#like why is this silver fox so smug

[dbd-slvt]

This was the moment I thought a LOT about my taste in people.

[slayfics]

Katsuki asks you to put on a show.

Warnings: aged up, NSFW, public sex

1.5k words

You swayed on the dance floor, allowing your surroundings to blur as you got lost in the moment. Recent stressors melted away, having no meaning here. Your eyes shut tight, with loud music blaring, and alcohol that rolled in your cup following your rhythmic movements. Stinging your lips whenever you bring it up to take a tase.  

Your eyes pressed tighter together as something threatened to intrude on your moment. A beckoning for your attention, a soft whistle that cut through the club music to make its way to you.

Frustrated, you glanced upwards at the balcony of the club. Someone who had paid for a private table up top motioned for you to join. A man that must be a decade or two older than you, pleaded for your company.

A smug smile spread as you sipped your drink and gazed up at him as he pointed out the VIP stairs for you to take up.

Why not?

You strut over to the stairs the bouncer eyeing you curiously until the older man that beckoned you vouches for you. An understanding that he had called for your company.

It's nice up here, no lines for alcohol, and bartenders are skimpily dressed and ready to please. The man ushers you to his table as you pass another private table with various customers.

There are a couple other people at this man's table all older, clearly with money you observe by watches, choice of alcohol at the table, and shiny grey strips in hair.

"Is a pretty thing like you really alone tonight?" he asks, sitting on the plush cushion and pouring you a glass of bourbon.

"Not now," you say teasingly, sitting in his lap. The way his breath catches as you settle into his lap leaves you feeling powerful. It's just too easy.

He hands you the glass and begins to explain the expensive liquor he just handed to you as if you've never tasted something so fine in your life. If only he knew.

"Wow," you exclaim bringing the liquor to your lips. Lying, giving him the fantasy he wants. He wants a dumb young girl who's never experienced the "finer" things. He wants to be the savior. So, you give it to him, and he believes it. Who's the dumb one here?

"You're so beautiful," he says as if you've never heard it before. So, you pretend you haven't.

"Really? you think so?" You say big doe eyes as if he's just changed your world.

He smiles, thinking he owns you now, "Anything you want you know I could get it for you- do it for you," he says, lust spilling over in his eyes at your curved body, plush thighs resting on his lap.

"Oh yeah?" You say smirk on your lips. "What are you gonna do for me Daddy?"

"You want a townhouse?" He asks. "All you have to do is stay quiet, be a good girl, not say anything to anyone who asks how you got it," he says bourbon-stained breath nearing closer to your neck. A mistress, that's what he wants, you gather as your quick fingers press around his much too expensive watch undoing the latch, until-

"You know him?" The man asks.

You turn your attention to follow his gaze until your eyes lock with a crimson stare. Eyebrows furrowed, and a deep frown, the blond waves at you commanding you to come.

"My apologies lovely, I didn't know he would be here tonight," you say pressing off the man's lap and padding over to the blond.

Frown turns to a smirk, as the blond turns to lead you to your own private booth. The older man catcalls you to come back. He can offer better; the blond is younger and more attractive, but he has more resources. You hold back a giggle, keeping a straight face as you land in Katsuki’s lap

"The hell are you doing?" Katsuki asks eyes traveling up your skin that's much too exposed in this outfit.

"Playing," you say with a teasing smile running your hands in his hair.

"Mhm, and what did Mr. Silver Fox offer you?" He asks.

"A house, if I didn't out him to his wife," you whisper kissing Katsuki's cheek.

"Wanted to fuck you so bad he was gonna give you a house, hu?" He laughs. "And he gave you your least favorite liquor," Katsuki observes grabbing the bourbon from your hand and taking a sip, eyeing the older man as he does. "Why don't you order what you really want," Katsuki suggests bringing a hand up to signal a waitress, who pads over in what barely can be considered a bra and thong. She eyes the blond ready to take his order, "Whatever the lady wants" Katsuki says pushing a stray hair strand out of your face.

"Champagne please, dry," You ask giving the waitress a big smile and you bounce in Katsuki's lap.

"Of course," She nods and takes off.

"Thought you liked wine," He questioned.

"I do, but this atmosphere needs some bubbles," you state.

"Like I said whatever you want, but- Indulge me now?" He asks looking up at you perched so pretty in his lap.

