#it’s the characters I left off of that other list I did a while ago

[oliviermiraarmstrongs]

10 Characters, 10 Fandoms, 10 Tags

thank you @bloody-wonder for the tag!

shiv roy - succession

riza hawkeye - fullmetal alchemist

theon greyjoy- a song of ice and fire

korra - the legend of korra

cassian andor - star wars/andor/rogue one

natalie scatorccio - yellowjackets

ellen ripley - alien(s)

sophie hatter - howl’s moving castle

miguel o’hara - spider-verse

irving - severance

tagging @mightyaubs, @altraviolence, @excuseforadrink, @vampire-juicebox, @danielarlingtongf, @betweenironyandsilver, @illuminaticns, @aadmelioraa, @antema, and @federalagent if u want to!

[howdoesagrapewrites]

𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐉𝐚𝐰𝐬

Plot: Imagine being the legitimized bastard of Daemon Targaryen, and having a very devoted family.

Cw: fem!reader, cisgender female reader (I'm sorry mascs and nbs, I'll make something for you later) incest/targcest implied for later, platonic and romantic yanderes, yandere EVERYONE x reader, here's a list of every character that will be featured (not all of them are romantic):Rhaenyra Targaryen, Daemon Targaryen, Rhea Royce, Alicent Hightower, Otto Hightower, Viserys I Targaryen, Aegon II Targaryen, Aemond Targaryen, Haelena Targaryen, Daeron Targaryen, Lucerys Velaryon, Jacaerys Velaryon, Laena Velaryon, Laenor Velaryon

Notes: I go by a very strange mix of the series and the books, I haven't seen the series in a while so the timeline will most likely be a mess. I'd like this to be a series but I've been incredibly busy. Extra: at first I thought about making reader Mysaria's daughter, but this is a self insert, so it's best that you look however you like, leaving the mother anonymous. The only physical reference I'll make will be reader's silver hair

>After Rhaenyra was declared the heir of the iron throne, Daemon, insulted, flew away with his mistress, the white worm, who he would conceive a child with, even asking for a dragon egg for the prince or princess to come

>However, Viserys demanded him to go back to his home and wife, he sent Mysaria off to lys, where the stress of a storm in the trip back made her lose the baby

>Daemon never fully forgave his brother, and this left him less than eager to have another child anytime soon

>So imagine his surprise, when 7 years later, there's a rumour spreading in flea bottom like wildfire, about a girl carrying Daemon's bastard

>Many women had claimed to carry a royal child before, thinking this could give them any sort of prize, so Daemon didn't think much of it at first, but when he heard her name, he recognized her as one of his previous "favorites" who disappeared without a trace months ago

>She was said to have taken residence in Essos, and Daemon went on dragonback to find her. She was from the free cities, five years older than Daemon, and a heart as cold as a northern winter, or so they said. She was not expecting Daemon, running away to have the child in peace

>"They said I was too far along when I found out, moon tea would've only harmed me. Besides, it was lucrative in its own way" said the woman. Daemon did little to suppress the disgust on his face when thinking about her being defiled by other men while carrying his dragonseed babe

>She wanted no part in the baby's life, and Daemon, in his particular fashion, informed her he'd take the youngling as soon as it's out of her, may even pay her a few coins to make sure she won't do much as think about keeping it

>A few months passed, and he returned to king's landing with a babe in arms. Demanding an egg in honor of the birth of princess Y/N Targaryen

>This egg would later hatch into the dragon Dagahrion, the princess' bound dragon

>The court was a hot mess, according to Otto, he wouldn't be surprised if the young creature lost its left ear because of all the gossip and ill-speaking of her, just like her father. This was a scandal, considering he was still married to Rhea Royce, who he gravely dishonored time and time again, Daemon was always shameless, but this was crossing a limit, even for him, to call his bastard a princess while refusing to lay with his own rightful wife, disgraceful

>Daemon tried to use you as yet another attempt to get his brother to annul his marriage to "the bronze bitch", but even when he failed, he did everything in his power to legitimize his daughter

>Despite everyone on the council telling Viserys how foolish it'd be to do it, making enemies out of the Royce house, further insulting Rhea, and putting a whoreborn on the line of succession (no matter how far from the throne), all it took was a little yawn and the bright twinkle of your eyes to make him melt, he is fully committed to his role of uncle, even as a doting grandfather, considering his father passed long before her birth

>Viserys sent Daemon back to the Vale, saying he should do his best to give lady Rhea an heir, to make up for the slip and avoid causing the Targaryen house any more trouble. Viserys, for totally not selfish reasons wanted to keep the princess in KL, saying Rhea should not be made to raise his bastard

>Daemon said he'd rather be exiled again than to leave his daughter in Hightower hands to go try to fuck his wife. Viserys was greatly offended by the implication that the Hightowers truly ruled and schemed while he reigned

>To his outmost displeasure, he finally had to let his niece go to the Vale with her father

>Rhea loved you as soon as she set eyes on you, completely separating you from your father's actions, and seeing you as a pure angel in this horrible situation

>But it was so difficult with Daemon around, she just wanted to whisk you away and love you, she'd pray to the mother to be able to breastfeed you, crying when she heard you wail in frustration of your hunger, since it took several wet nurses to get you to drink milk

>But Daemon was always around to remind her you were not hers, that he considered her lowly, not worthy of you. He'd correct you when you learning to speak, and dared to refer to her as "mama"

>It was said the ground of the vale would shake upon them yelling when fighting over you

>But this joy to Rhea was short lived, as Daemon sent you to KL when he had to fight in the war of the stepstones, saying the "nest of vipers" was more deserving of you than she was. When you were three, your step mother had an accident while hawking, many said Daemon orderded for her to be poisoned when she was bed bound, others said the distress of your parting made her lose skill

>It was Viserys greatest pleasure when you were left at his care, his adorable baby niece was now an infant, and somehow you were even more charming, being able to speak, sing and walk

>To no one's surprise, Viserys' reaction was not generalized, with many not being keen on having a bastard running around the castle playing with the princes, by that point, Aegon was 8, Haelena was 7, Aemond was 5, and Daeron was 1, and almost all of them could see people treated you differently

>Rhaenyra was welcoming, baby Lucerys had just been born, and she was delighted to have a girl to spoil, it only helped that Jacaerys loved you as well, and would often fight his uncles for the chance to be with you

>Alicent in particular was not pleased with your presence, thinking you were an uncomfortable conversation to have with her children, especially resentful of the fact her youngest son would be attached at the hip with you

>To Otto, you were an annoyance, a living proof of Daemon's pure disregard for the norms, however, he could rest at night knowing you were ninth in the line of succession, and a girl, who would someday marry a son of a minor house and be too busy bearing children to present a claim to the iron throne

>Even though the Hightowers were tougher than the king, they did eventually succumb to your spell, and became just as enamoured with you as everyone else, in their minds, you were almost a product of spontaneous generation, completely ignoring your shameful father and prostitute mother

>Your arrival also caused the birth of Lucerys (who was again, born with a striking resemblance of Harwin Strong, just like his older brother) to be less gossiped about, after all, your case was much more interesting

>Some people in court starting referring to you as "The princess of flea bottom", this title costed quite a few tongues around the castle, ordered by Viserys, happily approved by Otto

>The Hightower hand was careful not to show too much affection to you, as it was improper and he knew how zealous was Viserys when it came to you

>Aegon was "already too old to be playing" in his words, and kept his distance from you, you reminded him to much of his sticky handed little brothers

>But as if you knew, you chased him around and praised him for his knightly demeanor (in your eyes) and how he's just like the heroes in Viserys' stories. It was not a long time before Aegon now appointed himself as your guard, watching like a hawk over his brothers and nephews when he thought they were being too rough on you

>Haelena loves you from the start, sees you as a little doll, she loves showing you her bugs, you're the only one who listens to her attentively

>Jacaerys and Daeron are only a year old, but always search for you, you think they're cute, something that spikes jealousy on Aemond, he wants you to think of him as someone worthy of admiration, like you see his older brother, he'd even accept being cute in your eyes, but he has none of those traits to appeal to you. You love him and love playing with him nonetheless, but he thinks he needs something else to win your favor

>The Velaryons dote on you too, with Laenor married to Rhaenyra and once your father marries Laena that same year, they are maybe too eager to become part of your family, and regard you as theirs

>Especially Laena, who Daemon allows (unlike with Rhea) to pamper and care for you, but still corrects you when it comes to remembering your origins, Laena may love you, but she's not your mother

>Maybe Daemon does this as a way to imagine you're only his, he doesn't care for the woman who abandoned such a precious treasure, she has been wiped away from your life and memory, you're only familiar with your father, you only belong to him

>You have his silver hair, you have his name, no matter who your mother was, you are his true valyrian heir, his dragonseed

>Unfortunately, Daemon is not the only one whose eyes light up when thinking of owning you

[endereies]

BOOK CLUB - MS

No Nut November - Day 1

NNN Masterlist...

-➤ You and Matt waltz around a local book shop, but Matt isn't looking at the books

You dragged your fingers against the familiar grain of polished wood that encased the shelves of books before you. Quiet murmurs of the few people inside brought you a comfort that was hard to find anywhere else. Matt’s hand laid in yours, softly caressing your skin with his thumb. The speakers played harmless classics. A few of them made you smile as you acknowledged the tunes.

Going to book stores made you happy and finding one so close to your home was quick to top your list. The few staff that worked there grew familiar with your names. It was cute to say the least. Especially from Matt’s point of view. He adored the smile that grew on your lips when they addressed you both. One was rarely without the other. He wanted to be there, not because he had a particular interest in books, but because he knew you did. That’s all that mattered to him.

His gaze broke as you slipped your hand away from his, rushing off to the new release section of books. Even if you were only here a week ago, you limited yourself. Only getting a certain number of books each time and spending a reasonable amount of money on them.

“Awh, this is the one I read the other week! Remember? It’s the one where he confesses in a letter that she didn’t read until after he left for his studies. Ugh, I cannot wait for the next one to be released.” Your lips moved rapidly as you spoke.

“Oh yeah, I do remember that one. Didn’t you read this too?” He mused, picking up a book with crisp, stiff pages.

“Hm? Oh, I’ve nearly finished that one. I’m so excited to see how it ends, these two are literally perfect.” The tips of your fingers laid upon the characters poised on the cover, staring at each other from behind their shoulders.

His hand came up to his face, pushing back a loose strand of hair covering his eyes. He watched the glimmer in your eyes, rambling ever so slightly about these two characters. He’d heard you talk about them before, when the book premiered. He just couldn’t get enough of the excited tones laced in your voice.

 You flattened your palm against a new book, feeling the textured cover under your skin. “And this one. I actually fell in love with this one so much. The way the author writes, the plot line, it all just drags you in. I genuinely had to put it down a few times just so I could process it all. I was reeling after the first read of this.”

“First?” A curious glint in his eyes as he stared at the cover, reading over the blurb.

“You expect me to read them only once? I have a collection of comfort books, you know the ones on my bedside table.” He shook his head, a chuckle passing his lips.

Exploring the rest of the shop followed the same pattern. You’d talk about books you’ve read previously while gawking over the ones on your list to be read. As you both dawdled the store, Matt found himself holding a small stack of books you hadn’t even realised. You were too busy in your own world to acknowledge the fact he picked up any book you rambled cutely about.

After all, he just wanted his girl to be happy.

@melliflws @yuhayeee @st7rnioioss @sturn-bugz @bueckerrss @worldlxvlys @raysmayhem-72 @patscorner @y0urm4m @bernardsbendystraws @junnniiieee07 @luverboychris @jnkvivi @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @shorthairchris @colorthecosmos444 @anabethinking @zay-sturns @anyaa2s @emilyfaith2003 @zariyam @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut

[ukiiseikou]

don't mess up, my lucky charm, my last chance.

wanderer x gn! reader. figure skating au.

synopsis: your pairs partner just ghosted you, but no worries! your coach manages to replace him with the next worst thing - wanderer. a/n: hi! making this a series called complementary figures, a figure skating au universe. stay tuned for other characters ^^ thanks for reading

“hi, i’d like to report a missing person’s case.”

ayaka looks up from unlacing her skates, giving you a sympathetic smile, “any news?”

“he’s gone gone, like, poof! i’ve been calling him ever since he disappeared two weeks ago but it’s like he never existed. i even called the police, and all they could say was ‘he’s still alive’, like buddy, i hope so.”

ayaka stands up, offering you a quick hug, “i’m so sorry, it was an asshole move for him to ghost you like this in the middle of the season.”

“it’s fine. i guess it’s all over now. still kind of in shock, but whatever.”

you sigh, sitting down on the bench and kicking off your sneakers as you pull your skates out from your bag. you weren’t even sure why you were here, your partner had up and left you in the middle of the competition season and you can’t perform a pairs routine by yourself. you were content to just wallow in self pity and refreshing instagram to see if, miraculously, any available pairs guy would contact you and ask to try out. in fact, you had been doing exactly that for the past few week and a half, but yae asked you to come in today, saying that you ‘needed to reconnect with the ice’.

you wave bye to ayaka as she walks away, leaving you to your own devices as you start pulling on the strings of your laces.

“y/n.”

yae appears before you, and you strain to get a look at her, a familiar grin on her face.

“hi, coach, what’s up?” you finish tying up your skates and stand up. with your skate, you tower over yae just a little bit, but you always felt like a little kid before her - she’s been your coach since you were little anyway, alongside your former partner.

“no news?” 

you shake your head, and she sighs.

“disappointing, but no matter, we move ahead.”

she beckons you to follow her, and you trail behind her as she steps onto the ice gracefully. you’ve been off ice for about a week now, and you really feel it. there’s a bundle of nerves as you slowly follow her in a lap around the rink, is this where yae tells me my pairs career is over?

“what do you think about getting a new partner?” she stops suddenly, and you nearly crash into her, lost in your thoughts.

“um, if there’s someone out there who wants me?” you offer awkwardly.

she laughs, “well, he better, you’re his last chance.”

“wait, you’re saying someone asked to partner up with me?”

she taps her chin, “it’s more like - i offered and no one else wanted him, so we’re his only choice.”

she finishes with a self satisfied grin, “don’t worry, y/n dear, he’s won a few medals.”

“yeah? like what?”

“world championships, world cup finals,” she lists off a bunch of titles, including national champion.

wait, national champion?

“are you talking about, uh, wanderer?” you interrupt her.

“is that the kid's name? ah, i forgot. he always hissed at me and ran away whenever i went over to ei’s house.”

while yae launches into reminiscing about her shared history with his coach, your mind goes a mile a minute.

wanderer, national champion, current world champion, former junior world record holder, and current world-renowned asshole.

no one can deny his talent and skills, but also that comes with a major attitude. you’ve heard changing room horror stories about him scaring off potential partners; people leaving in tears; a world record in the number of partners dropped; and if he drops you in the middle of a lift it’s not his fault - it’s yours.

“yae, why in the world did you offer to pair me up with some asshole?” you blurt out, “yae, i thought you liked me.”

 “oh look, they’re here!”

yae pointedly ignores your comment and pushes past you, making her way to the edge of the rink. you can feel the drilling stare, even with your back facing him. you just prayed to whatever archon is listening that he didn’t hear you, and you would at least leave this temporary partnership with your ego and self-confidence intact.

“ei! long time no see,” yae stops at the boards, as you slowly turn on your blades and skate towards where the pair is waiting.

“this is y/n,” she beckons you, and you pick up the pace, gliding into place next to her.

“hi, uh, it’s nice to meet you!” you’ll try your best to leave a good impression on his coach, at least.

“likewise,” ei nods and holds out a hand to shake, which you take.

“kunikuzushi,” she angles her head towards you, “say it.”

“hey,” he says curtly, avoiding your gaze. awkward silence settles over the group before yae claps her hands.

“i see. kuni, then? i see your skates are on, good! get up here. y/n, sweetheart, can you get my phone please? i would like to film this, thank you.”

you sigh, moving to grab yae’s phone on the other side of the boards. you watch the boy pull off his skate guards and step onto the ice out of the corner of your eye. you can’t deny it - you can tell by the way he holds himself that he’s far more elegant and well-trained than half of the guys you’ve seen come in and out of the rink door. the two of you make eye contact and you quickly fumble with yae’s phone, placing it near her hand.

ei and yae are chatting, leaving you to awkwardly follow wanderer, or kuni, or kunikuzushi, you weren’t really sure what to call him anymore.

“can you even skate?” he sounds irritated, and you bristle.

“of course i can, can you?” you retort.

“i’m the current world champion. of course i can. are you dumb?” he whirls around to face you.

“yeah? try doing that again without a partner,” you fume.

“i don’t need a partner to win.”

“it’s called fucking pairs.”

he snorts, “and you think your mediocre skills can keep up with me?”

“sorry, but i happen to hear you switch partners every season? you need me. admit it, i’m your last chance, because nobody else is stupid enough to partner up with someone like you.”

“someone like me? it’s okay! you can just call me an asshole again, just to my face. go on.” 

you stop, skates slowing to a halt, you can feel your face heating up at the reminder of the less-than-kind comment you made only a few moments ago. ah, fuck, he heard me.

his eyes narrow at your silence, and he whirls around again and kicks off, throwing ice in your direction and he leaves you behind.

“y/n, honey, you’re supposed to skate with him! don’t tell me you forgot after a week already!” 

you hear yae call from the boards, and you roll your eyes.

you race to catch up to him, but he ignores you. 

“okay, fine! i’m sorry! but like - prove me wrong!”

he turns at you with a strange look in his eyes that you can’t really place. before you can get a closer look, yae yells at you to ‘do a spin or something!’

he grabs your hand, grumbling something under his breath as he slows to match your strokes.

“do you know how to do triple salchow?” he questions over the sound of blade scratching ice.

“side-by-side? i mean, i can try!”

he rolls his eyes at you, but he releases your hand, “you go first, i’ll follow.”

wait, shouldn’t we talk about this?

you nearly stop your momentum but you catch how he’s staring intently at you. your insides squeeze together, your partner could never do a salchow properly, so you haven’t done it in a long ass time.

okay, fine.

you adjust your position, and you can hear his skates against the ice as well, perfectly mirroring your position as you launch yourself into the air.

there’s a foreign feeling in your legs, and next you know it, you end up hitting the ground, legs giving out as you slip and land. wanderer snickers as he slows to a halt next to you, and you just know he landed that triple salchow perfectly.

"not only did you double it, but you also fell on your ass? some skating skills you have."

you fell a thousand times before, but this one stings. you wince as you hang your head, trying to figure out if the dull throb in your leg is anything serious.

"are you crying? archons, i can't believe i have a crybaby of a partner." he sighs, but twists to get a better look at your face. you turn away from him.

"i'm fine," you say, pulling yourself to your feet, there's a shit-eating grin on your face, "let's try that again, partner."

he scoffs, "should've known you were pretending. can't deal with crybabies. you're lucky i'm giving you a second chance."

"watch this one. their debut internationally, the new wonder pair from inazuma. their chemistry is electrifying, and their technical content is one of the best!"

you let out a dry laugh of amusement at the commentators as you splay out across the couch, taking up all the space. wanderer hisses at you to 'get off me' but makes no move to shove your legs off his lap, instead, he grabs the remote from the coffee table to fast forward through the gushing that takes place before you've even entered your beginning pose, eyebrows drawn in irritation.

the two of you watch intently, the bright lights of yae's TV cutting through the darkness of the night combined with tightly drawn curtains. wanderer lets out a snort when you nearly crash into the ground as you land from your throw lutz, only saving it with a ridiculously bent knee that keeps you upright.

"still not used to the height?" he smirks.

"shut up, you're lucky i saved that," you spit. it's true, despite his shorter stature, he's hiding some serious muscle, enough to throw you into the air with height that looks like 'he's trying to send you to the moon' - as the commentators put it. your former partner never threw you that high up, and when you first did it, you felt as if you were in the air for an eternity.

"hah! no. you're lucky i held back."

