#just one man’s past coming back to haunt him after he stripped himself of his own humanity

[s0fter-sin]

what i would give for a ghost based cod campaign. can you imagine if they pulled from the comics and had roba come back and want to get revenge against ghost for destroying his empire? the 141 slowly learning about simon riley and banding together to kill his ghost?

ghost being so certain he killed roba to set up an unreliable narrator; taking this unfathomable soldier, the nightmare of the 141, and realising he bleeds humanity. playing as ghost through flashbacks of mexico and his torture under roba but in the current time, little details break down; little inconsistencies of enemy numbers or base layout or what people look like, things that you can't be sure if you the player just missed something or if it’s really ghost seeing things that aren’t there

ghost starting to question how much of his memory is real, both what he went through with roba and what he’s currently experiencing; if it's his trauma bleeding through or if he's breaking for the last time. he doesn’t know if he can trust himself ("just make sure you can trust yourself. start there") and he has to reckon with completely trusting the 141 when he realises he can't

i need a sequence of him just losing his shit; hearing roba's voice in his head, his taunting “english” telling him he never left his compound, seeing the dead prostitute and his father laughing, always laughing, the tear of the meathook between his ribs and sting of the scorpions in his flesh, the coffin and the rotting stench of the dark and all of it culminating in ghost almost accidentally shooting soap when he tries to talk him down

whether it ends up being someone pretending to be roba or they just change it to roba still being alive, either way i need a ghost based campaign with personal stakes and character depth

[janiehellion]

Of Curves & Seraphim

ONESHOT

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Finally finding peace in your new home away from Los Angeles, you thought you had left the hurtful memories behind. But when Lucifer returns, his remorse and desire for redemption open up old and new wounds. But, after all, only the Devil himself knows what it means to fall and rise up again.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR X FEM!PLUSSIZE!READER

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: FLUFF / HURT / COMFORT / MILD SMUT

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3.309

MASTERLIST

You were home. Your new home.

It was quiet there, like a sanctuary that kept you away from the harsh world outside. You felt safe here, wrapped in a cocoon of loneliness, far from the eyes of hate and whispers that had hunted you, far away from that city that haunted you: Los Angeles.

Your body, which was a battleground for your insecurities, now seemed to have found peace in the silence of this new place. It had taken you months to build this safe haven and to find comfort in yourself, despite the scars of self-hatred that still came out every now and then when you looked into the mirror. The loneliness had weighed heavily on you, but you learned to accustom yourself to it and to live with it, and frankly, in a weird kind of way, you started to love it.

But tonight was different. Tonight, the silence was broken by a voice from the past.

"May I come in, please?"

Lucifer stood at your doorstep, his usual confidence sincere and vulnerable. It had been months since you'd last seen him; since you'd fled the city, you'd fled from memories of him. He was a part of your life then, a part of the pain, someone standing in shadows.

He was very different now from what he used to be. Where was that Devil you had come to know, the one full of power and charm? His eyes were looking into yours, not with their usual confidence but instead with a rather sincere and vulnerable look, and it was impossible to ignore.

"Why are you here? After all this time?" Your voice was neutral, but your heart was racing in your chest.

"I needed to see you," he said softly, his eyes locking onto yours with a look that was almost pleading.

A bitter laugh escaped you. "I didn’t think I’d ever hear you say that... I mean, it’s clear that you're standing here because of me, but... you know?"

"I don’t think I understand, my dear," he replied with confusion in his voice.

You took a deep breath, struggling to keep your emotions in check. "You never liked me, Lucifer. Why... why do you want to see me now? Out of nowhere?"

He seemed to be searching for the right words. "You’re wrong. The moment you left the LUX and Los Angeles, I realized and saw you for who you really are, and I regret pushing you away. I was blind."

Your eyes searched his face, trying to find the devilish charm you remembered. But instead, you saw a man stripped of any arrogance.

"That night... that last night," he continued, "when we held each other close, half-drunk, and when we were laughing without any care in the world, I saw something in you that I wanted to get to know better and feel closer to me."

He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch your cheek. "Do you remember that night? The night where you suddenly took my hand and held it? I felt a connection that I had been too proud to even acknowledge."

You nodded, the memory coming back to you. "I didn’t want to remember it. I guess I was just very upset in the end, after all."

"Upset?" He repeated the word with confusion and disbelief. "Darling, you were more than upset. You were breaking apart inside, heart and soul, and I couldn’t even see it. I didn't even notice..."

He stepped closer again, his hand moving to stroke your arm gently.

"Why are you here?" You asked again, your voice trembling with hope and fear at the same time.

"Because of the last event at the LUX," he said, his eyes searching yours for understanding. "I saw you there, and thinking back, it made me realize how much I had lost. I saw the pain in your eyes that night—the way you tried to hide from me and from everyone in shame. And I knew I had to do something. It made me think..."

You struggled to understand his words; your heart was torn between the past hurt and the present yearning. "But you didn't do anything, Lucifer."

He sighed deeply. "Listen... That night? Everything was perfect from the outside, but there was no soul, no fire. It was as if the whole night was fake, and I had missed the chance to actually get to know you and understand you."

Silence fell between you, now only filled by your little and almost quiet sobs.

"You understand me truly," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "No one else ever really has. You saw right through my mask and understood the devil behind the charm. So, let me at least ask you: How did you do it?"

You eyed him as you were looking at the man with a face pitied through all times, hiding behind masks and illusions. "I spent time with you, trying to see beyond your devilish façade. I saw the darkness you hide, and not only the anger, but more the pain you carry within."

He reached out to take your hand, his touch gentle yet insistent. “I have spent so many nights regretting my decisions, wishing I had taken the chance when I had it. But now... now I want to make something right."

He had taken your hand and pressed a soft kiss against your skin. "I want to show you how much you mean to me and how much I have come to desire you."

"What do you want from me, Lucifer?"

He took a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours. "I want you to see yourself the way that I see you."

At that, he pulled you closer, and his lips brushed against yours in a soft, hesitant kiss. You felt the heat of his mouth and the tenderness of his touch as he pulled you near, to which you answered with your own lips parting so that his tongue could press against yours.

"You were so beautiful that night," he murmured against your lips once he pulled away a little bit.

You smiled softly, a smile that was half-joyful and half-sad. "No, please don't say that. I... I don't know about that, really."

"No. It was me. I didn’t know," he admitted, his fingers gently stroking your cheek. "But I do now. I want to show you that you are beautiful and that you are worth loving."

His hands moved to your waist, pushing you inside your home, and he soon made you sit down gently on the couch in your living room, his fingers grabbing the edges of your clothing and slowly removing them with care.

When you were finally naked before him, he took a moment to appreciate the sight of your body. "You are perfect," he whispered. "More than I'd ever deserve."

He got down, his lips trailing kisses along your neck, your shoulders, and your breasts. His touch was light but filled with a certain hunger that made you shiver.

"I want to show you how much I need you," he whispered against your skin, his voice a low growl.

Without breaking eye contact, he pushed you back onto the couch and quickly moved between your legs, his eyes wandering over your body, before he leaned in and began to tease you. His tongue licked your clit, and his fingers gently explored your pussy soon after. And he took his time, watching every reaction and every moan that escaped your mouth.

"Are you feeling okay?" He whispered. "Tell me if there’s anything you need. I want this to be perfect for you."

You swallowed hard, and the lump in your throat was almost too big to ignore. "I think... I think I just need you to be here," you whispered back. "To hold me, to show me that I’m not just a burden, that I’m worth something."

He nodded slowly with a small, but somewhat sad, smile. "Darling, I’m here because I want to be here. I want to be the one to show you how much you mean to me and how much you are worth."

His fingers followed the curves of your waist, the curves of your hips, and the softness of your thighs.

"You’re so beautiful," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "Every inch of you is perfect, just the way you are."

You shivered at his words, him being so close and sending a thrill through you. "Do you actually really mean that?" you asked, your voice trembling.

"I do," he said, pulling you closer to him. "You are everything I’ve ever wanted. I see you, not just your body but your heart and soul."

He kissed you again, and his hand cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had started to fall from your eyes.

"I’ve missed you so much," he whispered against your lips. "I’ve missed you more than anything."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. "I’ve missed you too," you admitted, your voice sounding muffled against his skin. "I’ve felt so lost without you."

Lucifer began to kiss you again, his lips now going down your neck, across your collarbone, and to your breasts.

"You’re so lovely," he murmured between kisses. "Every part of you is perfect. I want to worship you."

He continued his slow exploration of your body, his hands moving to your stomach, your hips, and your thighs, before he gently moved between your legs again, his hands parting your legs again.

"I can’t get enough of you." He leaned in, his lips brushing against your inner thigh, before he soon enough pushed two fingers inside of you. "You feel so good."

You sighed in pleasure, your body moving in rhythm with his. "You make me feel so beautiful right now," you moaned. "I never knew I could feel like this."

His eyes softened, and he leaned in to kiss you gently on the lips. "I’m glad," he said, his lips brushing against yours. "You deserve to feel loved."

As the time went on, your own movements became slightly more urgent, your body tensing up. Lucifer saw that you were getting close, but he held back from fingering you faster, making sure that your own pace was his main focus.

"Are you close?" he asked softly.

"Yes," you whispered back, your body trembling slightly. "I’m so close."

"Let go," he urged you gently. "Let yourself feel it."

And you did, allowing your orgasm to happen as you clung to him, your body clenching around his fingers that were still deep inside of you while his other hand held you close.

"Just like that," he murmured. "Let it all out."

You gasped, your body arching against him as the feeling overtook you, but as soon as your orgasm slowly ended, you found yourself wrapped in Lucifer’s arms, your body resting against his and out of breath.

"That... That felt incredible," you whispered, your hands stroking his back. "Thank you for making me feel this way."

Lucifer smiled down at you. "Let me take care of you some more then."

He carefully got up from the couch after he pushed himself away from you. "Come with me," he said, extending his hand to you.

You took his hand, allowing him to guide you to the bathroom.

"How about you enjoy a bath?" Lucifer asked.

You nodded, and soon enough, he helped you into a hot bath, the warm water relaxing your body.

"I want you to relax," he said, his voice gentle as he ran his fingers through your hair before he sat on the edge of the tub, his hands gently massaging your shoulders. "You deserve to feel this way," he said. "You’ve been through so much, and you need to know that you’re loved."

His hands moved carefully, not wanting to hurt you, kneading away the knots and tension in your muscles, and his fingers were applying just the right amount of pressure to make you feel calmer and cared for.

"You’re so strong," he murmured. "I know you’ve had to deal with a lot, but you’ve come through it all with such grace, you know?"

You sighed, your eyes opening up to meet his gaze as you looked over your shoulder at him. "It hasn’t always been easy," you admitted. "But having you here by my side again makes everything better right now."

Lucifer smiled, reached for a washcloth, and gently began to wash your body, making sure every touch was soft and comfortable on your skin. "I want you to know that every part and every inch of your body is perfect to me."

Once he had finished washing you, he took a dry towel and carefully patted your skin dry after guiding you out of the bathtub. He took your hand and guided you back to your couch in the living room.

"Let me quickly get something from your kitchen. I’ll be right back," he said, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before leaving the room.

He returned a few minutes later with a tray of treats: fresh fruit, chocolate, and a cup of warm tea, setting it down beside you on the coffee table.

"I thought you might enjoy a little snack, so I robbed your fridge," he said with a laugh. "And don't you dare to refuse the chocolate."

As you reached for a piece of chocolate, you couldn't help but listen to the thoughts that were coming back to your mind.

"I shouldn't be eating this," you mumbled, staring at the chocolate in your hand. "It's no wonder I look the way I do. Disgusting."

Lucifer's eyes suddenly snapped to yours, showing a hint of anger. "Don't say that."

But you ignored him, unable to stop. "Look at me, Lucifer. I'm not like those perfect women you see every day. I'm... I'm fat. Ugly. Who would even want this?" You gestured at your body with disgust.

His jaw tightened, and he sat down on the couch as well. "Stop it."

But you couldn't simply stop. All the self-hatred you had kept hidden away came out. "No! I hate my body! I hate the way my stomach looks when I sit down. I hate my thighs, my arms, and my face. I hate the way clothes fit me or don't fit me. I'll never be good enough, whether I lose weight or not. I'll always be the fat girl that people look at with pity or disgust. The doctors? They tell me I'm all healthy, sure, but others? They don't! They judge me beforehand, and you know what? They're right!"

Lucifer's expression darkened, and he gripped your shoulders tightly to make you look at him. "Listen. You are not disgusting. You are not ugly. And you are not unworthy of love."

You let out a bitter laugh, and the tears are now rolling down and over your face. "And how can I see anything good when all I see is failure? Imperfection? Worthlessness?"

Lucifer's grip tightened even more, just slightly, his eyes burning. "You are human. You have imperfections, but those are what make you human, what make you... you! And I love you for all of it. Every single inch of your body."

"Stop it! You don't love it! I hate my stomach. I hate how it folds and feels. I hate how it looks when I sit down and how it spills over my jeans. I hate my thighs—how they touch and rub together, how they look when I walk. I hate my arms—how flabby and big they are; how I can't wear sleeveless tops without feeling like everyone is staring at them, laughing their asses off!"

You inhaled and exhaled deeply, but the words kept coming. "I hate my face—how round it is, how I have this damn double chin that never goes away no matter how much weight I lose! I hate my stretch marks, my cellulite, and all these fucking things that remind me every single day that I'm not good enough! I hate that when I look in the mirror, all I see is someone who doesn't deserve to be loved! Someone who's only ever been judged and hated because of how they look! And I deserve it!"

Lucifer's eyes narrowed, but he didn't interrupt you yet. He let you get everything out, his hands still holding you by your shoulders.

"And you know what else?" You continued, your voice rising. "I hate that I'm constantly comparing myself to others. I hate that I'm always thinking about my weight, about calories, and about how many I'm actually eating, even though I know that a piece of chocolate won't do me any damn harm! I hate that I can't just enjoy any kind of food without feeling guilty about it! I hate that no matter how hard I try, I always end up back here, hating myself!"

Tears streamed down your face now, and your voice broke. "I hate that I'm trapped in this body. I hate that I can't escape it, that I can't just rip it off and be someone else. I hate that every time I look at myself, I see failure. A worthless fucking loser. Someone who's not worthy of love, happiness, or anything that's good. I hate that I'm always going to be the fat pig. The pig everyone looks at with hate and disgust. Do you know what it’s like to hate every inch of your own body? Of yourself?" You continued while you still held the piece of chocolate in your hand that was slowly melting already. "To look in the mirror and despise the reflection that's staring back at you? You know... worthlessness? It’s not just a feeling; it’s a daily reality to me."

"Stop," Lucifer commanded, but you were too far gone to even listen to him anymore.

"No, you need to understand, Lucifer! I’ve spent my whole life being told I’m not good enough because of how I look! I’m too fat, too ugly, and too much of everything that no one likes! And I can’t escape it."

Lucifer finally let go of your shoulders and clenched his fists, his frustration now boiling over and his true self showing through.

"Enough!" he yelled, the living room seeming to darken due to his anger. "Do you think you’re the only one who knows what self-hatred feels like? Do you think I’ve never looked in the mirror and despised the creature that's staring back at me? The Devil, condemned to eternal damnation, hated by everyone, including myself!"

His sudden angry outburst shocked you into silence, your sobs stopping slowly as you looked at him a bit in fear. And you knew that you truly looked at the Devil for the first time at that moment.

"For millennia, I’ve been the symbol of sin, the embodiment of everything vile! I’ve carried the weight of my Father’s rejection and of my own choices, and it’s left scars deeper than Hell itself!"

He roughly cupped your face. "You need to understand. You’re not alone in this. Your pain, your self-hatred—I get it! I understand it! I’ve lived it, and I still do. And it’s why I can tell you with absolute certainty that you’re worth so much more than you believe!"

You shook your head, still feeling trapped in your despair. "How can you even say that?"

"Because I see you," he whispered, finally calming down again. "And I feel you."

He kissed your forehead, holding you closer now.

"And you know," Lucifer said, "sometimes it takes the Devil to understand what it means to struggle with one’s own nature. Sometimes, it’s the fallen who see the truth of what it means to rise again."

[friendlylocalwhumper]

“Yes.” | “Kneel.” | Best of Three | Correspondence | Appraisal | Collapse | Cupcake | Foggy | Cracking | Just Breathe | Urge | Trim | Stupid | Upkeep | Old Defeat | Watching | Simple Loyalty | Overreaction | Set Up for Failure | Burning | Healed Wrong | Haunted | Boxes Buried | Heavy Blow | Loneliness

“Come on. Over here.”

Head throbbing a little from his sobbing last night, Major grumbles something under his breath and shuffles his socked feet along to follow. Simon’s hand around his wrist is warm, and he knows what that means. Simon was sitting, on the couch probably, hands wedged under his thighs for pressure. Holding the urge in, trying to be patient. To give Major a couple more minutes to lounge in the beanbag chair and nap.

Now, there has to be pain. For like, less than an hour, probably. And he might get to heal it after. Major swallows past a lump in his throat and makes sure not to be slow enough that Simon will have to actually drag him along.

They pass through the hall and into the kitchen. There’s a power strip plugged into the wall, and plugged into that is something pretty normal to be in a house. Normal, safe if you use it right, not anything fucking weird like a whip or a blindfold or a knife.

It has him stopping suddenly, though, and his socks slide over the linoleum floor before he manages to lock his elbow behind the door frame and stop himself hard enough to stop Simon too.

The man whips around, startled by the sudden interruption to his plan. A few strands of hair have come loose from his bun, and one of the sleeves of his cardigan is bunched up while the other hangs loose down to the wrist. “What, Cupcake? You don’t even know what it’ll be.”

Major glares pointedly at the iron. At the little red light glowing to indicate that it is on, and it has reached the right temperature. Air comes off it in little waves, the heat distorting the air conditioned coolness around it.

Simon looks, too, and then pulls up his other sleeve, idly restless. “Okay, yeah. I know. But listen. It’ll be quick, this one. Just real quick and then it’s over.”

He’s seen Simon like this before. Almost desperate to satisfy the urge, but aware that this weird almost-friendship is fragile.

“What if I let you heal it, after… I don’t know, an hour?”

Scar-thick fingers grind against each other with stress. Major grits his teeth, gaze switching from the iron to Simon and back again.

“Ten minutes? You can heal it after ten minutes. I just need to see it, to… I’ve been thinking about it.” He’s all but drooling. Shifting where he stands, inching back toward the table with the cord, flexing his hands. “Come on, Cupcake. Please.”

It’s not fucking fair. Being asked to take something he wouldn’t ever take, not even to save the life of someone he really liked. Not even for a hundred dollars and some good liquor. Major huffs an agitated breath out of his nose. Reaches up to scratch at his soft-and-not-itchy curls, and then buries his fingers into them, pulling as he thinks.

“Burning, I don’t… I don’t do that, I can’t take that,” Mutters the captive, awkwardly avoiding looking at Simon’s eagerly listening face, now. “I’ll do sh-, stuff, I’ll do stuff you want, you know, but… you can like, stab me, or something?” What else would be good to offer? There are no ideas in his head. “Or, uh - beat me up, again? I dunno, is there anything else you want?”

He’s bouncing on his heels. Simon is full of energy, bursting with it. “No. Nothing else. Just real quick, I was picturing it here…” Major jerks back from the finger jutted his way, though he forces himself to fall still and lets the fingertip trace a circle on his chest. “In the center. Won’t hold it there for too long. You can take it, I know you can. Probably won’t even hurt as bad as the first burns you got, there. I know there’s scars in the way.”

Under his T-shirt, those scars itch. Major twitches. “...Ten minutes? And then I can heal?”

That grin spreads instantly. “Yeah. Yes. Ten minutes. Come on, come on!”

He’s being yanked along again. Major feels dizzy as he’s sat on the floor, and Simon pulls the iron down to sit there, too, with the appliance held in a tight grip. “Down here, so if you pass out, you don’t hit your head on the way down.”

Major grunts, bracing his palms on the linoleum. “Thanks a bunch.”

Simon flashes a smile, and it soothes Major’s nerves a little. Feels like he did a good thing, earning that smile.

The heat touches him before the metal is even close enough to do any damage. Major shifts an inch back, mouth already hanging open to pant nervously. “Don’t - don’t…” His pleading is aimless, half-hearted.

“Shh, you’ll be fine. You can take it.” Simon’s eyes are locked onto the scars across Major’s chest and the heat rippling through the air as the iron approaches its target.

Major watches him, his headache worsening with the tension in his jaw.

It’s too warm. Sweat is starting to slick Major’s skin. His fingers feel like they’re sticking together, air is too dry and lodging in his throat, his thighs ache from tensing up.

The iron makes contact. It feels cold for the duration of his startled gasp, and then Major loses all sense of his limbs, his head, everything except the point of contact between the metal and his chest.

With the familiar, all-consuming agony that erupts from his core and won’t go away for an eternity of ten minutes, Major feels himself careening back into the cellar. Lying on his back, shivering under a sheen of sweat for hours, only for glowing hands to return and fire to erupt across his tattoos, consuming the sloppy inked lines and erasing them. It was the worse pain of his life. It’s back, it’s going to burn a hole through him. It will never end. He’d cut off an arm to stop it, he’d kill his boyfriends, he’d beg and cry and nuzzle and be any-fucking-thing that any-fucking-one wanted him to be.

The iron peels away. Major wails, lifting his hands only to keep them hovering inches away from his chest. His head tips down to look and then just as urgently turns up, his stomach turning at the thought of seeing the damage. He doesn’t want to see. He doesn’t want to know.

Something presses to the back of his head and between his shoulder blades. Major doesn’t remember closing his eyes but he decides to trust without cracking them open, and allows himself to lean back, pressing to the hands as he is guided to lie down. The linoleum floor is soothing, cool against his skin.

The fingers carding through his hair are even more of a comfort. Is his skin blackened? Is it pink, an open wound, the skin gone? He doesn’t know. The pain is so bad, he can’t feel anything specific at all. But Simon is here, leaning over him, watching closely. Nothing new will happen, it’s done. Simon does what he says he will, and then it’s over, and things get less painful.

“Nine more minutes,” Murmurs that familiar voice, and it may as well be a voice from the sky telling him how things were destined to go. It’s true, it’s honest and it’ll really happen. Major’s been slipping in and out of consciousness under Simon’s fists enough times to know that his countdowns are straightforward. When he says it’s done, it’s done.

He can’t last nine minutes.

“Eight.”

Eight minutes. He can’t last eight more minutes.

The fingers in his hair curl so that short nails can scratch along his scalp, following and brushing against the curls. Major’s heavy breathing stutters and trips over itself.

The countdown continues, and every time Major almost begs for it to end, Simon does something. Something so small, but just… it makes it bearable. Just barely, just enough. Smoothes his hair back, or makes a distracting comment, or - at the two minute mark, he grips onto Major’s hand so fucking hard that he gasps, and for half a second, he forgets the burn.

“And… done.” Simon sounds somber about his amusement having to end, but without delaying any more, he pats Major on the shoulder. “Okay, Cupcake. Go ahead, heal it up.” The dismissive pat turns into a squeeze over the joint, just a brief one. “And thanks. You did great.”

taglist: @morning-star-whump , @lthrboy, @apokolyps, @paperprinxe , @vampiresprite,

@wollemi-whump, @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees , @whumps-and-bumps , @defire, @notactuallyluska

[berryhobii]

Class In Session(jhs x reader)

Pairing: DanceInstructor!Jung Hoseok x Stripper!Black!Female!Reader

Word Count: 7.8K+

Warnings: infatuated and sweetly in love Hoseok and reader, they’re both so adorable in this, hints of self deprecation, mentions of objectifying women/strippers, mentions of stripping being a shameful job, mentions of reader having previously toxic relationships(I don’t go super in detail), lying, feelings of inadequacy, lots of sad tears and happy tears🩵

A/N: I’m here with the first part of my Hoseok x stripper!reader story. Thanks for everyone who’s been waiting. This story turned out a little more emotional than I thought but after watching Hoseok’s documentaries, I’ve been really in my feelings about him😭he’s just seems so sweet and genuine which I tried to convey here. Aside from that, the smut will be in Part 2 that I’ll upload at the same time as this so don’t worry. I couldn’t not write a stripper story and not include some sexy pole dancing and super nasty smut so please read that as well! As for reader, while I don’t explicitly mention it too much, reader is on the short side, has dark brown skin and has almond shaped eyes. Reader is also wearing wigs; a burgundy one and a gray one. I’m pretty sure that’s it! As always, criticism is welcome and please don’t hesitate to tell me what you think. Until next time!🩵🩵much love

Read the smut for this couple here!

~

When Hoseok first laid eyes on you, he thought two words and two words only.

Hot Damn.

His hip hop dance class was about to start, his smile bright as he greeted his students and a few people who worked at the community center. He’s only been teaching for about 6 months but everyone had been so kind and welcoming, always inviting him to join them for drinks or to the recitals at the children’s center. He loved surrounding himself with so many people who loved dance just as much as him. He got to see all types of styles at different levels of experience and it was truly eye opening. He particularly loved the ballet class. How did they stand on their toes like that? He wished he knew how to do that.

Just as he was about to enter his dance studio, a voice calling his name stopped him.

“Hobi hyung!”

He turned, catching sight of Jungkook, one of the art volunteers. He’s helped paint all of the murals inside each studio and his class were currently creating pieces for an upcoming exhibition. Hoseok’s seen some of the work and must he say, these people were incredibly talented. One painting was a portrait that looked exactly like a photo. It was breathtaking.

“Hey Jungkook. What’s up?”

“Did you hear about the new class opening in Studio B?”

He had overheard it during breaks but he didn’t know much about it. Whatever it was, he was sure it would be interesting. There were still so many styles of dance the center didn’t have so he was excited to know what kind of class it was.

“No I haven’t. Is today the first class?”

Jungkook’s cheeky smile scared him a little. The tatted man could certainly be on the mischievous side. He scared the pants off Hoseok and many others during their haunted house last year and continued to wear the ghost mask to randomly frighten Hoseok for another week.

“Yeah. Wanna go check it out?”

Well, Hoseok’s class didn’t start for another half hour. He just liked to come a little early to set up the music and look through footage of past classes to know what his students need to work on.

“Sure.” He dropped his bag in his classroom before following Jungkook back through the lobby and down another hallway. Nothing really looked out of the ordinary.

Then they reached Studio B, the wall made of glass so that you could look right inside and what he saw made his jaw drop hard enough to hurt.

Poles. A bunch of them all spread apart so that everyone had enough space.

And on the pole at the front of class was a person spinning on it upside down, legs dropped in a split. When their stilettos hit the ground, loosely curled burgundyhair whipping up and settling over their shoulders, almond shaped eyes meeting his through the glass….

Hot Damn.

“She’s smoking, right? I met her last week and she was wearing these tiny shorts that made her ass look fantastic.”

The shorts you were wearing now was making it look just as amazing. He could only imagine what Jungkook saw last week.

Your long legs looked like they stretched on for miles, ankle bootie stilettos were on your feet and your outfit was comprised of tiny sparkly spandex shorts with a matching bra.

Your clothes allowed him to appreciate the beauty of your lustrous skin, an expanse of dark umber. It was like the sun spent a little more time adoring you.

Hoseok doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone so……majestic.

“She’s……woah.” He breathed out.

You must have read his lips because you flashed him a smirk, your red stained lips reminding him of the sweetest berries. He wondered how they tasted….

“Let’s go in and introduce ourselves.” Jungkook suddenly said, steering to the open door.

It took a few seconds for Hoseok’s brain to understand his native language, his eyes blinking frantically as he finally processed what Jungkook said.

“Wait what?” He gasped, rushing after the man who was already in the room. You had just caught him staring at you. As if that wasn’t embarrassing enough, now he had to attempt to not stutter through an introduction? Who was he? A wizard? Only magic would be able to fight through this degree of embarrassment.

He followed behind Jungkook, contemplating hiding like a child behind their mother but then he thought—I’m a grown ass man! Why is he acting so afraid of meeting a new person? Among most people, he was incredibly social and extroverted, always happy to meet someone new. Even his students had labeled him as Sunshine after his bright smile and infectious laughter.

So why the hell were his palms beginning to sweat as he got closer to you?

Jungkook was the first to extend a greeting. “Hey, that was pretty cool. When they were constructing this room, I didn’t think it was to add poles.”

“Yeah. A friend of mine donated these after he purchased an old dance studio and turned it into a clothing store.”

“That’s amazing. I’m so happy for you and your new students. By the way, I’m Jungkook. I’m one of the art teachers.” He held out a hand for you to shake but you held your hand up instead.

“Sorry. Pole grip. Don’t want to get it on you.”

Jungkook laughed. “I get it. I’ve always wondered how you don’t slide off.”

“I’m y/n. It’s a pleasure.”

Then your eyes went to Hoseok and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt his anxious in his life. You were even more gorgeous up close.

He swallowed the block in this throat before introducing himself. “I’m Hoseok. I teach dance.” Stand up job, genius.

If you noticed his stiffness, you didn’t say anything, just nodding and smiling. “y/n, it’s nice to meet you. What class do you teach?”