"Of course, whatever you want," you said pressing a tender kiss to his neck.

"I want to give our new friend a show. I want him to see what he doesn't get to have. What's mine," Katsuki said eyeing you to make sure you understood.

"You want me to fuck you here?" You clarified looking him dead in the eyes.

"Ride me," he commanded. "Want him to watch."

You crashed your lips down to Katsuki's tasting him like a hungry animal, hands working at his belt to pull away, unzip, and bring him free.

Your obedience drained the blood from his brain straight to his cock, leaving you little work to do. A few pumps and he was at full attention ready to be pleased.

"You need help," He asked in between your fevered kisses.

"No- been wet for you since I saw you," you said working your way up further on his lap till your center was above his. "Push my underwater to the side," You demanded whispering into his ear as you sucked on his neck.

Katsuki did as asked making sure no cloth was in the way of you taking him in.

"You wore the perfect dress tonight, it's like you knew you'd be riding my cock here," He teased.

You pushed his cock to line up with your entrance and slowly sat down, "You should be so lucky," you teased, as you sank further down.

Katsuki's head rested back on the cushion as he enjoyed the sensation of your walls sucking him in, "Fuck~," he sang. "So good for me," he sang. "Now, put on the show," he demanded.

You obliged and began to bounce slowly up and down on his dick. While Your dress covered the messy scene that was happening, but your movements left little to the imagination of what was occurring.

Katsuki inhaled, hand resting on your waist that bounced for him, he brought his head up to eye the older man as you bounced so obediently on his cock.

The older man pulled on his shirt collar as he sipped on his liquor, wanting to look away but unable to. He watched as you rode Katsuki increasing your pace and throwing your head back in ecstasy, making a point. Your point is loud and clear.

"Just like that, keep going," Katsuki coos to you placing tender kisses on your neck, making it a point to still eye the man. Taunting him with what he can't have, and showing him just how good it is.

Katsuki's eyes shut tight as he nears his end, the seductiveness of it all getting to him.

"Gonna cum?" You pant at him, not interrupting your bounces. "Good, fill me," you order.

"Fucking whore," he laughs his head crashing back down on the cushion again.

"Your whore," You correct him.

"Yeah- such a- mmm- good girl for me," He pants as his dick twitches, your last bounce from his tip to his balls sending white hot ropes spilling out and painting your walls.

Katsuki pants catching his breath, "Got it out of me so good," he smirks running a hand over his forehead to catch the sweat beads.

"Think our friend enjoyed the show?" You asked playfully.

"How could he not," Katsuki said bringing his head up to press a kiss to your lips. "I'm sure he creamed his pants- oh shit, looks like the champagne came," Katsuki laughed.

The bottle rested on the table with two glasses.

Your cheeks flushed as you realized the waitress must have dropped them off in the middle of your show.

You pulled up allowing Katsuki to fall out of you, and pushed his cock back into his pants, zipping him up. Katsuki worked around you to grab the bottle.

"Thirsty?" He asked.

"Always," You joked and made a show as he popped open the bottle tits bouncing with excitement. Always ready to please him, because you're a professional.

sinners: @unofficialmuilover @maddietries @fiannee @i-heart-carlisle @derangedmango @matchat3a @peachsukii @reneinii @pastelbakugou @abadbitchblogs @deluluforcarlos55 @pinkpurpledreams @that-one-fangirl69 @dreamcastgirl99 @jays-adventure3 @bythevay @my-beloved-fandoms

[tekumaniac311]

Rider Rescue: Briefing.

This chapter takes place right where the Prologue left off, After Dogday and his entire Space Rider squadron had been captured by the cult.

At a different Space Rider ship, black and red in colour. In the mess hall eight Riders were having supper together, like Dogdays squad, this one consisted of four males and four females.

A large brown mammoth was conversing with a small, brown furred, ring tailed lemur. The little lemur was trying not to laugh at whatever the huge mammoth was saying, sitting also nearby was a brown wolverine eating..rather crudely. Nearby also was a hybrid fox with indigo fur, finishing her supper with a simple drink of soda.

On the other side of the table was a white, rather attractive looking secretary bird with violet feathers, makeup and a mole under her left eye, she was finishing calmly eating her food. Alongside was an pink furred snow leopard sipping her soda, she looked eager to get to training or playing a game after eating. Then calmly slurping a bowl of nicely cooked noodles was a black dragon with a silver ponytail hairstyle, his tail and wings settled calmly. Finally was a dog with colors similar to Dogdays but darker, he even looked younger and finished eating his supper.

