about his scars, knowing full well what they meant to him. They had talked about it often and at length, especially coming from her, as such behaviour could not be healthy and it hurt her to see him in pain.

The last scar had been added four years ago. For her sake and after a few hours of intense conversation, which led him to a realisation, he had stopped.

"Mind control?" Jean asked, but she turned her back to her to stroke Kurt's arm reassuringly. "I suppose so. We don't know who, though, so don't bother asking."

There was silence while Kurt changed, supported by her. Jean only spoke up again when Kurt was able to stand next to them.  "Come with us." She laughed snidely. "You're not serious, are you? You know what happened, you know why I left and yet you want to drag me back? Forget it." Kurt's tail wrapped itself gently around her middle and the tip ran soothingly over her side as he felt the floor begin to shake.

"The whole United States is after your friend," Ororo objected and she felt Kurt flinch.

"Let them try," she growled, reaching for Kurt's sleeve. "They won't get him. I won't let them."

"We're just trying to help." Ororo sounded almost desperate, but she knew no mercy as her cold laughter echoed off the walls. "Oh yes, of course. The noble help of you fine people. Our saviours are here, we don't have to worry anymore."

"Liebling," Kurt murmured and put his hand on her shoulder. She looked over at him and realised with a mixture of surprise and dismay that he didn't seem as opposed to the idea as she was. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" She stiffened, anticipating the direction the conversation would take and not liking it at all.

"Kurt, you can't be serious," she hissed, turning away from the two women. "I've told you several times why I left, why I never want to go there again."

"And I understand that," he returned, his tail detaching from her to twitch nervously behind him. She instantly missed his closeness. "And under different circumstances, I would agree with you and watch you chase them away. But the situation has changed. I'm wanted all over the United States. And even if we're not there right now, they'll find me, find us." He stroked her cheek gently. "And I don't like the idea of you getting hurt because of me."

"I wouldn't care. I'd fight them all," she returned, knowing it was useless. "I don't want to. I don't want you to fight for me."

She closed her eyes in agony. "Darling-"

"I know," he murmured, leaning his forehead against hers. "I know it's not fair and I'm sorry. But I just want you to be safe. Please." There was something so pleading about his voice that she knew she wouldn't be able to hold out. She still found it hard to admit. "All right," she murmured, feeling Kurt's tail curling up her leg. "But at the slightest sign of danger, we run."

~**~

Of course it became dangerous. And of course they were sitting in an plane at the time, which was threatening to crash, so they couldn't run.

She stared in horror behind her at the gaping hole from which one of the children, she thought her name was Rogue, had just fallen. Kurt squeezed her hand and she spun round to face him. His gaze was pleading and it took no words to understand what he wanted her permission for. She closed her eyes for a moment to stifle the rising panic that threatened to swell inside her before she nodded.

A life was at stake, she couldn't have the luxury of panic. For a fleeting moment, she felt his lips against her forehead before the familiar 'BAMF' sounded and his hand disappeared from hers.

No more than three or four seconds could have passed, but they felt like an eternity before another 'BAMF' sounded and Kurt slammed to the floor of the plane with Rogue in his arms.

She sobbed with relief and forgot for a moment that they were crashing. That was until Jean gasped as the gaping hole behind them began to close of its own accord and the jet slowed down. She didn't have to think long to realise who had caught her so gracefully and she continued to tense up in her seat, even as the jet carefully touched down. It seemed as if her past really was finally coming back to haunt her.

Touching down on Earth, the others began to scurry around Kurt and Rogue and as much as she wanted to get to him, she knew she wasn't going to get there. Instead, she decided to face their welcoming committee.

To say he was surprised would have been an understatement as Erik watched her climb down the ladder towards him. "That I get to see this sight again." A thin line came to her lips, but she crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Miracles happen all the time. I never thought I'd see you outside of a plastic cell." His smile turned bitter. "Little Ms Xavier, same mouth as her old man."

"Xavier?" She turned round. The others had left the jet by now, and except for Ororo, Jean and Kurt, the others were staring at her with a variety of emotions on their faces.

Erik stepped closer and her body stiffened. "Yes, Xavier. Don't tell me Reaper didn't tell you about her connection with your dear professor?"

"Don't call me that," she hissed, taking a few steps back so she was standing next to Kurt, whose tail instantly wrapped around her middle. "I left that name behind a long time ago." Erik's gaze lingered on Kurt for a few moments and she didn't like the way he was looking at him. "I can see that."

Before he could talk to her further, however, Ororo stepped forward and his smug smile returned. "I think we should talk." After some back and forth, which she only half-heartedly followed, they seemed to reluctantly agree to follow Erik. She didn't take her eyes off Kurt for a moment. "You scared me to death," she muttered, clutching his arm a little tighter than necessary. "I hate it when you do that."

"I know."

"You did the right thing, though, as much as it makes me sick." She pressed a kiss against his cheek. "I'm proud of you my love." He smiled down at her. "I love you too."

~**~

"Are you sure you're okay?" They stood apart from the others, in the shade of several trees, and she let her hand rest anxiously on his cheek. Kurt turned his head slightly and pressed a kiss against her palm. "I'm fine, love." She exhaled and wrapped her arms around him to hold him closer, to feel him as his heart pounded beneath her fingers. Soothingly, his hand ran over her back as his tail wrapped gently around her. He rested his head on hers.

"I hate it when you're in pain. Even if it's mental."

She had been against Jean rummaging around in his memory from the start, but everyone else, including her husband, seemed to be in favour of it, which was why she had been forced to watch Kurt relive the agonising hours of the last few days. "I know," he murmured, pulling her closer to him. "But I feel fine." There was silence for a while as they stood close together under the trees before she lifted her head.

"Promise me you'll be careful tomorrow. Plan or no plan, it always goes wrong. It's kind of a tradition with us." Kurt smiled down at her before taking her hands in his and pressing a kiss to them. "I swear I'll do my best not to get hurt." Playfully, the tip of his tail flicked against her cheek. "I have a very good reason to get out of this alive."

"Charmer," she murmured before leaning up and kissing him gently. His response was just as tender. No tongue, no teeth, just gentle, soft love. At least until they were interrupted by a snort. More annoyed than startled, she looked up to see Logan, the grumpy old man, standing there with a cigar in his mouth, scowling at them. "You do realise there are children present?" She huffed and put an arm around Kurt's waist. "I'm pretty sure some of these 'kids' have done worse things than kiss their partners."

"Pretty sure they're not married, though." Her face seemed to look hilarious as he laughed harshly. "Girl, you may wear a lot of rings, but that one does stand out a bit. Plus, the blue elf isn't exactly subtle with the necklace and ring around his neck."

She clicked her tongue in annoyance and only Kurt's hand on her back and its reassuring circles ensured that she didn't immediately go for his throat. "Problem with that?"

"No." Logan turned away, but she knew he was still grinning broadly. "As long as you don't get too freaky. Might be awkward to explain." Groaning, she buried her face in his shoulder. "I hate him."