"let's just call it even," you sniffle, turning back to watch the replay. after months of skating together, you know his little quirks, and when you shake with mock tears he stiffens, and you know you've actually got him wrapped around your finger. when you first actually cried in front of him (after a particularly ugly fall that felt like a broken bone), he spent his time saying that you 'looked ugly when you cry' and holding up tissues to your nose, but you can tell by his eyes his worry when the tears won't stop coming despite his irritated sighs and non-stop shaking of his head.

"whatever," he pats your ankle with a sense of urgency, the sofa creaking as he throws off your legs to stand up, "keep those ankles of steel safe, lucks, you'll need it."

you watch as he moves to ransack yae's fridge, and he sticks his face into the cool air in a desperate bid to stop the red crawling across his face. you're left quiet on the couch, an indescribable feeling racing up your neck at the nickname.

you tune out yae's usual pep talk as you survey the crowd - the arena's more packed than usual, and you're feeling the pre-program jitters. 

wanderer's hand finds your's, giving you a tight squeeze.

"you ready?"

you turn to smile at him, and he returns a rare one, "with you? always."

he snorts, but turns his head away as red tinges the tip of his ears, "don't mess up."

(and, by the way, thanks for giving me a chance back then.)

maybe i will write one where wanderer meets your ex-partner anyways, ♡ or ↻ if you enjoyed, support your writers, thank you!!

[narizaki]

remember summer days   tsukishima kei x reader

―   tags   fluff,  established relationship,   pre-timeskip & timeskip kei,   gn reader

―   notes   i thought of this randomly,   forgive any grammar mistakes & ooc characters, wc is around 900, i am only capable of writing fluff, there's like one cuss word, ik remember summer days is from the 80s don't mind

it was on a warm summer day when you found out tsukishima kei — the love of your life, resident intimidating giant with a terrible resting bitch face — listened to 90’s japanese city pop.

out of anything that could be playing in those white sony headphones of his, you think anri and miki matsubara were probably at the bottom of the list. and, boy, did you have a field day when you found out.

“aww, kei! that’s so cute! i would’ve never thought you’d listened to this kind of music,” you cooed, scrolling through his extensive playlist. you recognized various artists, all well-known for their songs in the city pop genre, in addition to a plethora of other titles. beside you, kei was fuming. the tips of his ears were burning a red so bright that he couldn’t even blame it on the heat. he’d given up his attempts to retrieve his phone long ago, ultimately deciding to deal with the embarrassment and allow you to thumb through his music account. 

had it not been for the sheer amount of boredom you were experiencing that day, you’d never would have found out about kei’s taste in music. having left his unlocked phone on his desk while he ventured downstairs to find something cold for the two of you to eat, you couldn’t deny your curiosity about his music taste. more often than not, kei would have his headphones plugged into his phone — even when you’d first met him, he had them on. when you asked why he always had them on, he bluntly responded that they drowned out any bothersome noises with something more tolerable. 

however, whenever you asked what he was listening to, he’d brush you off. if you were to count on both hands and feet the number of times he’d simply scoffed at your questioning, telling you that it wasn’t any of your business, you think you’d run out before you even got halfway through. the curiosity was killing you, which is why you took the first opportunity you had to figure out what was so special about his music. there had to be something to it that made him inclined to practically gatekeep it from his own partner.

and to find out it was because he was embarrassed by it? you thought you were on cloud 9.

“shut up,” he grumbled, “it’s not that interesting.” 

your only response was to giggle, clicking on one of the songs you knew — remember summer days by anri. the smooth introduction of the song reverberated throughout kei’s room, and you gently tossed his phone off to the side of his bed. you stood from your seated position on your boyfriend’s bed, nudging his knees apart with your own to stand between them. while quietly humming the song, you took kei’s face into your hands, thumbs running over the apples of his cheeks.

“i know,” you replied, smiling down at his flushed face. it was a rarity he ever got close to being embarrassed, so you made sure to savor his expression. “just thought it was funny that you were hiding this from me for so long.”

“i wasn’t hiding anything from you.” he mumbled. he wasn’t making eye contact with you, but his hands came to rest on your hips anyway. he gave them an unconscious squeeze, pulling you closer to him. you could only laugh as the song continued, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“sure.”

“hey, (name),” hinata calls out. you turn to the orange-haired opposite hitter, prompting him to continue. “did you ever figure out what stingy-shima over here listens to? he always had his headphones in during highschool, but never, ever, told us what was playing in them!”

the sudden question causes you to burst out laughing, and a glance around the room tells you that everyone else is as interested. who knew those mysterious headphones of his racked up this much attention? even kageyama was watching intently!

you feel kei tense up from beside you, a harsh squeeze to your hand serving as a silent warning. don’t say anything. he’s glaring daggers at you, and you don’t doubt that he’s planning out hinata’s demise in his mind.

you almost feel bad. you consider waving off hinata’s question, brushing it off with another laugh. maybe saying something along the lines of oh, just podcasts, or whatever’s on the radio. 

but, you decide you don’t feel bad enough, so despite the burning sensation at the back of your head, a teasing grin breaks out on your face.

“well, hinata, if you really wanted to know, kei likes to listen to —”

“ah, would you look at that,” kei cuts you off mid-sentence. “it's getting pretty late, i think it’s time for us to go now. thank you all for tonight, we'll see you guys around.” he finishes, speaking uncharacteristically fast. there’s a nervous lilt to his voice that makes you cackle, shoulders shaking and tears threatening to pool in your eyes. he’s tossing a few yen onto the table to pay for your shares of food, before tugging on your arm and pulling you out of the restaurant.

once the two of you are walking back to his car, he’s grumbling about how much he hates that dumbass hinata and how he’ll definitely be paying for asking that. you take advantage of his distracted and irritated state to sneak the professional volleyball player a text while you enter kei's car.

to hinata: he likes listening to 90s city pop. think stay with me by miki matsubara.

from hinata: NO WAY

to hinata: yes way. 

to hinata: btw, if he kills me, it’s ur fault.

from hinata: WHAT NO

you snicker from the passenger seat, prompting your fiancé to side-eye you. in response, you entwine your hands, the sound of anri’s remember summer days filling your ears. 

[flowerandblood]

Blame | Betray | Bliss

[ modern! • Aemond x stepsister! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, angst, smut, kind of incest but not really, mention of marital infidelity, orgasm denial ]

[ description: After they both run away they have to face the consequences of their choice. Aemond, in a gesture of desperation, asks for help from the last person from whom he would expect any reaction, and Criston wants his daughter back, believing that it is all one big, cruel misunderstanding. The power of angst, ironic, protective, bitchy Aemond. Anon request. ]

Part 1 − Rage | Revenge | Relief Part 2 − Guilt | Greed | Grace Part 3 − Pride | Promise | Price

Series & Characters Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

Driving through the dark night after what they had done, after what they had said, he felt both terror and excitement at the same time − he had the feeling that he had ended something, that he had freed himself from a situation and a place that was making him a worse and worse person.

From the very beginning they had talked about what they would do after this and he had formed a plan in his head, which although it had seemed very good to him at the time, now left him with a lot of doubts.

He no longer had any other choice.

He ran his hand over his face and, on the screen on his dashboard, went into his contact list and selected his father's number − they heard the loud sound of a call, which went on and on until, after a while, he answered with a hoarse voice, clearly sleepy.

"Aemond? Son, is something wrong?"

He pressed his lips together, trying not to cry, thinking that since he had lost his eye he had never been more vulnerable.

"Dad −" He started, but his voice trembled; he swallowed loudly feeling the tears under his eyelids, feeling the tightness in his throat, feeling the same as that day, lying in the hospital.

"Dad, I need your help. Can I come to you?"

He was horrified by how helpless and pathetic his voice sounded, her hand clasped tightly in his, he felt her looking at him, felt her crying too.

There was silence on the other side.

"Yes… yes, of course, are you okay?" He asked quickly, terrified, and he stopped at the side of the road, feeling he couldn't see anything anymore.

He covered his face with his hand, trying to calm himself, breathing deeply, thinking only of the warmth of her skin, her thumb stroking the back of his hand.

"No…I'll come to you with someone, okay?"

"When can I expect you?"

They showed up at his father's house after twenty minutes − he lived in a suburb on the complete other side of town.

They got out of the car shakily, taking their backpacks with the things they had managed to pack quickly, and Viserys came out to meet them − he seemed even older and even more dying to him, pale, his short hair completely white, limping on one leg and leaning on a cane.

He thought with pain that he didn't fit into this huge, modern house in which he was left completely alone.

He furrowed his brow noticing his red cheek, seeing that they both must have been crying a moment ago, that they were pale and terrified.

"Please, don't ask. Not today." He said quietly, strangely weak, sighing.

His father glanced at the girl standing next to him − he grasped her hand gently, stroking her soft skin with his thumb.

"That's my girlfriend, Dad."

He did not explain to him who she was or how they had met; he only revealed to him that he couldn't live with his mother for a while and that they needed a few days to work out what to do next.

By the time they entered the room where he lived as a child it was four in the morning, and they had to turn off their phones so they wouldn't see any missed calls from Criston and his mother.

He knew that even if she guessed where they had gone, his mother would be embarrassed to come to his father's house with her lover and that it gave them some time − they were both of age, so he hoped they wouldn't completely fuck off and get the police involved.

He didn't share his thoughts with his stepsister, instead pulling her to him as they lay on his bed; seeing her shivering he cuddled her into him, letting out a loud breath − all around them at last blissful silence, outside the window the first chirping of birds heralding a new day.

He thought that for once he would get his father to side with him, to let them stay with him until they finished their studies and found jobs, that their lives would be honest and without betrayal, without lies, without feigned innocence.

"I love you." He whispered stroking her hair, snuggled into her with his whole body, her face hidden in his neck, her hands on his chest, her figure seeking refuge in his arms.

He heard her swallow loudly at his words, tightening her fingers on his sweatshirt.

"I love you too." She mumbled out as if relieved, as if she understood in that moment that it wasn't all for nothing.

That they had done it not to get revenge on them.

That they just wanted to be together.

His mother did not call his father until the next day, apparently treating him as a last resort, not believing that he would find out anything − her surprise must have been great when Viserys told her that her child and his girlfriend had just had lunch with him.

They looked at him anxiously, horrified when the expression on his face changed − he furrowed his brow as if he had just analysed what he had heard.

His mother had obviously explained to him whose daughter his girlfriend was.

Viserys grunted after deep thought.

"Well, Alicent, they're of age and, from what I understand, you haven't managed to marry your still recent bodyguard in those few months. According to that, in the eyes of the law − and to my knowledge − they are complete strangers to each other, young people in love. My son wants to live with me and she wants to live with him, so it is not a kidnapping. I don't know what to tell you. As if to say − it's not our problem." He said and hung up, putting the phone down; he looked at him thoughtfully, but his words were not directed to him, but to his girlfriend.

"Will you leave us alone, my dear? I would like to talk alone with my son." He said calmly. She threw him a frightened look and he nodded, so she got up on trembling legs and went upstairs.

They were silent for a very long moment.

"I need to know, Aemond." He started at last, looking blankly at his plate. "I need to know why you're doing this."

He looked at him simultaneously surprised and bewildered, having never had a serious conversation with him before − he twisted in his seat and swallowed loudly, tapping his finger against the top of the wooden table in an involuntary, nervous gesture.

"What do you mean?" He asked him coolly, licking his lower lip with his tongue, looking down at his hands, feeling his heart pounding fast.

"You and Cole's daughter. Why?"

He shrugged his shoulders, feeling like a small child who had to explain to a parent why he had accidentally broken a vase.

He felt like he was shrinking, even though he had told himself all his life that his opinion didn't matter to him, he was suddenly afraid of what he would think of him.

"I don't know. I'm just…" He sighed heavily, running his hand over his face. "…I'm just happy with her, Dad. She's the only one who understands me. She's the only one who can comfort me or reassure me. Why should I give that up? Because they will be uncomfortable?" He asked angrily, feeling a burning wetness under his eyelids.

"They didn't care if I was going to be uncomfortable, if you were going to be uncomfortable, if she was going to be uncomfortable when they started fucking each other. They got a taste of true love and built their happiness on lying to their loved ones for years, fucking great. Maybe I'm fucked up and mentally ill, I don't know, but at least I'm not a fucking liar and hypocrite. I took what I wanted and I won't apologise for it. Her place is with me. I've already decided."

There was a heavy silence between them that seemed to last him an eternity, but for some reason he felt relieved when he got it all out. His father grunted loudly.

"So I understand that you are thinking seriously about her. Good. At least now I know what to tell your mother."

Criston and Alicent appeared outside his father's house after about twenty minutes, however no one came out to meet them − when they knocked on the door his father opened it for them.

They stood in the distance, his girlfriend snuggled into him, terrified − he kissed the top of her head, tense.

"Don't be afraid. I won't give you back. Hm?" He whispered tenderly, leaning over her to see the look on her face, and she nodded, fear and trust in her big, bright eyes, her body pressed tightly against his.

Criston standing in his house, pale and panicked at seeing his father for the first time when his affair with his mother came to light was a sight from which he felt wild satisfaction. He knew his father had no intention of making anything easy for them − he looked at him with a smile of superiority from which he bit his lip, furious, his mother staring at him pleadingly.

"I came for my daughter. What you did was kidnapping." He said coolly, and he chuckled under his breath, shaking his head with amusement, his gaze cold and full of disapproval.

"My girlfriend wants to live with me of her own free will." He murmured teasingly, feeling her fingers tighten tighter on his black T-shirt, his large hand stroking her back with a reassuring, affectionate gesture.

"Honey, please, let's end this madness." He directed his words to her, trying not to explode, but she shook her head quickly.

"I − I want a break Dad. From you and from Mum. I want to stay here. With Aemond and with his dad. To focus on my studies again, instead of being constantly reminded of what happened." She said in a trembling voice, Criston snorted, furious.

"He told you to say that, didn't he?"

He opened his mouth to reply something, but she let go of him and turned towards her father with despair in her eyes.

"He didn't tell me to say anything! Do you understand? Never! He asked me three times if I was sure I wanted it before we slept together. Yes, Dad, don't look at me like that!" She shouted in a trembling voice seeing the tears in his eyes, herself on the verge of crying.

"You made an angel out of me in your mind, an ignorant innocent child. Do you think I found out about what you were doing from my mother? That I didn't hear you talking to Alicent on the phone when my mother wasn't there, that I didn't hear you leaving home in the middle of the night when you thought I was asleep? I knew EVERYTHING and I had to pretend for so many years, Dad, God, please, just give me a break, I can't take it anymore."

She mumbled hiding her face in her hands and burst out sobbing − he grabbed her by her arm and pulled her close, embracing her in his arms.

Criston shook his head, distraught and pale, turned and walked out, closing the door behind him. Alicent looked at them in disbelief and swallowed hard.

"Bring their things here, Alicent." Viserys said, turning away from her and walking back into the living room as if nothing had happened, clearly tired of standing already.

That night they lay together in his single bed snuggled together, just stroking and looking at each other − it seemed more intimate to him than anything they had done before, so close, tender and full of affection.

They fell asleep cuddled into each other, feeling for the first time in years that they had decided their own fate, that they had freed themselves from what had poisoned their minds for so long.

That they were free.

The next few days were surprisingly peaceful for them and although they both felt they had to put their lives back together, they did not despair or cry any more. Alicent brought them most of their belongings the next day, which they needed immediately without the company of Criston, who could not accept what his daughter had told him.

She had suffered because of it, but when he asked her about it she told him that she had had enough of his expectations of her and of everyone around her, which, however, he clearly did not have to uphold towards himself.

It took longer to drive downtown from his father's house and they had to get up much earlier in the morning − they shared tasks, one of them made tea and coffee, the other made sandwiches and scrambled eggs. His father slept late so they were not disturbed, they could sit together on the sofa, embracing each other and watching the morning news.

No one bothered them, they didn't have to explain themselves to anyone.

However, he had no intention of losing contact with Daeron through all of this, and forced his father to fight for him as his parent, so that his little brother would come over to visit them at weekends.

When he finally succeeded and Alicent brought him, albeit reluctantly, on the Friday after his classes his brother threw himself into his arms crying and despairing, asking him how they could have left him there alone.

He felt a squeeze in his throat and tears in his eyes, not knowing what to answer him − he promised that he could come and see them every weekend, that he could always call them if he needed to.

He glanced at them amused from the side as Daeron and she watched funny videos together on the internet, which he said he had to show her because he thought she would definitely like them and had saved them especially for her.

It was their secret and he was excluded from looking at it as someone who would not understand this kind of content.

Daeron, to his slight jealousy focused all her attention and amused her late into the evening by telling her about his adventures at school and the friend she had apparently won his heart.

He picked him up and carried him to his old room when he fell asleep, then returned to her to finally have her all to himself.

They ordered a bigger, more comfortable double bed, where they could finally get a decent night's sleep and explored each other's bodies with more tenderness and peace, without the fear of having to hurry up and run away.

It made him spend long hours with his face sunk in the heat between her thighs, taking unspeakable, savage satisfaction in her reactions, in how sensitive she was to his slightest touch.

He sucked and caressed her pearl with his lips only to sink his tongue deep inside her again a moment later, licking her sweet spot from the inside, teasing her, stopping the moment he felt she was already on the verge of orgasm.

She quivered and wriggled beneath him, trembling all over, once again in just a few minutes being so close to fulfillment, on her legs those wonderful, long, slutty wool socks he loved, under whose material he slipped his fingers, clenching them on the soft skin of her thighs.

"− please −" She mewled pathetically in a way from which a smirk appeared on his face − he hummed under his breath, running his tongue gently over her hot, leaking folds, licking what had flowed out of her.

"− I know − you are doing so well − can you hold out for me a little longer? − hm? −" He asked tenderly, running the tip of his nose over her swollen, sore clit. She sobbed quietly, breathing loudly, her hands clasped in his hair.

"− I can't − too much − please, I need this −" She mumbled with her eyes closed, her gorgeous, full lips parted sweetly, her body before him trembling and vulnerable.

His.

He licked his lower lip looking at her intently and sighed heavily, rising to his knees, with a light movement of his fingers unbuttoning his trousers, shaking his head disapprovingly.

"− greedy little thing − need my cock inside you so fucking badly? −" He asked with a hint of accusation and displeasure, from which she looked at him with a pained expression, as if she was ashamed that she was so desperate − she nodded with a face so innocent and sad that he felt like bursting out laughing.

"− I'm sorry −" She babbled out with genuine regret from which he snorted under his breath as he leaned over her and ran the tip of his nose over her cheek.

"− there, there − spread your thighs wide − that's it, that's my good girl −" He cooed, guiding with his palm the head of his swollen, throbbing cock, so eager to take her to her heat. She swallowed loudly and moaned as she felt his length begin to push into her fleshy interior.

"− Aemond −" She mewled tightening her fingers on his back with an expression of delight on her face − he slid all the way into her and clamped his hand over her cheeks, forcing her to look up at him.

"− not like that − want to get your bottom smacked? −" He growled, and she shook her head quickly, her accelerated, warm breath enveloping his face, her gaze hazy and dreamy.

"− n-no, big brother − please, just fuck me already −" She choked out with difficulty, and he chuckled under his breath, pressing his lips against hers in a brutal, sticky kiss, driving his tongue deep into her throat, holding her jaw firmly in his fingers, letting her taste herself, not moving inside her even a little.

She moaned into his mouth writhing beneath him, sliding her hands down to his buttocks, trying to move her hips in pathetic desperation and rubbing herself with it where she needed it, but his large hand clenched on her thigh warningly − he pulled away from her with a loud click, looking at her with furrowed brows.

"− stop, or I won't let you come − haven't you learned fucking patience yet? −" He hissed; she looked at him in horror and stopped moving, twitching all over, looking at him with big eyes.

He hummed under his breath placing his hands on either side of her head and slid out of her almost all the way only to open her wide again on his cock, throbbing and aching with arousal.