What class did he teach again? It was hard to remember when your sultry eyes were staring at him like he was the last piece of cheesecake at the factory.

“Uh…..hip hop. I’m in Studio E.”

You hummed. “That’s cool. I learned hip hop back home but I haven’t done it in a while. I’d love to pop into your class one time and watch you work.”

He didn’t think he could handle that type of pressure. He was struggling to keep it together right now. Imagine him trying to dance while you watched. That wouldn’t go well.

He nervously chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah….me too.” His eyes widened at the realization of what he just said. “Oh! I-I didn’t mean it like that!”

You raised an eyebrow, a bit confused by his sudden panic. He just said he wanted to pop into your class as well. What was the issue?

“Uh okay. I’ll look forward to it.” You politely smiled.

Jungkook decided to stop this train before it crashed. “Pop into my class too. We’re doing pottery next week.”

“I’ll do that. I’ve never done pottery before.”

After a little more light conversation, your students began to enter the room, telling the men that classes were about to start. You bid them both farewell with a wave and a polite smile.

Even your smile was pretty…..

~

The next month passed by quickly. You had settled in nicely to the center, everyone had welcomed you warmly and praised you for offering such a wonderful class. You’ve even given a few lessons to some of the other employees.

And you actually did stop by in Hoseok’s class one evening after yours finished a little early. He was in the middle of running through a popping isolation when you quietly entered. He didn’t notice you at first, focused on making sure his students were following him closely. He also didn’t notice how your eyes ran up his tank top clad body, taking note of how his shirt stuck to him and highlighted each dip of his abs.

Hmm.

You stayed until he dismissed his class. A few of them politely bowed to you on their way out, filing out until you and him were the only ones in the room. He hadn’t noticed you yet, gulping down water with his head tilted back. Sweat dripped down his throat, his adam’s apple bobbing with each swallow.

You waited until he had finished his water before you spoke, “nice work today.”

He startled. Well, more like jumped like he was being electrocuted, a small scream coming from him before he whipped his head around to see who had frightened him.

Once he saw you, he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. It was different letting Jungkook see him afraid but for you? Those were not the signals he wanted to be sending.

However, you didn’t laugh. You simply raised a perfectly done eyebrow and for some reason, he felt like that was even worse. He wished you would have laughed. Now it just felt like you were silently judging him.

Clearing his throat, he attempted to alleviate some of the awkwardness. “Hey. Um….what are you, uh, what’s up?”

“I was watching you teach. You’re really good and your students follow you well.”

That put a genuine smile on his face. He prided himself on being the best mentor for his students and having a wonderful relationship with them. They all ranged from a spectrum of backgrounds; single parents, autistic, recovering from injuries, and so many more. And he cared for and appreciated each one, his heart feeling warm at watching them grow and have fun. That’s why he loved what he did��to see others become confident in something they never thought they could do.

“Thanks. They’ve all improved so much. I cherish each one, one’s that have left us as well. I can only hope I’ve made an impact in them, no matter how small.”

“I’m sure you have. Just from my short time here, I can tell everyone adores you. You seem like a very warm person.”

He could feel the sincerity rolling off your tongue, his eyes finally stopping their nervous flickering to meet yours.

Wow. You were just….

“I can see that with you as well. Your class always looks so riveting and fun.”

“You’ve seen my class?” The corner of your lips quirked up, eyes lighting up with a curious glint.

Realization struck him, eyes widening to the size of saucers. “Ah! I mean….well, the glass, and the bathrooms are down that hall! I was just passing by.” He gesticulated with his hands, waving them around and amusing you so.

Cute.

Your little chuckle made heat rise to his ears, embarrassment eating at his stomach. He was totally blowing this! Hoseok didn’t consider himself the smoothest(obviously by how he was reacting to the short interaction) but he just knew he had more in him. He could do better but you were just scrambling his brain, making it hard for him to gather his thoughts. His family and friends would have laughed if they could see their talkative and optimistic Hoseok floundering like this in the presence of a beautiful woman.

Worrying his lip between his teeth, he contemplated asking you a question. One that could possibly make or break your small acquaintance but he felt like if he didn’t ask, he never would.

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to say, “y/n, are you free tonight?” He held his breath, clenching his eyes shut and waiting for your response. Would you reject him? What if you already had a lover? What if you said yes?

After a few seconds, you answered.

“I’m not.”

Store that for his 3AM random depression parties where his brain reminded him of all of the failures throughout his life.

His shoulders slumped, letting out the breath he was holding. Humiliation immediately swallowed his small burst of confidence. Of course you weren’t free. Why would someone as gorgeous as you not have things to do?

“Oh.” He didn’t know what else to say.

“I have to work but I’m free tomorrow night if that aligns with your schedule.”

He snapped his head up so fast that his head could have come off.

You….what?

He must have said that out loud because you repeated yourself. “I’m free tomorrow. Why do you ask?”

Wow. He didn’t think he’d get that far so now he was blanking. His mouth opened and closed like a fish in a bowl.

“Uh….” (Speak idiot! She’s talking to you! She said yes! Ask her out!)

The confidence of his inner voice did not transfer to his outer. He was still trying to comprehend the fact that you actually accepted his date proposal.

After watching him buffer for a moment longer, you decided to speak up yet again. “How about you pick me up tomorrow at 7? Here.” You reached into your dance bag, pulling out a pen and a small notepad of sticky notes, writing something down on it. Putting the pen back, you plucked off the note and stuck it to his shirt. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

That’s all you said before turning around to strut out of his studio. He pulled the note off his chest to read it, finding your phone number written in your pretty handwriting.

A date. He was going to take you out on a date.

He had to buy a new outfit!

~

Hoseok’s first date with you actually went better than expected. After pacing a hole in his floor, he texted you that next morning to confirm. Part just to let you know he was still very much interested and another part to confirm if you were.

He hasn’t been on a date in forever so he spent extra time getting ready, even FaceTiming his stylist friend for some pointers.

“You look fine, hyung. Black suits you(ha!).” Jimin reassured as he smoothed the mask over his face. Hoseok called him right in the middle of his million step nighttime routine. He cared about his friends but he’d be damned if he let their worries disrupt him from preventing wrinkles.

Hoseok didn’t believe it though which was kind of defeating the purpose of the call. “Are you sure? Is this material too basic? I have a black silk one too. Would that seem too pretentious?”

Turning on his humidifier, Jimin let out a sigh. “Yes it would. I’m telling you that you look great. It’s just dinner. You’ve already made an….okay first impression. I’m sure she won’t care that much about if you wear silk or cotton.”

Jimin’s inflection reminded Hoseok on just how anxious he was about this night. He was totally gonna blow it!

“You know what? I should just wear the silk one.” Rushing over to his closet, he began tossing all of his clothes out in search of the shirt.

“Isn’t it almost 7? You’re gonna be late.”

Hoseok’s eyes almost bugged out of his head, wrist flying up to check his watch. Oh shit!

“I gotta go, Jimin!”

Jimin waved, a chuckle shaking his body. “Good luck. Chew some gum.”

~

Hoseok exhaled a deep breath as he stood outside of your apartment complex. He had texted you about 3 minutes ago saying he was downstairs, only receiving a ‘be down soon’ from you in response.

He tried to settle his racing heart, constantly checking himself in his side mirror and gripping the flowers he got you tighter in his hands, the paper crinkling and filling his ears with static.

Why was he so nervous? Was it because he hasn’t been on a date in a while? Or because you were so gorgeous that it made him feel like he was going to combust at the thought of ruining this date? Perhaps both.

While he was busy fussing over his hair, he didn’t even hear the clicking of your heels against the pavement.

You didn’t immediately make yourself known to him, instead watching in amusement as he smoothed down his eyebrows and constantly ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to make it look better. For some reason, you didn’t feel like he was vain. You actually thought he was quite adorable. Despite only knowing him in passing for about a month and hardly exchanging more than pleasantries, you found him very interesting and endearing. You could see his passion for dance, heard about how joyous and friendly he was to everyone, and witness stuttering and bashful side. You wanted to know more about him.

“Do I need to give you and yourself a moment?”

Scaring him was starting to become a little too common, much to his dismay. Was there no end to his suffering?

His body shot up rod straight, turning to face you.

“Ah! N-no! I was just….!”

This was the first time he heard your actual laugh, the music to his ears and the calm settling over the storm of butterflies in his tummy. What a delightful sound.

What was he so nervous for again?

Hoseok’s smile was winsome, lighting up his entire face and sparkling brighter than the streetlights that lined your block. As if the sun was shining in the middle of the night. It warmed your heart.

“These are for you.” He held out the delicately arranged bouquet.

Your eyes widened just a tad at the gift, pausing briefly. The slight hesitance brought his nerves back tenfold.

“Do….do you not like flowers? Are you allergic? Oh man, I didn’t even think about that! I’m sorry….I’ll just…I’ll-“

The feeling of your warm palm touching his hand made him freeze, his rambling stopping in his throat. Lifting his eyes, he was met with the gentleness of your almond shaped ones.

“No I’m not allergic.” You took the flowers from him, cradling them close and inhaling their floral perfume. “They’re beautiful, Hoseok. Thank you.”

“You’re beautiful.”

Fluttering eyelashes and a warm gaze met him, his heart thundering and ready to explode out of his chest.

“Thank you.” You whispered, flashing him a demure smile that could weaken anyone’s knees. “You look very handsome as well. I love your shirt.”

(Ha! I knew this shirt was the right choice.)

Exhaling a breath, Hoseok opened the passenger side door, holding out his hand for you to take.

And you did, your manicured hand sliding into his. He helped you into the car, making sure you were comfortable before closing the door. Rounding the vehicle, he jumped in and buckled his seatbelt, making sure yours was buckled too before starting the car and pulling off.

A comfortable silence settled in the car. Well, comfortable for you. Hoseok was almost pissing himself trying to think of a way to start conversation. The restaurant was only about 10 minutes away and the night was still young which meant there was plenty of time for you two to speak but still, he didn’t want to just sit in silence.

Ever so observant, you noticed his tapping fingers and shifting eyes. Some women would prefer a man who knew how to start and engage conversation at every moment but you were the type that didn’t mind taking the lead sometimes. Men got nervous too and not every man was the best at simple conversation which you acknowledged.

If anything, you found it sort of endearing.

“This is cute.” Pointing to the little air freshener that was clipped to the vents on his dashboard. It was a tiny horse character on top of a macaroon, a surprisingly cute addition to such a suave car.

Hoseok glanced to what you were talking about. His eyes widened, internally cursing himself for forgetting to take that out.

“Oh…uh yeah.” He swallowed thickly.

“Mang is my favorite character too.”

Okay, this had to be a dream. You were already too good to be true and he barely knew you.

“You like BT21?”

You giggled, opening your purse and digging around before pulling out your keys. The multiple keychains jingled against one another, filling the silence of the car.

Hoseok slowed down to a stop at a red light, taking this moment to turn and look at your keys.

He laughed when he saw the multiple colorful trinkets hanging from them; from an acrylic baby RJ to a snow jacket wrapped Koya, all the way to a dragon costume wearing Mang.

“Wow. You really do. And on another note, are you secretly a janitor with all those keys?”

Your hand reached out to push his arm as you both laughed. “Hey, I have you know each of these keys are very important.”

“Oh yeah?” He pointed to a random key. “What’s that one for?”

You studied it for a brief moment. “That’s uh….that’s for…” Tilting your head and furrowing your brows in deep thought, the key suddenly looking very foreign. Maybe if you act like you know what you’re talking about, you’d sound more convincing. “It…” You kiss your teeth before dropping the keys unceremoniously back in your purse. “It unlocks something.”

The belly laughter that left Hoseok was infectious, you joining in and filling the car with the cacophony of your joy. You two were so absorbed in one another that Hoseok didn’t even notice the light had turned green, the honk of a car behind him making him remember what he was doing.

Your body was slightly jerked back, your giggles dying down.

“Your janitor keys got us honked at.” Hoseok teased, glancing over at you again. It was hard not to when your face was so lit up, when your smile was so stunning.

You tsked playfully, waving your hand around. “Don’t blame my keys on your bad driving habits. That’s what you get for making fun of me.”

“Alright alright. I promise not to talk about your ridiculous amount of keys and keychains anymore……” You hummed, accepting his defeat and letting the car go silent again. “….unless we pass a school.”

“You know what?”

~

“My lady.” Hoseok held out his hand again to help you out of the car.

Playing along, you expressed, “Such a gentleman.”

After Hoseok gave his keys to the valet, he led you inside. You’ve never been to this restaurant before but judging by the interior and seasoned smells, you could tell you’d love it.

The host looked up from whatever he was doing at the podium, polite smile stretching across his face. “Ah, Mr. Jung. We were expecting you. Right this way to your table.”

Hoseok nodded, waving his arm to gesture for you to walk first.

You two were led to a table towards the middle of the grand space, soft piano music flowing and was that a waterfall wall? Wow, fancy fancy.

Hoseok pulled out your chair and waited for you to sit down before rounding the table to sit as well. The host gave both of you menus and informed you that your waiter would be with you shortly.

In prompt restaurant fashion, you both immediately opened your menus and scanned all of the choices.

“Have you been here before?” You asked.

He hummed. “I have. It’s one of my favorite places.”

Personally, you weren’t really the type to assume anything about someone’s dating life. Of course, sometimes that history could be useful to know since it could tell you how a person acts in relationships.

A part of you wanted to ask if this is his favorite restaurant because he brings many dates here but that was the kind of self sabotaging you were working on not showing.

“Well, it’s certainly a beautiful spot. Do you have any recommendations?”

It was like asking JLo about the imaginary block she claimed to spend her childhood on; his face brightening, head bobbing as he laid his menu out on the table to point to all of his favorites.

Honestly, you were only half listening to him, completely mesmerized by how adorable he was. Deep in your heart, you really hoped he would remain this way.

A few minutes more and your waiter came back with water, an appetizer that you don’t recall either of you requesting and to take your drink orders.

“Do you like wine? But we don’t have to drink if you’re not comfortable.”

Considerate: Check

“I’d love some. Thank you.”

“Red or white?”

Flipping your hair over your shoulder, you tilted your head, “surprise me.”

“Bring us a bottle of your finest Merlot.” The waiter nodded and wrote that down before asking if you were ready to order. “Yes. Bring us two of my usual please. Thank you.”

After the waitress left, you couldn’t help but wonder how well known at this restaurant he was to have a usual. He must really come here a lot or be someone important for the employees to know him. The host immediately knew who he was and they brought out an appetizer without either of you asking for it.

Your overthinking brain began to race; was this guy rich? Was he a celebrity? Would celebrities volunteer 3-4 days a week at a community center? While money and fame didn’t necessarily matter to you(to an extent), you couldn’t deny it would be a huge part of the relationship you might form with Hoseok.

(No! Don’t start that! Just be in the moment. Worry about all of that after this date), you thought. He’s already made a good first impression on you and there will still a lot of the date left. You shouldn’t judge him too early, especially when he’s done nothing that you would consider a red flag.

For now, you would get to know him better.

~

Conversation flowed seamlessly between the two of you. You talked like you were old friends, new information about each other storing itself in your memories.

You found Hoseok just as charming and happy as people described him. He shared your love of all styles of dance, specifically hip hop and street and you spun tales of some of the best years of black dance history; from the Cat Daddy to the Jerk and even the embarrassing year of the Red Nose. He listened with rapt attention, genuinely finding all of these dances incredibly interesting.

“It’s a scientific fact that you can Dougie to anything.” You informed before taking another bite of your side salad.

Hoseok chuckled teasingly with a light roll of his eyes. “I don’t believe that. I need proof.”

Pointing your fork at him, you dared, “Bet. When we have free time at the studio, I’ll prove it to you. The Dougie is never wrong and it’ll transcend time.”

“Yeah yeah.” He playfully dismissed. “Speaking of, how did you come to work at the community center?”

“One of my friends recommended I join. Her mother used to go there a lot for yoga classes. She said they’ve been looking for a new teacher and that I’d fit in with all my experience. And I wanted something to do on the days I’m not working.” Stabbing the last crispiest leaf of your salad, you brought it to your mouth.

“What do you do for work? I realized I never asked you.”

Maybe saving that piece for last wasn’t the best idea because you immediately choked on it. Hoseok made a noise of panic, grabbing your glass of water and giving it to you. Gulping down your water, you attempted to not look like you were close to dying which was harder than you thought since your diaphragm was seizing and attempting to take you the hell out of here.

“Are you okay?” He asked after you had cleared your throat and was now struggling to get that tickling feeling out.

Wiping your mouth with your napkin, you let out an embarrassed chuckle. “Yeah. Uh, I guess it went down the wrong pipe.”

Those brown eyes were filled with worry but he took your word for it, relaxing slightly.

You cleared your throat again. “You asked about my job?” Your tone was confused, as if you were still trying to process the question and you definitely were.

He nodded though, not deterred in the slightest by your previous display. “Yeah. What do you do for work?”

(Think sis! If you hesitate too long, he’ll think something is wrong!)

Hoseok was truly a great person, so honest and joyous that you felt happy just being around him. Your attraction for him was truly deepening and your hope for a relationship was climbing.

But now that he’s grown curious about your job, you worried that you couldn’t be together.

“Um….I’m a…bartender!” (Yeah that sounded convincing, you mentally chastised.)

It must have sounded genuine because Hoseok took it really well.

“Wow really? That sounds so cool. Have you been doing it long?”

A gross feeling began swirling in the pit of your stomach, all the food you’ve eaten ready to come back up.

Every lie that fell off your tongue pulled that band tighter and tighter until you couldn’t take it anymore.

However, you couldn’t tell him the truth. You couldn’t ruin this, not again.

~

Life following that first date continued normally but with the added sugar that was Hoseok. Outside of the studio, your free time was filled with cute dates; nighttime milkshakes because he couldn’t sleep, long walks along the river which included you almost falling in trying to catch your phone, and even a few movie nights at his place where you opened the world of Wayans Brothers movies like Dance Flick and Scary Movie.

Hoseok would often pick you up on his way to the studio, you always greeting him with some kind of wacky snack you found. Your recent discovery were special flavors of KitKats from Japan. His drives used to be so quiet but now he loved how you filled the silence with your music choices and endless stories about anything and everything.

Inside the studio, you two found time between classes to joke around or grab lunch. Sometimes you even tried to teach Hoseok how to pole dance, only for him to almost hurt himself trying to flip upside down without proper core strength. The way you babied him afterwards made the fall worth it.

And yes, you did prove to him that you can Dougie to everything! He took you out for crepes as a reward for proving him wrong.

“I can’t believe you just did that to classical music.”

“Believe it. And I like strawberry crepes.”

As your relationship flourished so did your nerves about lying to Hoseok about your job. The lie hasn’t come up many times since your first date but the few times he wanted to take you out on weekends, only for you to tell him you had to work made the guilt pile on higher. Seeing how deflated he got whenever you had to take a rain check felt like a punch to your gut. How long could you lie to him about this? Your grandmother always said what’s done in the dark will eventually come to light and you truly believed that. However, how could you tell him? What would happen if he found out days or when months down the line? His trust in you would surely be broken but you just didn’t have the heart to tell him.

You knew you were probably in the process of ruining a good thing for you but the fear of the unknown outweighed all of that. Your brain couldn’t even begin to overthink all of the possibilities and your late night mental breakdown parties seemed to be a lot more lively with the added nerves.

For now, you’d just try to enjoy the limited time you’d have with him and hopefully, the truth wouldn’t hurt too much.

~

When Hoseok’s friends suggested they go to a strip club as a night out, at first he rejected. Now that he was on the track of dating you, he felt like going to a strip club would be a bit like cheating. You guys weren’t official yet so it technically wouldn’t be, right? At least that’s the logic Yoongi used. Apparently, they had already reserved a section without telling him so now he couldn’t refuse. Should he tell you about it first? You told him you were working tonight and wouldn’t be able to talk much but he still sent you a text just in case.

Of course, you didn’t get it since your phone was locked in your locker and your attention was on making sure your lace laid down to withstand all of the sweating you would inevitably be doing.

“y/n! You’re up in 10!”

“Okay!” You called back, moving to put on your favorite platforms and give yourself one more look over in the mirror. “Alright, let’s do this.” You whispered to yourself before removing your elastic band from your hairline, laying down your edges to perfect before exiting the dressing room. A few other girls were all leaving the stage, holding bags with their earnings in them.

“Good luck, y/n. There’s some hot guys out there. One tried to give me his credit card.”

You and some of the others laughed. Honestly, people tried to hand you credit cards more than you’d think. One time, a lady gave you her house keys wrapped in her underwear and asked you to just “sneak in past the kids and husband”. Obviously, you returned all of her things to the friends she was with and wished them a safe travel home. You did not want to be the topic of conversation for her children’s therapy.

The lights dimmed and the DJ announced you next. Since you were the headliner and the most popular dancer of the club, you got solo stages whereas the other women normally had to go on stage 3-4 at a time. Solo stages meant more money and on a weekend like this, you’d probably be able to take a small vacation to relax.

Maybe you’d invite Hoseok too…..that fluttering in your tummy bursted tenfold just thinking about him.

“Welcome to the stage, y/s/n!”

The crowd cheered and the music started. Inhaling a deep breath, you began your ascent of the steps and to the main pole in the middle of the center stage.

Show time.

When Hoseok first laid eyes on you on that stage, he felt a combination of things—shock, desire, a little betrayed, and also a little spark of something else he couldn’t quite place. He just couldn’t believe that was actually you on stage. At first, he thought it was just the few drinks he’s had clouding his vision but once you stepped into the lights, there was no denying. That was definitely you up there.

His eyes, like many of the pairs of eyes here, were focused on your graceful figure as it circled the stage. Your body flowed like a vivid koi fish, velvety and poised. You were a picture of perfection—lovely and exquisite, you were.

Your long legs looked like they stretched on for miles, white platform heels with laces going up your legs were on your feet—your outfit comprised of a baby blue t-shirt styled crop top with a heart cut out to show the expanse of your cleavage. You also wore a matching pair of shorts that barely covered your plump ass along with 2 chains around your waist.

Even through his conflicting emotions, he couldn’t deny that you were the most gorgeous person he’s ever seen in his life.

There was still things he didn’t know about you and that he wanted to learn but that was all part of the journey. He learned new things about you everyday and he wanted to know so much more.

This, however, wasn’t what he was expecting.

When your feet touched the stage, light grey hair whipping around making you look kissed by the moon, your cat like eyes met his—sharp and beguiling, calling him like siren….

He saw as your eyes widened, almost stumbling but luckily you caught yourself on the pole. However, you didn’t have time to panic. You couldn’t waste your turn so you pushed down that building anxiety and just started your routine.

You avoided eye contact with Hoseok the entire time, not even interacting with him when you crossed his group. You’ve worn tiny little dancing sets around him before but right now, you felt exposed and embarrassed. You two haven’t even kissed yet. Now you were practically flashing him and his friends were getting an eyeful too. You’d definitely wallow in your misery later.

After your set was over, you winked and blew a kiss to the crowd, absorbing the cheers. The lights dimmed and you crouched down to begin gathering your money. When you moved to the side of the stage where Hoseok’s group was, you dared to look up.

A gasp got caught in your throat when you saw Hoseok looking directly at you. One thing about Hoseok was that he wore his heart on his sleeve, you could see every emotion painted across his face.

And the main one you saw was hurt. His eyebrows were furrowed, pretty brown irises searching yours. That anxiety you had repressed earlier was starting to bubble back up, guilt making you feel sick.

You dropped your head, quickly gathering the rest of the money, you shoved it all in the bag, probably missing some but you didn’t care. You just had to get out of here.

Shame burned at your chest as you rushed back into the dressing rooms, ignoring the other’s praises and just hightailing it to the bathroom. It was empty, thank goodness, so no one could see you cry.

You had messed up. You lied to him, the first real connection you’ve had seen you moved here. Why had you lied to him? Now he knew and you were positive he’d never want to speak to you again.

Why would he? You were a stripper—you dressed in barely there clothing and danced for money. You didn’t necessarily feel ashamed of your job but it was different when it was just strangers knowing you vs people from your personal life. There was a lot of negative stigmas around your profession. Weird considering people filled clubs by the boat load and had no issue handing their money to the dancers. Then again, societal standards weren’t known for being very consistent.

But still, you didn’t want Hoseok to judge you because of what you did. He probably wouldn’t but your insecurities told you otherwise.

Wiping your tears, you went back to the dressing rooms, going to your locker. You unlocked it and began gathering your things, deciding to call it a night. You’d just tell your boss you started your period or something, he didn’t even know what an ovary was so you doubted he’d question you.

After changing out of your clothes, you bid the others goodnight, ignoring their confused looks and exiting through the back entrance. Your car was parked kind of far. You did that on purpose to prevent creeps from figuring out where you worked, you also often parked in busy garages just in case someone decided to follow you. It’s happened a couple of times and thankfully nothing has ever gotten physical.

You pulled your jacket around you tighter, the wind blowing a bit hard today and making your nose feel runny. You just wanted to go home and drown yourself in all of the snacks your dad sent you from America.

“y/n!”

You froze at the call of your name, recognizing that voice immediately. You couldn’t mistake that for anyone else.

A part of you wanted to run but you knew that wouldn’t be right. You were an adult and you needed to face your issues like one.

You slowly turned around, finding Hoseok jogging towards you. He looked so handsome. Too bad you’d lose him soon.

He stopped in front of you, breathing a little heavily from his small burst of exercise. Your eyes couldn’t lift to meet his, your waterline tingling as tears threatened to rise. Now that he was standing before you, nerves and shame engulfed your entire body. What would he say to you? Would he call you disgusting and demand you tell him why you lied? Would you tell you to lose his number and to never call him again? You don’t think you’d be able to handle that but you knew it’s what you deserved for lying.

“H-Hoseok….I…” You started but your throat tightened up as the reality of facing him began to settle. What could you even say? Nothing would justify you lying to him so it was best for you to just tell the truth and leave before you embarrassed yourself further.

“Why did you lie to me?”

There it was. Out of the billions of things he could have said to you, that was the one question you weren’t prepared for. Hell, you weren’t really prepared for anything at this point.

Swallowing thickly, you began, “Hoseok, I’m so….I’m so sorry I lied to you. It’s just…..I was scared of telling you what I really did because….I thought you’d think I was some kind of bad person.” That was putting it lightly. You’ve been called much worse than that.

He remained silent and you couldn’t tell if that was a good or bad thing but you figured you’d continue while you still had the “confidence”.

“To be honest, I’ve told the few people I’ve met before and they’ve always treated me like some sort of toy or they’ve acted disgusted by me.” Your body shivered at some of the disgusting things that have come out of people’s mouths when they found out you were stripper. You know your job was practically you sexualizing yourself but that didn’t mean you wanted it in a relationship. You were more than your job but a lot of people couldn’t see past that. “And I was scared that you’d do the same.”

Taking a deep breath, you lifted your eyes to lock with Hoseok’s. He hadn’t really made a move since you began talking, his own eyes still looking conflicted.

“And I like you so so much, Hoseok. You’re such an amazing person. Call it selfish but I just didn’t want to lose you. You’re the first person I’ve ever truly had feelings for and I wasn’t ready to let that go. And I’m so genuinely sorry that I lied to you.” You wiped your tears, averting your eyes once again because looking at him was starting to become too much. “I understand if you don’t want to see me anymore.”

A pause. A tension. A silence so thick that you could hear the blood rushing through your veins and your heart booming in your chest.

Hoseok truly didn’t know what to say to you. There were so many things he had questions about and so many things he wanted to say but his mind was still racing from all of the information he’s absorbed within this one night.

“y/n…..”

Clenching your eyes shut, you held your breath. Here it comes.

“Who says I don’t want to see you anymore?”

A gasp flew from your lips, your head snapping up to look at him so fast that your neck cramped a little.

You were sure your confusion showed clearly on your face, your eyes searching his face for any sign of dishonesty. Then again, you wouldn’t be surprised if he gave you a taste of your own medicine. You’d probably deserve it.

Yet that serene smile he sent you would make you believe anything he said.

“W-what?”

Reaching his hand up to rub at the back of his neck, he sighed. “Yeah sure I’m upset that you lied and yeah your job is definitely surprising but….” His eyes seemed to sparkle as they looked at you, full of adoration and sincerity. “I like you for you, y/n. You’re also the first person I’ve ever had real feelings for and I wouldn’t want to lose you either.”

He reached out to grab your hand, lacing your fingers together and bringing them up to place a kiss on the back of yours.

“You’re the perfect person for me. Your job is a little jarring but I don’t care about that. I care about you and I want to be with you. As long as you’ll have me.”

Doubt. That’s what you always felt as you walked in and out of relationships. You doubted yourself. You doubted others. You doubted if you even deserved a tender love, if you deserved someone to call your own.

But hearing Hoseok’s sincere words, feeling his soft hands, and gazing into his eyes, the only emotion could you feel was overwhelming relief.

You were so relieved.

You couldn’t stop the tears, leaning your forehead on Hoseok’s shoulder to which he wrapped his arms around you and tightly hugged you.

“I’m so sorry, Hoseok.” You sniffed.

“I know. I accept your apology.”