"No you don't," Kurt murmured, pulling her closer to him.

~**~

Needless to say, things didn't go according to plan. As good as her judgements have been lately, she could be a fortune teller, she grumbled quietly to herself as she turned the next sharp corner. She and Kurt had been separated and, judging by the noises around them, the situation didn't really look good for them either. However, she could hear the children's voices and ran after them, not only because Kurt was also with them, but because she knew that if she could hear them, the soldiers could too.

Just as she turned the last corner, a scream rang out, followed by gunfire. She stood stock-still and looked at what was happening in front of her for a moment. She had come up behind the soldiers. Opposite her were a group of children trying to hide behind the adults. Jean was supporting a battered-looking Scott, who was about to raise his hand. Next to them stood Logan, a child in his arms, claws raised and a grim snarl on his face.

What drew her focus, however, were the other three people. Ororo, together with Kurt, she almost collapsed in relief at the sight of him uninjured, an older man with a bald head. He looked older and frailer than she remembered, but there was no mistaking who the man was: Charles Xavier. Professor X. Her father.

Her throat tightened and, as if he could sense her presence (which he probably could), his gaze drifted over to her and his eyes widened, his expression slipping. Were those tears that made his eyes sparkle?

The moment didn't last long, however, as the soldiers raised their weapons at that moment - and pointed them at Kurt.

A growl escaped her as every corner of her body was flooded with a tingling power that made the floor shake.

"Get your hands off my husband." Her voice was not her own. It was the voice of the hundreds, thousands of souls that were haunting the place and bending to her will.

Cracks formed across the floor and began to gape open before skeletal hands reached for the sky. The children shrieked, but for the moment she didn't care. Her focus was on the soldiers who had managed to locate the source of the quake as they now looked at her.

Her smile was grim. "He's mine."

A dark fog settled over her before she even dared to fight. She wanted to spare the children the sight. The soldiers shouted orders at each other, and the odd stray shot rang out, but in the end, they had no chance. Her methods were merciful—swift, painless, and non-lethal. When the fog cleared, only a few groaning men lay on the ground. "Reaper?" Scott was the first to find his voice. She smiled slightly at him, though her focus remained on Kurt and her father. "Hey, Scott." "You're married?!" he exclaimed. She groaned, picking up one of the children running towards her. "Of course that's what you're hung up on."

"My love." She had to close her eyes for a moment; the sound of her father's voice was too painfully familiar. As much as she didn't want to admit it, she had missed him terribly. "How—?"

"I'm afraid we don't have time for sentimentality." Logan's gruff interruption was a welcome relief. In that moment, she decided Logan was her absolute favorite person. She shot her father a quick sideways glance before starting to walk. "We'll talk later." She could feel his gaze burning into her back the entire way outside.

~**~

It felt strange to be back in the mansion. She refused to call it "home," even though the word often lingered on the tip of her tongue, only to be swallowed back. Her room now faced the courtyard, offering a clear view of the people outside. She had been offered her old room but had firmly declined. Below, she watched Jean, badly injured but alive, being carefully led through the garden by Scott. It had been a close call, but Jean had survived the mission. Not far from her, she saw Hank deep in conversation with Kurt. She couldn't make out their words, but seeing her husband so animated and happy brought a smile to her face.

"Your husband seems to like it here." She wasn't startled when her father's voice came from behind her. She was more surprised that he hadn't approached her sooner, likely giving her space or waiting for a moment when she was alone. "Kurt isn't used to being around so many mutants, especially those with such visible mutations. It's good for him." "So, you're going to stay then?" There it was. The question that had clearly been weighing on him, the one he desperately needed to ask. She tore her gaze away from her husband and turned to face her father, folding her arms.

"I don't know," she finally admitted, her voice tinged with frustration. "Everything inside me is screaming to leave this place. And you're not making it any easier." She saw the pain flash across his face, but there was no point in sugarcoating the truth. He knew how she felt, even if he didn't want to acknowledge it.

"You hurt me deeply. More than that. But Kurt loves it here, and I love Kurt." Her eyes bore into his, unflinching. "But I love him more than I despise you." He swallowed hard, a flicker of hope lighting his eyes. "If Kurt wants to stay, I'll stay. For his sake. Not because of you."

[manicpixiefelix]

all this, and love too (will ruin us)

{ One-Shot for head, heart, hand. }

Summary: The night of Oliver's party and both yours and Felix's moods are ruined upon finding out Oliver had been lying to you both for your entire friendship. While sticking with Felix all night to make sure he doesn't maim Oliver, Felix realises he doesn't like sharing you anymore. You're more than okay with this, but Oliver doesn't seem to be okay with sharing Felix, even if he has no say anymore. Canon tries to happen, but you get there first, so you kill the problem at it's source.

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: MAZE SCENE; death, murder, violence, nongraphic smut, dominant felix, bathroom blowjob, oliver's birthday party situation, oliver being incredibly manipulative, reader being incredibly manipulative back at him, heavy drinking and drug use, You VIOLENTLY Murder Oliver Quick In The Maze.

A/N: 6074 words. oh god these oneshots are only getting longer and longer. whoops. but also PLEASE heed the warnings. this is the Reader Kills Oliver oneshot (first of two) that i was talking about. not sure how i feel about it. its very unedited.

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

On the drive back from his parents' house, Oliver sits in the back. Like a scolded child he keeps his gaze low and voice even lower. None of you speak the entire drive back; you try and focus on the wind in your hair and the hum of the car and not how your stomach is turning. In your mind you see the connections as they light up, small things you'd missed, things that are starting to make a lot more sense.

You wonder what other lies you could have gotten ahead of if Oliver hadn't been so nervous about you going through his file at Oxford.

Every single thing about him was designed specifically to be appealing, to you, of course, but more importantly to Felix. It was meant to be you who knew it all, could see the full board and all the pieces the people around you moved; it was meant to be you who could plan well enough and see far enough out to keep Felix out of situations exactly like this.

Felix is curt and swift the moment he's out of the car, trying to escape Oliver who rushes after him, his desperation echoing through the halls. You're several steps behind Oliver, silent, watching the exchange, watching Oliver cling to an ever-dwindling hope for even friendship, as Felix calls out the weirdness of his ongoing lies, tearing that hope asunder.

"I just wanted to be your friend," is all Oliver can say when pressed about his lies. It's genuine, it breaks your heart, but it doesn't make it better. For a moment, you see conflict as it flashes across Felix's face, but he clearly can't do this right now, needing at least the night, but promising not to tell his family.

As you go to leave, go to follow him, Oliver catches your sleeve, holds it too tight for just a moment -

"I thought you knew," his voice wobbles, but there's something like alarm bells in the back of your mind. Everything about Oliver is purposeful, even now. But you know him, you know how he likes to play.