He licked his lips as he heard her sweet, quiet moan of pleasure − she restrained herself with difficulty not to move her thighs while his hips imposed a painfully steady, slow pace on her.

"− that's it − we will take it slow − I had to share you for a whole fucking day − I want to enjoy my little girl − hm? −" He whispered and she nodded, blushing, her one hand from his buttocks rising to his cheek and stroking it tenderly, drawing a quiet sigh of contentment from him.

"− I'm only yours −" She mumbled and he groaned low with contentment at her words, their bodies involuntarily began to slam against each other, reaching out to meet again, each thrust of his hips followed by a loud smack and click of her juices.

They both began to pant, their lips clinging to each other, the tips of their tongues teasing each other in lewd, sticky kisses.

"− do you want me to touch you down there, kid? − my little sister wants to come? −" He cooed into her mouth between one greedy kiss and the next, and she nodded quickly, a puff of relief escaping her lips, as if she had only dreamt of it.

"− yes, brother − please − please −" She begged, and he was unable to deny her.

He gasped lowly as he felt her clench on him from all sides, he had to move faster and more violently inside her to allow him to penetrate her as deeply as he wanted.

His hand slid between her thighs, collecting her wetness, and with intense, sure movements began to press the space around her clit, her head tilted back in a helpless moan.

"− cum for me − be a good little sister and cum on your brother's cock −" He breathed out, his thighs slapping against her buttocks again and again until her walls clenched tightly against him, waves of fulfilment passed through her body, his lips pressed against hers to muffle her loud moans and whimpers, keeping her pressed firmly against his bed.

He shuddered all over and sighed deeply, closing his eyes as he let go at last and felt his hot semen spill inside her, with helpless, sloppy movements of his hips pushing it as deep into her as possible.

"− just like that − fuck, baby − ohhh God −" He babbled dulled by his own pleasure, by how wonderful it felt to be inside her.

He snuggled up to her and her hands immediately embraced him, their sweaty bodies sticking to each other, he could feel her hard nipples on his bare chest, pressing against his skin with every breath she took.

"− you did so well for me − my sweet little girl −" He praised her placing soft, butterfly kisses on her hot cheek, her fingers combing through his hair making a purr of delight escape his throat.

They looked at each other, tired and breathless, running their hands over each other's bodies, breathing heavily − they kissed loudly with some kind of relief and fulfilment from which he felt hot in his chest. He stroked her hair and smiled, her eyes shining in amusement.

"What?" She asked quietly, embarrassed, thinking that he was obviously laughing at her. He hummed under his breath, running his thumb over her cheek.

"Marry me."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

[moongoopy]

no way out

cont: reader has lost about everything so why not lose themselves too?

c/w: reader has anxiety and depression, dubcon, reader getting kidnapped, yandere characters, reader is an artist, death (not reader or the duo), dark content, family problems, blood, reader constantly relapses from self harm, manipulation, harassment (not from duo)

a/n: damn thats crazy. funny how i end it almost the same like my other scenario lolololol, reqs open!

c: geto x reader x gojo

it was the last year of college and it was like you slaved away at your school work that it was numbing to even do your hobbies.

the light in you was dying that your heart should've stopped years ago.

no parties can save you.

you threw away the invitation for the college party, everything was blur to you. too much responsibility on your shoulders and no shoulder to cry on, your roommate no less too busy with his own life to go fuck himself over some girl he broke up with and you slip away everytime you were close to talking to him. he wouldn't listen anyways, head too busy in the clouds as he loses himself again.

the miscalls from your family didn't bother you anymore, it was aggravating to text them back everytime they remembered you so you pretend such a nuisance doesn't exist until it's too late.

"atleast pretend to care"

you told yourself in the mirror, eye twitching from your toothbrush that fall at your feet when your hand collided with the sink. you were worse for wear, eyebags getting darker as you thumbed through social media and letting a few minutes pass before picking up the brush.

instead of calling back, you left a long line of texts with another brand new line of excuses to shut them up with a bunch of emojis for some normalcy. you cleaned up the brush before applying another line of toothpaste onto it and slumped, remembering how money was also running low. thankfully, you didn't share money with your roommate or anything but inflation was upon us.

no way you wanted to ask from your family. they fared well but it was like a hit list on how much you'd ask them and that when you get back home, they'll use it against you and scream in your face while you're strung up limbly like a doll by not responding at all. a response is asking for a fight, no response is to defuse their thoughts by letting them pile ontop of you until they move onto another thing to complain about.

you nearly choke at the taste of blood and pulled away from your toothbrush, red coated your tongue and the gums of your teeth before they quickly get washed off including your grimy face.

another shower may do you good before you worry more about other things. should it be saving up more money or that you haven't come to work for two days now?

oh, this is killing you, why couldn't you just turn the cutter towards your neck? you'd sob so loudly when the blood on your thighs washes over and the cuts burn and twist your skin in and out that you desperately grabbed onto the shower walls. staring down at your scars that barely heal, you made sure to pick pants that wouldn't bother your battered skin. your mind lingers again, the pressure of the water against your head calmer than the caress of your mother's hand combing through your hair.

how did it went downhill in your life?

the folks here were seperated into systems of the typical tropes of college but you weren't treated that badly. there were stares and badmouthing but it never harmed you. so college wasn't the problem.

or maybe it was the relative that passed where you bawled so hard over? yet, you'd never really known them, having correlations towards your passion and attitude only. seemingly called a reflection of them by your other family members but the memory of said late relative lingers in your head sometimes like the wax that's left after the flames took it out but it can only be reshaped if you want to.

but you never pried into the past of that relative so it couldn't be.

you lost yourself way before the impending family problems and countless homeworks you had that the addicting press off the cutter felt more like home than home ever was.

no, dont go back there, it wont help.

drying yourself off, you decided you should atleast take the night shift. clothes tossed on, you couldn't slump around this time. you had something due in a week so maybe work was better to focus on at the moment. passing your roommate's room, you nearly stumbled out the door. night was fast aporoaching this time, it made you ill. the sun or the moon was something you could tell apart from the slow days that passed, without it was living like you're dying.

you took the shortcut, a creepy alleyway but if you were quick; you didn't have to deal with any drunkards and steadily walked. you clutched your earphones in your hand as you tried to listem for any noise that can ruin the night and jumped back to somebody that reached out for you.

"hey there..!"

the man drawled, oh god.

he was drunk or rather high with how hard he was clutching something in his hands but nonetheless it creeped you out, you walked hurriedly away from him.

it was amazing on how stupidly quick he was. his eyes were rolling to the back of his head and drool smearing his lips as he pursues you. your sling bag slipped from your arm which was held tight incase you needed to hit him.

the road down was getting slippery just a bit near to the cornerstore where you worked at, you could dissappear through the backdoor incase he gave chase. or was that a bad choice? he'd know where you work at if he remembered a part of you. thats why you didnt want to yell back incase he recognizes it if he scuttles into your work place and do god knows what there. not a lot of people were around at the hours you work at too.

tears spilled from your eyes, you always were the fearful type. thats why you havent died, just the thought of dying was perfect for you but never the action. you could die in this situation, what if he had a knife. you didnt want that. such an unflattering way to die by some weirdo whose name will be forgotteen after a few days of town talk.

you wanted to die but not this, no!

you swerved the corner and you heard the man gasp.. or choke?

you turned back immediately and another man was holding him by the throat, slamming him back on the graffitied wall with a dangerous glare towards the creep.

"get the fuck out of here!" was enough for the man to whimper and cry, running away back to the alleyway and his footsteps faded away slowly but if you just listen a little closer, he was really running for his life in his drunken stupor.

the stranger's fist was a bit bloody, you didnt know where he had hit himself, hell was that even his blood?

"shit, thank you.."

you exhaled sharply, you had held your breath so long eversince you had turned around. your heart beating so fast to what you thought was gonna happen if the creep caught up with you. this white haired stranger smiled widely, a bit too wide for almost beating up a man and walked towards you.

"you okay? theres been a lot more creeps lately. that must've shaken you up, do you need..?"

he opens his arms up to which you shifted akwardly, hand on your arm. should you? he saved your life and you haven't hugged anybody for a while. hell, you needed something to stop your panic and nearly fell right into his arms. he chuckled, rubbing your back in comfort as he fumbles with something in his bag in the other hand.

"where were you headed? i'll take you there. who know what other weirdos are out here."

you nodded slowly, feeling more at ease when both of his arms wrap around you. you wanted to stay in his chest for a while, scent so nice to inhale but you pulled away swiftly. wow, nearly caught yourself being the creep, this was revolting. you haven't felt affection in the longest time that some stranger's arms were what stabilize you, it was almost embarassing. you might as well ask him to bed you with how you nearly nuzzled into him.

you turned around and he slipped his fingers between yours which was a bit peculiar.

he laughed boyishly, putting his hands up defensively.

"sorry, its just instict. im worried about you!"

looking at him again, he was very pretty. such nice lashes fluttering at you as he utters his words and you shook your head almost mechanically. you dont get a lot of nice strangers like this often, it nearly made you feel too relaxed. it was fine, he probably goes through this with other people that walk alone at night and get disturbed by whatever.

"i'm kinda late now to my work.. but its fine, can you back me up?" he did a thumbs up before walking with you, finally turning the corner and seeing the signboard of the convenient shop lit up. you looked up at him, wanting to thank him again before one of his arms slip behind your waist and your vision becomes blurry.

a car drove past, stopping beside the two.

your limbs felt heavy and you started seeing black and he held you close.

"don't worry, i'll do more than back you up."

------------

this was warm. it felt too warm like a mother's womb. or was that a strange way to describe this feeling? maybe it was more thicker than the blankets you had back at your home or maybe it wasn't your blankets at all?

you woke up in a sweat, head aching with great pain as you let your eyes adjust to the dark.

what was going on?

why was the stranger that helped you was here? legs held to his chest as he watches a movie while another stranger combs through your hair and he was so close, you'd nearly scream. chains rattle and your feet feels so cold. you were so disoriented that whatever noise you managed out of you made the stranger from earlier made him whip his head back.

"it's okay, y/n. we'll explain."

he moved so quick that he was right next to you, gripping your chin so suddenly which made you back up. he held onto you by your clothes and it made the fabric stretch, these weren't your clothes either. just what the fuck was going on?! you screeched, tearing away from him and it made the other stranger hold onto the other's wrist.

"satoru, don't act like a hooligan. you're scaring them"

the one named 'satoru' backed off, chuckling and putting his hands up defensively like how he did before except the look in his eyes were so much more carnal than ever before.

"cmon, its natural to get excited to have your plan work out. on such a random night and way more early than your intended timing, suguru?"

it was like a challenge for 'suguru' to bite back but he couldn't care less and looked back at you. it was eerie. his eyes a swirl of purple and such an illusion had you staring back into them which gave him a chance to touch you even more where he adjusted your clothes and patting them back to how it originally look.

"how'd you feel, darling? i'll explain, we three go to same college, remember us?"

you only had to a bunch of people remembered in your head that anymore than that, you dont bother to remember but their names were farmiliar. people do talk about them all the time so would you shake your head or nod? nonetheless, satoru butts in and thumbs your lips.

"so? speak up, your voice's too pretty to just nod as a response~"

you pulled away, a rush of tears rolling down your face at the realisation of how messed up this situation was. two men in this cold room. you were kidnapped. you didn't know whether to scream or bite back when they started cooing and wiping at your tears. it felt so insulting when they talked like you weren't there, you wanted to quale with anger but your eyes snap back to the shackles on your feet. they notice that you knew, suguru shoves his finger onto satoru's lips before he said something else that could trigger you.

"well, sweetheart. i know all of this can be scary but none of this is to hurt you-"

"how the hell, what the hell do you mean by that? you kidnap me to just look at me, is that what you're telling me!?"

that came out in one breath that you paused, your sobbing stop a bit. this was bad. oh no, you weren't rational. well, you were never rational but in this situation with two strangers from college, they could easily chuck you in a body bag and call it a day. your sniffling gets louder when suguru pressed his thumb into your cheek and turned your head towards him.

his expression was almost indescribable. was he angry? was he amused? was he planning things? this was making you dizzy. they might talk about killing your right here right now too as they had no shame to cover up their plans of kidnapping you. but a small huff was let out from his lips as he held your face so tenderly.

"i know, this situation cam be scary but we've seen you around college. your artwork is just astounding and we wanted to go look for you, such an artist should hear our praise from us and yet you were nowhere to be found." satoru's brows quirked up when your eyes started gleaming a bit but blinking fast to try to hide some care into his words.

"when we found out how you've been so down in your mental issues, it saddens us. your teachers told us how you looked deeply affected by them. that you've been so lonely.." your chest starts heaving when he got so close to your face and your feet kicked the floor to slip away from him only for satoru to hold you from behind.

"we decided to keep you here as our little darling."

you blinked up, eyes twitching.

so they only saw you as entertainment that you were about to push them away from you and spit at them until satoru held your hand and kissed it, taking in your scent.

"sure, its the most foul thing to ever be called by us but we promise you're gonna enjoy it here!"

his arm slips from behind your neck and pulled you close to your chest, snickering when you tried to get away from him. his lips inch close to your ear and he whispers.

"we want to make you feel much better, away from everything you're experiencing and we want to talk about your passion too. wouldn't you like that? we'll provide it all for you. just say the word~"

your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head from the tears you squeezed out painfully. this had to be a joke. what was even going on anymore? your life had to be an absolute joke, you should've joined that one relative in death too.

but a life with them where your problems are almost nonexistent was just peaceful, did you died to get into this position. your crying had calmed down again. you looked up at them in worry, were they really telling the truth? a kiss was pressed softly on the forehead by suguru and his smile reached his eyes with such tenderness.

"you need time to process this, you can go back to sleep and think about it when you wake up.."

"orrrr enjoy your favourite!"

satoru popped open a bag from the restaurant you liked to go to but haven't in a while and the smell was just strong enough to taste it. your eyes linger to a pillow suguru held out for you and you'd nearly keel over. it was your pillow from your dorm and it made your head swirl in confusion.

just who are these two? why do they know so much when they heard you through passing? there was so much questions that they shut down with a kiss and slot their bodies right next to you.

but one thing was certain, you're not getting out of this soon.

[dumplingsjinson]

List of “we just happen to love hate fucking each other” prompts (pt. 2)

“I don’t know, maybe you should hop off my dick for a second. Just a thought.” “That’s not what you said last night.”

“I told you not to leave marks on my neck! How the fuck am I supposed to explain this?” “…You were just so sensitive there, I couldn’t help myself.”

“Why’s your heart beating so fast? It shouldn’t— this isn’t normal.” “…Well, sex is physically exerting so…”

“Let me just make this clear: I like you for what you do to me, not for you.” “Mm, okay. Keep convincing yourself with that bullshit; maybe it’ll work one day.”

Character A confesses how they’ve fallen for Character B, and Character B’s like, “You’re not in love with me; you’re in love with the version of me you get to fuck. It’s not love, it’s lust.” Character A, offended that their affections are being dismissed so easily, tells them, “That’s not true. I know what I feel, and it’s not just lust. It hasn’t been just lust for a while now.”

“Do—” Character A inhales sharply, pupils dilated in absolute pleasure and arousal; voice dropping lower, almost a whisper as they continue, “Do that again and I might just fall in love with you.” (Bonus: Character B smirks. “Then fall. But just a word of warning, I won’t be there to catch you.”)

“I thought you said you hated them?” “I do!” “Then why the hell did I see you guys walking out of the bathroom together?” “Ever heard of cubicles?” “This is my house, [name], not a public fucking toilet. There are no cubicles in there. It’s a one room kind of deal you’ve got here.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you, it’s driving me up the walls; do you realise what exactly you’re doing to me?” “Oh, I know. I know what I’m doing to you and I’ll gladly have you fall to your knees for me.”

“…Why are you staying the night?” “Because it’s late and I’m feeling too tired to drive/walk home. Now scoot the fuck over, someone needs to get their sleep.” “Okay, but how about sleep on the floor instead? I don’t want you near me.” “That’s not what your body language was telling me just moments ago, love.”

“What are we doing right now?” “Fucking. What else?” “…It feels more than just fucking.”

Character B getting hella jealous when they see Character A out and about with their date and end up following them around. Character A catches them and is like, “Why are you following me?” And Character B’s like, “To tell your date how much of a dick you are so they can avoid dating someone like you.” (or, alternatively: Character B cornering Character A about it, and Character A being like, “But why do you care?” and Character B saying, “I don’t.” And then they somehow end up fucking them in a random alleyway or at a back of a bar or something. You can fill in the details on how they get to that point.)

“Careful — if you stare for longer than that then you’re going to fall in love with me and I won’t be there to catch you.” “Fuck you, like I’d fall for someone like you.”

The first time being purely on accident — the other times being on accident on purpose (because they just can’t get enough of each other but won’t admit it, and would make excuses about how they’re just doing this because there’re no other options when it’s becoming increasingly clear that that’s not the case).

“This is a mistake.” “You keep saying that but you keep coming back so is it really a mistake at this point?”

“You’re going to fucking break me one day.” “That’s my goal, sweetheart.”

“…Why’d you just kiss me?” “Huh?” “We promised everything intimate stays behind closed doors.” “…Okay, but why’d you kiss back?”

“You left your [insert clothing item] at my house.” “Why would you give it back to me out in the fucking open?!”

“Just because I like making out with you doesn’t mean I have to like you.” 

“…Do you know exactly just how gorgeous you are?” “I know. Why else would you want to fuck me if it wasn’t for that?”

“So, like… Do you want to fuck me up or do you want to fuck me?” “Can’t it be both?”

(pt. 1)

[spookypete-94]

Nightmare's Wasteland

Chapter 1- Devil's Playground

Been on a Handmaid's Tale kick as of late. Made me wonder how Simon would be in this situation. I have always loved this series and the power behind it. The books are amazing (Margaret Atwood, wonderful, wonderful, author) and so is the tv series on Hulu. It is just the concept being used, will not involve places, names and/or characters of The Handmaid's Tale.

Small series. Reader is a female character in a dystopian world where the ability to conceive is limited to a small percentage of people. Reader is of that percentage and is assigned to Simon to provide a child to a declining population. She learns how live with him and survive, while he learns about her life prior before being delivered to hell. Def a darker read, MDNI.

CW and heads up- Reader is female in this, also has tattoos. Leave it to the imagination, only one described for now. Also language (we know how i love language)

If Simon Riley could be described as anything from a word in history, Warlord would be listed at the very top. Warrior. Solider. In reality, it’s all the same. Pick whatever word in that branch of that tree, and he fits it.

To be able to be such a thing, he had to turn off all things that made him human. No love, no happiness, no peace. It left him in a world without a wife, no children, family gone- left him a long time ago at the cost of his area of expertise.

When the world started to end, and he was too damaged to try to defend and protect it anymore, he was assigned a life. A home. He was given a civilian life… followed by excuses of this was his “reward”. Laughable to him really, this was far from what he wanted. Instead, he was given a different duty and told to provide children for the next generation. Children of strong genetics. Hope to be provided of his strength and wit…Honestly, he’d rather be out on the frontlines again. His duty would be better served there, being a ghost, THE Ghost, was what he did best. Specter in the line of work, no one ever saw him coming. Start to unravel and show how broken you are though, and they send you back to try to be part of the what’s “normal” life now.

Here he sat, in large empty house. A staff provided for all things to run it. Only exception it was barren of all the things that made it a home. Photographs, knickknacks, but more importantly a wife and children. It had been pressed on him to find a wife, but as he explained to his overhead he just wasn’t interested. Apparently, they could turn a blind eye to that, but he still was required to add to the population. He was a fertile, and it was his duty after all. The answer to a wife, was a temporary live in. One he was only expected to lay with during ovulation.

The idea filled him with dread, but not a soul got to have a say in this world of what was going to happen. The government was too strong for its own good now and he was too deep in it. All from being its war dog, and now given his bone and told to go home.