He smiled as your body shook with tears. Truth be told, he had a feeling something was off. The way you’d slightly panic whenever he’d invite you somewhere on the weekend or how you’d quickly redirect the conversation whenever he’d ask you to show him your bartending skills. Something told him you were lying but he didn’t want to pressure you too hard. You were still in the newer stages of your relationship and he was trying to be careful about how he approached you. Whatever it is you were keeping from him, he assumed it was personal and that was okay.

While he wasn’t expecting this big of a discovery, he was secretly happy it wasn’t something completely out of pocket like you being a drug dealer or something. A stripper wasn’t that bad especially considering what you taught at the studio.

He did like you. A lot. You were joyous and funny and he loved spending time with you. Those feelings weren’t gonna go away just because of what you did for work.

After all of your tears had dried up and your sinuses had been blocked from the crying, you pulled away from Hoseok.

He smiled that bright smile and teased, “all done?”

Pouting, you nodded.

“Great. Now why don’t we get from the middle of the street because people have been staring at us weirdly.” He informed with a laugh which made your eyes widen, looking to the side to find a small group of people looking at you both.

Burying your head back in his neck, you groaned. Wow, you didn’t know if this night was getting better or worse.

Hoseok squeezed your hand again, your teary eyelashes fluttering at him and he gave you that wonderful smile.

“Come on. I’ll walk you to your car.”

“Okay.” You dreamily sighed.

Hand in hand, you two walked away. Both from the pain and into the future where your lives would forever be intertwined.

[winniethewife]

Believe in one thing, I won't go away

(Basil Stitt x Reader)

Chapter 2: I couldn't love you any better

Warning: angst, Nude shower scene, making out, Oral sex (f!reciving)

Minors DNI

Chapter 1

Words: 1080

Over the next week they seemed to just cohabitate, barely talking, barely able to figure out what to say to the other. Until finally one day Basil had enough. He sat next to her on the couch, tears already coming to his eyes.

“If you never left that day… it wouldn’t have happened. If you didn’t agree to move out here…” “Basil…you can’t change the past, this happened and there’s nothing we can do to change that okay?” she says softly not looking at him. He moves closer to her and gently takes her chin in his hand.

“Do you want out of this? I still want to love you, every day, like we promised, I still want…Us, but if you… if you don’t.” He was staring to sob as he looked into her eyes, he was trying everything to keep himself together but was failing miserably.

“Of course not…Basil you’ve been my best friend since the second grade. I’m not going anywhere. I just don’t know, how to deal with this. I’ve never cared about my looks, I’ll get over the scars. But…” She deeply and relaxes into him seeking the comfort of his shoulder. “I don’t know how to deal with…what happened to me. I don’t know…How to live with myself as someone who…was assaulted.” She feels the tears come to her eyes.

“Oh…My love…I’m gutted…you mean everything to me. What happened to you…it’s not your fault.” Basil said with a whimper in his voice, his own tears still flowing. Running his fingers through her hair and pulled her in closer. wrapping his arm around her “I don’t think any less of you because of what happened, and I’ll be here for you every step of the way, just like you are for me. We have each other…that’s all that matters.”

“Thanks Baz…I love you…you know that right?” She says quietly as she plays gently with his hand, He smiles softly and buried his face in her soft hair.

“I do now…I love you too....You know that?”

“I do now.”

~

She stares in the mirror. Over the last month she has gotten more used to the change in her appearance, it doesn’t quite haunt her like it did at first. Basil slides into the bathroom behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and leans in to kiss her neck softly. A small smile graces her face. This was pretty routine for them at this point, waking up in the morning side by side, she’ll get up first to get ready for her work from home position, He’ll follow her into the bathroom and they’ll take shower together.

“Morning Baz, Sleep okay?” She asks her voice groggy with sleep, her hands running along his arms on her hips. He lets out an affirmative sound as he nuzzles into the crook of her neck her scent filling his senses. They stand for a minute just enjoying each other’s company, before they strip out of their Pajamas and step into the shower.

Basil was always slightly in awe whenever they got in the shower like this, getting to see her like this, every day? He might as well be the luckiest man alive. His hands running along her soft skin, caressing her breast gently, just being close to her as the hot water beats down on their bodies, washing away their worries. Her lips meet his and they share a gentle kiss, he licks into her mouth wanting to feel every inch of her love for him, their tongues tangle in an embrace that had become familiar over time. Basil wrapping his arms around her naked form. A soft moan escapes her lips as he pulls her in closer, deepening the kiss. Basil lifts his hand and holds the back of her head, weaving his fingers in her hair as he does so, letting out a sigh as he finds satisfaction in this moment. After a moment he pulls away and looks into her eyes, and all he can think is how grateful he is that he called her that day, after everything had happened. He softly touches his forehead to hers smiling, holding her for just another moment before they get clean.

~

That evening she was making dinner when Basil surprised her from behind with a soft growl and his arms around her waist.

“Fuck… I love you. You feel amazing, you are amazing…” Basil starts to nip at her neck, a smile on her face.

“Baz do you want dinner or do you want to get in my pants?”

“Can I get both?” He asks with a chuckle. “Come on…My love. I need this. I need you.” He mumbles against her skin, his hands drifting from her waist into the waistband of her jeans, tugging at her underwear.

“Basil, Baby please. I’m trying to make food. You can wait long enough…”

“No I can’t I need you now…” He gets on the floor and surprised her further by pulling down her pants and shoving his head between her thighs. Licking a stripe up her pussy, drawing a shocked gasp from her lips.

“Basil!” She holds onto the counter beside her trying desperately to stay upright as he eats her like a man starved, he was moaning softly, whimpering into her folds. She reaches to turn off the stove, the food was done anyway but Basil apparently really couldn’t wait. Basil’s tongue was moving in and out of her, his fingers rubbing her clit in quick circles as he continues to make the most pathetic and lewd sounds into her, her own breathing gets heavy and she moans.

“Baby…Fuck… I’m close…” She pants as he nips at her rubbing her clit harder, wanting to feel her release on his face. Her knuckles go white as she holds tight to the counter as the waves of pleasure crash over her. Her mouth open in a silent scream as Basil licks up every bit of her release, still whimpering into her folds. As he stands up he pulls up her pants and turns her to face him. She laughs.

“You’re a mess Baz.” She says grabbing a kitchen towel and gently wiping his face as he gives her a cheeky grin.

“I’ll be a mess for you any time.” He leans in and kisses her. The taste of her still on him. It didn’t matter anymore what they looked like, they loved each other Just as they are.

~

Masterlist

Next chapter

[myreia]

Sketches of Times Lost

Day 11: Surrogate

thancred searches for release. if only it was so easy.

thancred x hilda, mentions of thancred x wol (pining for her like a fool). set during heavensward patches. written for ffxivwrite2024. rating: explicit tags: explicit sexual content, dissociation during sex, mildly dubious consent, hair pulling, hand jobs, rough body play, piv sex, fantasizing about someone else. 2306 words ao3 link

notes: hw patches are 2 years after arr on aureia's timeline, so thancred is 34 here. aureia looks a lot like hilda. unexpectedly and unintentionally. i have cursed character design choices. weeeee.

Memory is a fickle thing.

There are good memories and bad memories. Memories that bring joy, that lift one up even from the depths of greatest despair. There are memories that ache, stinging like open wounds, refusing to heal. Memories that haunt, full of regrets that cannot be undone. But memory not just defines a person; it makes them who they are. Who are you, if you cannot remember yourself? Actions past, mistakes made, torments suffered, lessons learned…

The sum of a soul is made of memory.

And yet there are times when he can do without it.

These days he doesn’t know himself. A sad, pathetic shadow of the man he once was. No point on dwelling on all that has come to pass since the Bloody Banquet, but his point still stands—he has changed, and not for the better. Try though he might, any attempt to draw himself out of the dark stupor he is trapped in makes no difference.

The best he can do now is distract himself. Drown out the noise. Numb the pain. Forget the memories.

Which brings him to now, and this small, threadbare room tucked away at the back of the Forgotten Knight, stripped of everything but its essentials. The place he goes to drink and fuck when the Scions of the Seventh Dawn don’t require his skills. More of the first these days, less of the second.

His charms weren’t what they were before.

If he even had any to begin with.

Breath in his ear, lips nuzzled against his throat, and the scent of sweat and ale and gunpowder fills his nostrils. Desire stirs in the pit of his stomach as Hilda embraces him from behind, her breasts pressing firmly against his back. Her arm snakes around his waist, holding him firmly in place as she tugs at the laces of his trousers. He stills, a groan lingering on his tongue, and her palm brushes the growing bulge. She’s stronger than she looks at first glance, broad muscles rippling beneath the stiff sleeves of her leather coat. The harsh physique that comes from a childhood spent scrapping for food on the streets. It never quite leaves you, even when adulthood fills you out and access to regular meals are no longer a concern.

He should know. He is this way, too.

A Brume brat and a street urchin from Limsa. Perhaps they have more in common than they thought.

She drags a bruising kiss across his jaw, her other hand threaded in his hair. A tug on his ponytail, sharp but controlled, testing the boundary. “This all right?” she asks, her voice low and wanting.

He closes his eyes, wishing she would get on with it. No sense in a drawn-out seduction when they’re both here for the same thing. “Aye,” he grunts. “When I said do what you will with me tonight, I meant it.”

Husky laughter murmurs across her lips. “Not bad for a grizzled old rogue.”

“I’m not old.” Difficult to remind himself of some days. Thirty-four is not old, and yet some days he feels the weight of those years in duplicate. Perhaps the Lifestream stole his youth along with his aether, the way it stole Y’shtola’s eyesight.

“Older than me.”

Gods above, he’d rather not think about how much.

“But I know you ain’t, I’m just pesterin’ you.” Hilda’s lips brush his ear, her teeth scraping his lobe as she pulls his laces loose. He exhales a ragged breath, stiff, frozen by her touch, a deep aching pulsing inside him as she slips a hand beneath his waistband and caresses his hardened length. “But if you didn’t protest it so much—”

It’s no protest, it’s a… Gods. He doesn’t know. This is the sort of thing Aureia once teased him for, but somehow when it happens with Hilda the joke loses all its appeal.

“—it wouldn’t nearly be so much fun to say.”

“I—”

She pulls his cock free. Cool air passes over his exposed skin, at odds with the rough heat from the friction of her fingers. One stroke, two—his head fuzzes, the fog of arousal flooding his senses. He groans, a flush of embarrassment creeping across his cheeks and down his neck.

He could come right now if he let himself, and it would do him no favours in terms of avoiding the accusations of grizzled age.

So, he closes his eyes and leans back into her, allow her to touch him how she pleases. Her lips across his jaw, her fingers in his hair, her hand on his cock. She works swiftly, coaxing numb desire from him with every stroke, her fingers some paradox of coarse and delicate as she grips him around the tip and squeezes. Pleasure spreads from his core, sensationless and distant, like the faraway buzz he sometimes gets after the fourth or fifth drink while chasing oblivion with yet another one.

He grits his teeth and clamps his mouth shut, strangling the moan in his throat. It’s too soon to be done with this. Hilda would leave and he would only end up seeking it out again, with his own hands if he must. Perhaps that would be better for them both. Save her the shame of being with someone like him. It’s not serious—neither of them ever claimed it to be—and it was admittedly fun when it started. He can’t say it is any longer. She’s young. She can certainly do better than him.

And on his own, he is free to imagine. They both know there is someone he would rather be fucking than her.

Hilda exhales a sharp breath and her hand stills. “Not workin’ for you, eh?” she asks bluntly.

He closes his eyes, his stomach in knots. “It’s good. Wonderful. Nice—”

“Thancred, if you don’t want to, you better tell me.”

He twists, spinning around, and seizes her by the shoulders. She gasps, ruby eyes wide with surprise, but does not protest as he presses a rough kiss to her mouth. “I’m not here for you to play with me,” he growls, gripping her ass. “I’m here for you to fuck me.”

A wicked smile spreads from ear to ear. “Then get on the bed,” she says, pressing a hand to his chest. “Now.”

She shoves him.

He backs away, the old floorboards creaking beneath his steps, and his knees hit the mattress. She’s on him a moment later, sailing into his arms, her mouth hot and urgent against his. He wraps his arms around her as she kisses him, the fog seizing him once again as her tongue slips into his mouth. She pushes him down on the bed and straddles him, thighs pressed tight against his. Her hips roll once and he arches his back, a moan ripping free from his throat.  

“There we are,” she says, eyes dancing eagerly. Panting, she brushes her long, dark hair out of the way and strips off her jacket, tossing it on the floor. Her shirt follows next. He stares dumbly, entranced, the fog clouding his mind as she doubles over and undoes her own trousers, her arms pushing her breasts together. “This doin’ it for you now, then, eh?”

A flash of black hair, the ends tinged red. Ruby eyes, curious and fierce. The hint of a small smile, the one she saved for him—he hasn’t seen it since Ul’dah. He may never again.

It isn’t Hilda’s fault that she and Aureia look so much alike. What hellish coincidence did Halone have to design to ensure that the two most infamous half-Elezen women in Ishgard would not only resemble each other so closely, but become best of friends?

He swallows. “Aye,” he says, the syllable slurred as he forces it past his tongue. “Aye, it is.”

She peels her trousers down and grinds against him, the slick heat between her legs achingly hot. She bucks her hips again in that quick, succinct way that gets him panting, and flips her long hair over her shoulder. “What else does it for you, hm?” she asks, stretching her hands above her head and arching her back to give him a good view.

His gut twists and he bites his tongue. There is someone he would much rather have on top of him. It feels wrong—dirty, callous, shameful—how easily it is to imagine what she would look like. A fantasy he can barely admit to himself.

Stop it. Get that out of your head.  

“That…” He sighs and closes his eyes. “Aye.”

She stills. “You ain’t even lookin’.”

He opens his eyes. “I did. I am.”

Her hands flops to her sides and she cocks her head, making a face. “What do you want, then? This ain’t exactly the best time for a list of suggestions, but if you want ‘em, I have ‘em. Otherwise, I’m startin’ to feel that you would rather not—”

“I do.”

“You keep sayin’ that, but Thancred, I can tell you’re not all the way here.”

His jaw clenches. He lies back, staring at the sloped roof, the exposed beams. The unlit hearth, blackened and oily and cold as ice. The mattress sags beneath their weight, the bedframe creaking, the bedspread thin and scratchy. How many times have they found themselves in this room, him and her? How many times has he wished it was someone else?

“I’m here,” he says at last. “I… my apologies. There have been many distractions of late. Many concerns.”

“Yeah, I’m sure about that, Scion business and all. I get the same shit from Aureia.” She pauses, her ruby gaze lingering on him. “I don’t want your apologies. Too formal for my liking. Do you want to fuck or not?”

He hesitates. For a brief moment, the ghost of no, I don’t lingers on his tongue. But he can’t say it. His body is aching, he is craving the haze of bliss, the few passing seconds where time stretches out and for once he does not have to godsdamn think. So he does want this (does he?) after all.

Even if it’s not with her.

He pushes himself up on his elbows and kisses her, quick and rough. “Aye,” he murmurs. “What must I do to convince you of it?”

She smirks and trails her fingers across his cheek. “Nothin’,” she says. “I rather like the look of you flat on your back.”

He grins. Hollow, empty, but present.

She presses her mouth to his—breath hot in his mouth, teeth scraping his lower lip—and pushes him down. He falls, willingly, easily, eager to drift. When the unspoken presence of someone neither of them wish to mention isn’t bearing down on them, sex with Hilda is easy. Uncomplicated. She enjoys being in control.

He enjoys allowing someone else to make the decisions.

The fog tugs at his mind, lulling him to numbness even as Hilda takes his cock in hand and slips it inside her. The slick heat sends a pleasant shudder down his spine and he grips the bedspread, twisting it between her fingers as she slowly rides him. He does his best to watch her, keep eye contact, groan and moan at the right time. Her hips roll and his own respond in kind, thrusting up into her with a steady, simple rhythm.

He trusts his body to do what it must, chase the high it yearns for. Maybe then his mind can catch a fucking break.

Hilda lolls her head, her long, dark hair sweeping over her like a curtain. Her gaze darts across the room to the window, observing the shift in light. She slips a hand between her legs and strokes her clit, her lips pressed together as if she were listening to a boring sermon. She shudders when she reaches her climax, the clench sending a desperate spike of arousal coursing through him. He gasps, back arched, and lets go of his release at last.

The sweet nothingness of numb pleasure seizes his mind and for a moment, he coasts on emptiness. Nothing to think. Nothing to feel.

Simply nothing.

Boots scrape against the floorboards. A heavy thud knocks against the bedframe. When his mind finally clears, he finds himself still lying flat on his back, his lower half exposed, his cock flushed and limp and numb. Hilda stands at the foot of the bed, dressed and pulling on her jacket. She casts an eye in his direction and finishes doing up her buttons.

“Sun’s goin’ down.” Her voice is short, clipped, matter of fact. She pulls her hair into its customary high tail. “Best be goin’ now. Said I’d meet Stephanivien. Best avoid him sendin’ out a search party, that would be a whole load of embarrassing neither of us need.”

“Hilda.”

She pauses, a hand on the bedframe. “Don’t need say anythin’,” she says. “I know how these things go. But I think… You need help. Whatever it is you’re going through, I don’t… I can’t be the one responsible for it.”

The words sting. “I don’t need anything,” he grunts, pushing himself up. “Let alone help. I don’t know what you think this is, but sometimes it’s no more complicated than two people having fun.”

She snorts and hoists her rifle, strapping it across her back. “That’s just it, ain’t it? I was havin’ fun. Don’t know about you.”

“I—”

“Remember what I said when we started all this?”

Don’t mistake me for her. Because I’m not.

“I think you need to think about that a little more. Goodbye, Thancred.”

Footsteps on creaking floorboards. A door slammed closed.

He lies on the stiff old bed and stares at the stiff old beams and at last his mind goes blank.

[starsarefire824]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love❤

aw thanks lex!!! <3

I'll stick with Stranger Things ones for this, in no particular order.

Lay Me Down Slow (M, 2/3) It's 1998 and Will is anxiously making his way to a bar to meet up with Mike, who he hasn't seen in over a decade. Emotions run high as he shares a drink with him, and when a confrontation turns violent, it leads to truths being told and the two of them finding each other again. Will POV.

I am having entirely too much fun with this one!!

Demons of Change and Wildflower Eyes (M, ongoing)- High school hasn't been easy for Will Byers, and he's had to live with the emotional scars of a loveless father and supernatural worlds as well as the physical ones from the hands of the bullies that make his everyday existence hell. One night, when he's looking for some peace and quiet Will comes upon one of them and something surprising happens. As he and Mike Wheeler tentatively open up to each other, they just might discover they may be exactly what they need to give each other much needed healing and self-acceptance. Can they survive everything that comes along with that?

This is probably my most obscure Byler fic? But I enjoyed writing it and I liked exploring some different dynamics between Will and Mike. I plan to get back to this one soon.

Death Lies in Wait- (M, ongoing)- Massachusetts, 1890. Max Mayfield is twenty-six years old and at the hand of her parents, settles for a marriage of convenience to a widowed lighthouse keeper. A stranger she'll be trapped with for the rest of her life on a lonely strip of land surrounded by nothing but endless, lonely sea. But, as she settles into her life, and she and her new husband try to coexist, they get wrapped up in a mysterious presence on the cape. It calls to them. It's lulling and coaxing and sings to them at night. Max discovers the secrets her new husband keeps. Mermaids and ghosts of the past come to haunt them.

Madwheeler/Byler//Lumax Gothic AU- Mermaid Will.

Historic gothic au and arranged marriage trope along with sea nymph/ mermaid Will? Idk man, it’s just the type of fic I want to see in the world and I needed it. I can’t wait to get back to this one!

Touch Me Like You Know Me- (M, complete)- Mike doesn't go home anymore, not unless absolutely necessary. Instead, he stays far away from Hawkins, quietly shutting himself off from the world, and burying the pain of the things he never said to the boy he'd left behind. But when his mother convinces him to return home for his thirty-fifth birthday, Mike is finally forced to confront just how much he'd given up when he runs into Will by accident. Mike-centric. Estranged Byler reconnection fic. Soft and Sweet.

I forever be obsessed with Mike looking at Will in this one. The themes just make me emotional and I felt proud of it more so than any other fic I've written I think.

The Pact (M, ongoing)- A pact between Max and Mike gone wrong gets them both unanimously voted out of the Party and they find themselves stuck with each other the summer after Graduation: fighting, commiserating, and begrudgingly discovering they are a lot more alike than they originally thought.

What kind of started as a joke fic, has turned into one of my favorite things I've written. I really liked getting to explore Max in this as I had never written for her before and I just really, really dig the partycule vibes of it. This also was probably the fic I've had THE MOST fun as far as interacting with readers in the comments and everyone has truly made it something really special to me. <3 Especially you Lex!

*ACSoL is my like first child who I'll always include, but can't put it here this time. But delving into some of Will's darker issues in a post-canon setting is what got me so excited about this fandom in the first place and also made me realize Will is my favorite character.

Thank you so much! I'm gonna come drop this in your inbox now <3

[renoxvated]

"You have a lot to answer for!" “Do I? For what? Your greed? Curiosity? You came here on your own, no one held a gun to your head.“

"Might as well of put that collar on yourself."

"Unless you come down here, I'll destroy the vault and everything in it!" Roy's white knuckled, body broken, beaten, he feels so angry and raw like an exposed nerve. Doesn't think he's ever been in a worse situation than this, backed into a corner waiting for the next strike down. It made him feel like a child again, in the worst ways that he thought he buried deeper than his mother’s grave. So he threatens, plays his last hand, his ONLY gamble that he's got left. "No... I don't think so, It'd most likely trigger the other security measures...if you hurt the vault at all. The builder of this casino built it to last, the Sierra Madre withstood the war. I'm sure the vault is protected as well. Besides, you wouldn't have followed the signal if you didn't want this places secrets for your own, you're curious, past the threats." The voice booms, commanding and snide, Roy flinches when the older man speaks, like a wound being pulled open slowly, methodically. Roy's knees buckle under the weight, the PRESSURE of it all. "Forget the vault, the elevator is only a single control box." He responds back, he knows enough to fuck this shit up, he thinks. If he doesn't well he can just bluff right? Anything to just buy him sometime to THINK...god fuck, Roy THINK. He can't, his head is throbbing, so many wounds, but the others are depending on him, hell he's depending on himself, he's going to fucking die here after everything. "The elevator. Then you'd be trapped for certain, no probability of escape." Roy knew that, knew this was a bad hand he was dealt, but...if he was going to die here then he'd spite this bastard. "Throwing a wrench into the works is what I do best." Roy responds back, letting out a laugh, it's pained and he doesn't really find this situation funny, he wants to cry. For the first time in a long time he wants to just SOB, he always thought he'd break before he'd bend and oh god is he breaking. "Even... if you damaged the mechanism...there's a chance of repairing it. It might take years...but it's possible. Persist in threatening me... or the Sierra Madre's secrets, you're of no use to me I'll set off the collar now." The voice booms again, reminding him of his short leash, his collar. Roy hadn't forgotten, how could he with a beeping reminder every time he'd do something, anything WRONG. "I'll clip the wires to this intercom, and then the Pip-Boy." Roy's voice doesn't wavier, even if his body is, he refuses to, refuses to die without a fight even if he can hardly stand right now. He's so glad he didn't bring Rex here, so scared to think he might not ever see his friend. If he doesn't get to say goodbye...would Rex think he abandoned him? Could New Vegas and the strip move on without him? Fuck, fuck, fuck! "Huh, clever. Whoever designed the Sierra Madre... their obsession with messing with frequencies and signals...I'm coming down, I'll meet you face to face at the vault entrance. If you resist, I'll use the collar, even if it puts the vault at risk." The way the man speaks, it was...Roy thought it HAUNTING. Like the ghosts in this godforsaken hotel. Where was Lady Luck now? Was this his only shot? Roy panics for a brief moment, like a dog not knowing where to hide when its master is coming to reprimand it. Roy chokes back the tears threatening to spill, hand grasping a heavy golden bar-- he needed something, anything at all...he was always so good with his hands. Roy moves around the pylon in the middle of the room, he's got to hide, got to wait until that bastard is moving around the corner to come see him. Forget the gold, forget everything here but getting back home. 'I won't leave them...I won't abandon them...' He repeats in his head like a mantra, no a prayer that this works...

Then he spots him, and oh god does Roy feel the RAGE bubbling up, like bile; he thinks it's so red hot that he might puke. Benny mad him angry, made him stupid (more than usual) in a lot of ways, he thinks about in retrospect...but at the end of the day Benny was just a man, much like The Courier, a man Roy could understand...but Elijah? No he was a MONSTER, the kind of man that scared even the Mojave Boogeyman. Roy attacked, teeth clenched into a snarl, maw gaping when the first strike hit, he could feel the splatter against his hand, feel it SLICK against the gold. Roy wants to scream, wants to say something anything to make Elijah feel like he felt, beat him down, break him down, TWIST his bones until he feels the crunch into flesh. Roy doesn't have time, he's already used too much, he hears the beeping--oh fuck, oh fuck, NO.

Roy turns on his heels and tries to run out the door, if he can just be quick enough-- he can do this, he can make it out ALIVE IN ONE PIECE. Then he's pulled back and there's a laugh, like the DEVIL HIMSELF was d r a g g i n g him back into HELL. The beeping is LOUDER, FASTER.

"You... think you've out smarted me? You can't get away, you're the one on a leash, always were."

There's got to be no time left now, but Six gives way to one hard PULL, he's stronger than the DEVIL HIMSELF, at least physically-- then he's outside the vault, as if it's all over, as if it never happened, oh fucking god he's free. He's Free...HE'S FREE. Roy knows how that guy back in Nipton felt. He motions to cradle his face in his arms as he slumps onto the ground, dropping the gold bar as he does so that's in his right hand, he can't stand he's going to be sic--oh. His arm is gone. Roy stares for what feels like hours, it's only seconds, he SCREAMS. His voice howling into the night like a grief he's never felt. He's SOBBING. This is...this is all so much, too much. Then he's LAUGHING, like it's a joke even though his face is affixed into a tragedy. "I HOPE YOU CHOKE ON THAT GOLD ASSHOLE, YOU CAN FUCKING SHOVE IT YOU GODDAMN PRICK." He screams, voice cracking and choking out his words, the others gather around him.

He doesn't remember much, just a crushing agony deep in his chest-- they tell him the hardest part is letting go, they tell him he should leave the gold, that nothing good came from it. He thinks that's all a bunch of bullshit...he let go of more than ANYONE, for THEM. So Roy takes the gold back with him, stares at it long and hard when they've stopped the bleeding enough for him to drag himself back to the Lucky 38. And after all that's said and done? He listens to the radio, searching for an old song, his favorite one. 743.00Hz ULF "Heh… now, come on, you open up. Open up, damn you. Open the vault…! I can make it worth your while, think about what you're throwing away. I have other weapons, other technology I can share with you. The collars… the collars were a mistake, I see that now. Why would I kill you? After all you've done… after all we've done together. Are you listening to me?! Everything down here, I-I Swear, so much you could see! You could rule the wastes with what's down here, make your own army, re-shape the world, and if others disagree… put collars on them, I can show you how. Don't you leave me here! You can't do this to me! Must be someone… maybe that other courier, one with the flag on his back… maybe… no… no, said he'd never come to the Sierra Madre…No way out. Can't… can't end like this."

"You. I know you can hear me. When you die, Courier… I'll be waiting. Your grave's going look just like this vault." If hell is real, if it's a vault in that hotel waiting for him, he'll make sure to flick off the guy waiting for him there, one golden gilded finger waiting for the DEVIL too.

[dp-marvel94]

Face to Face- Chapter 50

Summary: When Danny went through the ghost catcher, he expected to be cured of the ghostliness that had haunted him since the accident, not to wake up on the lab floor with his parents saying he’d been overshadowed but everything’s back to normal now. But why does Danny Fenton cry himself to sleep to then dream of flying? Why does Phantom, the ghost who was supposedly possessing Danny remember a life that wasn’t his? Most of all, why do both the human and the ghost feel that something vital is missing, in their very soul? Or: Trying to cure himself of his powers one month after the accident, Danny accidentally splits himself but neither his ghost nor his human half know that that is what they did

First -> Last -> Next

Word Count: 5,621

Also on AO3 and Fanfiction.net

Soon enough, bedtime came, for his human half at least. Phantom waited in their bedroom, happily devouring the last chapter of their book while Fenton stripped out of his slightly ripped, grass-stained jeans and showered. 

The human returned, just as the ghost slammed the book close. He lifted the paperback, softly knocking his head with a groan.

“That bad?” Fenton raised a brow, a hint of teasing.

Phantom shook his head. “No. It… ugh! How could he end it in a cliffhanger like that?! I mean, did she just die? She just got her sister back and then this happens….” The ghost boy ranted, his other self just watching with an amused expression.

Human Danny slipped into an old tshirt, careful of the now-unbandaged cuts. “I’m telling you, she’s not dead. It’s some kind of stasis. They’ll figure out how to get her back in the first chapter of the next book.”