"No you didn't," you look at his fingers still coiled in your sweater, watch him drop them, "you knew I trusted you." You wouldn't let him shift this blame; the faint dismay you can see in his eyes behind the hurt gives him away. He knew Felix had more emotions than sense, but somewhere along the way he seemed to have forgotten that you were so much more than another adoring fan in Felix's shadow.

"'m sorry," stumbles from his mouth almost like a reaction to the look in your eyes, "for hurting Felix with all this, I- I never wanted that," he shakes his head, dropping his gaze, "or hurt you," tacked on as an afterthought. Both of you know where he was placing the importance of that apology. Everything Oliver Quick does is with purpose.

"I know you are, Oliver," you tell him, standing tall and unflinching as you left him alone.

"If you leave my side tonight I'm going to maim him," is how Felix greets you when you enter your room. Sitting on his bed, you see a little, ornate box open in front of him, and you recognise it as one of the few stashes he had around the estate for desperate times. This one, if you recall correctly, was shoved well beneath Henry the Eighth's bed, and had a decent amount of coke that you'd left here after last Christmas.

"Can't fucking believe- I can't fucking believe him!" He rants, cutting up lines of coke on the little hand mirror Venetia had donated to this particular stash box. Mind working a million miles a minute, you're quiet, letting him rant. Running on autopilot, you begin to strip down to your underwear, pulling out your costume for the night, frowning at it in the afternoon light.

"How complicated is your costume?" Felix asks, finally looking up, gazing over at you and the sheer, shimmering thing in your hands. Without a word, but with a vague shrug, you turn it to him.

The base was like something you'd see at a rave, little more than green underwear, with straps, and beading, and jewels, and loops of green and purple pearls by your hips that would bounce while you walked. The overcoat, though it was far to generous to call it that, was pure gossamer, sheer and green, with hand-stitched silk leaves making up the hem that fell perfectly to your ankles, and intricate, hand embroidery of vines that extended across both shoulders, and both arms, ending with little, purple flowers embroidered by your wrists.

There's large, brown boots with a bit of a hell and some large buckles, and a belt that's half a skirt that hit just below your knee to give you some coverage, at least on your left, sewn to look like it was covered in leaves. Plus a leather thigh harness and flask that Farleigh had gotten you made for your last birthday.

Leaning back, Felix reaches out to feel the gossamer between his fingers, frowning for a beat.

"Don't be precious about it."

For a moment, you frown in confusion. Despite your entire outfit being exquisitely and perfectly tailored, you knew you could afford to not be precious about pretty much anything, even this. But that's never been an outright request he's made.

"I'm not?"

Quiet follows, the soft rustle of your garments as you begin to get dressed, and Felix quickly snorting a line of coke.

"I'm going to lose my fucking mind tonight," he mumbles. Even though you're half dressed, you still lean over his shoulder automatically as he lifts the mirror and the rolled bill up to you like an offering, holding the mirror steady for you.

"I need a drink," you groaned, to which Felix immediately agreed.

"God, why don't we stash anything in here?" He lamented, laying back and watching you head to the door once more while you're trying to do up your belt to hold up your partial leaf skirt, still without your overcoat.

"Because that's tacky and we're not alcoholics." Even with your explanation, Felix pouted. Still, it's a quick trip to the Blue Room and the bottle of rum you're glad Venetia hadn't found in the broken piano.

The night gets blurrier, gets better, with half a bottle of liquor in your veins before the sun even sets. As you're making yourself dreamy and ethereal with glitter and gems and makeup in the mirror, Felix drapes himself over your shoulders, pouting again. The drinks and drugs are already hitting you both and you can hear the revelry beginning outside.

"It's not going to last," he says pointedly, and you're confused until you see him trying to poke at the iridescent eyeliner that wasn't quite dry. Rolling your eyes, you smack his hand away. So he makes his point again, adding, "I'm going to get glitter all over me."

You smirked at him in the mirror, tipping your head against his.

"Don't be precious about it."

A spirit amongst the fairies, you greet your college friends with open arms and boundless enthusiasm, always keeping Felix close at hand. He was more subdued than you, more subdued than many of your friends were used to. Whenever you looked at him, it seemed like his gaze was searching, his expression drawn unless someone had caught his attention, and he wore a smile that seemed to convince them.

"Need a drink," his hand around your wrist and no time to protest, Felix dictated your night and it's pace. Frustration and apprehension keep him tense, even as he tries to loosen up; you feel every time that tension spikes, even if you don't know it's cause. His nails dig into you, wherever he's holding you, shoulder, thigh, arm -

In the bathroom, doing lines with India and some guys who claim to be friends of friends of the Cattons, you're leaning against the sink until you Felix nudge your knee with his own. Looking to the door, you see Oliver in white, taking up it's space. Felix only has to gently tap your thigh for you to shift, sitting in his lap.

"You can't ignore me forever," Oliver tells him, watching you both, watching the way Felix wraps an arm around your middle to hold you close and secure on him.

"I can try," Felix practically sings, his nails sinking into your stomach. With his free hand, he offers you his cigarette, raising it to your lips. You drop your gaze as you inhale, trying to only focus on keeping Felix secure in this moment.

"Felix we need to talk," Oliver insists, "Felix, come on man -"

"Look, man, I tried to be nice -" Felix started, and though you tried to gently warn him, pressing against him with Fi on your lips like you hope he won't say something he'll regret, he just holds you tighter and continues on, "but can you fuck off and bother somebody else?"

India half snorts with laughter in the middle of a line of coke, the others all judging Oliver the longer he lingers in the doorway, but Felix drops his gaze. His lips are on your shoulder to keep from saying anything else.

One of guys whose names you don't know asks who Oliver even was, but Felix can't answer; tension again, maybe anxiety or frustration, but his mouth moves from the gossamer and embroidery on your shoulder to your bare skin above the neckline, where your collar meets your throat. His teeth sting. His nails still sting. He swears under his breath before he lets go.

"Sorry," he mumbles finally, sighing and resting his forehead on your shoulder. You tell him it's okay, voice fond, but when you lean over to do another line of coke, you meet India's reproachful gaze. It takes you a long few seconds to connect the dots, to realise what was going on in her head. You're so fucking over everything tonight.

"You know Farleigh was lying to you about us, right?" You say casually, taking your line and sitting back up. Her eyebrows rise in surprise, "I know you think we're all gross and cousin-incest-y -" you hear Felix's faint laughter behind you, and feel him nudge you with his thigh, silently asking you to get up. Both of you do, and Felix manages his first proper smile of the night, even if it is smug.

"But we're not related," he tells her, "thank fucking god," and smacks your ass as the two of you exit, as if to just prove a point.

You're on your knees in a different bathroom when you hear everyone else start to sing happy birthday, but Felix's voice is a low growl of don't you dare stop, and his hands in your hair. Nothing else matters to you in this state of mind, blurry, pliant, desperate to follow his every command. It's as if you've forgotten what exists outside of Felix's hands on you.