Simon’s inner turmoil was rudely interrupted as one of the house staff knocked on his office door. “Mr. Riley? They are all here, waiting downstairs in the foyer.”

A heavy sigh left him before he called back out, “Will be down in a few.”

Swallowing the rest of his bourbon, he set the glass down on his desk twirling it a few times by the rim with his large finger.

Now or never.

Encroaching downstairs, he saw a gathering of about four people. All dressed in black, one with a hood pulled all the way up hiding their face.

That would be you.

If you could be described as anything, it would be: Not made for this world. Your heart was soft, but the desire to live your own life once again thrived inside. A weed that couldn't quite be pulled out. The ache hurt that soft heart of yours. Children had always been a thought on your mind but deemed not good enough to be a wife from past choices of your old life, you were pushed into the service of bearing them for others. “Good enough to be bred, not good enough to be wed.” As you had been told. To be in the service, it was required of you to learn what was lady like. Quiet, barely there. Don’t fight back and don’t speak your mind. Make yourself small, don’t get in the way. Don’t agree? Great. Here is your issued beating and punishment. Take it on the cheek and turn it for the next one.

Those who could not bear children, were put into hard labor. Running a house, in home cook, cleaning maid, you name it. If you wouldn’t comply to meet the new standards, you were shipped off to work in the mines or sent to death. Funny a world so eagerly wanting to make life was so quick to snuff it out.

Never once you would think your life would be like this. All those freedoms taken and stripped from you. What you would give to have your old life back. Be able to sleep in. Go outside and to the stores when you wished. A fucking latte? What you would give for any of that now. All of that taken for granted...

Passing through the requirements made you fit for duty. Issued your new place of residency, to meet your new Master and Lady. Only this place didn’t have a Lady. The Master so much of a brute of a man to never take one, was rumor you had heard. It scared you. A man that clearly couldn't even be gentle enough to have a wife. Maybe that was why they picked this place for you first, to make you fearful of the new world. More submission.

Standing in the entryway, heavy boots could be heard on the bare wood. You wanted to look up at your new Master but deemed it best to keep your head down and eyes on the floor. Make yourself small. Lady Like. Pressing your hands tightly together in your front, fingers laced together in a way to try to compose yourself. In the old world you might have twiddled your thumbs together, but in this new one not even that would be acceptable.

“Mr. Riley,” your Governess spoke with fake pleasantry, “We apologize for rising you from your office. We are early after all.”

On time. He was late. This was her way of trying to stroke his ego, all while of pointing out the time to him. Only made her look dumb.

Not even a reply, just a grunt. His boots finally appearing at the bottom of the steps. The place you had been looking but now diverting your eyes further down. You noticed his boots were perfect and polished, the black shining from the light in the room. It looked like military attire.

“Today is a happy day, this is your new Chamber Maid.”

The term made your face hot, red. Your life you had before… and now reduced to a “Chamber Maid”?

What the fuck.

Your black hood being wrenched down so your new Master could look down upon you startled you.

Carefully, you glanced up. Your heart had hit the bottom of your stomach seeing a man with dirty blonde colored hair shaved down in military fashion. Matched the idea of his boots. His nose crooked from being broken by at least once… or a few times. A scar that ran across his mouth to the bottom of his nose on his cheek. Brown eyes burned down into your wide orbs while he all but sneered down at you. Here, you were certain the devil was standing before you. Handsome and scary all at once.

“Introduce yourself, don’t be rude,” Your Governess nudged into you roughly with her elbow.

New manners that had just been taught, returned to you. A small curtsey before him, careful with your legs as your head ducked down and standing back up fully. It was executed beautifully. Quietly, you gave your name. Instead of him giving you his, he grunted once more. You knew his name already, why waste his time with all this fake bullshit was his thought.

“Your room is upstairs; the staff will show you around.” His voice a deep threatening rumble.

This was all you got? Your living quarters? Your heart fractured. Not even worth being shown around by the man that was supposed to impregnate you. You could drop to your knees and cry right here if able. Lady like. You must not show any emotion, any thought behind your beautiful eyes. Just a breedable doll is all you were now.

A hand wrapping around your arm and tugging you along made your attention divert. The staff. An older woman, “My name’s Kate. Come with me.”  Mr. Riley had already started his way upstairs, your Governess and other hierarchy leaving. This felt so strange to you enough as it is, but to have an abrupt goodbye made you feel like an adopted animal.

“Is there really no wife?” you whispered to her. Is he really a brute? Was the question you wanted to ask.

“No, no wife, but Mr. Riley is really not hard to live with,” she whispered back.

He might not be, but you felt your circumstances would be different.

A quick show around the large house ended with your room. It wasn’t bad in size. A full-sized bed shoved up against the wall with a window and rocking chair provided. You couldn’t help but wonder if it was there for an eventual baby, one that you would rock to sleep.

Starting with trying to settle in, you unpacked your clothes. Or rather uniforms. Because you had “sinned” in your past life, your uniform is a long black dress with long sleeves. Because you had tattoos scattered across places, you were to cover them. The only time your uniform was to be off was when you were alone. Even when you were to lay with your Master, the dress would remain on, both of you to be fully clothed. Still with your clothes, you felt naked at the idea. Stripped of any dignity.

Settled in, you had found Kate once more and helped her with her house duties and making supper. Idle hands were the devil’s workshop or some shit like that.

“You’re to sit at the table with him.” Kate whispered, nodding to the direction of the dining room. "Requested you himself."

Nervous, you smoothed out your dress, pressing away any crumbs from making supper. Looking back up at her, she nodded in a silent reply of asking her If you looked appropriate.

Quietly, you made our way into the dining room a large table that could have sat an army before you, Mr. Riley already sitting at the end of it. Even though the table was so large, a chair was all the way at the other end. Unsure of what exactly to do, you stood in front of the door with your hands interlocked together again.

“Well go on, sit,” Mr. Riley said gesturing to the end of the table.

“Yes, Mr. Riley,” you said meekly quickly walking to the end of the table to sit down.

One by one, the house staff filed in carrying the food and placing it on the table, making you both a plate as they did. The plate placed before you was steaming, filled across the circumference. Been a long time since you had a home cooked meal.

“Heard you had a helping hand with the meal tonight.” He said cutting into his piece of fried chicken.

“Just trying to be helpful.”

“Not expected of you.”

Your tongue wanted to fire back, wanted to cut him from the knees down. Would rather that then what is expected of me. But instead, you were quiet, choosing to eat instead.

It stayed silent like that through the rest of dinner besides clanking of dishes and silverware. Mr. Riley getting up and going to his office after he had cleared his plate, leaving you alone to finish yours. Made you wonder if he lived in that room.

Deciding to get up you helped Kate with clearing the rest of the kitchen and cleaning up from dinner. Most of it taken care of you told Kate to step out and take a break willing to finish the dishes. Having a task at hand to focus on now was helpful. The feeling of walking into the twilight zone curbed with getting food off dishes.

The calm you had felt left seeing a large man move into the kitchen. The only large man here. Looking over your shoulder you watched him get into the fridge pouring himself a glass of water from the pitcher.

“Told you we have help for that.”

“I told her to go take a break.”

“ Y’ sure you should give orders like that? Do you have the authority to do so?”

Shit. You had insulted him in his own home on the first fucking day. What a good start.

“I didn’t mean it like that-" but you were abruptly pushed forward further against the sink by him. Your breath was caught. You wanted to turn around but couldn’t. Expecting a strike, you flinched inward, but instead three large fingers grab carefully at your collar tugging it down, his thumb sweeping against the back of your neck.

“Skull and cross bones, huh?” He asked.

He was referring to the tattoo on the back of your neck. Some how he had caught it, even with the ugly collar on your dress.

“Was my very first one.”

“And that’s what you picked?” Was he bantering with you?

“I picked it out at a rock concert.”

“That the type of girl you are then? The one that gives breaks and gets skull tattoos?”

You were unable to find an answer. It seemed rhetorical anyway.

“Asked you question.”

Fuck.

“Appears to be that way, yeah.”

Cheeky.

He chuckled, swiping his thumb across it once more before giving you a light shove against the sink from his hand that held your hip. No longer where you terrified. It all almost seemed playful in nature.

“Tomorrow, Kate does the dishes. I can’t have her slacking.”

“Yes, Mr. Riley.”

Standing there feeling dumb, you closed your eyes at feeling his rough hand on your neck over and over again. Mind eye picturing what he looked while he was behind you. Perhaps he wouldn’t be too hard to get along with after all.

Simon "Ghost" Riley Masterlist

Nightmare's Wasteland Masterlist

Next

[python333]

HAI! i rlly like your platonic 141 fics and I'm wondering if we could get some more dad price and/or brother gaz sleepy cuddles? :3

stretched too thin — python333

— — — —

synopsis gaz notices you overworking yourself one night and decides to step in before you end up pulling an all-nighter.

relationships platonic!gaz & gn!reader.

characters gaz.

word count 2.05k

warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of pet names [love, darling], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note oh my god im so sorry i disappeared for like. a month. ill try my best to not be gone for more than a week at a time, but with all of my schoolwork and just over all stress ive been experiencing lately, i dont know if ill be able to get fics out every week :< ill try my best though! please accept this fic as an apology—its another big bro gaz one!! special shoutout to everyone else who has an older sibling thats very distant with them, you and me are in the same boat fr!! also, last thing—im thinking about making a discord server where i announce when fics are being written and published and stuff, but i dunno if yall would join or anything, so if u would pls lmk!!

You haven’t left your office in five hours. 

Recently—just about two days ago—you finished up an assignment fairly quickly and, as a result, had to write a detailed report of said assignment. It went over the mission you’d gone on, and listed off every major detail you could think of, though because you just can’t give yourself a break you were constantly thinking of other details you might’ve missed even though there was little chance you’d missed anything.

The mission wasn’t anything too important, honestly. It was originally going to be a week-long camp-out reconnaissance by an enemy task force’s base, obtaining information on their schedule and what they did throughout the day and whatnot. However, only a day into the mission, the small squad of soldiers that had accompanied you saw another small military group observing the same group you’d been observing.

So, naturally, you observed them as well. Aren’t you just the best multi-tasker?

The task force eventually found out about the other group, just a day later, while your squad was still in the clear to continue your observations. So, your mission had quickly come to a close—but, because of the circumstances under which the mission had come to a close, you were required to write an extremely detailed report on the other group and the group you’d been observing.

It would be an understatement to say you were tired. You’re exhausted.

Between the non-stop writing, the coffee sitting on your desk that’s been microwaved five times and has been refilled thrice, and the uncomfortable chair you’ve sat in that you have yet to replace, you’re extremely exhausted. Your movements are sluggish, your fingers aren’t as swift on the keyboard of your computer as they usually are, and worst of all—you still have more to write. 

Your eyes stung and felt dry, your hands felt like they were going to stop working completely at any moment, and you were overall just exhausted. 

You look over at the clock on your desk, and it reads 02:28 AM, indicating that you would only have about four hours to sleep if you went to bed now. I’m too far into this report to stop now, You tell yourself, sighing as you blink slowly at your computer screen, If only my vision didn’t keep getting blurry… 

Suddenly, you hear a knock at the door. Your eyebrows furrow together in confusion, and for a second you think you’re hallucinating until the knock sounds once more. 

Reluctantly, with a voice raspy from not using it almost all day, you call out, “Come in!” 

Your voice is softer and quieter than you’d like it to be, but it doesn’t matter too much to you at this moment—at least, not in your foggy mind that still begs you for sleep, even when you have far more of your report to finish. 

The door opens with a creak, and in walks Gaz. 

“Sarg,” He greets you, not bothering to close the door behind him as he walks up to your desk, “Pleasure to see you for the first time in, what… three days?” 

“Two days and eighteen hours,” You correct him, taking a moment to crack your stiff knuckles, not taking your eyes off of your monitor, “And you know you don’t have to call me ‘sarg’ or ‘sergeant’ or anything. We’re the same rank.” 

Gaz promptly ignores you, “Right, well, anything over a day is way too long for me to go without seeing you. Why’re you all cooped up in here on your computer?”

“‘Cause I need to write a report on my assignment,” You briefly explain, before lightly goading Gaz, “Not all of us need a shit ton of attention every day like you do.” 

“Ehh,” Gaz theatrically makes a thinking face, before shrugging, “Not sure what you mean by ‘us’, but alright.” 

“By ‘us’, I mean everyone but you.” 

“Surely that doesn’t include you, right?” 

“It does.” 

Gaz gasps quietly at your reply, before dramatically responding, “Oh, you can’t be serious.”

“I absolutely can,” You hum, finally taking your eyes off of your computer screen to look up at Gaz, “Is it so hard for you to believe that I don’t need to talk to you every waking hour?” 

“It is, actually,” Gaz scoffs, “Because I know that you do need to talk to me every waking hour.” 

“Uh, no I don’t,” You childishly argue, raising an eyebrow at Gaz.

“Uh, yes you do,” Gaz immaturely argues back, crossing his arms, “Look me in the eyes and tell me that the past two days and eighteen hours haven’t been shit because I haven’t given you any attention.”

You open your mouth to form a response but quickly close it, realizing that yeah, actually, I kind of do crave his attention. 

Fuck.

“You’re not the only person that gives me attention,” You point out, hoping to find some way to change the subject.

“Sure, but you like the attention I give you the most,” Gaz hums, leaning forward to rest his crossed arms on your desk opposite of where you sit.

“You don’t know that.”

“Then tell me that I’m wrong,” Gaz challenges you.

You narrow your eyes at him, glaring at him for a moment before sighing, “You suck.”

“Maybe I suck, but you look like you haven’t slept for the past week,” Gaz points out, “You look exhausted, by the way. And dehydrated. Actually, you just look like the human embodiment of a headache.” 

“What the fuck?” 

“I mean that in the most loving, non-offensive way possible.”

“You come into my office, accuse me of needing attention from you, then you insult me by calling me the human version of a headache?”

“It wasn’t an insult!” Gaz raises his hands in surrender, before sighing, “I’m being serious. You look dead, [c/n]. You need sleep.” 

“What I need is to finish this report,” You huff out, beginning to turn your attention back to your computer, before Gaz’s hand is quickly placed on your chin and forces you to look back at him. 

“No, what you need is some rest,” Gaz argues, more serious this time, taking his hand off of your chin—something you shouldn’t miss nearly as much as you do, the warmth of his hand fading far too quickly from your face—and bringing it back to rest on the desk. 

“Maybe you need rest, Gaz.”

“Sure I do,” He shrugs, “But I’m only going to sleep if you do.” 

You raise an eyebrow at him, “Really? You’re pulling that card?”

“I am.” 

You stare at him for a moment, mentally weighing your options, before sighing and bringing your elbows up to the table so that you can place your forehead in your hands.

On one hand, if you stay in your office you can finish up your report before four and then go to sleep, and hope that you magically feel active even with just an hour or two of sleep in the morning. On the other hand, if you go to sleep now, so does Gaz, and then you both get more than just two hours of sleep. 

After another moment of consideration, you huff out a frustrated breath and mutter, “Fine.” 

Gaz smiles down at you and walks around your desk to your side of it, holding out a hand for you to grab to help yourself up from your chair and using his free hand to save your report and power off your monitor. 

You take his hand and stand up, your legs a little weak and balance iffy from sitting down for so long, but within the next few minutes you’re sure you’ll be able to properly walk. You let go of his hand once you’re positive you won’t fall over, and once he sees that you’re able to walk, Gaz silently walks towards the door of your office. Just as quietly, you follow him. 

He turns off the lights for you and lets you walk out of the office first, locking the door from the inside and closing it once you’re out. Once he’s done, he takes the lead again and you follow him down to his sleeping quarters. It’s not too long of a walk there, only two minutes at most.

Once you’re there, Gaz opens the door and lets you walk in first. Once you’re inside and Gaz has closed the door, you shrug off your camouflage patterned jacket and toe off your already loosened tan boots, leaving you in just your camouflage cargo pants and army green undershirt.

You look down at your pants with a frown, knowing from experience that sleeping in them was incredibly uncomfortable and left you regretting your whole existence the morning after, but before you could even look over at Gaz to tell him of your situation, you felt something being thrown at you. 

You immediately turn your attention to the item that had been hurled at you—the item in question being a pair of gray sweatpants, some that would probably be a little bit looser than you’d prefer on your figure—and then look over at Gaz with a questioning look. 

“Figured you wouldn’t wanna sleep in that,” Gaz shrugs, nodding to your cargo pants in response to your nonverbal confusion. 

You hum in appreciation, not wanting to talk too much at the moment, instead waiting for Gaz to look away before slipping off your pants and replacing them with the sweatpants Gaz had thrown at you. The fit isn’t as uncomfortable as you thought they’d be—they’re loose and hang low on your hips, just like you thought they would, of course, but they don’t feel nearly as weird as you thought they would.

Once you’ve tightened the strings on the waist of the pants, you get into Gaz’s bed, pulling the covers up and over yourself. Gaz quickly settles into the bed next to you, quickly getting himself comfortable under the sheets, and pulling the covers up and over his shoulders in one swift movement.

He gets closer to you, so close that his chest presses against your back and you can feel the tip of his nose ghosting over the top of your head. He wraps one arm over your body to pull you impossibly closer to him, and his other arm snakes underneath the side of your body so that both of his arms are wrapped around you.

He hums contently and his thumb rubs small circles into your clothed stomach, the action—despite being small—causing your stomach to warm up almost immediately. 

“Comfortable, darling?” Gaz asks quietly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. 

“Very,” You mumble back, trying to subtly lean your head back against Gaz in hopes of getting at least one more kiss. Noticing your efforts, he huffs out a small laugh and presses another gentle kiss right at the edge of your hairline before pressing one last one to your forehead. 

Even with the comforting atmosphere, you can’t find it within yourself to fully relax, your body still tense and stiff underneath the blanket. Gaz, just like he did with your “subtle” movements, notices and frowns. 

“Just sleep,” Gaz tiredly mumbles into the top of your head, “You have to get up in three hours. The sooner you sleep, the more sleep you get.” 

You don’t respond, instead simply sighing and forcing your eyes closed. You do have to admit, it’s nice being able to actually close your eyes for something other than blinking, and closing your eyes for longer than half a second has made you realize that they were even drier than you thought they were. 

Exhausted and ready to finally sleep, you eventually get to a point where you no longer need to force your eyes shut, and as a result, your whole body relaxes for the first time in almost six hours. 

“G’night, love,” Gaz murmurs, feeling your body relax next to his. You hum in acknowledgment of his words, not finding the energy within yourself to properly respond, instead finding yourself drifting off into a deep sleep. 

And if four hours later, Gaz wakes up and simply lies there, not waking you and instead letting you get some more sleep despite you having to be up soon, nobody has to know.

[apollo-likes-writing]

LAPIS LAZULI (PROLOGUE)

Character(s): Kakavasha/Aventurine, Veritas Ratio/Lapis Lazuli

Tags: Angst, long fic, role swap!au

Word Count: 933 words

Summary: A role swap!AU where Ratio takes his rejection by Nous a lot harder than he did in canon and loses himself as a result, becoming one of the Ten Stonehearts, while Aventurine is not recruited by the IPC and is instead a scholar in the Intelligentsia Guild.

Author’s Note: This was inspired by the amazing @havanillas with their role swap! AU! Check it out! Their mind is brilliant (and I am obsessed with the way they have drawn their differences). Also, I’m a nerd about crystals, not about space, so forgive me if there are any inaccuracies. I was also vaguely tipsy when I was writing the ending, so please excuse that. This will be multiple chapters, so let me know if you’d like to be on the tag list.

Main Masterlist | Fic Masterlist

A science lesson in the metaphysical properties of crystals and gems, if you’ll allow me.

I know, I know. You did not click this fanfiction for a science lesson. It’ll be quick, I promise. It would be perfectly understandable for you to click off this, or even send a hate comment stating “I DID NOT ASK FOR THIS!!1!1!!”