“The next book’s not even been announced yet!”  Phantom complained. Even so he enjoyed the conversation, glad that their memory sharing had become so seamless. With hardly an effort, Fenton knew everything he’d just read. Ranting to himself about a book had never been so fulfilling.

“That’s what fanfiction is for.” Fenton wiggled his eyebrows. He winced, pulling his sweatpants on, past the cut on his leg.

Ghost Danny frowned, stopping his rant. “Let me help you with that.” He darted out of the room, returning moments later with bandages. 

“I’ll change your wrappings too.” Fenton offered.

Phantom agreed, rolling up his pant leg.

The two sat down on the bed, across from each other. Carefully, bandages were changed. Ghost Danny rolled up his sleeve. He watched as his human half wrapped the three scratches on his arm, a sense of deja vu hitting him. They’d been here before, on the bed treating injuries. The same burn mark on both their stomachs. Except… instead of letting Fenton help him, Phantom had refused, insisting to do it himself. Something in him twinged at the thought, at how far they had some. That moment, realizing that the injuries were the same despite his greenish skin tone, felt like so long ago. It was back before they’d even told Sam and Tucker, back when he’d still been in denial.

“Mom and Dad haven’t mentioned talking about it again.” Fenton said, a perfect segway from his thoughts.

Phantom nodded, fastening his counterpart’s wrapping. “They were busy, talking to Dora. I guess they got so excited they forgot-”

A knock. “Danny?” Dad’s voice came through the door. “Can I talk to you for a bit?”

Ghost Danny sighed, muttering under his breath. “Spoke too soon.” He raised his voice, enough to be heard through the wall. “Yeah. Come in.”

The door opened. The man’s brow furrowed at the two on the bed. “You could have asked your mother or me to help with that.” He motioned to the bandages.

Fenton shrugged. “We’ve got it. Thanks for offering though.” He gave a slight, authentic smile before turning his attention back to Phantom’s leg. 

The bandage secured, the ghost let the pant leg fall back into place. The human boy did the same and… 

Phantom’s stomach twisted, the nervousness hitting. He picked at his gloves, shifting on the bed.

“So… what did you want to talk about?” Fenton asked the question.

Dad approached the bed with a sigh. Phantom didn’t wait for him to ask, moving to make room and motioning to the spot.

The man sat, eyes flickering to the ghost version of his son. His brow wrinkled with parental concern. “Your mom told me about what you talked about this afternoon.” 

Phantom bit his lip. “About… me frost-burning Fenton?”

Dad nodded, gaze moving to human Danny’s hands. “Can I see?”

Tentatively, Fenton opened his clenched palms, healed and unmarked. “They’re fine. Not even a scar or anything.”

The adult carefully examined one of the hands, before withdrawing. “We need to talk more about this. About what happened right after the ghost catcher and the week after.” 

Something in ghost Danny tightened, an impulse to argue. Across from him, Fenton’s lips turned down. He glanced at the clock. “But… it’s almost eleven.”

“I know. I know it’s late and you have school tomorrow.” That worry remained, flickering across the Dannys’ faces. But Dad’s expression softened, understanding. “I’m not gonna make you go into it now. You do need to sleep.” He reached out, ruffling Fenton’s hair with a chuckle. “This you does at least.”

Human Danny’s shoulders untensed, the affection sending a fond warmth through his heart. “Yes, this me does need to sleep.”

The man nodded. “Gotta get that beauty sleep. But…” His other arm reached for the ghost version of his son and Phantom let himself be pulled into a half hug. “We have to talk about things. Okay? We can’t put stuff like this off.”

There was a silent pause. Neon green eyes met their blue counterparts. A wordless conversation.

“Tomorrow.” Ghost Danny promised. “Tomorrow after school. Fenton and I, we’ll… we’ll tell you everything.” Despite the flickering worry, there was no hesitation, no doubt.

Dad smiled softly, holding each boy close. “Good.” He gave Fenton’s arm an affectionate squeeze. “Sleep tight, Danny boy.” He did the same to Phantom. “Let your mom and I know if you need anything, son.” 

“I will.” Ghost Danny smiled softly.

“I love you both so much.” Another squeeze and the man let go. He stood, walking to the door. “Good night.”

“Good night, Dad.” Both Dannys waved. 

The door closed, leaving ghost and human alone. Phantom drifted up, moving to hug his other self from the side. A long, contemplative silence. Then….

Fenton sighed, arm moving to return the embrace. “It’s going to be alright. We saw how well they handled meeting Dora. They were so excited….”

Phantom gave an agreeing hum, his own core churning. No other words were needed, the feelings crystal clear between them. They were still scared. The thought of bearing the truth… it was daunting, intimidating. No one ever really wanted to talk about hard things; it was difficult, no matter the subject matter but…

The Dannys sighed in sync, as one. Muscles untensed, heart and core beating so close together. A strange peace settled. It was going to be okay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fenton went to sleep. He dreamed of stargazing, of cuddling with Blobby. The little ghost purred, kneading into his lab with its little nobby appendages. He scratched under its chin.

Phantom listened to music. He doodled in his sketchbook and enjoyed the quiet night. He watched the stars slowly move across the sky, cheristing his human’s sleepy presence in the back of his mind.

Soon enough the sun rose, its rays bringing the world to life. The ghost smiled, enjoying the light’s warmth on his face. He gave his blob a kiss on the head, eyes crinkling at the soft mewing noise it made. He scribbled a quick sketch, putting on the finishing touches. And….

Danny sighed, feeling a part of himself draw away. He was waking up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Friday morning, Fenton got ready for school before riding there with Jazz. He met his friends at his locker and found the school was abuzz. 

“It was a dragon!” 

“No way!”

“Look, I have a picture.”

Two boys talked excitedly in front of a locker. Lester and Mikey. Fenton remembered them from the few Dungeons and Dragons sessions Tucker had dragged him into. Had one of them been at the park?

“I saw it too.” “Yeah, it turned into this blue, glowy chick.” “The Fentons said she was a ghost.” “A ghost? That’s ridiculous.” “Well, what else could it be?”

Questions, theories buzzed around him. Most thought it was a hoax, a publicity stunt blown out of proportion. And Fenton was grateful. Dealing with questions was more than he wanted today, not with his stomach flopping over the impending conversation with his parents. At least Phantom was having a chill day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Any particular food you want me to try and infuse with ectoplasm?” Mom asked, when she and Dad came up for lunch.

“A grilled cheese sounds good, honestly.” Phantom shrugged. “I have no idea how you’d do that though.”

The woman furrowed her brow in thought. “I’ve got a few ideas.”

“I should probably go see Sidney at some point. He might have some ideas too. Plus, he was going to give me some tiger fruit seeds to see if I could grow them and that never happened.”

“Maybe we could plant them on the island the portal is on, in the Zone.” Dad suggested.

“That’s a good idea.” Ghost Danny nodded. Then his voice pitched up, attention on a certain ghost.“What are you doing?” 

He reached down, scratching the curious blob which was investigating the ecto-cookie he was eating. If the ghost had a nose, he’d have thought it was sniffing it. Another insistent bob and Blobby darted forward. Its mouth-like depression opened, snatching a bit of the cookie.

“Hey! That’s mine.” Phantom jerked his hand away, before stuffing the rest into his mouth.

Mom’s nose wrinkled in disgust but with a flicker of green light, all attention was one the blob.

Dad blinked. “It’s got cat ears.”

Ghost Danny swallowed the cookie. He reached down to scratch the new ears. “Huh…. I thought Blobby was pretty catty.” A purr sounded from the blob. “Who’s a good kitty?”

A mew sounded and the little ghost flickered intangible. A bit of wet, smashed cookie fell into Ghost Danny’s lap. The boy stared down, nose wrinkling in disgust. “This is fine.”

Mom waggled her finger. “No more real world food for you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The school day continued, as did the quiet day at home. An undercurrent of anxiety lingered but… so did an expectation, a determination. 

Soon enough, the bell rang. Classmates rushed out of the room, excited for the three day weekend. Fenton felt some of that too; Mom and Dad had told Phantom earlier that they thought the ghost catcher would be finished by Monday. He let himself feel excitement, hope at the thought.

Saying goodbye to his friends, Human Danny rode home with Jazz. He and his ghost half watched an episode of Criminal Minds with Mom before helping her with dinner. 

Phantom smiled, enjoying his grilled cheese as the family ate.

The sun went down. The table was cleaned, leftovers put away and dishes cleaned.

It was time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Start at the beginning.” Mom offered gently. 

Up on top of the Ops Center, with blankets and pillow to cushion against the hard metal, Fenton and Phantom looked to the stars. Their parents sat at either side of them.

Fenton started. “It… it hurt. Going through the ghost catcher hurt. I mean, of course it would, getting pulled apart like that but… neither of us realized at first.” He sighed. “I just…I just remember hitting the ground, being confused, and… feeling like something was wrong.”

“I just ran.” Phantom bit his lip, fidgeting with his gloves. “I saw you guys with your suits and goggles and stuff. I just thought ‘danger’ and… and ran. I… uh… got to the park before I actually started thinking and remembered what happened.” The image flickered in his mind, staring at his own white gloves. Searching for the flicker of warmth near his heart. “I thought… I thought I was dead.” The words were surprisingly easy. “I tried to turn back and I couldn’t so I thought I’d just died all the way. Like… going through the ghost catcher killed me.” 

Those moments of panic, of sorrow came back to him, the echo of those feelings. But Phantom shook his head, pushing them away. He managed a look up, at his parents' faces. His dad’s mouth, void of its normal smile, drawn into a deep frown. His mom’s eyes, normally so sure and confident, now round and wet.  They looked so sad. And it was just going to get worse. He forced himself to continue. “I freaked out and started crying.”

“I remember that.” Fenton nodded somberly. “I started crying too, once Mom got me up to my room. Something was missing and… I wanted to go home.”

“I wanted to go home.” Phantom agreed, rubbing his watering eye. “I had to see what happened. I thought… I couldn’t be a ghost. There was no way… no way I was dead. I just needed to see… to see my… body. Then I could figure out what was happening. I just… needed to see it.” 

Mom’s brow furrowed, a sad understanding. “So you flew home.” 

The ghost nodded. “I did.” The memory replied through his head. Rushing home, phasing into his bedroom. “I saw Fenton asleep on our bed and thought… thought he was my corpse.” Horror flickered across the faces. “But he was breathing. So… I wasn’t dead. I was having an out of body experience or something.” That moment of elation, of pure joy. “I hadn’t been… been too late. I still had a chance. I could figure out how to go back to normal if I could figure out how to… well… get back in my body. I could… I could be human.”

He let the words linger, the feeling of excitement, sheer hope.

“Then, I woke up.” Fenton’s words shattered the moment, like a pane of glass. “I woke up and…” He shivered. Phantom felt the echo of that remembered horror. The feelings of his insides churning, the world turning on its head. “You thought I was possessed or something.” Human Danny continued. “You flew away, completely freakout.” Someone else had been in his body. An imposter, except…..

The ghost looked up, taking in the confused expressions. This was it. This was the big secret, the knowledge that had been haunting him. The one thing he couldn’t say, couldn’t admit to his parents. But….

Phantom swallowed, willing himself to continue. “I realized that wasn’t true though. Fenton wasn’t possessed. He wasn’t some imposter in my bedroom. He was… he was the real deal.” For just a moment, the bewildered expressions deepened. “Fenton was Danny, the real Danny. So there was… was no way I was.”

Mom’s eyes widened, the confusion evaporating. “Oh, Danny.” She breathed.

“I thought… I thought I was the imposter.” The words were so hard to force out with his trembling voice. “I wasn’t real. Just some confused imprint thing. Just… just some disgusting ghost.”

“Danny boy…. I’m…I’m so sorry.” Dad wrapped an arm around the ghost boy. 

“I mean, I know that’s not true now.” Phantom whimpered. And now he was crying again. “But I was positive, completely sure. So that… that’s why I didn’t come home. I thought I was a… a stupid copy at… at best. Or I’d been possessing Fenton for a month.” His speech quickened. “A month! And not even realized it. I mean, who does that?! Who hurts someone like that without even caring? So… maybe… maybe I was actually evil like… like you guys said.”

“No, baby. No.” Mom pleaded, reaching across Fenton to cup his cheek. “And… and that’s what I told you, after you showed us the truth. I’m… I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, baby.”

More poured out. “I tried to stay away. I thought I’d… I’d been hurting Fenton. Maybe he was my obsession. That’s why I looked like him and had his memories. So I just… wandered around town.” People watching at the mall, sneaking into the movies, floating above the clouds. “But everything reminded me that… that I was alone. Just some freaky ghost. And I kept finding myself back here, near Fenton. I couldn’t… I couldn't stay away.”

The memory rose up unbidden. Floating into front of their house late at night. He’d caught a glimpse of Fenton in their bedroom window. And…. it flipped, the scene from the other side. Standing at the window, his blanket draped around his shoulders. Shaking off another strange dream. A flash of light and a glowing figure. 

Back on the rooftop, his human self’s hand was in his. “You started following me around, a few days after. When that Lunch Lady ghost showed up… you tried to fight her to protect Sam, Tucker, and me.” His eyes rounded, soft and grateful. “You saved Sam.”

He saved Sam. Phantom took a breath, furiously whipping at his face. The memory of her face, staring up at him, flickered in his mind. He needed to help her. Even if he only cared about her because Danny did, he still cared. The warmth in his chest, the certainty, that strange peace. Fenton had been with him and for just a moment…. they had been Danny again.

The thought, the memory gave him courage. “I did save Sam. I got her out of that creepy meat pile. I was still scared but… I’d done something good. I'd finally done something right. So I went after the Lunch Lady again.”

“And…” Mom tensed. “That’s when we found you and… shot you.”

“Yeah.” Ghost Danny sighed. That pain, that heartbreak threatened to rise. They could never love a ghost like him; he’d been so sure of that, getting attacked serving as a painful reminder. But… “I forgive you.” He closed his eyes, leaning into his parents’ arms. “I’ve forgiven you for a while now.”

“We forgive you.” Fenton agreed, joining the hug.

Phantom found himself nodding, his mind drifting over that afternoon. Being chased, yelled at, and shot hurt; he’d consider it one of the worst experiences of his life but…. “We’ve come so far since then.” Not just his parents and his relationship with them but personally, he and Fenton. 

“What happened next?” Mom finally asked, after a minute’ pause. “After we almost caught you?”

Right. Phantom took a breath, preparing to continue. 

But Fenton spoke for him “I went and found him.” He smiled slightly, fond, before sombering again. “I saw what happened with Sam and you guys. The perception sharing thing. And… I’d had enough. I needed to figure out what was happening with me. So I just kinda followed my instincts and found Phantom at the park and…” He gave the ghost a poke in the side, teasing. “This one told me to go home and forget about him. And then just disappeared.”

The ghost boy shook his head, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. It was almost funny now, in retrospect. He’d been pretty melodramatic. “I did come back.”

Fenton’s face softened. “Yeah, you did.”

“Later that night.” Phantom explained at the questioning looks. “I flew to our room. Fenton wanted to talk so…” 

He trailed off, green eyes meeting his counterpart. It was just like back then, after he’d broken down crying and on instinct Fenton had hugged him. The pieces of their soul had touched and…. I know who you are. The words rang in their heads now, still hand in hand. The experience had been so close, so intimate. How could he word that?

Phantom closed his eyes, taking a breath. “As soon… as soon as we touched, we felt it. We were the same.”

“I was so happy.” Fenton almost whispered. “I finally figured out what was wrong. I was… I was just half a soul but… I found the rest of me, my other half.”

Their parent’s eyes. Soft, relieved. “And as soon as you found each other…. you just knew.” In Dad’s voice, there was more than a hint of awe. 

The human boy nodded.

“Every time you tell us more about being split, I’m amazed.” Mom mused, a shake of her head.

“Yeah, it’s…..” And how could Fenton explain that to someone else? Much less someone who had never felt their soul, their very self unravel. Even now with his two halves so close together, hand in hand, they still weren’t quite themself, not fully. “It’s a lot.” Another breath. “It took a week but we figured out the truth.”

“I didn’t want it to be though.” Ghost Danny wanted to swallow back the words, the disappointed looks stabbing his core. “I didn’t want to be true. I was stubborn. I said it couldn’t be. There was no way. I… I was a ghost and… Danny was just a normal human boy. We couldn’t… couldn’t….” He sniffled, his dad starting to rub his back. “I ran… I ran again.” His cheeks turned green, shame painting his face.

“But you didn’t stay away.” Mom offered, compassionate. “You told me earlier, you and Fenton talked in your room the next morning. And you both went to see Sam and Tucker.”

Phantom shrugged, blushing. “I just couldn’t stay away. Honestly….” He bit his lip. “It was crazy but… I kinda hoped Sam and Tucker wouldn’t think we were the same person, that… they’d think it was too crazy to be true so… so… I’d be right.” His dad’s brow, wrinkled in worry. He could almost hear the question. “But Sam saw right through me. She recognized me, not just as the ghost who saved her but…. Me.” He tapped his chest. “Who I really was. So… I was wrong. I…I couldn’t keep lying to myself.”

“So like he said earlier, we hung out with Sam and Tucker.” Fenton said. “Phantom wasn’t in denial anymore, actually started letting everyone call him Danny again. We had a pretty good time.”

For just a moment, a hint of relief flashed across the parents’ faces. But then… “And you texted me when you got home, after you flew back.” Mom’s brow furrowed, more worried than ever. “The cold burn…. You said you got upset and that’s why your powers acted out. What happened that night, Danny?”

The ghost’s face darkened, ashamed and guilty, eyes fixed down. 

“Danny boy….” Dad’s voice, soft and gentle. “You never explained. Why didn’t you want it to be true? Why didn’t you…. you…” His lips turned down, at a loss for words.

“Why didn’t I want to be Danny?” The words were barely audible.

The parents nodded, faces pale.

Phantom stared down for a long moment, mind swimming. So many words, images flashed in his head. Emotions, long forgotten. The uncertainty, the anger, the sorrow. Fenton’s face, disbelieving and desperate. The tears on his face. How… how could he explain? Should he even? That moment, that argument…. 

“NO!” Something in the human Danny snapped. “I’m half a person without you! How are I supposed to be happy without the other half of my soul?!”

“You don’t actually want me! You just want to feel whole! I’m a sickness, a disease. Some...some foreign thing that’s been haunting you.”

So much pain. So many ugly words. 

Ghost Danny whipped his face. “I didn’t want to be Danny because… because that meant… there was no fixing me.” The words were a punch to the gut. “It meant…. I was actually… this.” He motioned to his glowing body. “I’d… I’d actually died and there was no going back to normal. I…I’d never really be human again. I didn’t…. I told Fenton I didn’t want to refuse because… he was supposed to be normal. He was supposed to be human. But Fenton… he insisted. He wanted to merge. He wanted to be whole. But…but….”

“I didn’t really get it.” Human Danny picked up. “I kept… I kept pushing and Phantom kept getting more upset. And…”

 “Just stop! Stop trying to comfort me!” Dripping tears turned into a stream. “I’m scum. A dirty, good-for-nothing ghost. I’m a freaking disease! I deserve to be hated so stop acting like you don’t!”

“That’s when he cold-burned me. But… I’d hurt him first.” Fenton whimpered, drawing his knees to his chest. “I… I hated myself so much.” The memory flashed…. The glacial pain. Crying on the bathroom floor. The anger, the self-hatred, the guilt. “That’s… that’s why I asked you to fix me. I hated my ghost powers so much. I hated that part of me. I wanted…I wanted to get rid of it. I tried to get rid of Phantom.” He’d thought… he’d thought talking about feeling like an imposter would be hard but this….  “I wanted it… I wanted him gone so badly, I ripped myself in half. I …I violated… I destroyed myself.” 

Tears dripped down Fenton’s face. But Phantom’s hand was still in his, the understanding, the forgiveness streaming through him. His ghost didn’t blame him, had let go of the bitterness, the anger. The blame had been both of theirs and now… The human let out a breath, letting it go.

“I didn’t… I didn’t realize that until that night.” His own glowing eyes in the mirror. “I didn't see it. But…” On the bed, Phantom’s eyes wide and hopeful. “When I saw… when I saw Phantom face to face, when I actually looked, I couldn’t hate him. He was… he was me, just me. And he was in pain and scared and… and I didn’t want to be scared anymore.” He squeezed his ghost half’s hand. “I wanted to understand what had happened to me. What I had become, what I…what I am now. And I couldn’t do that unless I accepted Phantom and…. started forgiving myself.”

There was a long silence after the words. Phantom scooted closer, wrapping his arms around his other self. Love and forgiveness radiated from the contact. Seconds later, Mom did the same, hugging the ghost version of her son. And Dad did the same, strong arms embracing the three figures.

“I don’t… I don’t even know what to say.” Mom muttered. “Just… thank you for telling us.”

“It was so brave, Danny. You’re so brave.” Dad reassured. “You’ve been through so much.”

“And… I’m sorry.” The woman continued. “We’ve said it before but I’m sorry this happened to you. I’m… I’m sorry for how I’ve made you feel and what the thing we’ve taught you made you think. But…” Mom hugged him tighter, her words so tender right behind Phantom’s ear. “You’re not an imposter. You’re my son and you’ll always be. And I’m sorry I made you think that wasn’t true, that… that that couldn’t be true.”

“I’m so sorry, Danny.” The other adult’s voice was so quiet. “I’m so sorry, son. We messed up so badly. I know you thought so badly about ghosts and about…about yourself because of us. And I’m so sorry. It never should have gotten that bad. You shouldn’t have felt that bad.”

“And the ghost catcher wasn’t your fault.” Mom brushed a hand against Fenton’s hair. “It wasn’t your fault. You’re not… you’re not destroyed. I know… god… I know you don’t feel like yourself. I can’t… I can’t even imagine how you’re feeling. But you’ll come back from this. You’re not too far gone.”

Phantom ignored the twitch of surprise at the curse, too relieved, too grateful for the words. “I… I know. I know I’ll be able to refuse. Even if…” His voice quieted, almost a whisper. “Even if I won’t be that same as before.”

It was a reality, a potentially fearful one. But… the Danny who had gone through the ghost catcher was dead. Whoever came out after, the Danny they would be, would be someone different.

Still, their parents hugged them tightly. “We’ll still love you.” Dad vowed. “Full human, two halves, or one whole halfa. We love you.”

“And we always will.” Mom whispered.

Human Danny felt his whole body relaxed, a relief washing over him. The words were sappy, so sappy. And things he’d heard many times before. He knew his parents loved him. But he’d still been scared, just a hint of doubt lingering in his mind. But that doubt was empty; it was nothing. Now, his parents knew. Everything was out in the open and they hugged him, reassured him. They loved and accepted him. They understood.

The group hug finally fell apart.

“Yeah, thanks for listening.” Fenton whipped his wet face.. “That was hard. Especially talking about Phantom and me’s argument. It was…. It was…. Bad. Really bad but… it needed to happen. The fight, I mean.” 

“We wouldn’t have gotten better with each other if it hadn’t.” Phantom agreed. “We needed to figure things out and we did. So…”

Twin eyes meet again and… the promise they’d made, down in their bedroom, rang in their head. 

But I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I want to try. To be the person we’re supposed to be. Together.

The parts of their soul had touched, memories, thoughts, and emotions coming together. 

On the roof, eyes swirled green and blue. “We got really close.” Two voices spoke as one. “If we hadn’t realized we needed to tell you the next day, then maybe…”

Mom suddenly sat up straighter. She blinked at the boys, brow furrowed. “Really… close? What do you mean?”

Phantom blinked, eyes fading back to green. “Really close….”

“We… we almost merged.” Fenton said it like it was a revelation.

“What?” Dad’s mouth fell open.

“We almost merged.” The human boy blinked, eyes widening. “Before we even told you guys. We could… we could feel it. Our mind and soul coming together. Everything was…. was running in sync. We were coming together. It… shit.” Fenton furiously ran fingers through his hair. “Phantom ended up half-phased into me.”

Mom just blinked, for once not saying anything about the language. “Half-phased in…” She shook her head. “Was that the only time?”

“Well um.” Phantom wrung his hands. “I tried to possess Fenton the next night. I thought we’d fuse but… you saw what happened.”

The adult’s frowns deepened as Fenton continued. “Umm…. a few other times felt similar? When we were thinking and feeling together, I guess? Or doing the perception sharing thing. But we weren’t close together to most of those. And we don’t start uh….” He vaguely waved his hands around, lacing his fingers together.

The ghost furrowed his brow, before eyes widening in another realization. “When I flew through the portal after my fight with Mom…. Fenton was with me.” He pointed to his head. “We were freaking out and… it’s like we fused but we still had two bodies.”

“It felt like we put ourself back together wrong.” For just a moment, his eyes were distant. Then he shook his head. “It’s like there was just one of us again. We were just… Danny. But… it wasn’t right. We weren’t right.”

The human Danny fell silent, brow furrowed. He replayed the memory, the feeling. They really had come so close, only to have to pull themself apart again.

For a long moment, the adults just stared, Dad looking bewildered. And Mom… her forehead wrinkled.

Finally, the woman took a breath, eyes almost twitching.  ���Sweetie…” Her lips slowly turned up. “Have you considered that maybe… you don’t need the ghost catcher?”

It was the Dannys turn to stare, disbelieving. “What?”

The adults traded a look. Realization dawned on Dad’s face and… the man burst out laughing. “We spent… we spent all the time fussing with… with that thing. Only for… for…” A guffaw cut off the words,  large hands furiously ruffling both heads. 

Phantom phased out of the hold, eyes wide. “What are you talking about?”

“Danny,” Mom also chuckled, eyes sparkling with fond exacerbation. “We were trying to fix the ghost catcher so it could give you the energy boost you needed to re-fuse. But.. you almost merged several times without it. Have you thought that maybe you don’t even need the ghost catcher? Maybe… you can do it by yourself.”

Fenton stared for a moment more, moving out from under his father’s hand. He traded a look with his ghost half. And…

Phantom leaned over laughing. “Of… of course. It’s so obvious!” The ghost put his hands on his head. “It makes so much sense!”

Human Danny suddenly understood. “Our mind already wants to be one.” He laughed. “Our core and brain.. They’re already working together… all the time. We don’t need the energy boost. We don’t.” He grinned. “We can do it by ourself.”

“We can do it ourself.” The ghost repeated, glowing with excitement.

“Why didn’t we realize that two weeks ago?” The human half-laughed, half-groaned. “I feel so dumb.” 

“That’s what happens when you’ve only got half a brain.” Phantom teased.

Counterpart eyes met and…. Total agreement. Joyous, complete agreement.

“Can we try?!” Both said, eyes shining.

“Not so fast.” Dad held out his hands, giving a chuckle.

“Tomorrow.” Mom continued. For just a moment disappointment flickered on the boy’s faces. Then… “We want you to re-merge as soon as possible. But we should do this in the lab, in case something goes wrong. The last failure we saw was… rather painful to watch.”

The Dannys’ shoulders fell at the reminder. On this same roof…. The fear, the pain. Terror at what was supposed to feel like coming home…. becoming a violent rejection. 

Dad’s hand gently patted Fenton’s and Phantom’s shoulder. “It’ll work.” He reassured. “Just let’s all get a good night’s sleep first.” He yawned. “We’ll all be fresher and… we can celebrate.” He smiled.

The woman agreed. “I’ll make chocolate chip pancakes, your favorite.”

The boys finally relent. “Alright.” Fenton sighed, corner of his lip turning up. “Danny… Halfa-us will like that.”

Mom lifted a hand, cupping both Dannys’ checks. “I’ll look forward to seeing that version of you again.” 

The woman removed her hands and Dad leaned forward, scooping the two counterparts up in another hug. “As fun as it’s been having two of you, I’ll be happy when you’re back to how you’re supposed to be.”

The two Dannys relaxed into the hold, smiling as Mom joined the group hug again. “Me too.” 

[happypeachsludgeflower]

"Not a writer," you say and then drop this beautiful masterpiece into my notifications. I'm salivating over this. It's fantastic. Thank you so much for sharing!! 🥹

I was originally just going to thank you, and then I was thinking of dropping some extra plot details because your ficlet sparked my brain to remember plot details I forgot to add before, and then my hand slipped... :disguised_face: SO ANYWAY!!

BEHOLD!! An excerpt that continues from some undetermined point after crushvsky's fic where Shen Qingqiu explains to the audience exactly why you don't tell a god no!!

"You say a god forced you to abuse your disciple," the Huan Hua Palace Master spat, venom dripping from his tone, clearly conveying his disproval for this turn of events, "but I fail to see how that absolves you of the actions." The Palace Master glared disdainfully down his nose at Shen Qingqiu. "You still harmed him. You admitted it. It didn't force you to do the actions. It told you to and you chose to do them. Why should this god's voice excuse you from punishment."

Luo Binghe watched transfixed as Shen Qingqiu threw back his head and laughed manically. "You think no was an answer?" the man cackled. The whole room seemed to stutter in ripples as the audience watched on incredulous as the cold calm mask they'd come to know as Shen Qingqiu shattered. There was a glint in the man's eye as he dropped his gaze back down at the Palace Master. It was hard to tell what that look meant, but Luo Binghe found himself couldn't look away. The array of emotions playing across the usually stoic face was captivating.