The night becomes lights that are too bright, and music too loud, and laughter and glitter and the warmth of the people dancing around you. After a few hours you feel yourself starting to come down from your high, starting to come back to yourself, still on the dance floor. Venetia's dancing with a blonde boy, looking so pretty, like she's having a genuinely fun night, but when you point it out, Felix takes your hand.

"Don't look at Ven," there's that hunger in his eyes, that firm tone he'd been using all night, "don't touch Ven, don't -" he cuts himself off, wets his lips. Looking around for a moment, he spots something in the crowd that makes him scowl. Just a moment, as you follow his gaze, you see Oliver. The moment your eyes lock with his, however, Felix has his lips on your jaw.

"Fucking mine."

There's half a second where you and Oliver are still locked in this moment, you watch the way his expression starts to shift, jaw tensing, something like anger flickering in his eyes. But you can't bring yourself to give a shit about Oliver as Felix has his arms around you, kissing down your throat with a feverish, almost lewd intensity in the middle of the dancefloor.

"Prove it," and you let him drag you from the house, heading towards the place that had always felt a little special for you both, almost a little magical.

"I'm being selfish," Felix announced as you finally hit the tree line just before the maze, "I don't fucking care anymore, I'm being selfish, about you -!" He turns to look at you, only to see you gazing up at him with starry-eyes, hanging on his every word. He breaks into a sheepish grin momentarily, shaking his head as his voice drops for a moment, "oh, you're fucking loving this, aren't you?"

"I want you so bad right now it's actually embarrassing," you agreed with a wide grin, unable to contain your laughter, despite how genuine the feeling was.

"I'm being selfish," he said once more, muttering it this time, though as you entered the maze and the moonlight peaked down upon you, you could see the blush still upon his cheeks, "I don't want anyone else to fucking touch you again, you hear me?" This time, when he looks at you, he thinks he can see hearts in your eyes; your overwhelming love and acceptance, even for this -especially for this- is making it very hard to keep the stern act up, except -

"Anything you say," you tell him, breathless as you approach the centre of the maze, voice edging on desperate, "anything at all." And you see it hits him just where it had needed to, to hear you wanting and wanton and offering yourself to him -

The gossamer overcoat is ruined, scratched all up the back where you're pinned against the statue, half sitting on the base with your legs around Felix's, your fancy green undergarments around one ankle. His nails scratch down the bare skin of your back, fucking into you with furious intent to match.

"You've always been mine," he groans into your ear.

"Felix -" you whimpered. Immediately he was grinning, lips inches from yours, gazing at you through his lashes.

"How's that proving anything?" He teases, low and knowing, and as his hips snap up to meet yours, you take the hint, his name getting louder and louder on your lips as you almost chant it, till his hand is between you both, helping get you off, and you're close and all but screaming his name and -

"Felix." Not from you. Oliver.

"Oh Jesus Christ!" Felix immediately looks murderous, and not in a fun, sexy way. Oliver's demanding to talk to him while you struggle to pull your underwear back on.

"Could hear you out there," Oliver mumbles, half stumbling over his words, unable to look at you, focused on the dirt by your feet instead.

"Kind of the point, Ollie," you snapped, frustrated and now unsatisfied, but dressed once more.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Oliver?" Felix demanded. Oliver advances on him, presses into his space with desperate eyes and a bottle clutched to his chest. He doesn't look at you, he can't fucking look at you, you don't matter. It's Felix and his emotions who lead every situation the two of you share; it's Felix he has to win back over.

But he should have expected you not to leave, should have expected that when Felix pushed him away, shouted for him to get the fuck away, that you would try and step in.

"He's already got you on a leash, can I just have this one fucking moment?!" He snaps at you; he doesn't hit you but you recoil like he has, and Felix's gaze grows cold. Oliver seems to sense this before he even turns back, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that, I just- they already have everything -"

"Back off." Felix warns sharply, but Oliver can't help himself, won't listen.

"I just gave you what you wanted!" Oliver throws himself at Felix, pins him to the statue, their bodies flush and Oliver rambling, "like everyone else does! Everyone puts on a show for Felix..." his voice drops, childish and weak and wanting, and you watch him press himself closer as he turns gentle, "so I'm... I'm sorry if my performance wasn't good enough..."

"I think..." some part of it was working on Felix, his voice soft and placating, "I think you need to see somebody," or maybe he knows by now exactly how Oliver wants him to act; his eyes never leave Oliver's face, even when he doesn't let him go, "you need help okay, seriously -"

"No, no, I don't," Oliver's voice is rising again, "I just need you to understand how much I fucking love you," a tremble in his voice, sounding so raw, so needy, "you're the only friend I ever had, Felix." The manipulation is so blatant it almost hurts; you don't matter to him in this moment, all that matters is saying exactly whatever Felix needs to believe.

"I mean, doesn't this just prove how much of a good friend I actually am? How well I actually know you?" That hope, that dangerous, heartbreaking note of hope that's going to make your skin crawl. But you're not leaving without Felix, and he's not leaving this moment it seemed, "I'm still the same person, yeah? I'm still the same person," he insisted.

A long few moments pass, Felix's gaze searching Oliver's face for something beyond you. But then, finally, his gaze slips to you. All you can do is shake your head.

"Don't-" Oliver murmurs faintly, tipping his head to try and block you from Felix's line of sight, but Felix turns his attention back, expression helpless.

"I don't know what you are," he breathes, "but I do know you; you make my fucking blood run cold."

The fight drains out of Oliver, as does every last drop of hope. He lets Felix push his hands away, makes himself give Felix space to breathe. After a beat, he looks back at you, unsteady on his feet, pain in his eyes, but then he lurches, quickly shoves his half-finished bottle into Felix's hands, and rushes away to be sick.

Oliver is doubled over, retching, when you get to Felix. Before he can raise Oliver's bottle to his lips, you tuck yourself under his arm and wrap him up in a hug. He's trembling, but you feel the bottle against your back. Felix tucks his face into the crook of your neck, tears unspilled, clinging to his eyelashes.

"Better?" You ask forlornly once Ollie had gone quiet.

"Fuck off," he spits, finally coming back around. You watch him over Felix's shoulder, and the glare he levels at you as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand is almost surprising. Still, you try and show the same compassion you knew Felix would in this moment.

"Wash the taste out of your mouth," you try and tell Ollie gently, moving carefully out of Felix's arms, wrapping your fingers around the neck of the bottle he'd brought with him, "I think you should go to bed after." Oliver doesn't even reach for the bottle, but he does stop, looking between it, and then between you and Felix.

"Please," Felix sighs, head bent and bottle clasped tightly in his hand, "I need this."

"We can get another," you tell him quietly, calmly. Felix's gaze flicks to yours, imploring for just a moment, but dropping again when you don't relent. Felix sighs, once more, but finally relents, handing you over the bottle. Which Oliver has kept his focus on, brow now furrowing.