Still here? Great. I’ll continue.

Everything has a vibrational frequency: from the rocks in the ground to the leaves in the trees. You have a vibration. Your best friend has a vibration. Your pet gecko has a vibration. Hell, even the device you’re reading this on and the bed your sitting in has a vibration. You get the picture, yes? These frequencies are like a marker that interact with other markers to create different influences.

Things like crystals and rock - objects that have existed for thousands of years - are bound to have stronger frequencies (let me know if I lose you. There is a point to this, I promise) that interact with you differently. Amethyst, for example, helps with sleep and meditation; Rose Quartz is great for self love; Carnelian and Tiger’s Eye can give you a confidence boost, and Aventurine is good at manifesting luck.

So, what is Lapis Lazuli good for? What magical powers does Lapis Lazuli have? What funky frequencies does it fuck around with?

Intellect.

Intellect, wisdom, and the ability to communicate, to be specific. It was used by the Egyptians a few thousand years ago as makeup and medicine, and is the stone of many gods of wisdom in various mythos’. Interesting, right? Veritas Ratio was a man of intellect. A man of prestige and great wisdom who wished to communicate his genius to those more mundane in hopes of curing ignorance. An honourable cause, if any.

See how far he has fallen.

Lapis Lazuli is no longer a man of intellect. He drinks and gambles and throws his life away all for the purpose of forgetting. Forgetting THEIR rejection. Forgetting his own ignorances.

Forgetting his own genius.

The IPC ate him up. They picked him up by the scruff of his collar and swallowed him whole. They boiled him in their stomach acid and digested him into something functional. Something utilisable. Something mouldable.

He let them.

I told you this science lesson had a point to it.

The fall of a star is always so explosive, so why did he burn out so quietly? Perhaps the rejection from a star as mighty as Nous made the rejection of himself quite infinitesimal in comparison. When a red giant explodes into a supernova, it is much more noticeable than a white dwarf imploding in on itself to create a black hole.

That doesn’t mean that a black hole doesn’t have a presence. It is a presence of darkness, yes - practically invisible if it weren’t for the event horizon that drew the eye of the nosey - but a presence nonetheless. No matter how difficult it is to see, it is still ever-present, sucking in the warmth of stars and the things it kept dear until there is nothing left. It is a shell of what it once was. Just as Lapis Lazuli is a shell of what Veritas once was. Veritas Ratio has been sucked up by the black hole, warped and spaghettified until there is practically nothing left, leaving behind only the blinding horizon disk that is Lapis Lazuli. Anyone who dares to find him - the real him - only risks being sucked up and warped themselves.

It is not wise to try and find Veritas Ratio.

Veritas Ratio: the legend of the Intelligentsia Guild. A young prodigy with three pHds under his belt at the ripe old age of sixteen, only to achieve five more before twenty-five. He is the example set for all scholar’s who wish to make names for themselves. His name is whispered in hushed voices by students for support before their exams as if he were an Aeon they worship. In the eyes of the average mundanite, he basically was.

The duality of the esteemed Doctor Ratio is a fascinating one and the topic for debate for many of his former colleagues. These debates have never been made private (for who would care? He isn’t around to hear them anymore), so even the esteemed Doctor Kakavasha has heard of his story.

The scholars of the Intelligentsia Guild have always been creatures of gossip, spreading rumours and half-truths wherever they go in order to foster attention. Kakavasha knows of these tricks and refuses to fall for them. To judge a book by its cover is as criminal to a scholar as blasphemy is to a priest. Honestly, these Guild members have such massive sticks up their backside that Kakavasha is surprised they’re not coughing up leaves. He, like many of his calibre, has looked up to the legend that is Veritas Ratio ever since he started his first degree at university. The man is only a few years his senior, but his reported work ethic and candid attitude has followed the Avgin throughout his own education and beyond. It’s safe to say that he idolises the man despite his unknowable reasons for his disappearance and recruitment into the IPC. Time changes everything. Perhaps time changed Veritas Ratio’s outlook in life and he found better prospects in an institution as massive as the IPC.

Despite this, Kakavasha wishes to find him, to hold an educated conversation with him, in hopes of receiving his perspective on his independent research project:

How to get rid of his divine luck.

—

Hope you enjoyed! Super proud of this. Reblogs appreciated!

Next Chapter

[anniebeemine]

an old flame-s.r.

Warnings: alcohol consumption, pure fluff, allusions to sex

“Dr. Spencer Reid!” You gushed, opening the door to your apartment. “It’s been far too long.” 

He pulled you into a hug, using one hand to wrap around your waist and the other to push his bag to his side. “How have you been, Y/N?” 

“Good.” You invited him and his friends in. They kicked off their shoes. “Sorry for the mess, I’m in the process of rearranging everything.” 

Spencer took note of the carpet rolled up, carefully stepping over it. He settled down at the dining room table. “These are Agents Derek Morgan and Emily Prentiss,” he said, “we were hoping you’d be able to help us with something.”  

You sat across from him, Morgan and Prentiss taking two more spaces. “It’s so nice to finally meet you guys. Spencer talks about you guys all the time.” 

Prentiss shared a look with Morgan. Not that you’d ever have noticed, seeing as you were too busy taking in Spencer’s new look. You hadn’t seen him in a little over a year. His hair had gotten longer, brushing his shoulders with each step. You’d met a few years ago in a phd program, sharing drafts of your work for peer reviews. Over time, things grew personal but your job kept you in Chicago, his in Washington DC. 

“We’re here to ask for your expertise,” he said. “There’s been a list of transients who have gone missing.” 

You nodded, your mind already racing as you recalled the weekends spent at various homeless shelters. It had started as a volunteer effort, a way to give back to the community while pursuing your studies and teaching style. Little did you know, those weekends would become the foundation for your understanding of a shadowed corner of society.

“Thank you, Dr. Y/L/N,” Agent Prentiss smiled. “Please let us know if you think of anything else.” 

You nodded as you followed the trio out of your apartment. “Of course. I’ll give you guys a call if I hear or see anything.” 

Spencer lingered in the doorway for a few minutes, waiting until his friends were out of earshot. “I’ll see you before I leave,” he whispered. 

You grinned. “You know where I’ll be.” 

“Reid!” 

He left with a wave and a tight lipped smile. Upon entering the elevator, he felt his smile fade as he slipped back into his job. 

“She seemed real excited to see you,” Emily teased. 

Spencer shook his head. “It’s not like that. We used to be classmates.” 

-

Spencer didn’t come by for three days. You were sitting in your apartment reading through a student’s character analysis on some old film that you could only find at a library. He tapped his fingers on the door before entering the apartment. You’d pretty much put everything away since he’d come by. A hint of lavender hung in the air, a recent addition that spoke of your efforts to reclaim this space as your own. The walls, adorned with artwork and photographs that had once celebrated a shared journey, now featured new additions—abstract paintings that reflected a journey of introspection and renewal.

“Hey,” you called, “one second. There’s plenty of stuff in the fridge if you’re hungry.” You continued circling misspellings on the paper. 

“Do you need help with those?” Spencer asked, sliding a paper over to him. “What class is this?” 

“Personality psych. It’s mostly freshmen looking for credit hours.” You looked up at him. “You're more than welcome to read through them. This is my last one.” 

He sat in silence as he read over one of the longer essays. You couldn’t help but be distracted by his hums of thought and looks of confusion. “Do you mind if I make some notes?”

“Go ahead,” you said, handing him a red pen. “I’m sure they’ll appreciate your feedback.”

As he marked up the paper, you felt a mixture of relief and unease. Spencer’s presence was comforting, yet the distance between you these past few days lingered like an unspoken question. After a few minutes, he looked up from the paper he was reading and smiled. "This one's really good. She's clearly being taught by the best."

You blushed, sure he was just being kind. “She's one of my brightest students.”

Spencer's smile grew warmer, and he shook his head slightly. "No, I mean it. You're an excellent teacher. It shows in their work."

The simplicity of his words felt like a lifeline. For a moment, the silence between you was filled with unspoken understanding.

“How have you been?” you asked, trying to bridge the gap.

“Busy,” he replied without looking up. “Cases have been non-stop.”

“I figured,” you said softly. “I missed you.”

He paused, pen hovering over the paper, before he glanced at you. “I missed you too.”

Spencer practically carried through your degrees. He’d read over your essays, umming and ahh-ing through your words. His notes were always constructive, never critical. You appreciated that someone could be so kind when reviewing your work. Despite being a literal genius, he never made you feel bad for not knowing things. The study group you were in dwindled, leaving just the two of you to have late nights together in the library. 

He’d stopped by the night before the commencement ceremony. You had a little apartment in a neighborhood a few train stops away from school, your first ever home away from your parents. Spencer came by, takeout in one hand and a book in the other. You let him in quickly, offering him a drink as he unpacked the food and rambled about the man in the small restaurant. 

“Would you like some?” You asked, holding a bottle of wine up. 

He looked nervous. “I’ve never had wine,” he admitted. 

You poured a little bit into a second glass. “Just for you to try, but you don’t have to.” 

After dinner, you rummaged through your small collection of board games, looking for something to keep the evening going. You pulled out a few options and spread them out on the coffee table.

“How about a game?” you suggested. “We have the Game of Life, Candyland, and some truth or dare cards.”

Spencer glanced at the options, his eyes lingering on each one before finally settling on Candyland. “I haven’t played this since I was a kid,” he said with a small, nostalgic smile.

“Candyland it is, then,” you declared, setting up the game.

As you arranged the colorful pieces and shuffled the cards, Spencer finally took a tentative sip of the wine. He grimaced at the taste, making you laugh lightly.

“Not a fan?” you teased.

“It’s... different,” he said, his face still contorted in mild discomfort. “I suppose it’s an acquired taste.”

You chuckled, appreciating the honesty. “It’ll grow on you.”

The game began, and the two of you fell into an easy rhythm, moving pieces along the candy-colored path and drawing cards. Spencer’s competitive side emerged, though it was tempered by his genuine enjoyment of the game. His laughter was contagious, filling your small apartment with a joy that had been missing for a while. He’d gone to Vegas for two weeks and you missed him dearly. Halfway through the game, Spencer took another sip of his wine, his grimace less pronounced this time. “It’s not so bad after all,” he admitted.

“See? I told you it would grow on you,” you said, feeling a sense of accomplishment.

"Did you know that wine production dates back thousands of years?" Spencer mused, his eyes lighting up with the familiar enthusiasm of a lecture. "The earliest evidence of wine-making comes from ancient Georgia, not the state, but the country. It's fascinating how..."

You listened intently, amused by his ability to effortlessly segue into detailed historical narratives. It was one of the many reasons why conversations with Spencer were always enlightening and never dull. As he continued to share tidbits about wine culture and its evolution through the ages, you found yourself appreciating not just his intellect, but the genuine passion he had for sharing knowledge. Meanwhile, you shuffled through the truth or dare cards, knowing that standard card games were indeed too straightforward for someone like Spencer. 

“Have you ever done anything illegal,” you read. You flipped the card onto the table. “Bought this game. Next.” 

Spencer furrowed his brows. “How did you illegally buy this game?” 

You looked at the stack of safe cards in your hand. “It had an over 18 rating. I wanted to have something fun for a girls night so I used a fake ID.” 

Spencer laughed. “I also had a fake ID.” 

You cocked your head, unsure of how to question it. But, some things are better left a mystery. “Pick.” 

He tentatively slid one off the top. “Dare. Take a lap around the block.” You took one look at the snowy Chicago skyline. He picked the next card. “Finish your drink.” 

The two of you shrugged, knocking back the rest of the wine in your glasses. You handed him the bottle, waiting for him to finish his pour before he put it back on the table. You refilled your glass, going for the next card. You played in an unconventional way, both attempting dares to do handstands and see who could win in arm wrestling. You both spilled your secrets during truth cards, sharing both sad and happy anecdotes. The wine was quickly depleting, fueling the playful energy in the room. This was the longest you’d talked to Spencer without it turning into an academic discussion. You flipped a card over, instantly regretting it. 

Tell your first sex story

The mood shifted. The question was too personal, too intimate to answer in the midst of this lighthearted game. You exchanged a glance with him. 

As Spencer opened his mouth, you noticed a flicker of hesitation cross his features. His expression held a mixture of thoughts—perhaps a desire to say something more, to bridge the gap that had formed between you, but also a cautious restraint, respecting the unspoken boundaries you had acknowledged.

For a moment, the room felt charged with unspoken words, the weight of their unspoken feelings and shared history hanging between you like a delicate thread. You could almost sense his struggle, the conflict playing out in the furrow of his brow and the slight tightening of his jaw. Spencer's lips parted, as if to speak, but then he closed them again, a small, rueful smile playing on his lips. He nodded slightly, his eyes conveying a silent acknowledgment of the complexities between you.

"I think this one belongs in the pile of racy cards," you said softly, setting the card aside with a small, apologetic smile.

Spencer nodded in agreement, relief evident in his eyes. "Agreed," he replied, his voice gentle. "Some questions are meant to remain private."

You gazed at him, enamored by the way he kept his hair tucked behind his ears. He pulled another card. 

Kiss the person to your left

A blush forms across his cheeks. For a moment, neither of you moved. The silence between you was palpable, filled with unspoken thoughts and uncharted territory. Spencer's gaze met yours, his eyes searching for any sign of discomfort or reluctance.

"I... uh..." Spencer stammered, his voice betraying a mix of embarrassment and intrigue. He glanced down at the card, then back at you, his expression unreadable yet tinged with something deeper.

You hesitated, your heart racing as you considered the implications of the dare. Part of you wanted to laugh it off, to return to the light-hearted banter that had defined the evening. But another part, emboldened by the wine and the lingering connection between you, wondered what might happen if you crossed that line. Before you could make a decision, Spencer took a deep breath, his resolve steadying. With a tentative smile, he leaned forward, closing the distance between you. His lips brushed softly against yours, a gentle, fleeting touch that sent a shiver down your spine.

The kiss lasted only a moment, yet it felt timeless, charged with unspoken emotions and unexplored desires. Spencer pulled back slightly, his cheeks still flushed but his eyes now filled with a mix of vulnerability and curiosity.

"I... I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I... I shouldn't have..."

But before he could finish his apology, you reached out, gently placing a hand on his cheek. "No," you said softly, your voice steady yet filled with a warmth that matched the wine in your veins. "It's okay."

Spencer's gaze searched yours, seeking reassurance and understanding. In that moment, you realized that the kiss had opened a door between you, one that neither of you were quite ready to close. You moved closer. His kisses were soft and hesitant at first, a gentle exploration that soon grew bolder. He tasted faintly of the wine you had been drinking, sweet and tangy. His hands were trembling as they traced the lines of your face, then moved down to your neck, your shoulders. The nervous energy that usually surrounded him seemed to focus entirely on you, each touch sending a shiver down your spine.

That night was a beautiful mix of awkwardness and passion, a shared discovery that deepened your connection. You remembered the way his breath hitched as you explored each other’s bodies, the way his fingers tangled in your hair, the intensity in his eyes as he looked at you like you were the most important person in the world. It was a night of firsts, one you both held onto in the quiet spaces of your minds.

But soon after, Spencer was picked for the BAU. It was a dream opportunity for him, and you were genuinely happy for his success. Yet, as he immersed himself in his new role, the demands of the job took him further away. The phone calls and texts became sporadic, then faded altogether. Your friendship, once so vibrant and full of promise, began to wane under the weight of his responsibilities and the distance between you.

You finished with the final essay, putting it to the side and putting your focus back on Spencer. “How did the rest of the case go?” He’d gotten better at communicating when he was far, but you still liked to have him close. 

“We caught him. He was targeting people who were trying to make cash. He offered work for money and then would take them.” His voice came out gravelly and tired. He studied your apartment and you watched as he focused on the mantle for a minute. 

“How’s Shawn?” He asked. 

You fiddled with your bare finger. “We’ve separated. It’s been six months.” 

"I'm sorry to hear that," Spencer said softly, his gaze sympathetic as he sat across from you in your apartment. His eyes flickered with concern, his mind processing the information you had just shared.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in a gesture of weariness. "Relationships are... complicated," he murmured, his voice tinged with a hint of regret. "I wish I could have been there for you more."

You looked at him, touched by his sincerity. "It's not your fault, Spencer," you reassured him. "You've had your own battles to fight, cases to solve. We both did."

Spencer nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "Still," he began, his voice quiet yet earnest, "I can't help but feel like I should have been there for you more, especially during... everything."

You smiled sadly, memories of the past few years flooding your mind. "Shawn and I... we drifted apart," you admitted, your voice tinged with a mix of resignation and acceptance. 

You spent years far too hung up on Spencer. That night you shared was something you’d never experienced before in more ways than one. You were like an addict chasing a high, but he was in a different time zone. You knew your marriage was over before it started. Shawn didn’t like that every few weeks, you'd spend an entire afternoon talking to Spencer, practically ignoring everything happening around you. Instead, you told Spencer about your job and how you’ve become a new person since divorcing. 

Spencer listened, his expression unreadable as he absorbed your words. Before he could respond, you broke the momentary silence, redirecting the conversation. "How are you, Spencer?" you asked, your voice filled with genuine concern.

He hesitated for a moment, then gave a small smile. "I'm fine," he replied automatically, his tone hinting at a deeper complexity. He started rambling about literature he’d read recently. You listened to him, feeling his excitement of having someone who could listen to him for so long. Truthfully, you could do this all day. You held his hand, instantly silencing him. “Sor-” 

“How are you, Spencer? Like… inside.” 

Spencer met your gaze, his expression vulnerable yet sincere. "I feel... a lot better now that we're close again," he confessed quietly. "I... I've thought about you for years, you know” 

You blinked. “Really?” 

He nodded, taking his hand back. Spencer would look anywhere but you. He settled on a spot in the carpet before taking a deep breath. “I mentioned you to our technical analyst.” 

“Penelope, right?” 

“Yeah.” He nervously wiped his hands on his pants. “I’d been through a lot at the time. The whole thing with my dad and…” 

You’d been away in your own world at the time, missing two phone calls because of your honeymoon. Each time, you had promised yourself to return the calls later, unaware of the weight they might carry. Meanwhile, Spencer had been grappling with his own tumultuous emotions, navigating the aftermath of a difficult period involving his father and the complexities of his own feelings for you.

“I was going to send a letter with everything but you moved. I asked her to find your new address and she told me you’d bought this place with Shawn.” 

You swallowed thickly. “I’m so sorry,” you mumbled. “I should have told you and-” 

“I respected that, Y/N. We stayed friends.” He finally looked you in the eyes. “I have been in love with you since long before that truth or dare.” 

Spencer's words hung in the air, heavy with emotion and vulnerability. You stared at him, your heart racing as memories flooded back—memories of late nights debating theories, of shared laughter over obscure references, of stolen glances that spoke volumes.

"I... I didn't know," you confessed softly, feeling a mix of disbelief and overwhelming affection. "I never imagined..."

He nodded, his gaze steady on yours now. "I never knew how to say it. I was always afraid... afraid of losing what we had if I admitted how much you meant to me. I didn't mean to spring this on you like this. It's just... I've been carrying this for so long, afraid that if I didn't say it now, I might never find the courage to say it at all."

You gently placed your hand on his, feeling the tremor beneath his touch. "Spencer, you don't need to apologize," you assured him softly. "I'm just... I'm glad you told me. I've wondered about us, too."

His eyes searched yours, a mix of relief and uncertainty flickering in their depths. "You have?"

"Yes," you admitted, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside you. "I've thought about what could have been, what might still be... if we're both willing."

He exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around yours. "I've always cared about you, Y/N.” 

"Thank you for being brave enough to say it," you replied, leaning in to press a gentle kiss against his cheek. "I'm here, Spencer. Whenever you're ready."

He nodded, a soft smile playing on his lips as he intertwined his fingers with yours. "I think... I'm ready now."