"Masterpiece as always, Mammoth." The dog spoke. The mammoth gave a gesture, "I always aim to please, Captain." She chuckled.

Before any further word could be spoke, Poppy's hologram appeared, she looked serious and stern after what had happened just a few minutes ago.

"Poppy!" Prettybird spoke smiling. "How are you?"

"Not too well, Pretty." Poppy explained before turning to the captain of the team, Dogbite. "Pop, what can we do for you?" He spoke with a smirk.

"Well, ahem. Dogbite, you and your team have been activated for a most urgent rescue mission." She said sternly. "Rescue mission? What happened?" Drago spoke sternly.

Here goes...Poppy thought. "Just a few minutes ago, Captain Dogday Solaris and his entire squadron have been captured and their ship hijacked by the cult."

Dogbite's eyes widened when he heard the name, a huge smug smile crept onto his lips "Pop! I wanna thank you personally for lending us with this job! This is great! If you weren't an android or a hologram, I'd kiss ya!" Drago meanwhile facepalmed, his captains cockiness was definitely peaking with this news.

"Well..you and your crew were the closest from Dogdays at this moment. THAT'S pretty much why I'm giving you folks the mission." The android explained. "He's your big brother, right?" Lean Lemur piped in.

"Correct, Lemur." Dogbite spoke "I've been dying to see what he's been doing lately, and I wonder what kind of crew he's got."

Drago Kitano stood up from the chair and glared "We'd better get to finding them fast, for each second their in the cults clutches, there is no telling what'll be happening." Poppy nodded, relieved that at least this crew was serious about the situation, save for their own CAPTAIN. "I've already updated your ships computer with the coordinates to Dogday's ship so finding where their landing won't be hard, rescue Dogday and his squad, do whatever it takes." She finished, ending the transmission.

"Let's roll!" Leopardaisy piped in, the team nodded and headed for the bridge, as Dogbite got into the pilot seat, he smirked to himself.

"Okay big bro, i'm on my way. Mammoth! You tracking their ship?" He asked. The large brown mammoth nodded, interfacing with the ships radar systems "Got a signal, tracked it to a planet called Xuacury." She told Dogbite.

"Anything to note?" Dogbite asked as he set course. "Relatively low cult activity, but i've tracked the ship to an abandoned town in the planet's desert."

"Sounds just like their style." Drago said crossing his arms. "Been aching to smash a few more cultists up." Berserkerine said, cracking his neck to the side.

Meanwhile, on Xuacury.

Dogday woke up blinking his eyes, it was too dark to see anything. All he could feel was that his arms were strung up high and far apart like a cross. "G..guys..Guys!" He tried to move but he couldn’t, the straps holding his arms up were too strong.

“Cap? What’s going on?!” Squeaked Piggy as she struggled, she along with the other 6 riders were tied up and hanging from the ceiling like Dodgday was, but with their arms tied around their backs instead. And for Crafty, her legs were also tied up! “Can anyone move??” Bubba asked, each rider replied with one word: “No.”

“Hmm? Oh! They are awake! If some of you would be so kind to remove their masks, please.” Said a sinister voice. A few cultists walked up and remove the masks covering each of the Riders faces, Dogday shook his head and looked around, it looked like he and his squad were in some abandoned building. The riders looked at each other and then looked ahead.

“Welcome, Space Riders! To your inevitable ritual of JOY!!” Boomed the high priest, flourishing his arms wide as the crowd of cultists behind him laughed and cheered maniacally.

“……We’re in trouble.” Bobby said with a sarcastic smile.

TO BE CONTINUED

Space Riders belong to @onyxonline

Rider OCS by me.

[vanitas-no-carter-fanfics]

Reader that reciprocates Vanitas flirtatious comments and affection

Happy to take on this request. I do hope you enjoy it! -J --------------- ---------------

(Name) had always had an odd relationship with Vanitas. Of course it was not unknown to her that Vanitas was a well known flirt for his own amusement and entertainment. She had often seen the way he flirted with Jeanne. (Name) although had met with Vanitas on a few occasion, they had all been for work related things with utmost importance so his flirting was rarely directed to her. She was his trusted informant-- and she was a bloody good informant; her skills in deduction and observation and her outstanding charisma made her a cunning sly fox.