"Tell me, Palace Master," Shen Qingqiu voice dripped condescendingly, "What will happen to you when you die?"

The palace master spluttered. "Is that a threat?" he demanded.

Shen Qingqiu rolled his eyes at that. "No," he stated slowly as if he was talking to a small child, "I ask because it's relevant." The 'you fucking moron' was left off, but somehow still run throughout the hall regardless. "When you die," Shen Qingqiu continued in a patronizing tone, "your soul will move on to the afterlife. Either you'll reincarnate and begin a new life, or you'll stick around for a bit as a ghost first." The man surveyed the room slowly. "In fact, you all will," he said with a bitter twist of his mouth.

"Are you saying you won't?" Luo Binghe found himself asking quietly, taking a small step towards the bound figure as he stared at him intently. Shen Qingqiu turned his gaze to meet his and studied him silently for a moment, with an unreadable expression.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, Shen Qingqiu shook his head and uttered, "No. I won't. Not if I chose to defy it." Shen Qingqiu looked away from Luo Binghe and sighed. "All of you have a chance. Death is a beginning for you. It means you can forget. If I chose to ignore the god's," here he spat the word with so much malice that Luo Binghe sucked in a sharp breath and jolted backwards, "orders, it promised to torture me for eternity. I would never escape. I would never leave. And I would never forget why."

The room descended into a ringing silence as the collective let that chilling statement sink into them. It held them in shackles of creeping horror. A haunting image flashed past Luo Binghe eyes of being locked in a decaying body, paralyzed and burning with pain and the knowledge that there would never be an end.

After a long moment, Shen Qingqiu continued in almost a whisper, "I tried to say no once you know. I tried to refuse. It made gave me a preview." He paused again and the world felt like it was teetering on the edge of something none of them could ever come back from. "It trapped my soul in what it said was my future corpse. My limbs were stripped from my body one by one. My tongue torn out but somehow to taste of blood remained. My eyes were gouged from my skull."

Luo Binghe felt like he might be sick. Somewhere he thought he heard the sound of someone doing just that. The words themselves were not the most descriptive, but what the words lacked, the imagination made up for in spades. Luo Binghe looked away as Shen Qingqiu continued, "It kept me there, feeling every moment as if the injuries were new, were fresh. And it told me it would keep me there until time ran out in the universe and there was nothing left. And even then, it might decide to continue." He went quiet again for a long moment that seemed to stretch forever and Luo Binghe found his eyes drawn back at his Shizun.

"Can you blame me for being a coward?" His hushed voice sliced through the deafening silence that was crushing down upon them once more and Luo Binghe could only stare in distress at the hunched figure sitting resignedly before the room. No, before Luo Binghe. In frong of him, the Shen Qingqiu of his nightmares, the Shen Qingqiu of his childhood, sat curled in on himself awaiting Luo Binghe's verdict.

The words rang through Luo Binghe. Could he blame him for not choosing eternal torture. Could anyone blame him?

Okay okay okay.. but listen. What if Shen Yuan had a harsher System and was forced to convincingly play Shen Qingqiu, making Luo Binghe detest his existence, but when Luo Binghe returns from the abyss to enact his revenge and has Shen Qingqiu on trial at Huan Hua, unfortunately for everyone (and fortunately for us), they drug Shen Qingqiu with truth serum and accidentally spiral Shen Yuan into fanboy rampage of epic proportions about how great Luo Binghe is.

[milksnake-tea]

✩ CHAPTER SUMMARY : Now light years away from his home, Sunday's past haunts him as he grapples with accepting his new life.

✩ SERIES SYNOPSIS : Following the catastrophe of the Charmony Festival, rather than in one of Penacony's hospitals or prisons, Sunday awakens right in the base of one of the most notorious criminals in the galaxies. With nowhere else to go, he's left to follow you, the Stellaron Hunters' medic, in his attempts to become accustomed to his new life.

✩ WORD COUNT : 4.4k

✩ TAGLIST : @vynicity , @vxnuslogy , @https-mika , @greyrain23 , @red-ninja15 , @arienic , @immahuman , @sund4ykisser , @mysteriaqueen , @kiopanxp , @isa-l0v3r , @hesper-houkai-kat , @gamekillera , @nayukiyukihira , @randomidk-123 , @universetrash , @forevernyeong , @thedepartedcryptid , @heyhazelnut101 , @1000-leaves , @lowkeyren , @zhayur , @jellofishuu , @kascar-chronicle , @azaleaflowerr , @neigee , @fallintothechasm , @veritusratio , @astolary , @xphantasmagoriax , @semi-orangeapple , @ezra1yn , @xynthevoid , @apinu (send me an ask off anon to be added !! PLEASE SPECIFY ITS FOR THE SERIES 😭😭)

✩ ADDITIONAL NOTES : sunday focused chapter this time, i think i'm just going to be running around switching up povs hehe. i love this man (he is going to go through so much). SHOPPING WILL HAPPEN NEXT CHAPTER !!! GRGGRRGGR

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For the first time, Sunday is scared to sleep.

Despite being the pseudo-ruler of a Dreamscape, he hasn’t truly slept for quite some time. Even now, as he lays teetering the edge of consciousness, exhaustion is what drags him into slumber, not his own desire to rest.

The walls of his room haunt him - they’re so strikingly different from his quarters back on Penacony, stripped and bare and without any garnish or semblance of personality. What makes it worse is that his room is essentially soundproof - he can’t hear anything, not the footsteps of the Hunters, not the engine of the mothership, nothing that would assure him that he wasn’t alone.

He lays in clothes that are not his own - granted, they are comfortable and light, and he should be thankful that these criminals someone is kind enough to lend them to him, he should be and he wants to be. But Blade (he now recalls the Hunter’s name from the wanted posters that litter Penacony in reality) is no Halovian, and as such does not require the same slits in the back as Sunday does.

At the thought, the feathers against his bare abdomen become all the more apparent. To anyone else, they are soft and light, but to him, they scratch and itch and irritate. Sunday has always made sure to keep a barrier between his skin and his wings, whether it be a shirt, a vest, or simply keeping his larger wings lifted just enough so that they don’t come in contact with the rest of him.

“Keep them cramped up like that any longer, and you’ll never fly again.”

Your warning echoes in his head, stronger and louder every time it replays.

Sunday reasons that he shouldn’t feel fear at the thought - he was never meant to fly, after all. Unlike his sister, he was meant for the earth, for the people, for Penacony. For his weak subjects, he would stay shackled and carry the burden so that they could live in a paradise far away from the struggles of reality.

But his subjects were no more. Now, he is… free.

The word leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

He tosses and turns in his bed, digging his nails into his palms to distract himself from the ache in his lower wings.

He shouldn’t want to fly. Gopher Wood’s voice clouds his mind, reminding him of his duty, his purpose. For the people. For Penacony. For everyone, everyone except for himself. He remembers the clipping of his wings, how he had watched the remains of his flight feathers drift to the floor, signifying his fate to remain with the others.

He wonders if those feathers have grown back yet.

He rolls over again, pulling the covers closer to him. In, and out, he breathes the way he knows will calm him down. Inhale through the nose, hold, exhale through the mouth. Clear your mind of any impurities, he tells himself. He banishes any thoughts of flight, ignores his wings, and shuts his eyes.

In and out.

In and out.

Inhale through the nose.

Hold.

Exhale through the mouth.

Again.

Again.

Again-

“‘I long for a paradise where everyone can be at peace.’”

Sunday’s eyes snap open. He whirls, only to discover that he is weightless, translucent - almost like a ghost. There’s nothing but blackness for as far as he can see. But he’s left with little time to ponder when he hears that voice once more.

“That was my dream. Or should I say, our dream.”

Vines strangle his heart. It can’t be.

Tiny footsteps pit-pat in front of him. A figure gradually emerges from the abyss, Sunday’s breath catching in his throat as he finally sees who it is.

A white cotton vest over a purple-blue dress shirt. Big, round eyes that reflect foolish, childish naivety and a foolish, childish dream to help others. A golden halo that still glows brightly. Uncut wings.

“Who- Who are you?” he lets out a strangled whisper. He already knows the answer. He knows all too well.

The child smiles up at him. It’s bright, joyful.

He wants to run. But his feet are anchored and his limbs are frozen.

“You know who I am, silly,” the child laughs. Sunday flinches as he takes a step forward. “I’m me, and I’m you.”

The child stops just in front of him. His head reaches just the top of Sunday’s thigh, and yet Sunday feels so much smaller. His knees already feel weak, despite the child having done nothing.

“Mr. Wood said that one day, we were going to lead everyone to that paradise,” the child said innocently. “And in that paradise, no one would ever have to suffer. Everyone would be happy, and Robin would sing for them, on the biggest stage ever!”

And suddenly, as if a switch had been flipped, the light vanished from the child’s eyes. His smile drops, leaving only a blank, haunting stare that chills Sunday down to his very core.

“Why did you ruin that?” the child asks.

Sunday’s knees give out. He collapses, unable to do anything but stare, horrified and anguished as the child grabs his face with small hands, free of any calluses.

“Why?”

He tries to find an answer. His mouth opens and closes, but nothing comes out, because he knows - he knows there is no answer that could satisfy the child.

“Why?” the child asks again.

Tears prick at Sunday’s eyes. His breath hurts in his chest. He doesn’t know. He wants to look away, but the child holds his face with an iron grip.

“Why?” the child asks, but this time he is not alone. 

A deeper voice joins him - a voice that has been with him ever since he’d joined the Family, a voice that has acted as his conscience, his shackle that reminds him of his duty. Sunday cannot look to see Gopher Wood, but he knows that he is here.

With each question, another member of the Oak Family joins the mass surrounding him, until all 107,336 souls have congregated, all accusing him, all filled with hatred and disappointment.

“Why?” they ask.

“Why did you ruin our dream?”

“Why did you abandon us?”

“No- I didn’t- I-” He chokes on his own words as he fights to placate his Family. He feels their eyes on him, covering every inch of his body with their gaze. Their voices converge into one buzzing noise, a horrid symphony that threatens to burst his ears and invades his mind.

“Why are you so selfish?”

Sunday gasps, lurching from his bed. His heart pounds in his chest, filling his ears with the loud thuds. Clutching at his chest, bunching the fabric in his fist, he gulps down air like a man dying of thirst. His face feels wet.

Furiously he wipes at his eyes, but it does little to help what has already been done. Yet he does it anyway, wipes until his eyes burn from more than just tears and his cheeks hurt. He needs to stop - he has to stop, he has a meeting- no, it’s not a meeting, he is no longer an official- but he will be seen tomorrow and he cannot, he will not be seen like this.

Come on, Sunday. Get yourself together.

In and out.

In and out.

In and-

A wretched sob rips itself from his throat. He can’t stop it. He can’t. He is helpless to stop the tears as they fall down his face, one after the other in an endless stream. He curls into himself, his knees bunching up into his chest and he claws at his shoulders - but not too hard, lest he ruin the shirt he was so graciously given.

His wings ache once more as he weeps, and this time, he cannot bring himself to ignore them.

“You’ll never fly again.”

No. Sunday grips his shoulders harder. He doesn't want that.

He’s free. He’s alone.

He’s free. He’s selfish.

He’s free. He’s worthless.

He’s free.

And the thought terrifies him.

━

Countless hours pass before he eventually peels himself from the bed. What little sleep he manages to catch after his nightmare isn’t enough, but it will have to make do. He drags himself to the small bathroom connected to his bedroom and flicks on the light.

He’d showered last night, but he still feels dirty. He splashes water onto his face, silently relishing in the cold feeling. A heavy sigh leaves him as he grips the sides of the sink.

Looking up, he meets his reflection.

He looks horrible, to put it bluntly - or at least, by his standards. As a Halovian, eyebags and other blemishes don’t come by easily - otherwise he’d shut himself in his room until he got his hands on some concealer. If there’s one thing Sunday can always count on, it’s his so-called “natural beauty” that persists despite it all.

But he hates the tiniest details that no one but he can see, the smallest droop of his eyes and the slight dullness of his skin. His hair suffers from a terrible case of bedhead, and his wings look frazzled.

However, he straightens his posture, it’s nothing he can’t fix. If anything, tidying up one’s appearance was what Sunday excelled at.

It takes him about half an hour before he’s finally satisfied. Setting down the comb, he stretches, releasing the tension that had built up in his muscles. He looks outside to the alarm clock that rests at his bedside.

You didn’t specify a specific time for the two of you to meet, but it’s better to be safe than sorry, and Sunday refuses to not be punctual, lest you call him out for it - and he knows you will.

Opening the closet door, he’s greeted with the fruits of last night’s labor. The clothes he’d borrowed from Blade are all organized by color and by style, folded neatly without a wrinkle or crease in sight. A small smile slips onto his face at the sight before he picks out his clothes for the day.

Blade’s clothes are a little too big for him, and his aesthetic is the complete opposite of Sunday’s. While Sunday has always worn light-colored clothes adorned by gold and blue, Blade seems to prefer darker and more muted colors, with the majority of his borrowed wardrobe being black, navy, and brown.

Whatever. Not like he has any room to complain.

After slipping off his nightwear, he pulls on the shirt that’s closest to his size, a navy blue button up shirt alongside tighter black pants. He’s able to tuck the shirt into the pants so that it doesn’t look like a trash bag on him. Further modifications include folding the sleeve up to his mid-forearm, shifting his pants a bit higher so he doesn’t trip and fall, and securing a belt around his waist so that his shirt doesn’t fall out. Sunday wasn’t given any shoes to borrow, which he was thankful for; he wanted to have at least one familiar item on his person.

Checking himself out in the mirror, he smooths out what little wrinkles there are in his shirt and gives himself one last lookover. His bare hands catch the light. Sunday’s nose wrinkles at the sight.

He hates having his hands out. Without his signature gloves, he looks naked, but there comes another problem. His outfit is dark, and his only pair of gloves are white - they wouldn’t match at all.

Sunday clicks his tongue. That’ll be the first thing he buys on Euphrosyne. But as of right now, it looks like he’s back to the borrowing game.

He checks his appearance once more, before he switches the light and finally emerges from his room.

As it usually is with spaceships or any planet without a day/night cycle, it’s difficult to tell whether or not time has passed. But Sunday has long forsaken the concept of mornings and evenings, and has instead reduced his perception of time to system hours, as is easier to do on a planet such as Penacony.

He stops in front of your room, and raises his fist to knock gently on the door.

“Mx. [Name]?” he says gently, not wanting to wake the others - if they were even in their rooms. He knows Firefly isn’t; she must still be on Penacony.

There’s no response from you. Sunday clears his throat, and knocks again. He gives it another 30 seconds before he concedes. You’re not in there, for whatever reason. Perhaps you’re back in the kitchen? Or maybe your office?

He decides to check the kitchen first - it isn’t too far from the residency hall. Once he arrives, however, he’s met with the sight of another Stellaron Hunter, one he hasn’t met but knows his face.

Blade sits at the dining table, chair pushed too far back for Sunday’s comfort and whetting a broken sword. Sunday had expected him to be tall, his clothes were already proof of that, but he hadn’t expected the man to be massive. He’s at least a head taller than himself, which doesn’t help his intimidating aura. He seems to be of Xianzhou descendance.

The man looks up briefly as Sunday enters the room. His eyes are sharp, more hostile and more aggressive than any of the other hunters. They drown in a bright red, with flecks of gold coming through. Instantly all of Sunday's nerves are set ablaze, and they cry out danger and urge him to run.

The two stare at each other for what seems like an eternity. Sunday breaks from the daze first and offers Blade a cordial smile.

“Ah, you must be Mr. Blade,” he greets, resting a hand over his heart. “I’m Sunday, the newest addition to the Hunters.”

Predictably, the other man doesn’t reply. Internally, Sunday sighs. This was going to be awkward.

“I must thank you for lending me your clothes,” he continues, opening the fridge. He figures he might as well have breakfast before going to meet you. He hopes that none of the food has been claimed beforehand, and he’s pleasantly surprised. 

Everything is labeled by sticky notes (he sees your rice from yesterday with the sticky notes labeling them as Silver Wolf’s and Firefly’s), and what isn’t is up seemingly for grabs. Seeing as how Blade isn’t up to a conversation, he opts to grab a small yogurt bowl for his breakfast.

It’s only when Sunday sits down to eat that Blade finally speaks. 

“It was a trivial matter,” he says. His voice fits him, dark and raspy. “Save your gratitude for another time.”

Sunday hums. “It may seem trivial, but I would’ve had to sleep in my uniform had it not been for you. Thanking you is the least I could do.”

“Hmph.” Blade raises his gaze from his sword to assess Sunday. His gaze lingers on his hands for a few seconds. Sunday suppresses the urge to cover them up. “Have you ever wielded a sword?”

“No, I’m afraid not.” Sunday shakes his head. “My abilities are more dependent on the mind rather than the body.”

Blade scoffs, but it doesn’t feel derogative. “You’ll need to learn to wield a weapon if you want to survive.”

“...Thank you for the advice. I’ll keep that in mind.”

The conversation ends there. Blade goes back to sharpening his sword, and Sunday quickly finishes his breakfast. Standing up, he throws away the plastic bowl.

“Say,” he says, “might you have any idea where Mx. [Name] is?”

This time, Blade doesn’t look up.

“They’re preparing for your trip in the docks.” Sparks fly as he sweeps the whetstone down the blade. “Go down that hall and take the elevator to the lowest floor. You’ll find them there.”

He’s more kind-hearted than he lets on, Sunday observes. He smiles. “Thank you.”

Blade doesn’t reply.

Sunday briefly considers asking Blade for spare gloves, but after taking one look at the man’s bandaged hands, he drops it. They wouldn’t fit him anyway. Better to ask Kafka, or even you.

As he follows Blade’s directions and makes his way to the docks, Sunday can’t help but marvel at the sheer size of the spaceship. He wasn’t lying when he told you how long it’d been since he’d last left Penacony; he’d forgotten how big spaceships could get. The Delphi itself could be a miniature planet.

He finds the elevators in no time. The music that plays as he descends is… strange, to say the least. Classical instruments and synths make for an interesting combination, but he can’t say that it’s bad. Just unusual.

Then again, just about everything in this ship is. He crosses his arms and leans back against the elevator, training his eyes on the bulbous light in the ceiling. He already misses the serenity of Dewlight Pavilion and the roar of Golden Hour.

It finally dawns on him that he’ll never see those sights again. He’ll never again board the Radiant Feldspar or the Eventide of Blue Hour, watch with mild interest the events of Scorchsand, or browse the various stores in Dusk with his sister, knowing that he’d never actually buy anything. If he had known that he’d never come back, he would’ve bought something as a keepsake.

Sunday sighs, closing his eyes and waits for the elevator to arrive. The Delphi has a total of ten floors - what for, he can find out another time. He doesn’t feel like roaming.

A clear ding alerts him of his arrival. The elevator doors open soundlessly to reveal the docks. 

As he walks in, he counts a total of five spaceships, each the size of a private jet. Like the room doors upstairs, each is customized to its owner, although this time the individuality is restricted to color schemes. There’s one empty dock, where he assumes the ship that carried Firefly to Penacony usually sits - although he doesn’t think that it was hers.

“You’re up early.”

Sunday manages to hide his flinch. You emerge from your personal spaceship. You’ve changed clothes, now dressed in something more appropriate for an outing. It’s casual, yet chic - internally, he nods in approval.

“Good morning.” Sunday nods to you. “How are the preparations going?”

You sit down on the front of the ship and cross your legs. “Just finished. Have you eaten?”

“Of course.”

“That’s good. I was worried you wouldn’t.” You look him up and down. “I had my doubts, but Blade’s clothes surprisingly look good on you.”

You were worried? Sunday brushes off the thought with a hum. “I appreciate the compliment. Although,” he massages his wrist, “I couldn’t find any gloves that would go along with the outfit. In fact, I was hoping that-”

“That I’d have some?” You raise a brow. 

“...yes,” Sunday finishes. You click your tongue, looking around you before sighing.

“Only gloves I’ve got are the ones I’m wearing,” you say. You begin to pull off the black gloves from your fingers. Sunday stiffens.

“Oh, you don’t have to trouble yourself-”

“Relax, princess, it’s not a big deal,” you chuckle. Indignation flashes in him at the nickname - he wants to correct you, but he’s beginning to think that it’s a waste of effort.

Sliding off the spaceship, you search through your pockets before pulling out a small object. When you hold it into the light, Sunday recognizes it as a simple ring. His confusion must show on his face, for you are quick to offer an explanation.

“This is a perception interceptor. You can get it customized later down the line, but for now you’ll have to make due with the ring. Just press on it like this,” you demonstrate, pressing on the round, pearl-like button, “and you’ll be absolutely unremarkable to passerby and cameras alike. We can still see you normally, though. Perks of making them in a set.”

“Fascinating.” Sunday gingerly accepts your gloves and ring. The ring expands to fit him as he slides it onto his ring finger, and then he covers it with your gloves. They don’t fit him exactly, and they’re warm from when you were wearing them, but they’ll make due for now. Internally, he sighs in relief at his now-covered hands. “So when do we depart?”

“Aw, that eager to hang out with me? Didn’t realize you were already so attached,” you tease, laughing as Sunday rolls his eyes. “But seriously, you’re here a lot earlier than I expected. I was planning on grabbing breakfast before heading out.”

“I don’t believe we’re in any rush, so you still can,” Sunday offers, feeling a bit guilty, but you shake your head.

“It’s fine, I’ll just grab something from Euphrosyne. I’m sure you’re eager to get out of the old man’s clothes.”

“That’s not-” Sunday sighs, pinching his nose as you blatantly ignore him.

You hop down into the dock and wave your hand over some sort of sensor. A door slides open on the side of your spaceship, and you make a show of bowing to him.

“After you.” Sunday rolls his eyes for the third time since he’s arrived.

He carefully jumps down, taking great care not to ruin his appearance. He hunches briefly as he enters the ship, wincing as his halo knocks against its ceiling. The ship itself is rather cozy, with just enough room in the back for passengers.

You amble in after him after rechecking outside for safety reasons and make yourself comfortable in the pilot seat. The door closes soundlessly behind you. Buttons and switches click and systems sing as the ship starts up. He hears the engine fire up, and before he knows it, you’re pulling out of the Delphi and the view of the dock is replaced by the stars.

“Say,” you speak up after a few minutes of silence. “I forgot to ask, but how did you sleep last night? Most people don’t wake up that early.”

He debates whether or not he should tell you. “I slept fine, thank you. My body is simply accustomed to waking early for work.”

“Damn. I couldn’t do that,” you reply, despite clearly having woken up early to get ready. “But if on the chance that you have trouble sleeping, I have supplements that can help. Blade takes them sometimes.”

“He does?” Sunday says in surprise. You nod.

“Yeah, he’s the reason I started making them. But I have been thinking of forcing Silver Wolf to take some too - that girl will not sleep unless you tie her to the bed.”

The thought of a Stellaron Hunter with a 5 billion credit bounty being forced to bed like a child brings an amused smile to Sunday’s face. “Is that right?”

“You’d be surprised by how stubborn she is.” Despite your words, a fond smile comes to your face. Sunday knows that look well - it’s the look he wears whenever he talks about Robin. Perhaps the two of you were more similar than he thought. “But as I was saying, if you ever need help sleeping, you can always come to me and I’ll drug you up.”

Nevermind. You’re horrible.

“Your wording leaves much to be desired.” He crosses his arms and turns away from you. You chuckle.

“I just tell it like it is.”

Sunday scoffs. He doesn’t even want to bother with replying.

Leaning his head against the window, he busies himself with staring at the stars. They move aimlessly in clouds of various colors, glittering and burning all the same. With nothing to keep him distracted, his mind wanders back to that morning.

“You’ll never fly again.”

He inhales deeply. He glances at you in the pilot seat.

Here goes nothing.

“Mx. [Name],” he begins hesitantly, “What you said about my wings, when we first met.”

In the rearview mirror, you glance back at him. Sunday clears his throat, hastily turning back to the nebulae to avoid your gaze.

“As a medical… professional,” he says the last word uncertainly, “do you think I’ll ever return to the skies, with the state that they’re in?”

He hears you sigh. “I won’t lie, they’re pretty bad.” Sunday’s fingers dig into his arm. Anxiety already begins to reemerge. “But, it’s not irreparable.”

His wings perk up. Hopefully, his eyes flicker to you for a moment before returning to the cosmos.

“Tell you what, when we get back after this whole thing,” you roll back your shoulders, “I’ll take another look at them for you and we can go from there.”

“...Thank you,” he whispers, allowing more relief to show than he intended.

It doesn’t take long before the outside view changes once again. In the distance, he sees a ball covered in billions of individual little lights and swarmed with ships of all kinds, whether they be delivery ships, general travel, or personal. As your ship joins the swarm that encircles the glittering planet, you reach up and press a button on the ceiling. A loud whoosh sounds as a holographic cloak enshrouds your ship.

“Might want to activate the ring soon,” you call back. “We’ll be landing in a few.”

Sunday nods. He feels for where the ring lays under your gloves and presses down on the button, hearing as it clicks. A cold feeling washes over him like wind. Up front, he sees you adjust your wristwatch before returning your focus to landing the ship.

As you approach the docks of Euphrosyne, Sunday is able to make out buildings upon buildings, all tall and grandiose and glowing. People from all across the universe bumble about like ants on the sidewalks as traffic flows quickly and efficiently through the streets. More than once he sees the holographic symbol of the IPC flashing on the numerous billboards of the cities.

A pang of homesickness clenches his heart.

“Welcome to Euphrosyne, planet of Indulgence,” you announce. You park the ship neatly alongside many others before you stand up, stretching. Sunday hates the way he’s comforted when you smile down on him. “Ready to rebrand?”

Rebrand, he repeats in his head. Yes, the Sunday of the Oak Family was no more - that was an indistinguishable fact. Penacony is no longer the place he calls home, and the Family is no longer his.

All he is now is Sunday. Just Sunday.

He’s scared, but he has no other choice.

He stands up.

“Let’s head out, shall we?”

<< previous || series masterlist || next chapter >>

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

[your-fave-is-bi]

oc asks! ghost, heartbreak, and skin?

ghost: Who or what haunts your OC? What happened? How do they live with their ghosts?

Helios-33 Helios was very close friends with Cayde before his death, and Cayde dying and the whole Forsaken campaign was incredibly painful and hard for Helios. He held so much anger and grief that he didn’t know where to put it, and revenge fixed nothing, it was an empty salve on a broken open ribcage. Helios carried that grief with him, in the form of mostly anger, and it led him to places he’d rather forget he ever went. 

Helios is mainly an arc titan, but through many talks and meditation sessions and seeking help in his friends and environment, he learns how to harness Solar Light, to honor his lost friend. 

It’s a while after that before Helios is haunted by the ghost of Cayde-6 again. It happens for a bit during that season with the red phantoms on the moon. 

And honestly in a way, he’s learning how to live with his ghosts bc of the whole Crow thing. Helios feels bad about what happened, what he did to Uldren, but mainly bc in the end it wasn’t a proper fight. Should he not have gotten revenge like that? Maybe. But he can’t change the past, he prefers to keep his eyes forward nowadays, with a friend like Crow by his side.

heartbreak: Have they ever had a relationship that ended badly? Experienced some other kind of heartbreak? What happened?

Sa’id Sa’id is my awoken Hunter. He’s had some not great ending romantic relationships in the past, but his biggest heartbreak was the loss of his fireteam. Back in the day, he and two other void hunters were a tight fireteam, the closest bond he’d ever had. In my headcanon, Sa’id’s fireteam was one of the fireteams that went down beneath the Arcology on Titan (yknow the strike back in the day, where Guardians were turned into Hive Crystals. that one.) And Sa’id is the sole survivor of his fireteam, watching the two people he’s closest to get stripped of everything that makes them them, and nearly getting his own Light fully taken away then n there as well. It’s incredibly tragic, and Sa’id’s entire personality changes after the heartbreak and the loss of his friends, his fireteam. Where he used to be a jovial little shit, ye olde stereotypical cocky Hunter, he mellows out a lot. There’s a lingering dread to him, a void (hah ironic) that can never be filled again. Sa’id never touches Void Light again after that encounter, and becomes a purely Solar user. 

skin: How comfortable is your OC in their skin? Do they grapple with anything that lives inside them—a beast, a curse, a failure, a monster? How do they face the smallest, weakest, most horrible version of themself? Are they able to acknowledge it at all?

Cedahn Cedahn is originally a dragon age oc that I’ve just kind of taken out of his original context and plopped into various other universes bc i like him :> His main Thing as a character is that he has deep rooted anger issues that he can not control, there’s a certain bloodlust that overcomes him in a fight, a frenzy that makes him go berserk. He’s incredibly ashamed of this part of himself, however useful it can be in a fight, he hates that he is like this. He strives to always be kind, lead with grace and kindness, he tries so very hard to be good, and yet he can not deny the nature of who he becomes when push comes to shove. 

He tries his best to hide this part of himself, ‘ignore it long enough and it wont be an issue anymore, surely’ type of thinking. This, of course, never works out but yknow. A man can hope. 