[rirururu]

Why Bachira x Isagi (Blue Lock) is One of the Best Ships of All Time

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR UP TO CHAPTER 86 OF THE MANGA

I’ll be honest and say that while Isagi and Bachira’s dynamic in the first arc was cute, it wasn’t anything that stood out to me too much. It seemed like a very typical sports anime type relationship at first. The main character shoots. His friend is there for him and passes to him so he can shine. They have good chemistry. They achieve results together that would be un-imaginably amazing compared to when they were apart. We’ve seen it so many times before already. Kageyama and Hinata, Kuroko and Kagami, Mihashi and Abe; the list goes on.

That all stops when the second selection starts.

Bachira was forced to leave and suddenly Isagi has to fight on his own. He recognizes that up until now, he’s only been useful because of Bachira and in order to get him back, has to learn to fight without him. And, contrary to what we’re made to believe in the first selection that Isagi is better when with Bachira, the truth is that Isagi actually thrives without Bachira. In fact, he gets so powerful that even an outsider like Nagi who initially called him worthless without Bachira genuinely believed that Isagi would decide against stealing Bachira back by the end.

As for Bachira, he’s given a hard wake-up call when he finally sees Isagi again. He recognizes how much better Isagi is without him to the point of Isagi ignoring him on the field, and that sets the part of himself that can only feel alive when he’s with Isagi off. It’s only with this wake-up call that Bachira realizes everything he’s thought up until now was wrong. That’s when we get a parallel to what Isagi did for Bachira in learning to fight without him in order to get him back. In exchange for being able to stand on the same level as and not be left behind by Isagi, Bachira threw away his purpose of playing soccer as his way to connect with Isagi. He realized he shouldn’t do things for the sake of staying by Isagi’s side. He should be doing things for his own growth. Bachira did this fully believing and grieving that he was giving up on being with Isagi. So much so that in his head, Bachira says goodbye to him. And in a similar fashion to Isagi, that’s the moment we learn that Bachira is actually stronger without him. 

They both had to get stronger out of desperation to stay together, and consequently abandoned that part of themselves that depended on each other in the first place.

I want to pause right here and just applaud the author. I know Blue Lock has been praised as being a subversion of a ton of sports manga tropes and this is probably one of the most fantastic examples. We’re so used to the protagonist-and-partner combination being put on a pedestal. But here, it’s deconstructed right in front of us to show how it actually hinders both Isagi and Bachira as strikers and as people. And honestly? It felt like that would be it. I remember my heart dropping when I reached that point in the manga. Logically they would go their separate ways in a mutual break-up.

But they don’t. In the final scene of the soccer match, we see that everyone hadn’t believed in Bachira’s ego since long ago while Isagi had never stopped believing in him. Isagi caught Bachira’s winning goal. I thought that was a perfect parallel to their first meeting when Bachira passed the ball to the monster and then Isagi became the monster. This time Bachira abandoned the monster. There was no monster anymore because Bachira left it behind but even when the monster was gone, Isagi was still there. It's symbolic of how he doesn't see Isagi as just a monster anymore. He sees Isagi as Isagi, signaling a new era in their relationship.

And that’s also when Bachira realizes that just because he’s grown away from needing Isagi, just because he doesn’t live to make Isagi stronger anymore, just because he’s embracing that part of him that plays soccer solitarily for himself, doesn’t mean Isagi won’t still be there with him and believing in him. Bachira could change as much as he wants and the other won’t leave. They don’t need each other anymore, but that’s exactly what allows them to realize that being together makes them so happy, makes soccer so much fun, that they want to stick together until the very end anyway. 

(Or the official translation / scans)

This direction for their relationship seems bittersweet but I think that’s what makes it realistic. Relationships are multi-faceted and they change over time. Isagi and Bachira had to say goodbye to one aspect of their relationship but they also gained a new one. They both used to rely on each other a lot to be their very best. That mutualistic symbiotic relationship they had in soccer, that is the crutch in so many sports anime, is gone now. Bachira and Isagi aren’t necessary to each other in soccer anymore. Personally though, I think this new dynamic actually makes them closer than they were before.

To Bachira, Isagi used to be a person he needed to pass to because he’s a monster and someone who staved off his loneliness. To Isagi, Bachira used to be someone who made good passes to help him function in soccer. I think the fact that Bachira was so easily swayed to making Rin his new “monster” made it evident. As they continue to grow as strikers, they’ll be cycling through teammates most suited to their skillset. Teammates come and go. What Isagi and Bachira are to each other evolved past that, beyond the soccer field, and became something that would stay with them their entire lives. There is no “I’m with Isagi because if I can’t play soccer with him, I would die from loneliness” or “I’m with Bachira because he lets me be invincible on the field” anymore. They’re together because they want to be and because they love each other (platonically or romantically). That’s all.

(Manga panel taken from an AMV on youtube)

And I think that’s beautiful. It’s beautiful because this is what true unconditional love looks like. I know what the manga did to them might not be the “popular” thing. Ships that are super dependent on each other and need each other to live are the ones that get views because it’s seen as romantic. But Bachisagi / Isabachi abandoned that to instead become one of the healthiest relationships you could possibly get not just in a sports anime but in general. 

I mean, wow. I wish I had someone who wanted to be with me and had the emotional capacity to always believe in me no matter how much I changed, disappointed, and grew away from centering my world around them. I wish I had someone who could say that they don’t need me anymore but that’s exactly why they can say in full confidence that they still want me with all their heart. Bachisagi is seriously #relationshipgoals more than most married couples. 

In conclusion, Bachira/Isagi deserves way more recognition and I will happily scream into the void with the other 6 of you out there who ship them /j

[vampire-exgirlfriend]

You guys, what the fuck is up with the increase in stealing and plagiarising in this fandom lately? When did that become a thing that was okay to do?

The first time I was flat out plagiarized was almost four years ago in a different fandom. A well known author in that fandom took the first paragraph of a short one shot, one of the first things I’d ever posted and that I was incredibly proud of, switched a few words, and then used it as the summary for their slightly longer fic. They then went on to steal the premise of my ficlet and just…make it longer. This was brought up in a discord server a friend of mine was in that I wasn’t and the general consensus was “who would believe you? You’re nobody.” So I kept my mouth shut and I deleted my fic because seeing it made me feel like shit. Something similar then happened to a friend of mine with the titles of her fics being stolen, flat out and word for word, for the same characters. And again it was “no one will believe you.”

We shut up. We stuck it out. And then when it kept happening, to us and to others, we left that fandom.

I was so, so excited when HotD aired. I was back in my ASOIAF phase that had never actually ended. It was a new opportunity to make friends with common interests and my writing improved so much because of how passionate about the canon material I was. I have made some of the most incredible friends, like life-long, stay up all night talking, come to my house or let’s hang out when you’re in my state/country kind of friends. It’s pretty amazing. But this fandom is a whole different beast than any other I’ve been involved with. I have no idea if it’s the general age of the fandom, or the lack of prior fandom experience, or what us old people call the “tiktokifcation of fandom.” But it’s different. And while that’s usually a good thing, there are so many times when this has been awful. There is a huge lack of accountability here. People are stealing things. And the weirdest part is, they don’t care! It is plagiarism to have someone else's story opened while you write yours so that you can tone match the other writer. It is plagiarism to take people’s well thought out ideas and then use them beat for beat. I get it, it’s fic, nothing is wholly original, we are going to see idea recycling! That’s just fandom. But to model your entire story off of someone else’s is heinous. And it’s wrong. And this literally just happened to a very good friend of mine. When she mentioned she was uncomfortable with it and had blocked the person who did this, someone she considered a level headed mutual (who has recently admitted to plagiarising someone else themselves, mind you) told her that she was just drama baiting and didn’t have the right to be upset. The same thing happened to me with a now deleted creator who told me that she dragged me in her discord server and that her friends (all big name creators would essentially “black list me” for saying anything).

It’s not dramatic to not be okay with your work being stolen! This is a normal fucking reaction. In trad publishing or academia, this shit gets you banned, expelled, etc. It can ruin your life.

I received a slew of anons recently asking for help with graphic making and editing. And I was so excited about them. That shit is fun for me. We chatted for a while, with them on anon, and that was that. Until I got an anon letting me know that the person I was talking with was someone who had stolen ideas and storylines from me and other creators. So I looked, I asked friends to look, and the consensus was “yeah, this is fucking plagiarism, and it’s weird.” All of the edit stuff she’d asked about was used on an edit that was a direct rip off of my own. But I elected to not make a thing of it, to ignore it, to wash my hands of it because of the weird fucking trend of calling out theivery being labeled as drama baiting. And I didn’t want that, not after I had genuinely made the mistake of thinking that someone had stolen an idea from me when they hadn’t (calm down, we’re really close friends now). This person deleted their old blog and so I thought it was over. And then yesterday I got a dm from this new blog I didn’t even know existed accusing me of sending them harassing anons.

A blog, who had stolen from me and at least four other people, who had reached out to me on anon for help and ideas, that at this point I didn’t even know existed anymore, said they knew I was sending hateful anons accusing them of theft. I wasn’t, of course, because I had no idea they even existed, and it made no sense that I would even know they’d created another blog. I only found out about their new blog when they dm’d me from it. But they had obviously done this to enough people that they were now getting called out on it.

You guys, we have to fucking stop acting like this. This fandom needs to stop stealing from each other and eating our own. And if someone brings up that they’ve had an idea stolen, we need to take them seriously instead of insinuating they’re only attempting to cause drama. Stop sending people unhinged anons because you feel like you’re guilty of lifting from another creator and just work on creating something original. Writing is hard. Giffing and making edits is fucking hard. And no, nothing will ever be 100% original, that’s just impossible at this point, but stop fucking taking things that aren’t yours and claming them as your own. Do better. Grow up.

[frozenjokes]

Another Much Needed Follow Up About Love and Aromanticism, Where It’s Time We Cleared Things Up. Oh, And Mumbo Is Here Too.

this fic can be read on its own as a one shot, but I would recommend reading this first, as the context provides a little more insight on why the characters are reacting the way they do to each other

Over the course of a couple weeks very little changed. Mumbo spent the majority of his time planted in one place, anchored somewhat in the shallows so he could lift his head and listen to what the humans were doing on the days they came around. As much as it pained Mumbo to be so still so much of the time, it was a necessary evil if he ever wanted to heal, and he very much did. It didn’t matter how little he moved his tail at this point, anything he did would only result in his condition worsening.

If it wasn’t for Scar, he would have left a while ago. The humans didn’t come every day anymore, but they came often enough, and they certainly noticed Mumbo’s lack of activity. Grian tended towards keeping his distance, which didn’t bother Mumbo at all, but Scar really went out of his way to be there; sitting close (a gesture Mumbo was beginning to mind less), bringing him human trinkets to look at and play with (always exciting), but most importantly Scar brought food, and a lot of it at that; Mumbo wouldn’t have been able to stay without it. He often wondered where Scar got the many bags of fish he brought; it wasn’t all very fresh, so it was probably supplied from a human stockpile, but regardless, Mumbo was grateful. He wasn’t often in the best of moods and didn’t speak very much despite the fact he was sure Scar would have been ecstatic to talk with him, but he hoped regardless that Scar knew how deeply grateful he was.

Today, Scar and Grian were sitting on the shore together, shoulder to shoulder as they bent over one of their human activities. The first time Mumbo saw them drawing together, he had asked to see (saying ‘What’ over and over again seemed to have gained several different meanings over the weeks), but Scar had showed him that the paper they wrote on got ruined in the water, ripping easily, so it wasn’t something Mumbo could learn about personally. That was okay though, he was content to watch.

“Okay,” Scar began tapping the writing utensil (‘pencil’) to his lips, “Do we have anything to revise about the list this week? I don’t think very much new has happened.”

“Read it again, will you?”

“It’s right here in front of your face, do I really have to?”

“We’ve been over this Scar, I’m conditionally illiterate. Like right now, you got me up early and I’m tired and the words are so far away and I don’t want to. Also your handwriting is atrocious.”

“I’m tired too! It’s not my fault my fish guy needed me to show up at 6 AM.”

“You have a car, Scar. And a license.”

“Oh hey! Look at this cool list!” Scar directed Grian’s attention back to the paper, Grian only rolling his eyes before letting Scar continue. “Well, I won’t go into detail on my notes about what he eats because that’ll just bore you, but to put it simply, basically everything that’s got meat on it. Fish, shellfish, red meat, chicken, mostly just fish is what I’ve been giving him though, since I’m assuming that's what makes up most of his diet. Want to make sure he gets all the proper nutrients, you understand, you understand.”

“Uh huh.”

“As for ‘Likes,’ we’ve got fish, human stuff, Scar, Grian-”

“Scar first?” Grian cut his friend off with a raised eyebrow. Scar blinked several times before answering.

“What?”

“Scar, Grian. You put your name before mine.”

“Well this list wasn’t meant to be in order, but if it was, my name would absolutely go before yours.”

“What! No it wouldn’t. He likes us equally. Mumbo and I have a mutual understanding that we do not want to be anywhere near each other most of the time. We respect each other. From a distance.”

Scar smirked, throwing Mumbo an amused look as if he understood anything that was going on. “You know if you wanted to you could also bring him gifts and stuff. Nothing is stopping you. You could even bring him his fish if you wanted to, he wouldn’t know the difference. I wouldn’t care. There’s really nothing to be afraid of, especially now when he’s so docile like this.”

“I’m not afraid of Mumbo.”

“No?”

“If anything, he’s afraid of me, Scar. I got him in that net, I’ve gotten close to killing him a couple times- he knows it, Scar, he knows. He knows what’ll happen if he steps out of line, that’s what. I told him. I told him all about it.”

“Did you now,” Scar chuckled, nudging Grian playfully, “Well in that case, I’m definitely sure he likes me more. And I’m sure you’re perfectly content with being feared, but if you ever change your mind, I’d be happy to help.”

Grian huffed, “I won’t. Continue though.”

Scar lingered for a moment, a gentle fondness etched on his features before turning back to the paper, reading, “Well, he plays around with those vines and roots and things sometimes, he clearly is very curious, he likes to learn, and I think he likes birds, but he might just be staring at them because he wants to eat them. I put bugs in our ‘Neutral’ category since every time I try to give him a bug he just eats it, but I can’t tell if he just eats bugs or if he’s scared of them or something.”

“I highly doubt Mumbo is afraid of bugs. I doubt he cares.”

“Well, you never know! In ‘Dislikes’ we’ve got nets, sleeping bags, being touched, fighting- actually this isn't super related, but I really want to set up a Good and Bad system with him. A thumbs up thumbs down kind of situation. I was thinking about it all last night- we aren’t very good at communicating what we like or don’t like, and this feels like a good solution, but I’m not exactly sure how to tell him clearly what I’m trying to do. How would he know thumbs up means ‘good.’ And vice versa? Maybe bad would be easier to start with, but at the same time he kinda seems like a bite first ask questions later kinda guy.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea. Definitely start with thumbs up. With any luck he’ll understand that thumbs down is the opposite and you can go from there. I think you could probably associate the gesture with things Mumbo likes. The tape measure, fish- he knows smiling is a positive thing even if he doesn’t smile himself, and he knows what ‘yes’ means as well. With enough of that, I think he’ll grasp the meaning pretty quick.”

“I think so too,” Scar paused for a moment, thoughtful, “You know, this doesn’t just have to be a me effort. You could come and speak to him as well. He would know you’re putting in the effort if you wanted him to like you more.”

“He likes me plenty!” Grian switched from relaxed to exasperated on a dime, throwing up his hands as Scar laughed. “He likes me, Scar.”

“I know he likes you. But I also know he doesn’t have the full picture. He doesn’t know how much time you spend brainstorming how to teach him things, or how to relieve his stress, or worrying when he’s not feeling well. I just want him to know you aren’t as distant as he probably thinks, especially if it bothers you. If you wanted to get a little closer and help me with the ‘good’ and ‘bad’ gestures, that’d be a start.”

Grian was silent for a long time, brows creased tight above his eyes. “Maybe,” he said finally, almost quietly, “But not today. I’m too tired.”

“Yeah, me too,” Scar sighed, content, letting his head fall to rest on top of Grian’s, who squeaked, jumping so hard he accidentally jabbed at Scar’s chin with his shoulder. It must not have hurt though, because Scar didn’t seem to mind at all, unmoving. Slowly, Grian untensed, his head falling gently on Scar’s shoulder. Mumbo had a somewhat ridiculous pang of longing despite still holding a strong aversion to any human touch at all. They just looked so relaxed- anyone would wonder what it was like to be human. Though, while Scar closed his eyes, Grian didn’t quite look satisfied, something like conflict sitting across his features. He sat like that for a while, eyes moving, but not quite looking at anything at all, apparent restlessness building. Then he stopped. Closed his eyes. Opened them.

“Scar, are you aromantic or are you just fucking with me? Because I outright refuse to believe anyone is actually this clueless.”

Scar opened his eyes. Silence. “Uh oh.”

“Uh oh???” It was safe to say the two of them did not look relaxed anymore, Grian jerking away, “Scar, what does ‘uh oh’ mean. You can not just say ‘uh oh’ and nothing else.” Mumbo’s fins raised at the tone of his voice, but Mumbo cringed back when Grian whipped around to face him with an aggressive point. “No. You stay. Scar, I need you to say more right now.”

“I-Sleeping, I mean, we weren’t sleeping yet- but resting like- not friends? Not normal? Bdubs- I am going to strangle that man!”

“So you’re aromantic?” The words leapt off Grian’s tongue like an accusation, but he relaxed almost immediately after, sighing into his hands, “You’re aromantic. Okay. Good. Okay.”

“I- I mean I don’t love labels. I don’t really know, I don’t know much of anything at all, really. I’m sorry, Grian, I didn’t- did no one tell you I have a horrible track record for these things? Did you want me to ask you out? I still can.”

“Goodness, Scar, no! You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, you’ve just been sending incredibly mixed signals and I needed to know what was going on with you before my head exploded and my brains went all over the place and poor Mumbo would have to witness that and we don’t want that, do we? We don’t want that. This is fine, though, we just need to work out some boundaries.”

“What if I did want to though? To ask you out?”

Grian stared. Scar stared back.

“You do not want to.”

“I’ll have you know, I like you plenty a lot! I like you all sorts of ways, and if you also like me, then that’s cool! I’ll tell ya, when I had my little politics phase, my campaign manager was this great guy, Bdubs, we’re still friends, too, have you met him? Anyway, he’s a pretty touchy guy as well and he convinced me all sorts of things were totally normal friend stuff. Oh, we had this great cushy chair in our office and it was only really meant for one person, but sometimes we’d both be so tired and just squeeze into it and it wasn’t any sort of comfortable at all, but in a way it kinda was. Like inside. You know?”

“Scar, do you actually want to ask me out or are you just saying that because you think that’s what I wanted.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Not what I asked.”

“Well, Grian, it really doesn’t matter to me either way!” Scar gave Grian a big smile, like these words were the ones that would definitively solve their dispute, but the expression started to drop when Grian looked mortified. “Is..” Scar started, unsure now, “Something wrong?”

Mumbo had never seen such a wide range of emotions cross Grian’s face before his head dropped onto his knees with a soft thunk. “No. It’s fine.”

Scar stared for a long while, a gentle churning of thought moving behind his eyes. He relaxed, scooching to give Grian a little space before smiling again, the expression soft. “Can I tell you a story?”

“Sure, Scar.” Grian’s voice was muffled between his knees, and given his face was covered, Mumbo had no idea how he was feeling.

“So there was this one time in high school where I was good friends with this girl, and she was awesome, just the best, and we hung out like constantly, and y’know how people get sometimes all pushy asking about dating and stuff, but you also know high schoolers who can’t communicate if their life was on the line. So all my friends are like dude, you guys are literally dating, aren’t you? And I say no! I insist we’re not every time, I insist! Yes, we went out together often and we talked for hours and her family had some money troubles so a lot of the time I offered to pay, you know, normal stuff, it was normal, I promise, but one day I get this call, right? From one of her friends! And this girl just starts ripping into me, like, seriously! She’s telling me all this stuff I had no idea about- telling me my friend is so confused, that she doesn’t feel pretty around me, that I’m always trying to avoid intimacy- that I refused to kiss her! And I was like what, whoa there! No one has ever tried to kiss me! Why are we talking about kissing people? She thought we were dating, Grian.”