"I gave you everything else of mine, my drink's not even good enough for you anymore, like the rest of me?" He sneers, reaching unsteadily for the bottle in your hands, though his eyes and their focus betray him. Something lights up in the back of your mind, like one of those memories that made far more sense once Oliver's lie had been revealed. Alarm bells once again.

Felix stumbles to a halt -

"Fucking fine -" but as he tries to reach for the bottle again you step out of his range, beginning to see red as you got closer to Oliver, prickling with suspicion, "what is your problem, Y/N," Felix sounds so fucking tired, but all you can see is the deer of a boy before you growing wide eyed as he looks into yours.

"It's Oliver's," trying with all your might to not jump to conclusions, you hold the bottle out, desperately hoping that you'd connected the wrong dots, that Oliver was just drunk and as helpless as he appeared, that he couldn't be this malicious or vindictive-

"You want me to be sick again?" He tries to stand up to you, bottle pressed to his chest and refusing to step back even as you continue to crowd his space, "fuck off." He's seeming more sober, more alert, more with himself with each minute that passes. The distant noise of the party rings in your ears and all you can think about is the cold bottle between you and how Felix had almost -

"Leave him alone," Felix called out, footsteps in the grass sounding as though he was making his way back to the maze, "he's not worth it."

"He's pathetic," you spit, nose to nose with Oliver now, face heating up as hot, angry tears begin to close your vision. Still, you can see in Oliver's eyes that he's finding fewer and fewer ways to escape the situation.

"I don't care what either of youse think of me anymore," Oliver's lip curls as it quivers, trying to play distraught and callous all at once, "go fuck each other to feel like you're not just a fucking waste of space, vapid cunts -" he can see he's touched a nerve by the way your expression lights up with malevolent fury.

"Fi," there's a shake in your voice that you can't even fight, "please leave."

"Can you please come with me," Felix sounds like he's on the verge of tears, and when you turn, he's reaching for you, his hand shaking, "please can we go?" He begs.

An angel. Your best friend. Your everything. Your Felix.

Seeing him like this, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that Oliver's greed and jealousy would rather see Felix hurt than not in love with him, you couldn't let him get away with it. Finally you start to cry, even if you hadn't meant to, and the sight of it has Felix begging for you to leave with him. Oliver starts pushing, demanding that you both fuck off.

"Give me a minute, My Felix," you tell him, trying to smile, trying to reassure him, "I'll catch up."

"I'm not leaving without you."

"I don't want you to see this," you turn back to Oliver with newfound resolution. He's stepped back, leaning himself against the statue, doubled over, head in his hands.

"See what?" Felix asks dubiously, and Oliver looks up, sees the way you're approaching him, and scrambles to straighten his posture.

"Ollie's going to have a little drink," you offer him the bottle again.

"Tryna make me sick again?" He snarls.

"Then use it to wash your mouth out, then swallow," you order coldly, "and repeat until the bottle's empty."

"Why should I?"

"Because it's just as perfectly fine as when you handed it to Felix," you hissed, voice low enough that Felix himself couldn't properly hear. Oliver narrowed his eyes, matching your tone.

"If I don't?"

"What I will do to you, Oliver Quick, will be much worse than whatever you've put in that bottle, so you'll drink it all up," you leaned in, whispering close and menacing, "and if you do throw it up, I will have you on your belly, like the worm you are, sucking your own sick off of the fucking ground."

"What the fuck is going on?" Felix demanded, and you turned, taking a deep breath and hopefully giving a much more convincing, determined smile.

"He made you cry."

Felix's expression immediately changed. All soft and fragile but understanding, he just asks that you don't be long. You promise not to be. Both you and Oliver watching him go.

Once in the clear, you turn back to your captive audience, keeping your voice low.

"I'm not going to make you drink it," you admit, and though Oliver's confused and on edge, he seems to relax, just a little.

"The fuck do you want from me then?"

"I just need to hear you say it," you step back from him, give him space, even step around to place the bottle at the foot of the statue and lean your forehead against the cool stone.

"Say what -?"

"I'm not fucking stupid, Ollie," you groaned, looking at him out of the corner of your eyes, "you think I could hurt you? I ruin lives behind the scenes, I couldn't -" you flail your hands awkwardly, rocking back on your heels, turning to him properly once more. It appears to work, however, as Oliver is now only regarding you warily, instead of seeming actively cautious. "I was... hurt," you admitted, "I know why you said it, but I was hurt to hear you say Felix was your only friend."

"That's not -" he tried, defences lowering further as he attempted to defend himself.

"No, I get it; I've done terrible things because I love Fi, I couldn't imagine," you cast a pitying, apologetic look to Oliver, "him not loving me back."

And it works. He cracks, little by little. The tears begin to form, the lip starts to tremble.

"It's not fucking fair," it already sounds like there's a lump in his throat, "why do you deserve his love?" He scowls, "why can't I? I can be like you, I can be good -" he babbles, sniffling harshly amongst his defiantly sharp tone, "I know I could be," you gently wrap an arm around him and he fists a hand to tightly in your overcoat that it tears, "I was everything he wanted me to be -"

"I know, Ollie, I know," you carefully remove his antlers, holding them in one hand as you coax him in close, running a comforting hand through his hair.

"I wanted him to love me, I wanted- I never wanted him hurt, but wanted him dead so it wasn't my fault if he didn't love me; he couldn't love anyone -" he breaks down into furious tears, "I hate him, I hate him, I hate him. I hate you, I hate that he loves you without you even trying -" there's no apology in his distress, even as he lets you hold him close, and you, for a few more moments, whisper reassuring nonsense. "I never wanted to hurt him," he mumbled softly, "but I wanted to kill him. I could never hurt him," there's anger and guilt in his eyes as he looks up at you, tear soaked and helpless, "but I wanted to hurt you." What you give him in return is pity, is sweetness and apology, but your blood is burning through your veins.

"You would have regretted it."

"I know..."

"Are you lying?"

"I think I am."

You have what you need, the confession, the intention; validation for your motivation. Hook, line and sinker.

"Hey, Ollie, Ollie, darling look at me, I know, okay, I know-" you try, taking his face in your free hand.

"No you fucking don't!" Oliver insists, but you keep insisting, "don't fucking take that tone, I just told you I was trying to kill Felix to hurt you -!" He thrashes, but your gentleness is unrelenting in this moment. You will give Oliver Quick what he deserves.

"Ollie, look at me, okay? Look me in the eyes, please -" you begged, and finally he did, despair and anger all there amongst the tears, "keep looking me in the eyes," you tell him gently, and firmly, and he does, too curious for his own good and wanting to see where this was going -

"Everything," you give him the faintest, reassuring smile, one hand on his face, shaking, messily wiping tears from his cheeks with your thumb as he keeps your gaze, "is going to be -"

- and you ram one of his antlers into his soft, exposed belly with all your strength. Surprise and pain hit him all at once and suddenly he's scrambling, trying to get your hands off of the headpiece. But he's winded, and suddenly in overwhelming pain.