[cadencejames87]

Forever Mine: Part 4

Series Masterlist // Previous chapter

Chapter Summary: Steve finds inspiration to find you on his own. Bucky reminisces a past you feel no connection with and strips his office bare.

Word Count: 2.8k

WARNINGS: Slight SOMNO, not really, Bucky has some dirty thoughts of cunnilingus while you sleep, *Warnings updated with each chapter*

*Not beta'd thus any and all mistakes are my own*

*Dividers above by @maysdigitalarts ​*

*Dividers in story by @whimsicalrogers *

The little ones sleep sideways in their shared bed as Steve digs through a suitcase on his bed, nearest the door. The baby lies swaddled in his bassinet on one side; the luggage sits open on the other.

Steve pulls out a laptop and catches a glimpse of something in the top mesh of the bag. He tosses the laptop onto the bed and fishes out a gift wrapped in star-covered navy paper and a thin silver ribbon. He spots a card in a matching navy envelope and sets the present aside as he sinks onto the bed to read it.

“Steve, you are my best friend. My rock. My safe place. I am grateful to call you my husband and partner through all things in this life. You are a warm and caring father to our beautiful children. A dependant and loving spouse that I am proud of each and every day for your heart, mind, and soul. Thank you for always coming back to us. Thank you for setting an example for our children of what a great man should be. Thank you for making me yours."

Steve hangs his head in remorse. He looks back at his five sleeping babies and trades the card for the gift, unwrapping a bottle of Chivas Regal Whiskey, his favourite. You always did things like this, surprising him with gifts to show your appreciation and love.

He removes the bottle and its complimentary glass from the box, scoops up the laptop, and moves to the table by the patio. Before he sits down to get to work, he pours himself a drink, shoots it back in one quick gulp and refills the glass. Using the whiskey as fuel, Steve opens your social media accounts, blog, email, and writing apps, searching for anything that might lead to Bentley London.

Bucky lays awake, eyes on the ceiling as if he could see your sleeping form in the bed above him. Before he realizes what he is doing, he climbs the stairs and pushes the bedroom door open, just enough to observe you toss and turn from your dreams. Moonlight streams in, caressing your exposed thigh as the curtain billows with the wind. His breath grows heavy with the image of you moaning his name as he kisses his way up your delicate, glowing thigh and finds his home between your legs.

You roll over, facing the door. Suddenly you spring up, eyes wide, and searching the darkness. Was it his presence you sensed? The nightmares haunting your unconsciousness? As your eyes adjust, you see you are alone, though the door is slightly ajar. Your breath returns to normal, your heart rate calming. You wished you had someone to hold you, while simultaneously needing to be alone. You lay back cautiously, eyes on the door, your mind at war with itself and still at a loss. After everything that has happened today, you are exhausted, eyes heavy. You fight to stay awake, even so, sleep quickly consumes you, losing you the battle of consciousness.

Steve rubs his tired eyes, striving to focus on the screen. Though daylight soon creeps in, he surrenders to his fatigue, closing the laptop with a yawn; his search results are fruitless. Steve stretches his limbs and drags himself to bed, glass in hand, shooting back the last of his whiskey on the way. He sets the glass on the nightstand and falls onto the bed.

Barely a second passes when the baby stirs. Steve rolls over with a groan, though he stays put, eyes closed. When a knock on the door wakes the baby further, Steve curses the person on the other side at this early hour. He hauls his tired body from the bed, scoops up a fussing Jonah and soothes him as he crosses to the mini-fridge.

Another knock.

Steve quickly pulls out a bottle and sets it into the warmer before answering the door.  A hotel attendant stands with an apologetic and quivering smile. "This just recently arrived and was marked urgent, sir." He hands Steve a tri-folded letter on card stock and hurries away.

"What is this, huh, buddy?" Steve looks over the letter as he sits down to feed Jonah. "Steve Rogers, Urgent!" written in thick black marker and underlined twice. He opens it and notes a small pin attached to the message, "It's time to let her go." Steve examines the badge closely, a souvenir pin for Trafalgar Square, London.

Bucky slips into the bedroom and opens the curtains. He looks out over your backyard.

A cobblestone path stretches from the back porch and wraps around a stone brick firepit with a built-in seating area, though there are still a pair of wooden chairs in front and set on either side of a matching dark oak side table. The well-maintained yard expands for acres and beyond that forest as far as the eye can see.

Bucky turns, smiling at your peaceful sleeping form, he steps away from the window, and the sun shines through, waking you from your slumber. "Morning, beautiful. How did you sleep?"

His charming smile fills you with butterflies. "Fine, all things considered." You whisper through a yawn, sitting up with a slight wince.

He cringes as though it were his own pain. "Can I get you anything, your pills?"

You shake your head, opting to tough out the minute ache and tightness caused by your injuries after the medication made you drowsy. "I’m a little hungry." Seemingly on cue, your stomach growls noisily.

Bucky lets out a small laugh, instantaneously biting his lip to silence himself when you hide your face. He clears his throat, "good, ‘cause I made breakfast." He moves to the door, walking proudly and waits for you.

Your movements are clumsy as you climb out of bed. Maybe you should have taken the pills. You shrug it off and continue to follow Bucky from the room and down to the kitchen.

---

Descending the stairs, close behind Bucky, your eyes wander to the everglade glass-walled office. You fail to notice Bucky pause at the bottom step and run directly into his broad back. You shy away when he glances back over his shoulder, though his tender and affectionate smile opens you up, smiling softly in return.

You take the lead from Bucky and step off the stairs, rounding the corner into the kitchen. An assortment of breakfast foods fills the table, holding your attention from touring the rest of the room. "You planning on feeding an army?"

"I may have overdone it a little," he admits. "I didn't know what you might be in the mood for this morning."

"I’m surprised you didn’t get any roses for the table." You comment, thinking of how roses have long since been labelled as the romantic flower and go-to option for all things expressing love. Though to you, it is more romantic when your partner learns what your favourite flowers are and surprises you with those instead. Of course, roses of all colours are still beautiful and extra meaningful when you receive them here and there. However, returning home from a hospital or years of being missing calls for your favourites and a little sarcastic testing on your part.

Bucky scoffs, raising an eyebrow. "You hate roses. But great minds." He gestures to a beautiful arrangement on the counter. "I got your favourite. Which, unfortunately, could not fit on the table." Bucky beams with happy satisfaction. He looks from the flower arrangement to you and back as he moves to the counter and plucks a single blossom.

You watch him, awestruck he remembered, and then it hits you; you remembered. It's funny how trivial things like your take on flowers seem so familiar, yet not him, not James. He seems to waver, second-guessing everything he has done for you this morning. "I don’t mean to overwhelm you. It’s just been so long." Screw it, he thinks to himself. He caresses your bruised cheek. His thumb gently strokes the cut on your lip, as he wished to himself, he could stroke away all of your injuries.

You freeze in his touch, eyes focused on the ball chain around his neck. The way that it disappears beneath his shirt is somewhat calming, could it be something you remember seeing often?

Bucky's hand drops, and his other offers the flower with a slight pout. You reluctantly take it, and he pulls out your chair with a triumphant smile. "Come, sit. I made mini pancakes. I know you love those. At least, I hope you still do." He pours you a cup of your favourite morning brew as you sit. "Um..."

"Don’t worry, it’s French vanilla. Haven’t forgotten how much you dislike the taste of coffee beans." He remarks, setting the pot aside and sitting down next to you.

"What about the quiche?"

He picks up on your disgust immediately. "I feel like you are trying to catch me at something." Bucky quickly serves himself a couple of the mini quiches. "The quiche is for me. I love it. My mother used to make it all the time growing up." You keep a watchful eye on him, which he notices. "Aside from feeling anxious and suspicious? How are you?

"It’s just..." You take a deep breath, picking out a fruit skewer and a toothpick of mini pancakes. "It's a scary feeling, waking up in an unfamiliar place with a stranger."

"You know me." You look into his desperate eyes. "I'm your husband. Why would anyone lie about that?" You shrug, eyes falling to your plate. "We were high school sweethearts, you and I. You, of course, hated me at first, thought I was too cocky."

You push your food around on your plate with a fork. "No, I-I remember high school, or... At least, I think I do." You fight to hold onto whatever it is you remember, eyebrows furrowing with grief. "I remember getting kicked out of high school and pursuing writing and..." You trail off, only to continue softer, to yourself. "I did have a boyfriend, I think. I can't..." Was it him? "Why can't I picture him?" You rub your head in frustration. You look up into his eyes. "I am sitting right in front of you." You take his hand in yours. "Don’t you think I should be able to see you in these memories if it were you?"

Bucky SLAMS his fist down on the table and tears his vibranium prosthetic from your grasp. "It was me!" He tosses his napkin on the table and stands to pace. He turns back calmer. "I'm sorry, it's not your fault. I get the frustration. It's hard for me too. I lost you once, and I can’t do it again. I won’t--" Bucky grips the back of his chair. "I won't survive." He gnaws on his bottom lip, gazing at you.

You can't look him in the eye. Instead, you study your hands, nervously wringing a napkin in your lap. Maybe he looked different, I mean, boys grow into men and some change drastically or at least enough for your brain to not make the connection. You shake your head, unable to convince yourself. "If we had pictures or something--"

Bucky inhales deeply, exhaling slowly. You're right, and he knows it. He has to find something, do something more than making breakfast with your favourite flowers. "I can check the storage locker this afternoon." He speaks softly, trying to salvage the moment.

You lift your head with a slight smile, eyes sparkling with hope.

Bucky looks away. He wracks his brain and SIGHS in defeat. "Maybe, I have something." He leaves the room. You hear his footsteps cross the foyer, a door opening, the office perhaps, and moments later, closing with the click of a lock, all while you continue to pick at your food. "Not much service out here." He says on his return, a laptop in hand. "But you don't need service to see your stories."

You perk up. "Stories?"

Bucky takes his seat, opening a webpage full of short stories. "See... And you have a few notes." He opens a file on the desktop, and you lean closer. "Plus, there is an app on here with some of your unpublished projects."

"I actually did it. I'm a writer?" Bucky nods, pride evident on his face. "But no pictures?" You scroll through an open file.

"I left your tablet and camera with everything else. It was too hard to look at your picture." You meet his sad eyes with your own. "I liked reading your stories though from time to time. I could hear your voice in your writing." Bucky looks away, restraining that lingering need to touch you. He clears his throat before continuing. "I promise I won’t come home until I find the boxes of our memories."

You give him a hopeful smile. "I would really like to see them." You return your attention to the laptop, skimming through a story. "He feels so real, like I know him."

"You have been writing about him for years or had been." He shrugs. "I guess it makes sense that you would have a picture of him in your mind. But over me?!" He turns to you, a wounded look in his eye.

You close the laptop and return to your plate. "I can't control it and..." You sit up straight, standing your ground. "And you cannot expect me to keep apologizing." Your eyes meet. "I hate that I remember silly things like my favourite colours, stepping on a bee while away at camp." You shock yourself with the random tidbit yet feel the need to continue. "Or the time I thought my fish died and I had to scoop him out of the toilet before he disappeared forever." You look into his eyes with shock, and simultaneously the pair of you share a short and QUIET LAUGH. Then the joy all but fades and is replaced with sorrow. "Yet I can't remember you. And I want to, I do." You reassure him.

He sits in silent aggravation, jaw clenched, searching for the right words. Releasing yet another heavy sigh, "I'll try to be more supportive. But I can't promise I won't be affected by this too." Bucky softens and sneaks one of your pancakes, attempting to lighten the mood. "This would be a lot easier if either of us had a family." He pushes back from the table and carries his plate to the sink, catching a glimpse of a deer and her two fawns crossing the land from the window as he does.

"Our babies?" You remind him.

He turns around, leaning on the counter. "I’m visiting the station after I swing by the storage unit. I think it will be better if you stay here." Bucky kisses your head on his way out. Though he doesn't go far, disappearing into the office, leaving you to finish breakfast alone.

Bucky locks the office door as he enters. He picks up a file box next to the door and turns to face the room.

A corkboard takes up the better part of the outer wall. A small frosted window floods the room with natural light. The corkboard is covered and overflowing with surveillance photos of you and Steve, your children, news reports, and redacted papers. There are photos of an unknown crime scene also posted to the wall and documents outlining a secret op.

Bentley crosses the room and begins dismantling his conspiracy wall, tossing everything into the box.

He turns to the desk tucked against the wall next to a lavish floor-to-ceiling bookshelf. He stuffs papers into a stack of folders, the top file labelled Steve Rogers, then sweeps the pile into the box.

A final file lays on the desk, Y/N Barnes. He pulls his eyes from the file, digging through the box as if remembering something. He removes a cell phone and plugs the device into his laptop, sitting as he enters the password.

Hacked CCTV and security cams pop up. Bucky minimizes the windows and opens the files on the phone. Your personal pictures fill the screen, selfies with the children, candid photos of Steve, and posed shots with the whole family. He scowls at the computer, clenching his fists, fingernails digging into his palms.

He returns to the computer, fingers gliding across the trackpad with determination, keystrokes violent. A secure, encrypted server, collecting files, pictures, etc. and simultaneously erasing Y/N Rogers from all online and government databases opens. He hides the program in the background and returns to the desktop to open a secure file of photos, himself and you. Then brings up your cell phone gallery side-by-side with his own. He examines the pictures of your family closer. Selecting a photo from his file, he crops you out, removes the background, and drags the image of himself over top Steve in one of the family photos.

He adds the finished product to his secure file, checks on the program in the background, still wiping your identity, and leans back in his chair. His attention falls to the family photo, the section with the children visible beneath the open window. After a moment, he leans forward and clicks on the doctored snapshot, studying it closely as he waits.

Next Chapter

Tag List: @buckyalpine ​ @pono-pura-vida @cjand10​ @lou-la-lou​ @liarasstuff​ @royalwriteroftheuniverse​ @noodle81937

[sinner-as-saint]

Crawling Back To You.

Bucky Barnes x Reader 

Run-through: Bucky Barnes had a lot on his plate at the moment. Regrets, fears, nightmares and desperately trying to do the right things to make up for his past as the Winter Soldier. Amongst those things, barely anything made him truly happy, or safe or loved. None did actually - except for you. He met you at a bar once and since then, you’ve been his sanctuary. You both knew he wasn’t quite ready to be in a relationship, yet you were always there with open arms whenever he needed a friend, a shoulder to lean on, or someone to help him take his mind off things. Be it a nightmare, or memories from the past coming to haunt him, or any major or minor inconvenience, the super soldier would find himself turning to you for help. 

Themes: angst, fluff, smut

He woke up on the floor, covered in cold sweat. 

The flashbacks of the nightmares kept resurfacing until it finally faded again. Faded, not truly gone because he knew they’d be back tomorrow again - his past coming to haunt him. He sighed and squinted at the screen in front of him. 

The T.V was on, playing reruns of a show he did not care about. He simply needed the noise to help him fall asleep. The quiet and silence was his own personal hell, so he always needed some sort of background noise to help him out. 

Bucky tried getting some sleep again; tossing and turning on the wooden flooring but he couldn’t fall back asleep. His mind was racing, too many thoughts at once. He checked the time, the clock read 1 a.m. He could go on a run, but he didn’t really feel like it. He could go to the gym, but he didn’t feel like working out either. 

He needed something. An escape, a friend. You, he needed you. 

Bucky reached for his phone, and a few taps later he was calling you. He knew it was late but you somehow always picked up his calls no matter what the time was. The rings later, he heard your voice speak up from the other end. 

“Buck?” You sounded sleepy, but not like he had woken you up, you sounded like you were about to fall asleep. 

He closed his eyes and sighed at the sound of your voice. He could picture you, all tucked in your comfy bed, surrounded by pillows and your soft blankets. Perhaps you had lost track of time because of a good book, or perhaps you were up late responding to emails for work. 

“Hey doll. Did I wake you up?” he asked, leaning back against the wall of his living room, his legs sprawled out on the floor in front of him. Only sometimes did he feel like he was taking advantage of your kindness, but then again he could be selfish when it came to you. You were his, and that’s that. 

You let out a little laugh. “Of course not, Bucky. I was just finishing up some work.” He could hear your sheets shuffling, “Are you okay? Did you have another nightmare?” you asked, softly. 

Bucky told you he did. Then he went on to tell you exactly what he had dreamt of. Sometimes he felt like he was opening up more to you than his shrink. But truth is, you made him feel like he was more than just a broken soldier, or a problem who needed to be remedied or fixed. You made him feel like he was human after all. 

“I… I’m trying to fall back asleep but…” his voice trailed off. He didn’t have to say it, you understood perfectly. He knew you did. 

Then he heard his favorite words coming from you, “Come over Buck, I’m waiting.” 

He wasted no time in getting up from the floor and getting dressed. Dark jeans, shirt, jacket and not to forget his gloves. Sometimes he wondered why he felt so giddy when you asked him to come over, which was almost every night. He wondered what it would be like to come home to you every night instead, had it been a perfect world. He always felt like he was clinging to you too much, for everything. But then you always told him that you didn’t mind. You told him you loved his company. 

He grabbed his helmet before stepping out of his apartment. There was a light drizzle outside but he didn’t care, he just needed to be with you. He got down the stairs and then rushed to start his mean bike and then rushed to your apartment building. You lived in a much nicer part of the city than he did, and he often wondered why you were putting up with someone like him when you could have a man who would give you a life you’ve always dreamt of. He often asked you that, but you always just smiled at him, you never answered. 

On his way up to your floor, he couldn’t help but feel all warm in the elevator. He counted down the seconds till he could see you. He often slept over at your place, he loved it. Cuddling, making love, followed by lazy mornings, him trying to get you to not go to work and spend the day with him instead. He loved how you made him feel. 

He knocked on your door, already taking off his gloves because he needed to feel your skin against his. Your body heat made him feel so much better. He heard you unlocking the door from the other side and not even a second later, he saw your pretty face smiling at him. Dressed in silk PJ shorts and a t-shirt, you looked breathtakingly beautiful even at one thirty in the morning. 

“Hello there,” you greeted him, smirking. “That was fast.” You teased, opening the door wider to let him in. 

He smiled and stepped inside, closing the door behind him and pulling you in for a hug immediately. You felt his slightly damp and cold jacket press against you but you hugged him back tightly anyways. 

“I needed to see you.” He mumbled, pressing his face into your neck. 

“I know.” 

-

You and Bucky ended up in your bed, cuddling under the blankets. He loved the dimmed night light you always had on, knowing that he hated being in complete darkness. He loved how cozy your room was, how spacious and airy but also warm and comfortable. 

The large window by your bed showed a lovely view of the city lights, which were right now blurred by the foggy glass, thanks to the light drizzle earlier. He could tell that the air was cold outside, but in here with you everything was just right. 

He had stripped down to just his boxers and he laid his head on your chest, his face facing away from yours, while you played with his hair and occasionally ran your hand down his back, scratching his skin lightly. His cold metal arm lazily ran up and down your thighs and he noticed the goosebumps on your skin that he was causing. 

He could hear your steady heartbeats and that was his favorite sound in the entire world. It calmed him down. 

You looked down, smiling softly at the sight of the muscular soldier using you as a human pillow. You could hear him let out quiet moans as you gently scratched his scalp. You still remembered the first time you two met, at a bar. 

-

It was late on a winter night, and the nearby bar was rather empty; just a few people here and there. And a certain muscular man in a dark leather jacket caught your eye. He was sitting at the counter, and you were in one of the booths. Eventually, you got up and decided to go talk to him. 

You recognized him immediately. Ex-Winter Soldier, Captain America’s best friend, James Buchanan Barnes.

Small talks turned into a couple more rounds of beers. He was a little off and awkward at first but he loosened up eventually. He even walked you back to your car, not wanting you to be alone in the dark, foggy and empty parking lot. 

That was the first time he kissed you, right before he opened the door of your car for you. 

“Will I see you again?” He asked, high off the adrenaline which coursed through his veins ever since you kissed him back. 

“Of course you will. Good night, James.” You kissed his cheek before getting into your car and driving off. 

-

A smile formed on your face as you thought of that night. “Do you remember the first time we met?” You asked softly. 

Bucky turned his face to you, placing his head back on your chest. He was so close that all you needed to do was to lean in a little to kiss his soft, pink lips. 

He smiled. “Yeah, why?” 

“No reason, I just wanted you to remember it.” 

Bucky chuckled and pressed a gentle kiss on your skin, right above your breasts. “You’ve been awfully quiet. What is it?” 

You just smiled at him, “Nothing. You’ve been awfully quiet too.” And judging by the look in his eyes, you could already tell there was something else to his silence. “What is it?” 

He was quiet. 

Sighing, you flipped the two of you around; straddling his waist while he laid comfortably against your multiple pillows. 

“Buck, tell me.” You pressed your palms against his chest to hold yourself up. 

“Sam needs my help with something. Another bad guy, another mission, another fight. Same old.” He sounded indifferent. 

You couldn’t blame him. He had been fighting for decades, non-stop. He had lost so much while doing so, but he also didn’t know how to deal with the calm, and silence and the quiet. There was so much he needed to figure out about himself still. 

“Do you not wanna go?” 

He smiled faintly as he lazily rubbed up and down your exposed thighs. “It’s my job, I have to. Innocent people will be hurt if I don’t. I want to help them.” 

“Then what’s the issue?” 

“I’ll have to leave you behind for a little while.” He didn’t want to. He didn’t know how to be away from you anymore because he hadn’t been for months now. The thought of not being able to hold you close at night and having your heartbeats lull him to sleep was scary.

You smiled down at him. “I’ll be here when you come back, Bucky.” 

He reached out and cupped your face with his metal hand. “And what if you find someone better while I’m gone?” 

You frowned down at him. “Where does that come from?” 

He gently stroked your cheek. “I’m just saying. You deserve someone a little more… normal.” 

You rolled your eyes at him. “Normal is boring, you seem perfectly fine to me.” 

He chuckled. “Why do you put up with me, doll?” It was a rhetorical question, he didn’t expect an answer because he had asked you this countless number of times but you never gave him a reply before. 

However, you did this time. “Because I’m in love with you, James Buchanan Barnes.” You had been meaning to tell him this for a while now. “You don’t have to say it back, I just needed you to know that no one’s ever gonna replace you. I love you.” 

He was a little surprised, his heart raced as he processed everything. How could someone as gentle, kind and beautiful like you fall for someone as broken as him? “Doll… I…” 

You leaned down to kiss his forehead. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” You giggled, then pulled away to look at him. “You deserve all the good things in this world, Buck. You deserve to be loved, and cared for. And if you’d let me, I’d love to show you that.” 

You carefully pressed your lips to his, kissing him with all the love you had. His metal hand held you at the back of your neck and the other wrapped around your waist. He tilted his head and deepened the kiss; turning your mind into a foggy mess for a little while before he pulled away and stared deep into your eyes. 

You reached out and gently caressed his face, Bucky leaned into your touch. “I’m gonna miss you.” He mumbled. 

“When do you leave?” You asked. 

“Tomorrow, perhaps.” 

You leaned in for a kiss again, accidentally brushing your crotch against his erection; making him smirk through the kiss as he pulled you even closer. You purposely moved against him while you kissed him again deeply. 

Bucky soon flipped the two of you back around and settled in between your legs, kissing down your neck. “I’m gonna miss making love to you almost every night.” He whispered against your skin. His voice alone sent chills down your back, and made you feel all sorts of warm and tingly feelings inside. 

Bucky movements were gentle and slow as he took your clothes off, making sure you were both under the warm covers still; kissing you occasionally as he undressed you, and caressed your body as you squirmed under him. 

He kissed his way down your body, until his face was right in between your legs. You moaned as he parted your legs and placed a kiss on your inner thigh, pulling your underwear down your legs and kissing his way back to your wet folds. You threw your head back, and bit your lip; whining when you felt his tongue teasing you gently. The warmth of his mouth was driving you insane. 

His tongue gently teased your clit while his fingers slipped inside of you; stroking you gently while you arched your back off the surface of your bed as the pleasure became slightly overwhelming. You whimpered and squirmed under him as his tongue moved perfectly against you.

He had you coming undone all over his tongue and his fingers in no time, and he licked you clean when he was done. Kissing his way up your body again. “I’m gonna miss your taste.” He was shameless enough to whisper it in your ear; making you blush. 

His hands roamed around your body, touching you wherever he could, until he finally cupped your core and rubbed the sensitive skin around your swollen clit – making you shudder under him. You whined as he slipped his metal fingers past your entrance yet again. His head dipped into your neck and he licked and bit around your skin until he found your sweet spot. “And I’m gonna miss your warmth.” 

“Buck…” You moaned quietly as he replaced his fingers with his cock. 

He placed his mouth on top of yours again, to swallow your whimpers and moans as he pushed his cock into you. His breathing got shallow again as he pushed himself fully into you. He lifted his head and watched you grimace in pleasure and pain as his cock stretched you to your maximum. He watched you in awe as your lips parted and you moaned his name once he filled you up nicely. 

You whined as he slowly slipped out of you completely, before slamming back into you with a slightly bigger force. 

He groaned at the feel of your walls wrapped around him, squeezing and clenching around him. You heard him swear and felt him bite down on your lip as he sped up into you. He tugged on your lips and he started moving his hips; rocking into you slowly, then gradually increasing his speed. Your back arched off the surface of the bed again and your chest pressed to his.  

“I’m gonna miss watching you squirm under me…” he whispered, “as I pleasure you like no one ever will.” He moaned into your ear. “You’re mine.” 

You were a moaning mess under him in no time. There was something about the way he kissed you, deeply and passionately; as though he was scared you might just get away from him.

He worshipped your body. He mumbled how good you felt in your ear, groaning as you bucked your hips to meet each one of his thrusts as well. He kissed you roughly as he pounded into you; his metal fingers wrapped around your throat. He fucked you raw and relentlessly, watching how your face morphed into frowns of pleasure. 

He pressed his forehead on yours; looking down to where your bodies connected so intimately. Then he pulled away to look into your eyes with that animalistic, primal and fiery look in his eyes. His lips parted as he panted while he fucked you like he owned you.

“You’re gonna miss me too aren’t you, doll?” 

You nodded, whining in pleasure. He smirked. His hand left your neck and slid in between your connected bodies and furiously rubbed your clit, earning a loud moan out of you. “Say it, baby. Tell me how much you’re gonna miss my cock buried deep inside you…” 

You couldn’t talk as the pressure in between your legs became too much to handle, and you craved for release. He noticed and slipped his tongue back into your mouth one last time and took your bottom lip between his teeth again.

“Come on, cum for me… doll,” he swore as he felt you clench around him perfectly. You came hard around him, moaning and whimpering under him as he finished right after you; kissing your swollen lips deeply as he came.

He pushed his face into the crook of your neck as he caught his breath. And you cradled his head; panting as well. Your fingers gently massaged his scalp as he calmed his racing heart. A few moments later, he shifted all his weight right on top of you making you laugh as you tried to scoot out from under him. 

He groaned and pulled you closer. “Come here.” He pressed you against his body and wrapped his arms around. “I love you too, doll. So much.” 

You buried your face into his chest, inhaling his scent. “I’m gonna miss you. All of you.” You lifted your head up to look at him smiling down at you. “Come back fast.” 

He chuckled. “You know I will. No matter where I go, I’ll always come crawling back to you.”

[liitlesunshiine]

Villainous Taste

(Detective reader x Villain Bakugo)

Warnings: NSFW, smut, mentions of death, degradation, manipulation, very bad bad stuff, dubcon, noncon, assault, sub/dom themes, don’t read if sensitive to violent themes

_________________

You sighed in frustration at your desk that was fully covered with a mountain of papers. It’s been over year now since you’ve been assigned to the notorious Bakugo, Katsuki case; and you’ve made little to no progress on catching the pesky fucking villain. You were losing your patience by the day. Especially since it felt like a personal attack on your ego that you still haven’t managed to pin this guy down. The great detective Y/N, Y/LN getting played and taken a fool by the villain himself. It’s not like you’ve made no progress though. There were times, many instances in fact, when you managed to pin the villain down. The constant face to face encounters only ending with the villain toying with you and taunting you. It’s honesty a surprise that you’re still alive considering all the chances he has had to kill you. Condescending dick, you were sure he was getting off by the chase. This all seemed to be a game to him and it infuriated you even more since you were practically entertaining it. He was thriving off the little interactions with the quirkless detective.

The way he would cockily stride his way to you with that big smirk smeared across his face. Eyes devouring your body that left an unsteady chill run down your spine. His presence held such power and intimidation that you couldn’t help but take steps back with every step he took forward. You always felt like a deer in headlights whenever he swaggered towards you. No amount of experience or expertise will ever get you accustomed to his predatory gaze.

“Go figure they’d send a quirkless bitch my way. They must really hate’ya.” He said with a rather amusing look, never breaking his eye contact with you. He grabbed a piece of your hair twisting it softly between his fingers, as if he were inspecting it. You could’ve sworn he was sniffing it too.