“I got that.”

“And then she dumped me! My first breakup, and I didn’t even know! I was kinda bummed, too, I had always kinda wanted to kiss someone, but I thought they’d tell me first! Y’know, that they wanted to. I would have been so ready! The worst part is I think my guy friends were trying to tell me we were dating, not just teasing me. They also thought it was funny though, so. Who knows.”

“Yeesh.”

“I know, right! And this other time in college there was this other girl- we had mutual friends and stuff and we were at a party and just absolutely wasted and she grabbed me by the collar and she said ‘SCAR,’ she yelled in my face, she said ‘I’ve been FLIRTING with you for WEEKS and YOU’VE been flirting BACK. ARE YOU GAY?’ And I said, drunk, ‘A little bit!’ And then we danced all night. It was awesome. She was so cool. That kinda stuff happened a lot in college, actually. Guys are a bit more direct, which I appreciate. I’m a little stupid, I need the extra help sometimes.”

Grian tensed where he was sitting, quiet for a short pause before speaking, “You’re not stupid, Scar.”

“I mean. A little bit.”

“No. You’re not stupid.”

Scar was silent for a long while, staring despite Grian’s head still being buried in his knees. “I don’t know about that.”

Grian lifted his head, shaking it ‘no.’ He blinked a couple times before shaking his head again, a little more forcefully. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. I shouldn’t have done that, I should’ve just talked to you like an adult and told you how I was feeling. Sometimes you’re just really confusing, and that’s not your fault, you just.. go about the world in a different way. And it’s not a bad way either, it’s not wrong. If people can’t communicate exactly how they’re feeling to you, that’s a them issue. You’re not stupid. I’m sorry I made you feel that way.”

“I didn’t mean to lead you on. I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know, Scar. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“I really thought we had some sort of understanding- and I did mean it when I said we could give this a shot. I like dating, Grian, I always have a lot of fun! I can be- I know I can be- I have trouble sometimes, I just ruin good things-”

“Scar, stop, please. I don’t want anything you don’t want. Period.”

Scar didn’t seem to know what to do with that, staring uselessly at his own hands before looking back up. “I want it, Grian,” he stressed, his arms trembling, but Grian only stared, lips gently parted.

They both looked.. So sad. Mumbo longed to help, to sing, to do something, but he was stuck outside of their world.

Grian extended his arms. “C’mere, buddy.”

Scar collapsed into them, shaking as he did. Grian didn’t move, rubbing slow circles on Scar’s back while he cried. There was a certain focus behind Grian’s eyes, a certain calm as he held his friend close, and Mumbo.. well, it was clear Grian didn’t need Mumbo’s help. So that was the power of human touch.

He’d have to learn it one day.

[spnhunter4life]

Familiar

Summary: Sam, Dean and Y/N are on a case, and it turns out Y/N is just the monster's type.

Word Count: 8.2k

Warnings: reference to nonconsensual sex, canon typical violence

A/N: I've had this one done for a couple of weeks, but things have been very busy and so I just finally got around to doing a reread/edit of it. I hope everyone enjoys it!

This one includes the writing prompt "character A flipping positions and shoving B against a wall 'now this seems more familiar doesn’t it?'"

I don't remember where I found this. I have a list of prompts I saved, but didn't include who posted them, so if you happen to know where this came from, let me know and I'll give credit to that person.

Also, I've had someone ask me to be tagged in new stories I post. I am happy to do this, so if anyone else is interested in being tagged, let me know!

Masterlist

I met the Winchesters for the first time five years ago when I was 22. I was in college and had just moved to a new dorm building that turned out to be haunted by a ghost. I had been the next intended target when Dean and his dad stepped in and saved me. That was the last time I would see either of them for a long time, but I never forgot the faces of the people who had saved my life.

After that experience, I was obsessed with the supernatural. Dean and I had talked a little bit before they left town, and he told me about how he and his dad traveled the country killing monsters. I wanted to do that too. I wanted to be able to save people’s lives the way they had saved mine.

So a couple months later I dropped out of school and started getting ready to hunt. I signed up for a gym membership and started going everyday as well as taking boxing and Krav Maga lessons. My life had given very little opportunity for me to build muscle or learn to fight. But I wasn’t stupid enough to go into a fight with a supernaturally strong creature completely unprepared.

I gave myself a year to get in shape and learn to defend myself. During this time, I put every spare minute I had into research. I looked into what kinds of monsters were out there, how to kill them, which ones were most common. While doing all this research, I ran into a man named Bobby Singer. He had all kinds of helpful information and taught me how to track them down. I started the process of purchasing weapons I would need and also saving up money.

Once I felt ready, I set off on my first hunt. The overwhelming satisfaction I felt at saving a person from the ghost that had been haunting them was too much to ignore. I knew without a doubt now that this is what I should be doing with my life. So I went on another hunt. And another. 

Things were a little rough going at first and I got more injuries than I cared to admit – fighting a trained professional in a controlled environment wasn’t the same as going up against an angry monster – but my fighting skills improved and things started going smoother soon enough. I didn’t regret my choices.

I ran into Dean a little over a year later. I was looking into what I suspected to be a witch and had stopped for lunch at a local burger joint when I saw him. I recognized him immediately and went to talk to him. It took a little bit for him to remember me, but he did. When he asked what I was doing so far from home, I told him what I’d been up to since the day he saved my life. He seemed surprised and impressed. Apparently the people he saved didn’t often take up hunting afterwards. 

When I asked after his dad, he told me that they were starting to work separate cases on occasion. They still hunted together too, but not as often. 

Since we were both in town for the same reason, we agreed to work the case together. It was difficult at times, learning to rely on another person and factor their thoughts and opinions into what we were doing. I’d never hunted with someone else before. In other ways, though, it was so much easier. I decided I kind of liked having a partner. Dean and I worked well together.

He must have thought so too, because the day after we finished that hunt, he asked if I wanted to come with him to look into a string of suspicious murders a couple states over. I’d been hunting with him – and occasionally his dad – ever since. 

About nine months into our new arrangement, his dad went missing and so we picked up his brother Sam from school to help find him. Adding him to the mix had been another adjustment. That was two years ago now though, and we’d all found an easy rhythm together.

“We should go check this out,” Dean said, sliding the newspaper he’d been looking at across the table to Sam and pointing at one of the articles.

We were at a diner waiting for our breakfast to be brought out. Sam scanned the article.

“I don’t know, Dean,” Sam said, passing the newspaper to me when I motioned for it. I skimmed the article Dean had found. 

“Come on, Sam. Three murder suicides in under two weeks. That’s weird,” Dean insisted.

“It is weird. I just don’t see how it’s our kind of weird,” Sam answered. 

“Y/N? What do you think? You agree with me, don’t you?” Dean asked, confident I’d back him up. We typically saw things pretty eye to eye. Not always though.

“Well, actually I agree with Sam. There’s nothing here that really makes it sound like our kind of thing. But,” I continued, saying the word a little louder to stop Dean’s protest. “It’s only a few hours away and we have nothing else to do right now. So we might as well go check it out.”

“Alright, fine,” Sam agreed, sighing at the triumphant look on Dean’s face. “But I really think we’re wasting our time.”

“Right. Because we’ve got much more important, productive things going on here,” Dean said sarcastically.

“It’s never a waste of time,” I said. “Even if it ends up being nothing, making sure people aren’t being killed by something supernatural isn’t a waste. What if we decide it’s not worth checking out and it turns out it is our kind of thing? Then those deaths would be on us.”

“Ok, yes, you’re right. I already said we could go check it out,” Sam said.

“Well thanks for the permission, Sammy. I really don’t think we could’ve moved forward without it,” Dean snarked.

“Bite me,” Sam answered.

“Alright, cut it out you two,” I scolded.

The waiter brought our food out and we spent the meal trying to come up with ideas of what we could be dealing with. We didn’t come up with much since we had so little information to go off of. Dean paid our bill and we were just heading out the door when something occurred to me.

“Oh! What if it’s a siren?” I suggested.

“A siren? From Greek mythology? Like in The Odyssey?” Dean asked. 

“What?” Sam looked at his brother in surprise. 

“What?” Dean asked, a little smug and a little offended.

“What do you know about sirens?” Sam asked me, moving past his shock at Dean’s knowledge.

“Not much,” I admitted. We reached the car and I climbed into my usual spot behind Sam. “All the vics have been couples though, right?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Dean confirmed, turning in his seat to face me. “Is that important?”

“All I really know about sirens is that once they infect you they convince you to kill someone you love. The only siren case I’ve heard of had several husbands killing their wives before it was stopped. So maybe in this case once the men realize what they’ve done, they kill themselves.”

“Seems like the best theory we’ve come up with,” Dean said. He backed the Impala out of the parking spot and headed out of town towards the highway.

“Let’s get there and do some digging around before we settle on a theory,” Sam cautioned. “But say you’re right. How do we kill it?”

“I don’t know. I’ve already given you the extent of my knowledge on the subject.”

“Okay. Well at least we have a starting point. We can look into it more if that still seems like the most likely scenario after we’ve investigated things a little bit,” Sam said.

Apparently deeming the conversation finished, Dean turned up the music. I leaned my head against the window and watched the road blurring by.

~~~~~

The bar we were at was crowded, the music was loud, and the guy I was talking to was cute. Not stop and stare cute, but cute enough that when he came over to where I was standing at the bar and started flirting, I flirted back.

“So how long are you in town for?” Cute guy asked. I vaguely noted Dean in my peripheral vision, making his way to the bar. If I’d been paying attention, I would have noticed how irritated he looked. But I was trying not to notice him. He and I were just friends and would never be more. I’d accepted that. It meant I couldn’t let myself be distracted by him when there was a guy standing right in front of me who was interested.

“Don’t know yet,” I answered, giving him my best flirty smile. “I’m definitely here for the night though.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Dean interrupted. “Come on Y/N. Sam’s waiting for us.”

“Woah, hey, come on man,” cute guy protested. “You can’t just come in here and force her to leave. We were in the middle of a conversation.”

“You were, were you? Sorry pal, but we’ve got important things to do. Go find someone else to bother.” Dean grabbed my arm and pulled me with him, away from the bar and towards the exit.

“Dean!” I hissed as I was forced to follow along behind him. “What is your problem?” I asked when we made it outside.

“What’s my problem?” Dean echoed, letting go of my arm and turning to face me. “What’s your problem? You know what we’re after here. What made you think it was a good idea to offer to go home with some random guy who for all we know could be the siren?”

I scoffed and started to walk towards the car, but Dean grabbed me again and pushed me up against the building. He stepped in close and put an arm on either side of my head, effectively caging me in.

“What are you doing?” I asked. It didn’t sound quite as irritated as I wanted it to. His close proximity mixed with the few drinks I’d downed had me too overwhelmed to hold on to my anger.

“Next time you’re wanting to scratch an itch in the middle of a case where the monster we’re after seduces people into murder, just save us the trouble and come to me instead,” he instructed. Then before I knew what was happening, he leaned in and kissed me.

I gasped in surprise and he used the opportunity to lick into my mouth. Finally catching up to what was happening, I wrapped my arms around his neck, threading my fingers through his hair and eagerly kissing him back. I never could have predicted this, but I was so thrilled it was happening. 

He made his way to my neck. He kissed a couple of different spots before finding a spot he liked and starting to suck and nip-

I woke up with a jolt and a gasp. I quickly took in my surroundings and realized I’d fallen asleep in the back of the Impala. 

“You ok?” Dean asked, turning in his seat to look at me. I realized we were parked outside a motel. The engine turning off must have been what woke me. I briefly met his eyes and was immediately bombarded with the images from my dream. 

“Yeah,” I told him. I managed to successfully fight the blush that tried to rise in the presence of the very man I’d just been dreaming about. It wasn’t the first time I’d had this sort of dream about the older Winchester. I doubted it would be the last.

Dean went inside to get us a room. We unloaded our bags and made a plan. We decided the boys would drop me off at the police station to talk to the sheriff while they went to question the medical examiner. We would meet at a diner a few blocks away from the police station when we were done. 

“What’s the connection between all of these people?” I asked Sheriff Jones once I’d introduced myself and explained why I was there.

“Connection?” He asked.

“Yeah. This many murder suicides in this short of a time, there’s something going on here. Maybe you’re wrong about the suicide part and it’s just flat out murder. Maybe it’s some sort of messed up pact these people made. There has to be something that connects them though. So what is it?”

“As far as we can tell, there is no connection between any of them. Sometimes these things just happen,” he said.

“How long have you been sheriff?” I asked. He was starting to get up in age, probably in his mid to late 50s at a guess. I assumed he’d been a police officer for a long time.

“Almost 20 years,” he informed me proudly.

“And in those 20 years, how many times have you seen something like this? Three different couples killing each other and themselves. One after another.”

“Well… never,” he admitted.

“Right. So what’s the connection? Graduated from the same high school? Go to the same gym? In a bowling league together? There has to be something that connects them other than them all being married.”

“Actually, they weren’t all married,” Jones corrected.

“I was told they were,” I said. 

“The last couple wasn’t. They were roommates, but as far as I’m aware, that’s as far as the relationship went.”

Damn. Did this throw a wrench in my siren theory? Not necessarily. Just because they weren’t together doesn’t mean one of them wasn’t secretly in love with the other. Or maybe they were really close and loved each other in a non romantic way.

“Great. I’m gonna need a list of close family and friends of all the victims,” I requested.

“What for?” He asked.

“To find the connection. You figure out the pattern, you have a chance of stopping it from happening again,” I said frustratedly. How were these idiots not investigating this further? Did they really believe it was just all a coincidence? 

Jones gave me a list of names and I left. I scanned the list on my walk to the diner, trying to figure out where to start and how long it might take to talk to these people. I rounded a corner and ran into an extremely attractive man. 

“Sorry!” I apologized as he nearly spilled the coffee he was carrying.

“No worries,” he said, flashing a charming smile. “No harm done.”

Had I not spent every day of the past three years sharing close quarters with the most attractive man I’d ever seen in my life, I might have been caught off guard and turned into a mumbling mess. But my time with Dean mixed with the quick thinking and lying that was sometimes necessary for hunting meant I was able to keep it together.

“Still. I should have been watching where I was going.”

“Well in that case, I was just on my way to get some lunch. How about you make it up to me by coming with?” He offered. It only took me a few seconds of consideration to make a decision.

“Sorry, but I’m busy. I’m on my way to meet a couple of colleagues for a kind of work lunch,” I told him.

“Ah. Well, maybe next time,” he smiled.

“Maybe,” I agreed, knowing there wouldn’t be a next time. I sighed as I continued my walk to the diner. He was awfully good looking. Under different circumstances, I probably would have taken him up on his offer. 

I walked the last couple of blocks and noted that the familiar black car wasn’t in the parking lot. I went in, found an open table that would fit all three of us, and sat down. I had to wait about ten minutes before Sam and Dean walked in. 

“Hey. What did you find out?” I asked once they were seated.

“Not much. There wasn’t anything unusual about the bodies as far as anyone could tell. The ME did say that based on the most recent body, she wondered if the suicides weren’t actually suicides though. She’s looking over the other two bodies again to see if it could have been staged to look like a suicide,” Sam told me.

“That qualifies as not much to you?” I asked. “I mean, granted it doesn’t really up the weird factor. But what if they missed something else too? Something they wouldn’t know to look for?”

“That’s exactly what I said,” Dean said smugly.

“Whatever. I’m not having this discussion again,” Sam told his brother as the waiter came over. We rattled off our orders to him and waited for him to leave before continuing.

“Did you find anything?” Sam asked.

“No. I do have a list of people for us to talk to though,” I answered. I took the list out of the pocket I’d tucked it into after folding it up and handed it to Sam.

“What, the cops have a suspect list?” Dean asked.

“No,” I snorted. “Whether or not this ends up being our kind of case, I feel bad for the people in this town. Their idiot sheriff doesn’t even think it’s worth looking into. It’s an open and shut case as far as he’s concerned.”

“What’s your list then?” Dean questioned, leaning over to read over Sam’s shoulder.

“Close family and friends,” I answered. “I’m hoping we can figure out what connects them all.”

“Right,” Sam said. “It’s not like we can monitor every single married couple in this town on the off chance they might get murdered.”

“Actually, they weren’t all married,” I told him. “I guess the last two were just roommates.”

“There goes the siren theory,” Dean sighed.

“Not necessarily. It still could be,” I said.

“How?”

“Sirens don’t target married people specifically,” I explained. “They just make you kill someone you love.”

“So you’re saying they were living together as friends but secretly in love?” Dean asked.

“Maybe. Or maybe not. Love doesn’t have to be romantic.”

The waiter brought out our food and we made a plan as we ate. Dean wanted to check out the crime scenes first. Sam argued that we might get more information from talking to people. I wanted to side with Dean because I really wasn’t looking forward to interviewing ten different people, but I had to agree with Sam. Might as well get this part out of the way. We could look at the victims’ houses after.

~~~~~

Several hours and too many interviews full of crying loved ones later, we stood in our motel room going over the information we’d gathered today. The ME had called an hour ago and confirmed that it was flat out murder, not murder suicide. We hadn’t gotten any useful information out of any of the people we talked to today though, and we were all a little frustrated. 

“Alright, well the roommate vics were extremely close,” Sam recapped, thinking out loud. “Which means Y/N’s theory on them loving each other pans out, leaving a siren as the most likely culprit. But how are we supposed to find it? We still don’t have anything that links these people together,” Sam grumbled.

“And why is it killing people?” I added. “Usually they leave the killing to their victims. Maybe we missed something.”

“Or,” Dean cut in, standing up from the chair he’d been in. “We'll find the answers we need at the crime scenes. Which I said we should look at four hours ago.”

“Yeah, Dean. We know,” Sam snapped.

“Let’s just figure out our next step,” I interjected. 

“Maybe we should do some research on sirens. It would be easier to track it if we can figure out where they live, how they make people do what they want, that sort of thing,” Sam suggested.

“C’mon Sam, we’ve spent all day doing research on the victims. Now you’re telling me you want to do more research?” Dean complained. “What we should do is go to their houses. I’m telling you, if we want answers, that’s where we’ll find them.”

“Maybe, but we still have to know what we’re up against,” Sam pointed out. “Why don’t you and Y/N go check out the houses. I’ll stay here and research,” he suggested. 

“Fine. Let’s go,” Dean said, satisfied with this compromise. He went outside and I heard the Impala’s engine roar to life a few seconds later. 

Sam grabbed his laptop and settled in to work while I grabbed my coat.

“Let us know if you find anything,” I said. Sam assured me he would and then I followed Dean out the door.

We decided to split up to cover ground faster. Dean would drop me off at the first house and head to the second house himself. When he was done there he would pick me up and we would look at the last place together.

Dean parked outside the first house, a small blue one with a row of flowers planted along the front of it.

“I’ll call you when I’m on my way back,” he told me as I was getting out of the car. He drove away and I walked into the house, ducking under the police tape strung up on the door.

The first room I walked through was the kitchen. Other than a few unwashed dishes in the sink, it was spotless. I knew the murders had happened in the bedroom, so I didn’t expect to see much in the rest of the house, but I was looking for any sort of clue that would lead us to the siren. I took a quick look at the pictures on the fridge but didn’t see anything that would help.

The next room was the living room which was also clean. A cursory scan of the room told me these two were huge movie fans. There were several movie posters hanging up on the walls, an entertainment center overflowing with DVDs, and a little box full of old movie tickets. I didn’t know how this could be a connection with the other couples, but it was clearly a big part of their lives, so it was worth making a mental note of. Other than that, I didn’t see much. A brochure for a yoga class stuck underneath a pile of magazines on the coffee table. A framed picture of the two skiing was hanging on the wall. I noticed a coffee mug with what I assumed was the name of a local bar printed on the side. I made another mental note of both the yoga class and the bar just in case.