"- fine," you breathe out, shaking with adrenaline. You have him pinned against the statue, just like he'd had Felix only minutes ago.

"Eyes, Oliver," you ordered coldly, while making sure to keep smiling, even as fresh traitorous tears were gathering and already spilling down your cheeks. Hand in his hair coming to grip him tightly, keeping his gaze level with yours, "what did I say? I want you to look me in the eyes -" and you rip the antlers out before plunging them back into his gut. Lips twisting into an animalistic snarl involuntarily, Oliver splutters and fights and squirms but everything is becoming slippery, and warm, and slick with his blood. The antlers, your hands, and his; hard to get a grip like the firm one you had on your weapon of choice.

"Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-" he chokes out helplessly, bloody hands moving up, trying to grip your arms, your shoulders, your face, "how -fuck- why -?"

"Whatever you had in that bottle is too good for you; you tried to kill Felix, you said so yourself."

As his strength begins to fail, the way he holds your face turns tender, almost gentle, before his hands fall back to rest on yours, both gripping the bloody antler. Oliver's weight rests on the statue, watching you with despair and helpless, pained moans. Cheeks wet with tears, you can't even fathom how you're doing this, or who you will be once it's done.

"You are not the minotaur of this maze," you grit your teeth, leaning your weight on the headdress, driving it into his guts until the bloody antler snapped clean off of the headdress, you still can't bring yourself to stop. It doesn't feel like enough. He tried to kill Felix. So you took the other antler in hand, unable to stop yourself, shaking with rage and tears, "you are the dear in my fucking headlights; you tried to hurt Felix, you tried to kill Felix! You are nothing, nothing, nothing," you punctuate each nothing with another bloody, unnecessary jab until you can't keep going. The second antler collapses to the ground, and you stumble back, hands shaking.

"Didn't want to hurt him," Oliver insists weakly.

"You were someone we loved," you can see the first antler still jutting out of him, stemming the blood flow but undoubtedly causing excruciating pain. But you spare him no sympathy, only a look of absolute loathing, finally taking in what you've done, the blood your fury had shed. "Someone I loved!" Burst from you, raw brutal betrayal scraping its way from your throat, face hot and wet with tears, falling to your knees, looking up at him with an exhausted fury, "you will never hurt him again. I will never give you that chance."

But Oliver's quickly unfocusing gaze slips from you, rising to a point beyond you, out into the maze. A weak, faint, but somehow still triumphant smile works it's way across his lips.

"Him?"

Like in a horror movie, you cast your gaze over your shoulder. You hear when Oliver finally gives out, stop holding himself up on the statue and fall to the ground, but all you can see is Felix at the edge of the maze.

And that look in his eyes.

Oh god, what have you done?

"Felix," tears start welling in your eyes again, and finally he looks away from Oliver's body, his own antler protruding from him, slowly bleeding out, to you. From here, he can't see the blood on your hands, the blood that's all over you, but he can see it all over Oliver, "Fi, please, you need to -" but he's stepping towards you, almost automatically; he looks ill. You have to look away, can't bear for him to see what your rage has brought about.

"I'm not," his words are robotic, still a bit slurred, and he keeps looking at Oliver, "going without you. 'said that." But he stops behind you. Eyes closed, you wait, you can't bear to even look at him. Then, slowly, he moves. When you breathe, it makes you shake, but you slowly open your eyes.

Felix approaches Oliver. You watch the faint, far away smile wears as he sees Felix up close once more.

"Fe-lix," he sighs faintly, reaching out with weak, shaking, bloody hands, feather light finger tips leaving red streaks along Felix's cheeks, his jaw, his lips. Felix's head dips in close, into Oliver's aching touch, his forehead resting against Oliver's in this moment.

"You were going to fucking kill me, Ollie?" Felix whispered through clenched teeth, on the edge of tears.

"'m sorry," Ollie mumbled weakly, shock and blood loss catching up with him as he struggled to keep his eyes open, "didn't want to hurt you."

"You wanted to kill me -"

"It wouldn't hurt."

"It would have hurt them!" Felix grabbed him by the collar with one hand, wrenching the dying boy up enough to see him pointing at you, still kneeling on the ground, second bloody antler laying in front of you. All Oliver could do was make a pained whimper, and Felix dropped him back to the ground, "and you said it yourself-" his voice is venomous, but your breath catches as you realise just how much he must have heard to know that, "and even having a thought like that," he snarls, hatred burning in his eyes, "means you don't fucking know me at all."

Felix is by your side in the very next moment, pulling you into his lap as he leaned back against the base of the sculpture. You're sobbing into your bloody hands, nothing else to do or say. Even as he's shaking, as he's crying too, Felix doesn't let you go, doesn't let you feel anything but secure with him.

"You saw it all, didn't you?" You whispered finally, and feel him nod.

"I said I wouldn't leave without you."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry -" and while he tells you that you don't have to be, the words, the fears, the desperate justifications and rationalisations pour out of you, "he said he was trying to kill you, Fi, and I couldn't- I should have walked away, just gotten him kicked out or taken away or- or- but I couldn't," you gasped, "I couldn't let him ever have that kind of chance again, I couldn't risk that, my mind wouldn't let me -"

"I know, I love you," Felix murmurs weakly, his forehead against your shoulder once more, "dad and Duncan will know what to do, they'll take care of it tomorrow," he sounds so young in this moment, so tired and fragile. You nod quietly, leaning into him. When his hands find yours, threading your fingers together and holding on tightly, Oliver's blood is still sticky on your skin. Neither of you seems to care.

"How did you know something was so wrong?" Felix finally asked, the air cooler and quieter now. You have no idea how much time has passed, but it sounds as though the party was winding down. Oliver's party.

"He wasn't that drunk," you said after a long moment of deliberation, "could see it in his eyes," taking a deep breath, you cast your gaze to the guest of honour, completely still, chest no longer shifting with shallow, frantic breathes, "if he wasn't drunk, why was he sick?" Sighing, you leaned into Felix. You felt so hollow; "everything Oliver Quick did, he did with purpose."

[appleblueberry-pie]

Yan yuuta as a dad🤧🤨?

Despite his seemingly never-ending knowledge on parenting and how to balance his regular life with his life at home, he continuously looks to you for a second-opinion or any sort of advice/leadership when he's not 100% certain on what he's supposed to do.

I guess there would be a certain dynamic going on. You two would switch between being the one doing the chores and school pick-up/drop off with being the one that busies yourself with the children(homework, entertainment, giving them showers, etc).

Yuuta usually gets the kids to listen, but when they really want to put up an attitude and he can't reach to a middle-ground with them, he's looking to you for guidance.

I think he would actually teach the kids basic fighting skills to defend themselves if they ever get into a fight or bullying situation. The only thing he doesn't like about this is he decided to hide it from you, not knowing how you'd feel about certain defense mechanisms. You'd probably be relieved, but he just doesn't want that to constantly be on the back of your mind every time the kids leave for school.