Yea, you were quirkless but you managed to hold your own ground. Having to work ten times as hard, having to prove yourself among your peers and having to earn the respect and position you have worked so tirelessly for years. While being quirkless was a hinderance or handicap as some would say, it was a mountain that you decided needed to be climbed. You reached its peak and planted your flag years ago. This title wasn’t given to you mindlessly. You dedicated tears, sweat, and blood to get to where you are now. Gained recognition from higher up heroes themselves and even managed to get assigned to Bakugo’s case; the most wanted and powerful villain in Japan. Now, you weren’t in denial either, you were well aware you stood no chance against the hero toe to toe. Hell, even the top tier heroes themselves barely made it out alive. You were simply here to pinpoint his locations and set up an area for his arrest. What seemed to be a simple task ended up as a wide scale massacre with Bakugo skimping through all the heroes nonchalantly. It was a complete blood bath. All the pro heroes who were posted for defense that day were to be blown up to pieces; the graphic scene till this day haunts you in your sleep. Sleepless nights and paranoia became a norm, with the image of him dripping with blood casually stalking towards you was something that you have not been able to shake out of your head for months now.

He had forced you into an alley that day. You were trying your best to steady your breathing and figure out an attempt to get the fuck out of this predicament. Your eyes skimmed for any opening, avoiding his intense gaze, looking anywhere but his blooded face.

You felt your back hit against the wall. He was now sickly close to you, you placed your head down in shame looking at his shoes rather than his face. Knowing damn well there was no way out of this situation. Beads of sweat ran down your back and colored your forehead. He slammed both his hands against the wall, causing you to jump, your head now trapped in between his forearms. His body hovered over, the smell of blood forcing its way into your nose. The intense body heat radiating off of him, had your head spinning. You felt frozen in place, every worst case scenario rushing through your mind, trying to stay steady while silently sobbing to yourself.

“My eyes are up here slut.” He gripped your chin roughly forcing your eyes to meet his. You took in the rough image of the villain in front of you. You saw the spiky unruly hair sticking out in every direction, some parts drenched in the blood of his victims. His sharp facial features looked even more intimidating under this light, little scars freckled his skin here and there scattered throughout; and his 5 o'clock shadow appearing in patches. It was his eyes that took you by surprise most. None of the pictures posted online, none of the documents you saw ever matched what appeared in front of you. The dark ruby colored eyes stared curiously back at you, analyzing your every move. The stare felt strangely intimate, and it probably would’ve been considering the circumstance. Y/N wasn’t sure if she was really fully conscious of what was happening, but having him so close was making her feel unnerved. Hell, even as a villain there are many people who admire and drool over the criminal. But seeing him this up close drenched in the blood of your peers was when the fear and guilt washed over you and you quickly snapped out of his trance. You were brought back to your senses and reminded of your current predicament. The images of the heroes fighting and dying at the hands of this animal quickly flooded in. Anger now overwhelming your sense. You reminded yourself that you were quirkless, not helpless. And with that thought, you broke your intense gaze away from him, slapping his hand off your chin and quickly spitting in his face. The action caught him rather off guard and you took this delayed response to knee him in the balls and bolt for it “FUCKING BITCH!” He roared.

~

Ever since then your encounters with Bakugo have been rather odd to say the least. You didn’t really know how else to describe it. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking. There were instances where he would get rather “touchy” and others where he would straight up just physically hurt you. It was a wind whirl of emotions and odd behavior whenever you encountered him. You didn’t know what to make of it either. He could’ve killed you months ago and the fact that he hasn’t, has left you feeling uncomfortable and confused. You felt yourself wanting to avoid him now, you haven’t been prioritizing his case anymore and you’ve lost all the spunk and passion you had in the beginning. Continuously failing to catch him and having countless of pro heroes dying at the hands of his explosions was something you no longer had the heart to bare.

Especially now that whenever you found him he’d just toy with you. It was beginning to seem as if he's looking forward to these little encounters, like he’s waiting for you. You began to notice the issue when he was becoming purposefully sloppy in hiding his tracks, it was if he was screaming to be caught. And after working his case for over a year Y/N knew his actions, how careful and precise he could be when he wanted to. A perfectionist in his own right but now, now he was practically waving a flag yelling at you where he is and to come and get him. This was a total 180 from his usual behavior and tactic and with each encounter becoming more unseemly; Y/N thought it was best to take a break from the scandalous villain. You decided on no longer participating on the missions. You couldn’t shake off the eerie feeling of this situation and where you were once so headstrong stepping into the battlefield, your courage and pride was stripped from you. Now the only thing you prioritize was staying the hell away from him. So with whatever information you did find on the villain was quickly handed over to the hero agency without any hesitation.

~

After a few months of you steering clear from the villain, his crime scenes were becoming more brutal and graphic by the week. His killing sprees drastically increasing and the victims were piling up. Y/N couldn’t help but to let guilt consume her. Thoughts of Bakugo infiltrated Y/N’s mind. From the moment she woke up, to while she’d desperately attempt to sleep. You felt yourself slowly going insane. As if your movements were being watched at all times. Your mental state began taking a toll on you and was affecting your work. You could no longer focus on anything for a span of time without the mere image of a bloodied Bakugo appearing in your head.

His case was one you guiltily found compassion in. One of the top students in UA Academy showing nothing but absolute potential to become a top ranking hero crumbled and fell to villainy after his long time friend Izuku Midoriya, was killed trying to save him. It appeared the guilt ate him up inside and as a result, Bakugo quickly blamed the heroes for being weak and unable and decided on taking matters to his own hands by killing everyone involved that day in Midoriya’s death. This paired on with him living in an abusive household led to what he is now, at least that’s what Y/N assumed. Y/N’s heart felt torn in two feeling somewhat sympathetic towards him due to his rough upbringing and traumatic past but either way it did not excuse the atrocities he was committing now. You felt yourself falling deeper into the rabbit hole because of this man. You finally decided this couldn’t continue on any longer. You requested a transfer, figure you cut your losses with Bakugo’s case and move on with your life.

~

It had been two weeks since you’ve transferred departments and moved into the inner city of Tokyo. It was new, it was adventurous, and it was a step forward. A perfect way to start fresh and move on. You felt the withdrawals from Bakugo’s case every now and then, mainly the guilt consuming you at night or whenever you saw the news appear on TV with a new crime he had committed. You did your best to avoid those emotions though. He was no longer your problem and you did everything you could anyways. Regardless, your attempts at catching him always resulted with blood on your hands.

It was a particular long day at work. You decided on staying later than usual setting up the finishing touches in your new office. You figured you’d also catch up on some cases to avoid getting swamped on Monday. By the end of it you came to realize it was a quarter past midnight. “Oh shit, I gotta get the hell outta here,’ you mumbled to yourself while you quickly got your personal things and organized the remaining loose ends in the office. You locked up everything and exited out the building, deciding on taking the metro home since you felt exhausted and couldn’t commit to the 2 mile walk.

You weren’t used to the metro being so empty and silent, but it was rather peaceful you thought. While the doors open you took no notice in the looming figure behind you. Exhausted and empty minded you walked in, to the doors behind you closing. You were instantly snapped out of your daze when you got shoved against the pole and a hand quickly covering your mouth to silence your scream.

“I’m real upset quirkless.” You immediately recognized the voice and a chill ran down your spine. You looked up to see the reflection of Bakugo off the window, he was staring at you dead in the eye. His signature scowl heavily evident on his face.

“Are you trying to hide from me? Made me follow your ass all the way to Tokyo now? Come on quirkless, you know I hate being teased.” He positioned himself to have his crotch lined up with your ass. You felt the pressure only getting bigger with each word he spoke. Your heart was racing by this point, you tried to wiggle your way out of his grasp but he only gripped you harder as a result. He pulled your hair forcing you to look at him once again through the reflection.

“What happened slut, got bored of me? Am I not important enough anymore to catch? I’ve killed hundreds of people ya know, why did you stop trying to arrest me? Don’t tell me another villain got your attention. I don’t mind killing off the competition babe.” He gripped your hair even harder to the point where your skull was becoming numb, your cheeks already salted with tears.

“Fucking slut, I should seriously punish you. You’ve been making me work overtime.”

The train did a gradual stop and the doors open once again with two individuals walking in. Y/N felt a bit of hope wash over her until Bakugo moved to sit down on the opposite direction, forcing you on top and both your backs facing the two people who just walked in. Since he was wearing a hoodie no one would be able to recognize him from this angle. Right now the situation looked like two people who are just foundling on the train. You now sat directly on top of the villain’s lap. His hand still covering your mouth harshly. When you felt the bulge in his pants fully erect is when you began to whimper.

“Awe, did my slut miss me? Don’t worry detective, I’ll give you some nice warranted attention.” His free hand began to stroke your exposed thigh. The action immediately had you squish your thighs together and attempt to get away. But he simply responded with gripping you tighter.

“Try anything and I’ll fucking take you right here, right now. I’ll blow up everyone in this fucking train. Try me bitch.”

He placed a testing hand on your thigh and tapped it softly as if waiting for your reaction. You stayed still not daring to move. “Come on baby, open up for your favorite villain.”

You silently nodded your head no, more tears springing out. He gripped your thigh roughly.

“Y/N, I won’t ask again. Fucking open.” The authority and venom that came from that demand left you having goosebumps. The fear reached you and before you knew it, you had your legs opened and spread for him.

"Atta girl.” He hummed satisfied and began stroking your inner thigh. Absolute shame and guilt overtaking your senses, you felt completely out of control and held prisoner. Your mind trying to disassociate itself with the current reality you’re in right now. But only to being brought back with his rough hands violating you and his threatening tone looming over you. “Now, I’m gonna release my hand from your mouth. If you make any fucking noise, I’ll kill everyone in this metro and make you watch while they beg for their lives, m’kay.” You nodded rather quickly, you wouldn’t be dumb enough to even dare to do such a thing. Too many people have already fallen victim to this animal, you refuse to take part in anymore blame for it. You’d figure you just let him use you and quickly get over the situation and forget it ever happen. Maybe you’ll set up an attempt to try and kill him yourself. Either way, the sooner this is over the sooner you get to go home and ball your eyes out and come up with a plan. He hummed again with your response.

“Good girl.” His hand slowly and hesitantly left your mouth and snaked its way to your thighs. He gripped both of them and forced your legs to open wider.

"Really liking the skirt baby. Makes accessing you so much easier.” He chuckled in your ear, mocking you. Ironic considering this is the first time you’ve worn a skirt in over a year. Your fucking luck. This whole thing was just entertainment for him, bastard.

His hands slowly made themselves lower reaching the inner most part of your thighs. He pulled the skirt up, completely showcasing your thong and pantyhose. You practically heard him salivating behind you. You tried to close your legs feeling painfully embarrassed.

“Tsk. What did I say Y/N” he forced your legs apart once again but with more aggression and speed, that lead you to buckle your hips onto him. You instantly became flushed, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks at the realization of what you just did. You heard him groan.

“Such a fucking tease.” He ripped your pantyhose apart, giving him full entrance to your underwear. The cold air had a cooling sensation on your inner thighs and you felt yourself softy throb. You let out a silent whine and he quickly shoved two of his fingers in your mouth while the other started doing soft circles on your clit.

“Fuck quirkless. You’re so wet, always knew you were a fucking whore for me.”

Even to your surprise you didn’t expect yourself to be this hot and ready for him. You felt completely betrayed by your body but you couldn’t help in relishing in the sensation. It felt so good to finally be touched by someone even if it was someone as vile as him. Is this what it feels like to have the most dangerous man about finger fuck you on the metro train? Maybe you can just pretend you’re getting touched by Jim- the cute and quirky coworker of yours, but with every flick even that was seeming to be difficult already. You were sucking and licking his fingers shamelessly and subconsciously grinding down on his erection. You were definitely disgusted from yourself. But you’d be lying if the thought of fucking this villain hasn’t crossed your mind. Especially with the constant harassment you faced whenever you crossed paths, how he’d violate you but never to this extent. Always leaving you in an array of emotions. Even now you’re having a hard time understanding what exactly is happening.

Your eyes snapped right open when the fingers in your mouth left to slap your pussy. You glared at him with a concerning look. He only smiled in response, the sadistic kind.

“You seemed distracted baby. Got me doing all this work and you’re not even paying attention.”

His wet fingers hooked your underwear and causally pulled them off. You were now completely exposed and the reality of the situation was settling on you. “Bakugo please don’t.”

“After you were sucking and grinding on me? Don’t act so innocent now bitch, you’re fucking soaked. Pussy is practically begging for my cock.”

He slipped one finger inside slowly, as if he was exploring the inside of your pussy. His fingers were thick and scarred due to years of using his quirk. The sensation alone was enough for you to throw your head back on his shoulder, opening your legs wider for him. You couldn’t grasp the reason for your actions. Here you were shamelessly opening yourself up and enjoying the fingers of a villain who has caused so much destruction and brought about so much pain in your life. How is it that you’re enjoying this? You really are a terrible person.

“Fuck baby, this is quite the sight.”

Any attempt in trying to hide what you and Bakugo were doing was completely thrown out the window by the sloppy and lewd noises from the villain fingering you. You began to bite your bottom lip in attempt to hold back the moans trying to escape you when he added a second finger.

“Don’t hold them noises back, let these people know how good you feel from just by my fingers slut.” By this point you couldn’t control the soft noises coming out of you even though you were trying. He was fingering you with such expertise, you were feeling yourself beginning to melt under him. When was the last time someone had touched you liked this? Are you so touch starved that you’re about to cum from out of all people- Bakugou Katisuki? Your mind was spinning.

The train reached its second stop. You tried to close your legs and compose yourself before the doors had open but Bakugo didn’t stop his assault. “Bakug-“

“Keep them open baby. We’ll put on a show for whoever sees. I don’t give a fuck.”

The only two passengers who were on the train walked out rather quickly and with no one else entering, it was just you and this villain inside. You couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or bad but at least the risk of him hurting someone else isn’t looming over your head. Instead of taking this moment to escape you threw your arms up gripping Bakugo by the neck. Might as well and try to get this over with. Sooner this ends, the sooner you get go home and bleach your skin clean and pray for forgiveness to whichever god decides to listen. This action did indeed catch him slightly by surprise but he stopped fingering you momentarily and ripped your shirt off revealing your bra to him. He quickly gripped both of your breasts massaging them in his hand.

“Turn around.” He huskily said into your ear. Already lost in the sensation of how good he was making you feel, you quickly got off him to then get back on straggling him. You were now back on him facing him with your cunt completely exposed, skirt crumbled up to your waist, and your breasts directly in his face. He was smirking down on you. He gripped the center of your bra and activated his quirk leaving the bra in shreds.

“Any idea how long I’ve been wanting to fuck this pretty little body of yours?” He gripped your neck, choking you slightly while his mouth made his way to your nipple. “Way too fucking long. Gonna devour your little cunt. Gonna make you pay for all the trouble you’ve been causing me.” His hand left your throat and began squeezing and pinching your nipple. The action causing a moan to rip out of you. “Fucking bitch, you’ve been such a distraction.” You were gripping and pulling his hair now while grinding furiously against his crouch in a desperate attempt to feel some type of friction. “Bakugo-“

“Katsuki,” he corrected, “we’ve been past the formalities for a while now”

You blushed, you rarely call anyone by their first name but Bakugo could be the exception. Besides it’s not like he wasn’t fingering your pussy like a jackhammer on a public train 5 minutes ago, not like you were grinding on him like a desperate dog in heat right now...

“Suki,” you said hoping the cute pet name would be enough to grab his attention, you attempted to sound as desperate and needy as possible, “please make me cum already.” You pleaded while placing your hands on his shoulders. Makeup smudged from the tears and sweat, lipstick smeared on your chin from him covering it, clothes all ruined and your hair a mess, you already looked so fucked out, Bakugo just ate the sight up. He had his hands gripping the side of your hips caressing them. You leaned in wanting a kiss until he quickly gripped your face squeezing your cheeks together preventing it so. “On your knees baby.”

While still squeezing your face you slowly get off his lap on your knees in between his legs.

“Open your mouth and show me your tongue.” He released his tight grip but kept his hand in place, you opened your mouth and slowly stuck out your tongue. He gave a devious smirk, in which you saw something enlighten in his eyes. The bright red color seeming more mahogany now. He leans in lining his mouth above yours and spits on your tongue. He nods his head allowing you to swallow, which you complied easily to. You now waited patiently for his next orders, your full submissive side completely taking over, not like you have much of a choice anyways. Regardless, the desire to please him and the desperation from under is consuming your every thought and sensation.

“Go on slut, suck daddy’s cock.” He leans into the seat with his legs fully spread to you. You slowly unzip his pants with shaking hands allowing his dick to spring free. You nearly drooled at the sight wanting to taste him badly. He was completely erect, a huge vain running down the base of his cock, the tip already covered in precum looking swollen and red. You lean in his dick using your hands to pump him, you slowly bought the tip towards your mouth giving it small kitten like licks. As you began sucking the villain in front of you, he lets out small grunts and groans throughout. He eventually pulls your hair and shoves his dick entirely in your mouth forcing itself to hit the back of your throat. 10 seconds pass by and he hasn’t removed his hand, 11, 12… your eyes begin watering and you’re desperately attempting to get fresh air. You begin pulling away only for Katsuki to laugh and hold you down tighter. “Aha’ha choking on my dick detective? Such a cock hungry whore… this outa teach you a lesson, maybe I’ll get some hand cuffs late-later on and treat you like you really deserve, yea-yeah. That sounds soo good.”

While Bakugo goes back and forth with himself, you begin getting red faced and losing consciousness he pulls your hair up forcing you off and you while you take this opportunity to weed in gaps of air desperately and choking, he quickly shoves himself back inside your mouth. This time he moved your head in up/down motions, you attempted your best to slurp and suck with minimal oxygen entering your system, but it was proven to be very difficult, luckily enough you notice the villain becoming slower and sloppier with his movements. You brought yourself to deep throat his cock once more until the warm liquid has finally entered your mouth. The taste sour and sticky inside, this is what sin must taste like you thought.

As on cue, the metro did a halt and you instantly recognized the location. You gave a side eye to the villain next to you who also knew this was the stop to your neighborhood. He self confidently got up and immediately zipped his pants. He took off the hoodie he wore only leaving the black tank top underneath and shoved it over your head. The hoodie was long enough to cover your whole body and you were thankful since your current garments were in shreds across the floor. It also smelled strangely sweet, odd, like burnt caramel? Maybe the lack of oxygen is making you slightly delusional? You assumed, well hoped- this is where you would go separate ways with the villain. Have this memory go to the grave with you and forget it ever happened. But to your lovely surprise he picks you up bridal style and carries you out the metro. You looked at him questioningly, the feeling of dread looming over and suddenly becoming overwhelming just waiting for his response. He simply smirked.

“You’re clocking in overtime tonight detective.”

[skiller0dani]

Broken Paradise | Spencer Reid

M A S T E R L I S T Criminal Minds Masterlist

smut requests info wc | 9.1k summary | you run into an ex boyfriend during an interrogation. except it's you being interrogated, and it's your ex boyfriend doing the interrogating.

song

another draft just waiting to be published. really obsessing over Spencer Reid.

also there's mentions of abortion, nothing graphic it's literally just a short direct reference and nothing else.

You always hear people say your past will come back to haunt you, you just didn't know they meant literally. You leaned back against the metal chair in the interrogation room, you've been in here for what felt like hours. You couldn't complain too much seeing as it's your fault that you're in here at all. You wished they'd come in and tell you something, give you an update, say hi, say anything. You seriously underestimated how maddening silence can be. You knew little about the murders the police were investigating, something about druggie women being found mutilated. The pictures they showed you were downright horrifying, you'd need at least one solid bottle of tequila to forget the bodies of those poor women.

The Las Vegas Police Department were a bunch of judgmental pigs, the only reason they'd brought you here at all was because you were from the wrong side of the tracks. Both of your parents were users, and if you were lucky, also dead. They probably assumed you used as well, and seeing as you seemed to fit the killers physical preference the police brought you in for questioning and also for your own "safety". But really you knew they didn't give a damn about your safety, they just wanted to know where you got your shit from. No matter how many times you insisted you didn't use, they kept pushing. When one male officer started throwing your parents in your face, you stood up and promptly broke his nose. That's how you landed yourself cuffed to the table, tightly.

"Oh thank you so much for gracing me with your presence once more." You smiled sarcastically as another officer walked in, wait he's definitely not an officer. The man who entered the room had cleanly cut dark hair, and wore an expensive looking black suit. Not the run of the mill beat cop that you were expecting. You bit back any other fiery remarks, if you wanted to get the hell out of here you needed to cooperate. Diana would be expecting you, not that you were itching to see her but after letter number 75 of her begging you to swing by- well lets just say that Spencer's mother was never the problem. You doubt Spencer even knew Diana was contacting you, which was good. You wanted nothing at all to do with him.

"I'm Agent Hotchner here with the FBI I need to ask you a few questions." This man was all business, you seriously had to fight the urge to fuck with him a little bit.

"I'd shake your hand but..." Your eyes flickered towards the table, where the police officer who's nose you broke had very tightly handcuffed you. In fact he cuffed you so tightly that your wrists were already raw and bleeding a bit.

"They wouldn't have handcuffed you if you didn't punch an officer. Did he hit a nerve?" The Agent's face was level, and gave nothing away as to what he was thinking. You tongued the inside of your cheek, your foot tapping quickly on the concrete floor. These assholes were really starting to piss you off.

"He was being a dick, how many times do I have to tell you guys that I don't use? Are your heads filled with sawdust?" You snapped roughly, yanking away from him to lean back in your chair despite the biting pain in your wrists.

"That's not why I'm here Miss Y/L/N." Agent Hotchner said, his voice even and his eyes on you. The way he was looking at you made you feel exposed, like he could read all of your secrets because of the way your eye twitches when you're nervous. You hate these damn FBI profilers- wait.

"How's Spencer?" It's a shot in the dark, a very long shot in a very dark tunnel. Before the scumbag left you without warning, Spencer mentioned that someone was trying to recruit him for the BAU department of the FBI. The profilers. Spencer left and never came back, two guesses as to where he went. Your eyes locked onto the Agent's in front of you, and from the slight upturn at the corner of his brow you knew you got him. Spencer is here.

"You know Dr. Reid?"

"So he's a Doctor now, doesn't surprise me. Let me guess, he has PHD's and Doctorates in Math, Chemistry and something to do with Geography right?" You say as casually as you can and you can only hope this man is wondering how you happen to know so much about one of his Agents.

"Unless I'm speaking to Spencer Reid, I want my lawyer." You snap, leaning back. You know Spencer won't talk to you, and unless they have physical proof you're guilty of something they'll have to let you go.

Check mate.

//

Spencer couldn't ignore the questioning glances from his fellow teammates even if he'd wanted to. He watched you lean back in your chair from the other side of the one way glass, what are the chances that you are wrapped up in this case? You of all young petite blonde women in the metro area. The world was fucking with him, it had to be.

"She a friend of yours?" Derek's voice was the first to cut through the silence.

"No." One word answers were the safest route, the shortest diction would give little time for them to draw information out of the way Spencer was speaking. There was a tremble in his tone, he knew there was. Spencer prided himself for having little to no baggage behind him, but of all unopened suitcases- his previous relationship with you was the largest one.

"Really? Cause she seems to know a lot about you." Derek said, his eyes fixed on Spencer. The tension in the room was palpable, and suddenly it felt hard for Spencer to breathe let alone compose himself. After shoving free from the small viewing room, Spencer found it a lot easier to exist without the scrutinizing gazes of his coworkers.

"You hear her?" It was Hotch, with a patiently guarded expression on his face. Spencer and drugs wasn't an uncommon problem, although in the past his poison of choice was dilaudid. Now there's a string of drug related murders and a possible junky who seems to know a lot about him.

"Yeah, from before the Bureau." Spencer clarified quickly, and Hotch honestly looked the tiniest bit relieved.

"Think you could talk to her, she's made it obvious she won't talk to any of us." Hotch said, and from the tension building in Spencer's shoulders he can tell there's some bad blood between the two of you. Spencer took a deep breath before taking all of those unresolved emotions and forcefully shoving them down. Deep, deep down. It's time to do a job, there's a missing woman who needs to be saved.

//

When that door opened again, you thought you'd won. You thought they were coming to begrudgingly release you. Instead you were met by the big doey eyes of Spencer Reid, your first and last love. All the air was stolen from your lungs in an instant, the memories flood back and you can't stop them. The anger rises then, this is the first time you've seen him since he left you. The one person you trusted not to leave you did, he left like everyone leaves you. Like your parents left you. He's very clearly all business, his face hardly giving anything away as he swiftly reached down to unlock the handcuffs around your wrists. If you wanted to walk away from this without your heart getting broken you needed the upper hand.

"Heya baby." You smiled, you hoped that maybe it would disarm him. At least a little, but when you looked at him all you saw was a stoic and focused expression. Nothing? Really?

"I need to ask you a few questions Miss Y/L/N." Spencer's voice was controlled, even in tone. His voice... God his voice could bring you right to tears. You could still hear him saying how much he loved you with that stupidly angelic voice of his. Spencer was very quickly taking control of the situation and you did not like that at all.

"You know you can ask me anything, there's no secrets between us right Spence?" You leaned forward on your elbows, trying desperately to ignore the throbbing in your wrists. One of Spencer's biggest giveaways is eye contact, when he's upset or feels guilty he'll avoid looking into your eyes. You turn your gaze up to meet his, but once again you're completely disarmed to see him unabashedly looking into your eyes like it isn't a problem at all. Either Spencer has amnesia and forgot who you were, or what happened between you two doesn't hurt him like it hurts you. You refuse to believe it's the latter, he just forgot. Definitely forgot. Somehow he must have forgot.

"Nina Fredricks, have you ever seen her?" He slid a photo in front of you, you recognize her as the woman who was most recently kidnapped. Most recently being 12 hours ago so chances of her still being alive are unfortunately slim. You nibble on your lower lip, come to think of it you actually might have seen her.

"Yeah, saw her at Winchell's, little coffee shop on the corner of 5th? You remember right Spence? You used take me there all the time, I loved giving you head under the table." You smirk, but it quickly falters. Whatever training he went through must have stripped him of all emotion and turned him into a machine. Built only to solve cases and do nothing else. That wasn't the case however, you just didn't know how good Spencer is at compartmentalizing his emotions. He could only imagine the looks on his coworkers faces upon hearing you say that, at least he can just say you were lying to try and illicit some sort of reaction from him. They don't have to know that you totally used to slip under the table and swallow his cock in a diner full of people. They don't know about that side of him, and Spencer doesn't plan on changing that.

"When?" He presses on with the interview, and surprisingly you're forthcoming with information when you're speaking to Spencer. Even after all this time, he has this annoying power over you. This innate ability to get you to do whatever he wants you to, although you would prefer him to use this special ability in the bedroom. No! No you have to eradicate thoughts like that, Spencer hurt you worse then anyone else ever has. He hurt you worse because he made you think he was going to stay, and then he didn't.

"Few nights ago, she looked really messed up though. Winchell threw her out, definitely doped up on something. Before you ask, no I didn't see where she went." You sigh, finally giving up flashing Spencer the all too familiar 'you win' look. Usually a victorious grin stretches across his face, but not this time. Those times are over.

"Did you see anybody with her?" You're not entirely surprised that Spencer isn't writing any of this down, that stupid eidetic memory. You're fooling yourself if you think he forgot what happened, Spencer never forgets anything. Ever.

"Every detail matters."

You genuinely try to remember if anybody was with Nina, and while you didn't see anyone you remember shortly after she left the diner there was this horrible screeching sound. "After Nina left I heard what sounded like tires screeching on the street. Never saw a car though."

"Thank you Miss Y/L/N, is there anything else you can remember about that night? Anything that sticks out?" After a few moments of quiet contemplation, you shake your head.

"Am I free to go?" You ask quietly and Spencer shakes his head.

"Unfortunately we're going to have to keep you in protective custody. We'll move you to a more comfortable room, but you'll need to stay in the precinct."

"But why? I'm not a drug addict-"

"You are exactly this killers type, and we don't know if looking a certain way is more important or if being a drug addict is when it comes to him choosing his victims." Spencer explains simply, his mouth moving a mile a minute as he stands. When he turns his eyes back on you, you realize he's waiting for you to follow him. You stand and follow him out of the cold interrogation room to a comfier waiting room. It has a table and chairs, vending machine and a big plush couch.

"You can stay in here, we'll let you know when it's safe to go home." Spencer says, and this is when you finally catch the crack in his façade. His eyes flicker away from yours, trying to disguise the waver in his voice, the desperation to vacate the room as quickly as he can. But now that you've seen him break, even a little, you're going to crack him wide open. You won't let it go that easily.

"Spencer?" Your voice is soft, with an innocent drawl that Spencer can't resist. He turns his head to look at you, swallowing thickly when his eyes meet yours.

"You do remember me don't you? Once upon a time we were in love." You see the rest of his coworkers trying and failing to look like they're not listening. But it's not like you care if they do, Spencer will though but luckily his back is to the door. After a few moments of tense silence, he finally speaks.

"Of course." It's not the answer you were hoping for but it's an admission, which is more then you were getting earlier.

"Do you miss me Spencer? Miss me in bed next to you?"

"W-Well I-"

"Do you miss when I used to cook your favorite dinner every night when you came over? Do you miss how I loved you unconditionally?" Your voice was steadily growing more hostile, and you knew there were tears building in your eyes. This has all been building up for so long you know you can't stop it now.