Then I moved on to the bedroom. Even if I hadn’t known ahead of time what happened in here, it would have been pretty clear. There was a bloodstain on the bed and the blankets were rumpled, like there had been a struggle on top of them. One of the pillows was knocked on the floor. The nightstand on the left side of the bed had been knocked over, a picture frame shattered beside it. And there was a second blood stain on the cream carpet.

I braced myself, turning off the part of my brain that wanted to be horrified and turn away from the scene. I looked around the room for any sort of clue as to who the siren might be or where it might have gone. It would be a lot easier if I knew what exactly I was looking for. Sam was right. We should have done the research first. 

After thoroughly searching the bedroom and the bathroom and finding nothing, I made my way back out of the house. I wasn’t quite ready to give up yet, but I was getting more doubtful that this wasn’t something the real FBI should be handling. I stepped back outside and saw the cute guy from earlier walking past. He heard the door close behind me and looked over.

“Oh, it’s you,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he answered as I walked towards him. “I do believe that’s a crime scene you just walked out of. Not exactly legal.”

“It is when you’re FBI,” I told him, pulling out my badge. It identified me as agent Y/N Perry.

“That explains why I haven’t seen you around before,” he said, not seeming overly surprised by the news.

“What are you doing here?” I asked again. 

“I live next door,” he told me. “I didn’t really know them. Terrible what happened though.”

“It is,” I agreed. My phone rang and I took it out of my pocket, seeing Sam’s name on the screen. I excused myself to answer it.

“Hey, Sam. What did you find?” 

“Have you heard from Dean?” He asked urgently. 

“No, why?” I asked, immediately worried. Before he could answer, everything went dark.

~~~~~

Sam’s POV

“What do you got, Sam?” Dean asked immediately upon answering my call.

“Not much, but I think I’m starting to figure out more about this siren,” I told him. I hadn’t had time to gather much information yet, but what I had found mixed with a quick phone call to the ME was starting to clear things up.

“Like what?” 

“So get this. When sirens… put you under their spell or whatever, it leaves high levels of a hormone called oxytocin in your blood.”

“So?”

“So, I called the ME and asked her about it. There were high traces in three of the victims. The female victims. For whatever reason, this siren is going after the women, not the men.”

“Son of a bitch! Please tell me you called Y/N before you called me,” Dean said.

“Why? Aren’t you together?”

“No,” Dean growled out in a tone of voice that suggested stress and frustration. “We split up to move faster.”

“Alright. Well don’t worry. I’m sure she’s fine. I’ll call her now,” I said, trying to calm him.

“I’m going back to get her. I’ll call her on the way.”

Before I could argue that he was already worked up enough and should just focus on driving I heard a thump, Dean grunting, and then the sound of his phone clattering on the ground.

“Dean!” I yelled. No response. I hung up and headed outside. I needed to find a car. Once I had one ready to go, I started driving to the closest address on the list.

~~~~~

Y/N’s POV

The first thing that registered in my mind was the way my body was shaking. I heard a distant voice calling my name as consciousness slowly found me. It took a few seconds for me to fully wake up and process what was happening. The shaking was due to the hand on my shoulder, trying to jostle me into consciousness. The voice was Dean’s, and it wasn’t distant. It was right in front of me.

My head was pounding. I tried to remember what happened. I was outside waiting for Dean. Sam called. Then what?

“Y/N!” Dean said a little louder. I opened my eyes and immediately closed them again, hissing at the pain that shot through my skull from the bright light in the room. Someone must have hit me over the head. Who? No one else had even been around. Except for that guy I bumped into earlier. He must be the siren then.

I felt a surge of frustration at my stupidity. How did I miss it? I knew it was weird that he just happened to be outside that house.

“C’mon. We should get out of here,” Dean encouraged, pulling me to my feet.

“Just a minute,” I pleaded as a wave of dizziness rushed over me upon standing. I braced my hand on the wall beside me.

“What happened?” He asked. “You didn’t answer the phone.”

Once the dizziness passed, I slowly opened my eyes. The pounding in my head was intense, but it was more manageable when I took things slow.

“Where is he?” I asked.

“Who, the siren? Dead,” he told me. That was good news I guess. I didn’t know how much help I’d be in a fight right now. He was almost entirely supporting my weight. Then something occurred to me.

“How?” I asked, looking up at his face. “We don’t know how to kill them.”

“Well I had a machete with me. I couldn’t walk in here completely defenseless. When I saw him standing over you, I cut his head off. Apparently that’s all it takes,” he explained.

I looked around the room, searching for the body, and realized this was the house of the first murdered couple. We were in the living room.

“He brought me in here?” I asked.

“Well. It was close by. And there isn’t much chance of anyone walking in. Made it easy for me to find you, too. How are you feeling? Ready to go?” He asked.

“Yeah, I’m good,” I told him. My head was still pounding, but the dizziness was gone.

“Good,” he said, carefully turning me to face him. “I was really worried about you.” Then he kissed me.

I so badly wanted to be able to enjoy this. I’d dreamed about it so many times but never imagined I’d ever build up the courage to tell him how I felt. Or that my feelings would be reciprocated. 

I placed one hand on the back of his neck and gave myself a couple of seconds to be sure my balance was good. Then in one quick motion I stepped to the side and used the hand around his neck to shove him face first into the wall.

“Ow! What the hell?!” He yelled, clutching a hand to his bleeding nose. 

“Where’s Dean?” I asked, watching closely for any indication he was about to run or attack.

“I am Dean!” He insisted. He held a hand out placatingly and took a step towards me.

“Stay back,” I warned him. I reached into my boot and grabbed the silver knife I kept there at all times. “I know a shapeshifter when I see one.”

He dropped his hands and stood up straighter, a cocky smile gracing his mouth. He started to walk in a slow circle around me.

“What gave me away?” He asked casually.

“A few things,” I answered, rotating my body to keep him directly in front of me at all times. 

“Like?” 

“Where’s Dean?” I asked again.

“Oh, he’s fine for now. Just a little tied up at the moment,” he smirked.

I lunged for him, hoping to catch him by surprise. He easily blocked the knife I had aimed directly at his heart and threw a punch that caught me in the stomach. The force of the blow knocked the breath out of me, but I recovered quickly and slashed out with the knife at the hand that was reaching for my hair. He hissed in pain and quickly withdrew his hand.

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” the fake Dean growled. “You know you can’t win. Might as well save yourself some of the pain.”

My head was killing me and the dizziness was threatening to return and become a very serious problem. I waited for his next attack. I didn’t have to wait long. I saw his muscles tense to move and then he closed the distance between us quickly. 

He reached out for the hand that was holding the knife, trying to force it out of my grip without touching it. I took advantage of the way he focused on the knife to kick his knee as hard as I could. His knee buckled and I used all the strength I had to push him into the wall behind him. I pressed the knife to his throat.

“Where is Dean?” I demanded.

“What gave me away?” He asked again. I couldn’t believe the arrogance. Did he really not care about anything but the fact that I’d seen through him?

“I’m not going to ask again,” I threatened, pressing the knife just a little harder into his skin. “Where is he?”

“Quid pro quo,” he offered. “Answer my question, I’ll answer yours.”

I seriously debated just killing him, but decided to humor him just this once. He wasn’t going anywhere and I’d get the answer out of him one way or another.

“First of all, Dean wouldn’t just sit there waiting for me to wake up. He would have just carried me out. Secondly, he has a scratch on his jaw that hasn’t healed all the way yet. That particular scratch is missing from your face. Third, if he’s not sure which weapon to bring with, he always chooses his gun. Silver kills a lot of things, so it’s usually the safest bet. Also, where’s the body? You said you killed the siren, but there isn’t a body. And as far as that goes, you don’t have a machete either.”

“Hmm. You’re observant,” he said. “Not observant enough though. Otherwise you probably would have seen this coming.”

His hand shot up and grabbed my wrist, pushing the knife away from his neck. He pressed hard on the tendons there until I was forced to drop the knife. Then he spun us around, pressing me up against the wall. He pinned both of my wrists to the wall and leaned in close, his breath brushing my face.

“Now this seems more familiar, doesn’t it?” He smiled.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I spat.

“No?” He mocked, pressing his cheek to mine and talking directly into my ear. “You’ve never dreamed about Dean pressing you into the nearest wall and kissing you breathless? I think you have. Many times. As recently as just a few hours ago.” 

I whipped my head to the side to look at him. He grinned triumphantly. 

“That’s right. I’ve been inside your head. I know exactly how you feel about this pretty boy of yours.” 

I bristled at the way he had stolen Dean’s face, tried to use it against me, and was now flaunting that fact.

“You don’t know anything,” I spat. He just continued as if I hadn’t said anything.

“That’s why I chose you. It was pure coincidence running into you, but you’re a very attractive woman, so I figured I’d give it a shot.”

“Give what a shot? Murder? News flash, you’ve already done that. I’d suggest branching out and finding a new hobby.” I pushed lightly against his hands, testing the possibility of breaking free. That wasn’t an option. He was holding on tight, and I wouldn’t be able to beat him in a battle of strength.

He smiled and kept ignoring me.

“You see, I had to turn into you first to get in your head and see if you fit what I was looking for. It was a shock, of course, to find out that you’re a hunter. But it turns out you did fit my needs, and you and your friends were so far off the mark, I knew I’d be safe enough.”

“What do you mean, I fit your needs?” I asked. I had a plan to escape his hold, but as long as he was content to talk, I wanted answers.

“Well you’re in love of course,” he said.

“So?” I didn’t bother denying it. Like he said, he’d already been in my head. 

“So,” he answered as if I was being extremely stupid. “Isn’t it so much better being with someone when you’re in love?”

I felt my brow wrinkle in confusion. Being with someone? What was he talking about? What did it have to do with murder? 

I felt a wave of horror and disgust wash over me as I understood his meaning. He’d posed as the men the women were in love with and slept with them before murdering them both.

“If it’s any consolation, they died happy,” he told me. “Well,” he amended. “The women did, anyway.”

“So what?” I snarled. “You thought you’d come in here looking like Dean and I’d just take my clothes off for you? Just like that?”

“Well, not just like that. But I figured you’d be willing enough once I had some time to convince you.”

I remembered how he had kissed me before. I assume that was the kind of convincing he was referring to. 

“We still could, you know,” he offered. He brushed his lips gently against mine and I jerked away. “You can pretend I’m him and I’ll give you what you’ve always wanted.”

“Right before you kill me, you mean?”

“Well obviously I can’t let you live,” he said.

“I think I’ll pass,” I said. I drove my knee up as hard as I could into his crotch. He may not have been entirely human, but he still went down as hard as any human man.

I dropped down to pick up my knife, doing my best to ignore the pain the quick movement caused in my head. I didn’t give the shapeshifter time to recover. I immediately turned to him and drove the knife into his heart. He gasped in shock and pain and then collapsed, unmoving.

I rose to my feet and made my way – a little unsteadily – out of the house. I was pretty sure I had a concussion and that fight had taken all the strength and energy I could muster. As I stepped out of the house, a car came screeching down the road and parked next to the only other car on the street. I didn’t know if I could really handle it, but I prepared myself for another fight.

The driver door opened and a tall man stepped out. Sam, I realized when he called my name. And the car he was in was the Impala. How had he gotten it? Sam ran over to me and put a steadying hand on my shoulder.

“Are you ok? What happened?” He asked.

“Where’s Dean?” I asked, ignoring his questions.

“I don’t know. I’ve been looking for both of you,” Sam said. “I found Dean’s car at the second house, but no sign of him. I was hoping I’d find him here with you.”

Just then we heard a muffled banging noise coming from the other car on the street.

“Stay here,” Sam told me, drawing his gun as he walked towards it. I was in no position to argue seeing as the dizziness was returning and I was struggling to keep my balance. He stopped by the trunk of the car. “Dean?”

“Sam! Get me out of here,” I heard Dean say from inside.

“Just a second,” Sam breathed out in relief. He tucked his gun back into his jeans and went around to the front of the car in search of the keys. He pulled them out of the ignition and then opened the trunk. Dean jumped out, fuming. He was down to just jeans and a t-shirt, the shifter having stolen the rest of his usual layers.

“Where is it? I’m gonna kill it,” he seethed, marching towards the house. He paused momentarily when he saw me swaying on the sidewalk and then hurried over to me. He wrapped my arm around his shoulders and put his own around my waist to help me stay balanced.

“What happened? Did the siren do something to you? Where is it?” He asked.

“It was a shapeshifter, not a siren,” I told both him and Sam who had followed close behind his brother.

“Was?” Sam questioned.

“It’s dead,” I said.

“That explains why my clothes are gone,” Dean said irritatedly. “Why is it that we seem to be leaving behind a trail of shapeshifter bodies wearing my face?”

“Well, you’re an objectively good looking guy. Maybe they just can’t resist all the girls they know they’ll get with a face like that,” I teased.

“Alright, well you’re obviously in even worse shape than I thought,” Dean said, half teasing half genuinely worried. I guess I haven’t ever said anything to him before about him being attractive. This concussion was loosening my tongue apparently. “Sam, you mind getting the body? I’m gonna get Wobbly here to the car.”

“Why can’t we just leave it?” Sam asked.

“Because I want my clothes back for one thing,” Dean replied. “And for another, I don’t want to be blamed for yet another set of murders.”

“Good point,” Sam agreed. He headed for the house.

Dean turned us towards the car and the movement caused me to trip a little on my own feet. The adrenaline was fading away, leaving me helpless to fight off the dizziness that I thought had disappeared.

Rather than let me stumble my way to the car, Dean moved the arm he had around my waist a little higher on my back and put his other arm under my knees, scooping me up in his arms and carrying me. I couldn’t be bothered to keep my head held up and rested it against his chest.

“What happened?” he asked, referring to my balance issues.

“He caught me by surprise and hit me over the head. I think I have a concussion.”

“You thought he was me, so you didn’t see it coming,” Dean said. He adjusted my weight so he was able to open the car door.

“No. He looked like someone else. I turned my back to take a call and he hit me. When I woke up he was pretending to be you,” I explained.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he sighed as he gently set me down, careful not to hit my head.

“Why?” I wondered.

“He took me out too. Only I didn’t even know he was there. If I’d been paying attention better, I could have stopped him before he got to you,” Dean said, ashamed.

“Not everything is your fault, you know,” I told him. I saw Sam step out of the house, a large body tossed over his shoulder. “This isn’t on you. And it doesn’t matter anyway. It’s over.”

I could tell he didn’t agree with me and he would beat himself up over this for a while. But he left to open the trunk for Sam and I was too exhausted to try and convince him otherwise.

~~~~~

An hour later Sam was watching over me while Dean went to take care of the body. I sat on the lumpy couch and held a bag of frozen peas to the back of my head in an attempt to bring down the swelling. I’d taken Ibuprofen as soon as we got to the motel and both the headache and the dizziness were slowly starting to fade. I’m sure finally sitting still helped the situation too.

“Why do you think it killed them?” Sam wondered aloud. “I mean, how did he choose his victims?”

“He chose women that he considered beautiful and that were in love. He turned into the man they loved and when he was done with them, he killed them,” I answered even though he hadn’t actually been expecting an explanation.

“He told you?” He asked, surprised.

“In way too much detail,” I said.

He was quiet for a moment.

“You know what I don’t get? If it wasn’t a siren then where did the oxytocin come from?” 

“The what?” I asked.

“Oxytocin. It’s a hormone that sirens infect you with,” he explained. “Actually, Dean was on his way to warn you when he got ambushed. I told him that all the women had high levels and so it looked like they were the ones being targeted.”

My face drained of blood at the reminder of what that thing had done to those women. Of what he’d tried to do to me.

“I know what it is,” I told him. “And it’s not specific to sirens. It’s a naturally occurring hormone in the body. Ever heard of the love hormone?” At his nod I continued. “It occurs during childbirth, breastfeeding… and sex. That’s why he wanted women that were in love. He said it’s so much better that way.” 

Understanding showed on his face alongside a mix of horror and protective anger.

“Y/N… he didn’t?”

“No,” I assured him quickly. “Not me anyway. I figured out what he was too quickly.”

Relief replaced the other emotions on his face and he stayed silent as he processed this new information. Then he wrinkled his brow in confusion.

“You said he chose women that were in love,” he said.

“Yeah,” I confirmed.

“So why did he go after you?”

I was practiced enough at hiding my feelings for the older Winchester from both brothers that I didn’t even have to hesitate to come up with an explanation.

“I guess he found me attractive. Per his usual pattern, he turned into me to see if I was in love with anyone and found out pretty quickly that I’m a hunter.”

“Then why did he turn into Dean?” He asked.

“He was pretending to rescue me,” I answered.

“Right, but why? What’s the point? If he wanted you dead, he had the chance. There was no reason for him to mess with you that way.”

I didn’t have a reasonable explanation for this, so I stayed quiet.

“He wasn’t just going after you because you’re a hunter. You fit the profile he was after and he wanted to-” he cut himself off and considered his wording. “He wanted to… complete his usual pattern. Because you’re in love with Dean,” he surmised, smiling a little bit at this conclusion. 

I decided silence was the best option here. I couldn’t possibly contradict his completely accurate deduction. I wouldn’t outright confirm it for him, but I wasn’t going to deny what we both knew to be true.

“Y/N.”

More silence.

“Tell me I’m wrong and I’ll drop it,” he promised. I sighed.

“You know you’re not,” I told him.

“Then why don’t you do something about it?” He asked.

“There’s nothing to do about it,” I answered. “He doesn’t see me that way. And that’s fine. I’ve accepted it.”

“How do you know he doesn’t feel the same if you don’t tell him?”

“Sam, I’m really not in any condition to do anything to you right now, but I swear if you say anything to him, there’s going to be hell to pay in a couple of days,” I warned.

“I’m not going to say anything,” he said, offended by my assumption. “But I really think you should tell him. You guys are so great together. I think you would be good for each other. And I would be very happy for you.”

“Thanks, I guess. My head hurts too much to even consider thinking about this right now,” I told him.

“Alright, fine. I’ll let it go,” he conceded. “For now.”

“That’s all I ask.”

After that we sat in companionable silence while we waited for Dean to get back. Sam turned the TV on. I closed my eyes to block out the light and just listened to it, finding it to be a suitable distraction from the day’s events.

Dean got back probably twenty minutes later by my estimation.

“Hey, how are you doing?” He asked as soon as the door was shut behind him.

“A little better,” I told him. 

“Good,” he said. He took the peas from my hand and gently felt the lump that had formed on the back of my head. “I think the swelling might actually be going down a little bit.”

He took the now room temperature peas to the freezer and switched them out for a fresh bag. He handed it to me and then sat down beside me, putting his arm around me. 

“Is this ok?” He asked. He didn’t know the details that Sam did about the shapeshifter’s intentions, but he knew that I had been attacked today by a guy wearing his face. 

“You don’t have to tiptoe around me,” I told him. “I know it wasn’t you. For the record, I knew the whole time it wasn’t you. I’m fine. I’m not traumatized and I’m not afraid of you.”

“A simple yes would have been fine,” he teased, pulling me closer into his side.

Movement from Sam’s direction had me glancing at him. He just smiled at me, looking meaningfully at Dean and then winking at me. I would have rolled my eyes if the action wouldn’t hurt my head. Instead I pointedly looked away from him. Things with me and Dean were fine the way they were. I wasn’t going to mess it up now just because Sam knew about my feelings.

A romantic relationship with Dean was something I wanted, but not something I needed. This right here – sitting together with my two best friends, knowing that even though I was temporarily unable to defend myself should it be necessary I was still safe and protected – this was all I needed. At least, that’s what I’d continue to tell myself.

Chapter 2

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