Despite the parent dynamic, he's always the one that gets the groceries. You always make the list and give him direct instructions on what to get and he does as you say every time. There were only a few times he messed up, and despite him acting like it was the end of the world, you always forgave him. It's usually something small like a certain fruit.

He is also the one who usually drives the car. If the whole family is going out, he's the designated driver. The only time you'd take over is if your patience runs out, and no one can argue with you then. He just hands you the keys and lets you silently drive them home.

He's the ice cream dad, you're the smoothie mom.

When the kids are at school and you two are finally alone, he never ever can get what he wants from you until he finishes all possible duties needed to be done around the house. It's probably the quickest you've ever seen him finish any kind of responsibility.

Has his hand on the small on your back every time the two of you go out.

Ever since you two got married and had kids together, you don't let him approach people who hit on you the way he used to.

He used to have an incredible mean mug and would borderline threaten them.

But the move he pulls now is that when you and the sleaze are talking(or you're just barely bearing the company) is he lets the kids run up to you and crowd you. And then he lets the guy's face change before he walks up to you from behind him so he can step back and give all of you space to see what he was trying to fuck up.

They usually scoff or apologize or something stupid like that before walking off.

Even when Yuuta has a long and hard work day, gives the kids dinner, puts them to bed and winds down for the night, he still finds the energy in himself to be able to take care of you. You are his beacon of light and probably one of his only remaining reasons to keep going.

Everything about his life, he admits, sucks outside of his family. And the only reason he can live this luxury he was provided is because you gave him chance you really didn't have to give. And he will forever be grateful for the things you given him and can't repay you for your sacrifices in no other way but his own life.

You are everything he's ever hoped for and if it means giving you the comfort you deserve every single night until he can't no more, then that's exactly what he will do.

[daycourtofficial]

I got cursed like Eve got bitten - part XV

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader | WC: 1.3k | Warnings: none

Summary: reports of a rare powered fae popping up in Illyria send Azriel and Rhysand on a journey through the past, unraveling a truth they thought long buried

Previous part | Masterlist

“How the fuck did she get that invitation?”

Azriel ran his hands through his hair as Rhys stomped into the House of Wind, his landing incredibly agitated. Azriel followed behind, remaining quiet as his brother yelled to no one in particular.

“Hello to you too, Rhys. Lovely weather we’re having.”

Rhys held up a hand in warning, the Lord of Bloodshed shrugging in response. “Now is not the time, Cassian. Someone invited my sister to a ball and I have no idea how they knew she was here, let alone who it was.”

Cassian shot up onto his feet, losing the look of amusement on his face, Nesta’s legs that were in his lap dropping as he stood. “What are you talking about?”

Rhys ground his teeth, spitting out, “apparently someone gave her an invitation to the Hewn City’s ball that’s at the end of the week.” He pulled the invitation you had handed over from his jacket, putting it into Cassian’s hands.

“Oh no, princess goes to a ball. Whatever will we do?” Nesta’s voice bordered on annoyance as she continued flipping through pages, underwhelmed at the discussion at hand.

Rhys stretched a hand out before quickly clenching it into a fist, stretching his fingers out again before balling them up. He repeated the motion a few times, desperate to keep his anger in check.

“No, Nesta, it is not that simple.”

“Are you sure?”

Rhysand took a deep breath. “Yes, I’m sure. This is a terrible idea and I don’t like any part of this.”

“She should be allowed to go where she wants.”

“I’m her brother, Azriel is her mate. I think we will decide what is best for her.”

If the ringing in Azriel’s ears would subside, he would have found humor in the looks Rhys was receiving from the Archerons.

“You’re too close to the situation, Rhys.” Feyre’s voice was raising with Rhys’s, matching his agitation.

“You’re damn right I am. We lost her once and I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize losing her again.”

Feyre gawked. “A surefire way to lose her is by denying a reasonable request.”

“What is reasonable about going to Hewn City?”

“That doesn’t matter - she wants to go.”

Nesta cut through their argument, her tone sharp. “It looks as if she’s trying to do the things she was expected to do as a princess, except she doesn’t have the memories to know that’s why she’s gravitating toward it. Maybe if someone told her-”

“No.” Rhys was quick to cut her off. “Absolutely not. No one tells her.”

Nesta put her book down, moving to face Rhys. “She’s been in Velaris for weeks, Cassian still isn’t allowed to see her. What’s your plan? What if she never gets her memories back?”

Azriel stood silently, watching Rhysand and Nesta argue. He didn’t know what to do. It had been weeks of agony, his every thought revolving around you and how to tell you and how to fix everything. Azriel and Rhys argued frequently over it. He desperately wanted to tell you, and he would defy Rhys.

He didn’t care. Damn Rhys being High Lord.

You were his mate.

But everytime he tried, just on the tip of his tongue, his words would stall, one thought creeping in over and over again: what if you don’t remember? What if he tells you and you merely laughed at him? What if he lost you once more?

He couldn’t handle it, so he hadn’t told you. He felt like a coward. He was a coward. He tuned out Nesta and Rhys’s argument, uncaring of what they wanted.

He can’t give you back your memories, but he’ll give you the only thing you’ve really asked for.

-

Azriel stood in the entranceway of the River House, his shadows slightly agitated around him as he paced back and forth.

“You look nervous.”

Cassian’s gruff voice did little to soothe Azriel’s nerves.

“Something’s off about this, Cassian. I can’t figure it out.” Questions raced through his mind. Who had invited you? Did they know who you truly were? Why? Why? Why?

You had been vague about the male who invited you, and Rhysand grew even more annoyed at his inability to clear through the web of your mind.

The shadowsinger was dressed in a black fitted suit, his jacket cropped to show off his trim waist, tattoos peeking out from beneath the collar of his shirt. Blue embroidery adorned the edges of his sleeves and his lapel. Cassian was similarly dressed up, but his shirt was unbuttoned much deeper than Azriel’s was, showing off his large chest.

“Everything’s going to be fine, Az.”

At his brother’s words, he turned quickly to see Cassian bouncing his leg, stopping the action at Azriel’s gaze. He held up a scarred hand, pointing. “You’re the nervous one.”

Cassian scrunched his eyebrows in mock confusion, a look Azriel had seen thousands of times over the centuries. “Me? Nervous? Don’t be ridiculous, Azriel.”

The shadowsinger approached his brother, leaning down to look him in the eye. Cassian leaned back on the couch, spreading his legs out further to avoid Azriel’s gaze.

“You’re scared she won’t like you, hmm?”

Cassian spluttered out a string of nonsense, looking sheepishly at anything except Azriel. “Don’t be ridiculous Cassian. She never liked you, why would that change now?”

Cassian gave a dry, exaggerated laugh. “Ha ha, you’re so funny Azriel. Perhaps you should join the circus.”