"Y/N-"

"Do you miss being able to fuck me whenever the hell you want? Is that what you miss the most Spencer? You must not miss me that much because when you left I didn't even get a fucking call! You didn't even say goodbye, you just left!" You were yelling now, with tears streaming down your face. Spencer had slyly shut the door by now, he knew this was going to happen the second he saw you. He wished he could help you understand why he had to leave the way he did. He was trying to protect you, and he still firmly believes he's protecting you. Look what happened to Haley, what happened to Maeve. Spencer loved Maeve and he lost her like Hotch lost Haley, and Spencer can't lose you. Not you. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if something happened to you.

"Please try to understand-" You never even let him get close to finishing his thought.

"Understand what? Leaving me? You said you loved me! How could you love me and then leave me alone? While I was pregnant!" Your hands flew to your mouth, you honestly never planned on telling him that. Spencer's eyebrows rose high in the air, and you can tell you just knocked the wind out of him. Spencer's hand reached back for the door handle, "pregnant?"

"Spencer I'm sorry I didn't mean to tell you that way." You tried to explain, and despite the fact that he'd abandoned you, you were dead terrified of him leaving again now that he was stood in front of you.

"Do I have a child you never told me about?" His voice is shaky, afraid. Now you can see all his coworkers heavily invested in your conversation.

"N-No, I...I got rid of it." You said softly, watching the mix of emotions swirl across his face. When his trembling palm curls around the door handle you launch forward to grab at his arm.

"I'm sorry, please don't leave. Not again-" But he's pulling his arm free from yours and turning out of the room, nearly slamming the door behind him.

//

Spencer ignored the questions, he ignored the looks. His legs gave out somewhere near one of the couches. He stared ahead numbly, trying to make sense of what you'd just told him. Trying to somehow wrap his head around the terror of you being pregnant and then the grief of the lost possibility all at the same time. By now, JJ and Rossi had shooed everyone away from Spencer. Which he was immensely grateful for, the only thing he wanted now was to be alone. Completely and entirely alone.

Pregnant.

The word kept replaying like a scratched record, screeching in his ears every time he closed his eyes. Spencer pressed the balls of his palms into his eyes when he heard the distinct sound of footsteps approaching him. Whoever it was, he already wished they would go away.

"Damn Kid, I didn't expect you to date such a spitfire." Derek joked as he sat down, doing what he can to ease the tension. Spencer didn't even bother looking up at him, his head stubbornly lowered and his gaze locked on the ground. Derek racked his brain for something adequate to say, but what was there to say? How could Derek find a way to make this right? Spencer just found out you were pregnant with his child and that you'd got an abortion all in the same 10 seconds. It was a lot to process.

"You gotta talk to her Spence." Derek's voice was less humorous this time. Spencer wrung his hands nervously, his eyes finally lifting to meet Derek's. A sharp shake of his head and a flash of the tears in his eyes and Spencer stands, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. Time to get back to work. Someone has to talk to you, Derek can't stand of someone crying by themselves like that.

"It's not really my place-" JJ tried to argue as Derek stood in front of her.

"Someone needs to talk to her, and Spencer isn't going to." Derek said, rubbing a hand down his face as his eyes flickered back to Spencer. Who was currently throwing himself headfirst into the geographic profile of the killer they're looking for, because maybe if he works hard enough the rest of the entire world will just disappear. Maybe if Spencer keeps working and does nothing else you'll just vanish from that room and he won't have to deal with this. It's not that Spencer wants you to go away, the opposite actually but there isn't room in his life for you anymore. It's not safe. Spencer would rather be alone for the rest of his life then put you in danger because he's lonely and misses you.

"Alright, fine. But only for Spence." JJ says, jabbing a finger in Derek's direction before reluctantly heading towards the room you're in. She glances back at Spencer, who has become consumed by the map in front of him. JJ can always tell when something is bothering him, he has physical giveaways. The way his shoulders are rigid as he scribbles something on the whiteboard, the furrow in his brow that lets her know that while he's working on something, his mind is elsewhere. The tremble in his palm from trying so hard to hold everything back, everything he doesn't want anyone else to see. To someone that doesn't know Spencer, he looks perfectly composed, his attention and focus completely on his work. JJ knows him well enough to know that his mind, and heart are sitting tattered in this waiting room on the couch next to you.

JJ creaks the door open, flashing you a smile that makes you absolutely hate her guts. Spencer probably has some puppy love crush on her, she's beautiful. Long blonde hair, slender body, stunning smile. Everything you're not.

"Hi I'm Special Agent Jennifer Jareau, but you can call me JJ." The way she's looking at you lets you know that she came in here to try and understand. You're not in the mood to talk to her or anybody else in this stupid building except for Spencer. You want to hate him so bad but you can't. You can't because of how much you fucking love him. The bastard.

"Look I know you're probably not all that excited to talk to me-"

"I want Spencer." You snap, and by the look on her face you can tell she isn't surprised that you said that. JJ chewed on the inside of her cheek, how does she say that Spencer doesn't actually want to talk to you?

"Dr. Reid is needed elsewhere right now, but I'm willing to talk if you need to."

"You don't have to lie Agent Jareau. I know he doesn't want to see me, he's doing that thing where he pretends to work on something while secretly obsessing over something else." You say casually, and the fact that you can pick Spencer apart so easily is somewhat off-putting to JJ. But that could be her unrequited crush on him shining through, deep down JJ doesn't like that some other woman knows Spencer better then she does. While you'd love to sit here and wallow in your misery, a much worse idea strikes you then. If you can't talk to Spencer why not fuck with the woman who's clearly in love with him.

"And the little twitch in his fingers, the slight clench in his jaw. See that? He keeps rolling his shoulders back," while everything you were saying isn't a lie- it's guaranteed to annoy her. JJ stayed quiet, she hated that she didn't know what the goddamn twitch in his fingers meant.

"He's tense, but there's more. He can't stand still, keeps shifting from foot to foot. It's driving you crazy that you don't know why he's doing that." You laugh as her annoyed eyes flash to yours for a second before settling on Spencer again.

"You're a profiler, you can't figure it out? That doesn't surprise me, you've probably never considered the fact that Spencer has an unusually high sex drive." Your words completely stun her, and JJ's cheeks flush profusely.

"It means he's horny." You say casually, leaning back against the couch. You love the blush on her cheeks, and the fact that she's clearly biting her tongue to avoid saying something rude. You love that you got under her skin, and yes you're aware that you're a bad person. Now that you've said it, JJ can't get it out of her damn head. Spencer is horny. Spencer isn't a virgin. The thought of Spencer having sex makes JJ feel a sick turning in her gut. She was happy believing Spencer was a virgin, believing that nobody has gotten to experience that side of him yet. Happy to believe that he was untouched, but apparently that was not the case. Now that the illusion has been shattered, JJ feels as though the jagged pieces of it are cutting into her, and she knows you enjoy watching her bleed.

"Trust me, I know just what to do to relieve the tension, I know how to get him off quick. Do you?" You smile as you let your eyes shamelessly drag down his slender frame.

"You're only saying this because you want to control the conversation, and you hate that I see him everyday. That I can talk to him whenever I want, about whatever I want. You wouldn't lash out if you didn't feel intimidated." JJ says calmly, rendering you just as speechless as she was moments ago. The pain that was sent stabbing into your heart caused you to recoil back from JJ, trying to hide your misty eyes from hers. You can't let her know that she's winning.

"Look, we can both get nasty all we want but that's not why I'm here. I just want to help." JJ says sincerely, but you still don't budge. JJ taps her fingers against the wood of the table, thinking about leverage she can use to get you to talk to her.

"Spencer fell in love again." JJ says finally, and this time you turn your gaze up to look at her. You push your emotions down, no matter how much it hurts to hear her say that. Who is she? Are they still together?

"If you want to know more about her, then I suggest you talk to me. An answer for an answer, fair?" You can see her trying to bait you, and damn her because it's working.

"Fine." You grumble, leaning back fully against the couch. Your eyes catch Spencer's for a second when he turns to face the table, presumably looking for a map you remember being on the right side. You point to the right side of the table and Spencer looks nothing but annoyed when he follows your direction and finds what he's looking for. He hates that he functions better as a person when you're around.

"What's the deal with you and Spence?" JJ asks, and there is a lot to unpack with that question.

"Gonna have to be more specific." You say with a shrug, your eyes hesitantly meeting hers.

"How long were you two together?"

"2 years 8 months." You answer without pausing, causing her eyebrows to raise. JJ didn't expect you to remember down to the month, it's been years since you and Spencer were together. That's not a short fling like JJ originally thought, that's a substantial amount of time.

"What's her name?" You ask, desperate to get information on this mystery woman who has stolen Spencer from you.

"Her name was Maeve." Was. You don't miss how she says was instead of is.

"Why do you hate Spencer?" JJ looked like she cared, but you know it's not you she cares about. She's in here to try and protect Spencer in some way, she's acting like you're the villain.

"I don't hate him. He abandoned me. Just packed up and left, no note, no goodbye. Haven't heard from him since." You snap, hating the amount of emotion that was in your voice. JJ's eyebrows furrow, that's just so unlike Spencer. He's not cruel, he's never been cruel but that...is cruel. You see a look flash across her face.

"Sweet boy isn't as sweet as he seems." You say softly, folding your arms over your chest.

"He must have had a good reason." JJ insists, her eyes landing on Spencer's back as he continues to map out the hunting grounds of the killer. You know he's just wasting time to avoid coming back in here. Spencer is a certifiable super genius, he finished mapping it out a while ago. He's just pretending he hasn't finished yet.

"Spence still with her? Maeve." Her name felt like poison on your tongue, and JJ slowly shook her head.

"She died in front of him, really tore him up." Your heart cracks a little bit at her words, you can't imagine how hard that must have been for him. You see JJ open her mouth to ask something else when the door opens, and a man with darker skin pokes his head in.

"JJ? Reid found him, we gotta go." As soon as he arrived, he's gone with JJ hot on his heels. She sends you a smile before she rushes out of the room, and you see Spencer following her path out. They're going to arrest a murderer who has an arsenal of weapons at his disposal.

"Spencer! Y-You can't go, it's not safe!" You blurt from the doorway, and he pauses. His eyes find yours as he holsters his pistol, an unreadable expression on his face.

"It's my job." And that's all he says before he disappears out of the precinct, leaving you once again.

//

You couldn't quell the anxiety turning in your gut, you're not sure how to exist while Spencer is out there hunting a murderer. You wished that you could turn off the part of your brain that's still so damn attached to him, but no matter how hard you try you can't silence your heart as it calls for him. You're not sure you could survive the constant fear of losing him if you ever ended up with him again, this life is too much for you to take. Maybe he knew that all those years ago when he left you the first time, Spencer always could see right through you. Maybe he left because he knew staying would only lead you to live a life of constant fear, maybe he was trying to protect you. Either way the reasons don't matter anymore because he left, and nothing can change how badly that hurt you.

"Does it normally take this long?" You ask a passing officer, who in turn shrugs before continuing on his path. You feel like you're going to explode or vomit, or both. It's been over 2 hours, should it be taking this long? What if he got shot? What if he's dead right now and you're sitting here with your damn thumb up your ass worrying about him like a useless housewife? Feeling useless, that's what you hate the absolute most. Knowing there's nothing you can do to stop a bullet on it's trajectory to his heart.

"Spence, are you sure you're okay?" You hear a flurry of voices and when his name graces JJ's lips you're pushing out of the room. Your eyes find him instantly, and then travel to his palm which is pressed tightly to his neck. His bleeding neck. You feel your heart rate spike, hammering like the hooves of wild horses as you move without thinking about it. Before you even understand that you've moved, you're stood in front of him. Your eyes try to scan his neck for wounds but his palm covers the location the blood is coming from.

"C'mere." You grab his wrist and yank him back towards where you saw a first aid kit earlier. Luckily your 2 and a half years of nursing school taught you how to stitch a wound and perform basic first aid. Spencer offers no resistance as you yank him to a back corner of the precinct, pushing him to sit down. You grab the first aid kit, slowly prying his hand from his neck. Your eyes mist at the wound, it's a bullet wound. Looks old though, there's scarred tissue. This had to have happened a few weeks ago at least. You see the thin line of the scar, the middle section seems to have opened up again.

"You didn't wait long enough for this to heal." You scold gently, not missing how his eyes watch you with an intensity smoldering in them. You miss the way he used to look at you, the way he's looking at you right now. You miss being the center of his whole world, you scoff. Look how easy it was for him to walk away from you. You threat a needle to stitch the center of his wound shut again, and when you look for numbing cream you discover that there isn't any.

"Spence, there isn't any- I can't find the numbing..." Your voice trails off as you begin to yank things out of the first aid kit to search for the numbing cream. Spencer's hand catches your wrist and it's only just now that you realize you're trembling.

"It's okay. I'll be fine." He settles back against the chair he's sitting in, turning his head to reveal his neck to you. You hesitate, the Spencer you remember had a very low pain threshold. All of a sudden he's expecting you to stitch him up with no numbing agent?

"Y/N, I can handle it." Spencer says again, his voice firmer than before. You swallow a lump in your throat before reaching forward to begin stitching. You press the needle against his neck, eyeing him to gauge his reaction as you puncture his skin to make the first thread. To your surprise he hardly flinches, a small quirk in his lip is the only giveaway that he's in pain. Is this the same man that got squirmy getting a shot? That would shy away from the needle? Now he's sitting here letting you stitch him up without moving a muscle, without even flinching? The more time you spend with him the more proof you get that this isn't the same Spencer that left you all those years ago.

"How did it happen?" You ask, wondering how he could have survived a gunshot to the neck. He shifts uncomfortably.

"Got shot, two inches away from hitting my jugular." Spencer says it so casually, but you're so stunned that you halt your movements for a moment.

"How many times have you been shot?" You ask, your voice hoarse. Is him getting shot a common occurrence?

"Twice. Also got shot in the leg." The casual way Spencer talks about it almost convinces you it isn't a big deal. But it is. It's a bullet ripping through his body, and it's happened to him on two separate occasions. You finish stitching and bandaging him up, your hands moving away from him as soon as you can.

"Thank God you went to nursing school or I'd be six feet under." He jokes. You know he's kidding but still, the thought of it makes you feel lightheaded.

"Don't say stuff like that." You snap softly, and you know Spencer can see the fear and vulnerability in your eyes. You hesitantly steal a glance up at him once he's stood up only to find he's already looking at you. You shy away from his intrusive gaze, and you could practically feel him probing at your mind. Reading your thoughts as if they were written down for him. You hate that he can always tell what you're thinking, you hate that it was so easy for him to read you. Like a damn book. You have to fight the urge to reach out and grab his hand, it's what you always did when you felt lost or unsure. Spencer was always there to ground you and bring your mind back out of your thoughts.

"Miss Y/L/N?" You hear JJ's voice gently interrupt you two. You shoot away from Spencer as though you were doing something scandalous. He doesn't move an inch.

"Yes!" You blurt a little too loudly, suddenly flustered being so close to him. Why does your sharp tongue always leave you when you need it?

"You're clear to go home."

"I can take her." Spencer speaks up before JJ has a chance to offer, and she knew he would. You swallow a nervous lump in your throat, your palms shaking.

//

The SUV has dark tint, you weren't expecting that. The second you sat back in the plush leather seat your mind flew to lewd thoughts of you leaning over the center console, Spencer's hand in your hair as he helps you take his cock in your mouth. You steal one glance at Spencer, his right hand holding the steering wheel loosely. Your cheeks heat up as you glance down between his legs, get ahold of yourself.

"The address is-"

"I remember." You knew he would. That damn eidetic memory ensured that he never forgot anything. It broke your heart a little, because some naïve part of you was hoping he remembered because it meant something to him. You hoped he remembered the way to your house because he didn't want to forget, because forgetting it meant forgetting you. But you know the reality, you know that he remembers because he has no choice but to remember. His memory is too good to allow him to forget anything, even if it was something he wanted to forget. You're grasping at straws and you know you are, holding onto that foolish notion that Spencer still held onto the memories. That he still held onto the gifts you gave him, crying softly in the night like you did sometimes.

"JJ told me about Maeve." You say softly into the silence, and you saw Spencer swallow thickly out of the corner of your eye. "I'm so sorry you lost her Spence."

"Thank you." He honestly wasn't expecting you to say that, to acknowledge the pain. Because acknowledging the pain meant that you knew he loved her. He did love her. But it was a different love then the love he feels for you. It was special, but so are you. You're special too.

"Have you...dated anyone else?" Spencer can't help but ask as he subconsciously continues the drive to your house. A drive he's committed to his memory, a drive he never wants to forget. You shift to look at him, there were a few you dated. You know when you tell Spencer about them that it'll drive him crazy.

"Tony Anderson." You say and just like you thought, Spencer groans deeply. Spencer detests Tony, they were practically mortal enemies when he still lived in Las Vegas.

"Tony? Seriously?" His tone is incredulous as his grasp on the steering wheel tightens ever so slightly.

"He was a good fuck at least." You know you shouldn't wind him up, but he hurt you for Christ's sakes. He deserves a little bit of pain too. Spencer flinches, a look of anger and something else simmering in his eyes.

"Please tell me you didn't have sex with Tony."

"Why does it matter?" You shouldn't enjoy upsetting people as much as you do. But there's still a small part of you that's convinced that Spencer deserves this.

"Because I can't live with the fact that somebody else has gotten to feel that perfect cunt of yours, let alone Tony." His crude words take you by surprise, and you can't fight the gasp that escapes your mouth.

"Well before you start digging your grave, relax. I never had sex with Tony." You decide to put him out of his misery, and you see the relief physically flood his body. You lean against the window, the next admission from you will leave the air heavier in it's wake.

"I've never slept with anyone but you Spence." You realize it's been a long time since you've seen Spencer let alone had sex with him but you could never bring yourself to sleep with someone else. It's not as though the opportunity never presented itself, you had plenty of chances to have sex with someone else. But you couldn't because there's still a stubborn part of you that doesn't want to betray Spencer.

"Really? Why?" Apparently this revelation surprised him.

"Because no matter where you go I will always belong to you." You snap without thinking, blinking tears from your eyes as you avoid his gaze. Spencer fell silent then, and you know he feels guilty. Probably because he's slept with someone else in the time since he's been with you.

"I know you have and it's fine I'm not trying to-"

"I haven't." Spencer corrects instantly, his eyes meeting yours through the darkness of the SUV. If he could see you he would see the look of utter surprise on your face. It's not as though Spencer was an overly sexually ambitious person when you dated, but you figured he probably slept with at least one person. "I haven't slept with anybody else either."

"I know someone that wants to though." You grumble without thinking, your mind drifting to JJ and the obvious crush she thinks isn't obvious. Spencer tilts his head in a way that resembles a confused puppy, you resist the urge to ruffle his hair.

"Who?"

"Agent Jareau." As soon as the name slips past the threshold of your lips, Spencer's jerks the wheel in surprise. You see a dark blush color his cheeks as his other hand reaches up to steady the wheel.

"J-Jennifer? No way! She's my best friend." You nearly laugh at his flustered state, and normally you would push it a little further but you decide to let it go. You don't want to completely destroy the way he sees her, you know you already destroyed the way she sees him.

"You have no idea what a catch you are Spencer." You tell him as you unbuckle your seatbelt, getting ready to exit the SUV. Spencer reaches over and places a warm hand on your wrist to stop you from leaving, his eyes searching yours for an answer he isn't sure you have.

"Come in?" You ask hopefully, you're not ready for him to leave again. Damnit why did he have to turn up again after so long? You were just starting to think that maybe you could move on and find someone new. You were finally starting to feel okay, and then Spencer reappears and turns your entire world upsidown all over again. Deep down you know that nobody will ever compare to Spencer Reid, and you don't want them to. You don't want anyone to be like Spencer, you want him to be his entirely own person. It's what you love the most about him, is his ability to be himself no matter where he is or who he's with. All of his little quirks, the things about himself that he doesn't notice but you do.

"Yeah." His answer comes across as an exhalation of breath, and you try to hide how excited you are. You want to hold on to any moment you can, stolen moments that you take as you please with no regret whatsoever.

"Nothing has changed." Spencer muses once you unlock the front door and push inside the darkened living room. You blush, admittedly nothing about your small townhouse has changed. It's all basically the exact same as when Spencer saw it last. You rub a hand down your arm as Spencer's eyes go wandering. Trailing over the curtains he remembers hastily pulling closed to protect your decency on more than a few occasions. His gaze then travels to the couch, all those movie nights you two spent curled up together. Or when he got you into Star Trek and you couldn't stop watching it. Pain stabs his chest for a moment, it's hard to remember everything he had to let go of to get the job he has now.

"I miss you too, you know." Spencer says off-handedly. It takes you by surprise, the sureness in his tone is jarring. He sounds so comfortable admitting when he's vulnerable, it's never been easy for you to be vulnerable with him. Maybe that's part of the reason he left, maybe you drove him away by shutting him out. His eyes meet yours, a look so soft in his eyes it feels as though his gaze is caressing your skin. You bite your bottom lip to keep the emotions at bay, what is it about this man that makes you so emotional?

"I never said I missed you." You try to snap, to add an edge to your tone. But instead it came out watery and broken, and in turn Spencer reached up to swipe away a falling tear.

"But you do." You can't even deny it, it's obvious.

"Damn you Spencer Reid, I was finally starting to feel okay again." You cry softly, curling your arms towards your chest in an attempt to shrink away from him. He cups your cheeks in his palms, turning your face up towards him.

"I wasn't." He admits before his lips are on yours, and it's not frenzied and desperate like you've been picturing all these years. It's slow and calculated, soft and passionate. Firm but with a tenderness that makes your knees buckle from the gravity of it. Spencer's fingers card into your hair, pulling your head closer to his. He nips at your lower lip, his arms crushing you against his chest. You throw yourself into him, your arms holding him as tightly as you possibly can. Afraid that if your vise grip loosens, even for a second, that he'll slip through your fingers like trying to hold onto water. You almost don't want to let your eyes close, you don't want him to disappear again.

"I missed you, I miss you-" You gasp against his lips, grabbing fistfuls of his dress shirt. Spencer continues to move his lips languidly against yours, backing you against the wall. His hand ghosts down your side to the hem of your shirt, his fingers toying with it.

"O-Off." You beg, and in an instant Spencer is pulling your shirt over your head. His eyes land on your bare chest, shocked that he almost forgot that you never really wear a bra. His hands curl around your back, drawing your chest up into his awaiting lips. His mouth curls around your hardened nipple, your hand flying into his hair from the contact.

"Is this a dream? Please tell me you're really here Spencer." You beg, almost becoming lost in the emotions again. His eyes flutter up to meet yours, his mouth reluctantly leaving your nipple. He brushes his lips over yours, his hand trailing down your stomach towards the waistband of your leggings.

"This is real, I'm here baby. I'm home." Hearing those words was too much, and you launch yourself into his chest as the first tear trickles down your cheek. Your lips press sloppily to his, the kiss messy and wet as his hand slides into your leggings. His fingers find your wet slit in an instant, desperately parting your lips to slide a lithe finger into you. Your body reacts to him instantly, in a way that surprises you. Almost as though it too was crying out for him, keening into him and begging for his touch as much as your mind is. Spencer hauls one of your thighs up to hook around his waist as he presses another finger into you. You cry out softly into the quiet air, accompanied only by the labored breathing fanning across your face.

"I need to feel you, I- I need-" You can barely get the words out as he steadily pumps his fingers into you. His mouth on yours silences your desperate pleading, his chest firmly pressing your back into the wall. You missed being able to feel him and you hate that you forgot what it feels like to have his body on yours. It's been so long you forgot what the sting of his cock feels like. What it feels like when you stretch wide open around him, to feel like you're being ripped in two. Spencer continues his pace, his thumb rolling your clit to provide the extra stimulation you're missing. It's not enough to satisfy you, but its enough for you two cum. Which you do. You gush around his fingers as you gently come undone, your back arching into him.

"Please," You beg wantonly, curling your other leg around his waist as his hands hook underneath your thighs. Spencer's lips press against yours, moving slowly against your own. You know now that you will never stop loving Spencer, and that he's completely ruined you for life. You'll never be able to love anybody else without your heart wandering back to him. But then again, you don't really mind because you don't want to be with anybody else. You don't want to love anybody else. You just want him, only him. He pushes into your room, walking the entirety of the way with his eyes closed and his mouth pressed against yours. He has the layout of your house mapped out in his head? He never even bumped into anything until he was dropping you unceremoniously on the bed.

"Tell me what you need, I'll give you whatever you want." Spencer husks against you, hovering above you. Your fingers are already unbuttoning his shirt before you even have the chance to respond to him. You know instantly what you want, what you need from him.

"I want all of you, give me everything." You plead, your lips practically chasing his as he kneels up over you. He's being soft tonight, and that's something you appreciate greatly. You need to feel his love, you need to feel everything you know he can't quite put into words. His hands are shaking as he undoes the button and zipper of his dress slacks before kicking them off the edge of the bed. You stare up at his naked body, looking as though it's been sculpted by the Gods specifically for you. Spencer smiles softly at you as he pulls your leggings down your legs, leaving little nips and kisses on your inner thighs as he goes.

"Hurry." You groan, nearly clawing at his bare shoulders to pull him back up to you. Spencer chuckles at how eager you are, watching with interested eyes as the head of his cock breaches your folds. You reluctantly stretch open as he continues his intrusion, his fists curling tightly around the sheets. Christ you weren't lying about not sleeping with anyone else, you're so tight it's making him feel a little lightheaded. Inch by inch Spencer presses into you, his forehead resting against yours once his pelvis is sitting flush against yours. Sure, you've had sex with hi before but never have you felt this connected to him. Spencer sits like a gentleman and lets you adjust to his size, trying to take a few deep breaths himself. It's hard to breathe with your heat sucking him in with a vice grip.

"Can I move?" You're surprised by how collected his voice is, but the furrow of his brow is a giveaway that he's losing the battle to stay stock still inside you.

"Yes, please." You moan, unashamed. Spencer gently draws his hips back, pulling himself nearly all the way out before swiftly sliding back into your inviting cunt. He sets the pace slow and deep, his hands reaching up to lace through yours. Every time the head of his cock nudges that spot deep inside you, you can feel your toes curl. Your head slams back against the pillows, unable to keep your gaze on him any longer. You feel yourself becoming one with him, and you wish you could capture this moment somewhere other then just in your minds eye. Your memory is nowhere near as good as Spencer's, he'll be able to recall every detail of this moment up until the day he dies. But over time, this memory will fade for you. It'll wear out, all the details becoming fuzzy and blurred. If he's not here in front of you, you'll forget and you don't want to forget.

When the night draws to a close, and the moon has reached its peak, Spencer slips carefully out of bed. It chisels away pieces of his heart as he carefully gets dressed, reaching for his go bag which he'd brought inside upon realizing that he'd be staying a while. He pulls out a t-shirt he'd worn recently and leaves it folded neatly at the end of your bed, something for you to hold onto when he's gone. Spencer's cheeks are wet with tears as he leans over and presses a kiss to your head.

"I love you." Is the last thing he whispers in the space between you two before he's gone again.

//

On the jet, Derek can't keep his eyes off Spencer and that helplessly broken look on his face. A book is laid nestled in Spencer's lap, but Derek can tell he isn't really reading it. Trying to bother Spencer into opening up probably won't work, but it's worth a try. Derek has to do something and this is all he can think of.

"You okay kid?"

"Yeah fine, why?" Spencer draws his eyes up from the book, his gaze meeting Derek's from across the table. While Spencer might be a talented actor, he can't lie to Derek.

"Look I know how hard it must have been leaving her again-"

"Did you know that on average the FDA allows a minimum of 1 rodent hair per 100 grams of peanut butter? They have to allow themselves room for error just in case of-"

"Alright you win, forget it." Derek sighs, turning his gaze out the window. In an instant Spencer drops his peanut butter spiel, turning back to his book. A guaranteed way to get people off his back is to start rambling about something boring or gross, they usually leave him alone pretty quickly. It's not that Spencer doesn't appreciate Derek's concern, he just doesn't want to talk about it. He can't talk about it, because every time he imagines how you're going to feel when you wake up, tears come to the surface of his eyes. He hates this case more than all the rest even though they saved the victim. Spencer hates this case for ripping open an old wound, one he thought healed.

He was wrong.

//

When you wake the next morning you knew he'd be gone. That didn't stop the tears from coming when you reached over and felt cold sheets. That didn't stop the tears from coming when you cried how much you loved him over and over again even though he couldn't hear you. It doesn't change how badly this hurts, how much worse it feels compared to the first time he left. Your eyes catch the shirt folded at the end of the bed and you grab it instantly. You pull it over your body and you lay down in your bed, inhaling his cologne that you know will fade over time. Eventually his scent will disappear, removing all traces that this fabric belonged to him at all. Every trace of him will disappear over time, every mark from your body will slowly vanish. When it's all gone, you'll be left with nothing more than a t-shirt that's too big for you, and a cold reminder that the man you love will never truly be yours. A reminder that every time he comes home, he leaves again.

A cold reminder that this world is cruel for bringing you Spencer Reid, only to rip him from you again and again.