“And perhaps you should-”

The words died on his tongue as one of his shadows pulled his ear harshly, nearly snapping his neck at the angle they brought his head to. The pain didn’t register to him as the breath was knocked from his lungs at the sight of you.

You looked so beautiful as you stood in the entryway smiling at him. He took in a quick breath, stealing himself at the dress you chose. Centuries ago, Mor had helped him go through the clothes at your shared home, the dresses going into storage to prevent moths or any other creatures from destroying the materials. Mor had gone yesterday to pull some of the dresses from storage and helped pick out several of your dresses that she thought would be perfect for this occasion, leaving them in your room when you had been out earlier.

Azriel would never know what compelled you to pick the dress that you did - a beautiful, deep black material, a tight bodice that flowed past your hips, flaring out to allow the wearer to walk more easily. Dark blue flowered appliques were sewn across the torso and down the skirt. The last time you wore it, he had twirled you, the blur of the flowers resembling his shadows in the dark.

He wasn’t sure if putting your hair up was some subconscious memory of the way a piece had fallen out moments before your mating ceremony, Azriel’s hands tucking it away into the braid atop your head.

If he closed his eyes, he could feel the heat from that night. How warm it was from all the candles, how the moonlight peeked in through the skylights.

The only thing missing was your wings.

“Um, hi.” He had been so lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t even registered your approach. “Are you Azriel’s other brother?”

Cassian stood at your question, denying your outstretched hand in favor of wrapping his arms around you and twirling you around.

“Yes, that’s me. I’m Cassian.”

You swayed on your feet, slightly dizzy from Cassian’s twirling. “It’s nice to meet you. Do you do that everytime you see someone you know? Or just when you’re meeting someone for the first time?”

Azriel watched the question knock Cassian off balance, raising a hand to his chest like he had been struck. “It’s how I greet fae that I know I’ll like.”

Your smile was wide taking him in. “And how do you know that?”

“Because anyone my brother likes is someone I have to know.”

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @berryzxx @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @milswrites @the-golden-jhope @hannzoaks @secretlyhers @tothestarsandwhateverend @sarawritestories @chxosangxl

Azriel taglist: @brieflyclassymortal @thisiskaylin @magicstrengthandcourage @panther-girl-124 @slytherintaco @userxs-blog @emryb

[candyhartes]

sweet nothing

s: you & sanji share an intimate moment after skypiea

cw: none; fluff

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the tiny bathroom was designed to hold no more than more person yet sanji sat on the sink counter using it as his personal ash tray with you standing directly between his legs where he comfortably rests his thighs against your hips, one hand lazily gripping your waist. a slightly battered cigarette laying between his chapped and scabbed lips, using his free hand to occasionally hold his cigarette.

the sound of the strong waves crashing against the going merry, the creaking caused by the wood shifting against each other and the buzzing from the small lamp above sanji’s head is heard inside the quiet room. nami had stated that the strong winds and rain were nothing to be alarmed of, however even in the grand line nothing was for certain so she volunteered for first watch in case things got too unsettling.

sanji’s shirt thrown across the closed toilet seat with his chest exposed fully covered in bandages as you begin to carefully remove them. your fingers delicately sliding across his back and careful not to disturb the burns that litter his skin. anytime you accidentally graze them sanji tenses and uses it as an opportunity to take a hit from his cigarette, masking his pain through sharp inhales as a way to distract you from his pain he’d hate to see his lover worry over his own mistakes.

the balm chopper made is to be applied twice a day so the burns won’t scar and relieve him of any lingering pain. you scoop some in your hand, glancing up at sanji with an apologetic expression, “i’m sorry, this might sting a little.”

“it’s nothing i can’t handle,” he smiles softly giving your waist a squeeze of reassurance. the second your hand meets his chest he’s quick to bring the cigarette back to his lips inhaling sharply. you look back at him feeling incredibly useless but he’s looking away from you, his eyes flickering from the door to the wall before he exhales the smoke above your head so you aren’t breathing it in.

you return your gaze to his chest finding choppers balm amazing as it’s been slowly causing his burns to disappear. you smile to yourself before remembering just exactly how he got in this situation. eneru mercilessly striking both usopp and sanji more than once rendering them almost completely useless, and once again striking sanji with full force after saving nami from his ship.

your movements had unconsciously slowed which peaked sanji’s interest, your eyes matched the storms of outside; dark and brewing. your soft features that he absolutely adored turned sharp and frightening yet even your anger had a hinge of sadness as your lips downturned into a pout, quivering slightly at whatever thoughts your mind is forming.

before he could ask what’s wrong, you’re already turning to look up at him his heart dropping at what he recognized as anger turning out to be grief, the familiar shine in your eyes as you attempt to blink away the tears that you’re so frantically keeping back. he’s quick to throw out his cigarette and placing both of his hands on your cheeks with concern, his thumbs running soothing circles to calm you down. “hey, what’s wrong sweet girl?”

“i’m sorry!” through your choked sobs, quivering lip, and the horrible lump in your throat you’re finally able to speak up. you want nothing more than lean into his chest and apologize over and over again for being nowhere near him during his fight with eneru. if only you hadn’t run along with robin, you could’ve helped sanji and usopp. you were far from the strongest but you’re still able to hold your own. you push yourself back but sanji’s stubborn grip prevents you from slipping away from him, instead he’s wiping your tears away and stroking your hair. “i should’ve been there. i could’ve helped you.”

“hey-“ he pulls you back so you’re looking at him, his eyes are hard and disappointed not at you rather himself for letting someone as beautiful as yourself to worry over someone like him. he gives you a soft smile, “you did everything and more with robin. stop worrying your pretty little head over meat heads like us.”

“but-“

“and who knows, maybe i got hurt so i can keep you all to myself,” sanji hums, his hand slowly moving back down to you cheek. his cold fingers stroking your cheek lightly with a dazed expression; lovesick eyes as he flickers from your eyes to your lips. zoro would have laughed and insulted his dopey face with how ridiculous he looks but he didn’t care and neither did you. he leans in slightly, “who else would strip me naked to rub balm on me? i’m in heaven.”

you couldn’t help but laugh at his words, the atmosphere brightening almost instantly. his words of reassurance going straight to your heart. rather than playing into his tease, you lean into his hand planting a small kiss on his palm. “i’m sure chopper wouldn’t mind helping you but you really shouldn’t hurt yourself, who else would feed us?”

“blind and deaf with one or two arms, ill always make sure to give you everything you deserve,” sanji claims, his eyes turning into hearts at your actions, ignoring the mention of chopper rubbing the balm on him. the sound of your soft laughter and his attempts of stealing kisses from you ring throughout the hallway of the going merry, replacing what was once quiet.

note. truth be told, i’ve been avoiding my homework by writing which explains two post in less than a week. i should probably focus on school … also i really love skypiea and couldn’t help myself. p.p.s taylor’s sweet nothing really set the mood for this which is why it’s so short.