But on this particular day (Name) was invited for a celebratory dinner. It was from Vanitas' companion Noè addressed to her. She accepted more for entrainment it wasn't everyday that her help was thanked. It will certainly be interesting.

(Name) arrived to the place of the dinner. She was early but stayed by the bar as she simply people watched, she eventually noticed Jeanne walk in. She looked nervous, (Name) observed she looked like she felt out of place to be around so many people. Another head of white hair caught her attention, Noè. He had greeted Jeanne to their table. (Name) caught the glimpse of a woman with long black hair and golden eyes, Dominique de Sade the royal knight. Surprising seeing how the royal knight is always so busy- (Name) noticed a flash in the royal knight's eyes, jealousy. The Vampiress beelined to Noè and grabbed his arm in a familiar way before he could offer his arm to Jeanne like the gentleman he was. (Name) smirked behind her drink as she watched them. When she looked at table that they would be at (Name) noticed how Vanitas seemed distracted as he kept his eyes trained at the entrance and windows.

(Name) arched a brow as she waited longer until they started to get antsy about her 'late' arrival. (Name) looked at her watch and gave a soft sigh as she ordered another drink before walking to their table. A cunning smile on her lips as she smiled at them "Pardon my tardiness" (Name) said with a smile as she took her seat "Although I appreciate that my work is being appreciated for once, thank you Noè" Vanitas hid his startled flinch before he gave a lazy smirk towards his informant "If I had known you wanted to be apricated for your work, I could have arranged for something special for you" he said smoothly.

(Name) arched a brow. Although it wasn't new knowledge to her that Vanitas was rather flirty and particularly flirty towards Jeanne who often shied away from his advances. (Name) was surprised by his smooth words towards her. "Cute... but I'll take a raincheck. Perhaps a private drink for the long term partnership between us" she said with a smirk. Vanitas seemed a little taken off guard by her. (Name) sat down in front of the blue eyed man who continued to watch her with cautious eyes. What was she planning? (Name) ignored him for the mean time as they ordered their dinners and a few drinks for the table. While they ate (Name) kept her eyes onto Noè and the others as they conversed that was until she felt Vanitas' intense stare of her. She glanced at him her lashes fluttered in a way that made his heart race.

He had a confident smug smirk on his face as he looked at her. She arched a brow in question to his demeanor "You are something else Mon Chéri" he said low enough for just her ears over the restaurants noise and chatter "both cunning and beautiful, I can only imagine how many heart you have broken with those lips of yours" (Name) felt the corner of mouth lifted to a subtle smirk. She turned her body towards him as her finger delicately ran along the rim of her wine glass "I could say the same to you pretty boy" she said with a smirk as she watched him "I can understand why Jeanne avoids your advances, that silver tongue of yours surely knows how to move" Vanitas felt his eyes widen as he choked on some of his wine. It was unexpected. Surely she is just jesting. Vanitas cleared his throat as he let out a soft smooth chuckle "I've been told once or twice of how my silver tongue can cause trouble for others" he said with a smirk "Jeanne is rather resistant towards my affections. But its all harmless fun" "You are playing with fire lover boy" (Name) said as she drank some of her wine. As she place her glass down Vanitas couldn't help but watch her fingers run down her wineglass' neck. The way her fingers moved was slow, smooth and irresistibly teasing. He felt him swallow a little, before his blue hue watched her with a feline glint. She was subtly smiling smugly, she had caught him staring at her fingers stroking the wineglass' neck. He leaned back a little letting out an amused chuckle as their companions and acquaintances continued to converse paying them no mind as spoke to one another. He leaned back a little letting out an amused chuckle as their companions and acquaintances continued to converse paying them no mind as "What's wrong with a little fire" he mused as he cocked a brow at her "You are just as addicted to danger as I am Mon Chéri" "Hmmm" she said smoothly like purr "I suppose we are two peas in a pod" She send him a wink and he caved as he felt a light flush to his cheeks. It had seemed he had met his match. She seemed to match his wit and his flirts with the same shameless equality as him, and it was strangely thrilling. He wondered what more entertainment she could provide him.

[cevansbrat0007]

How would aj and Andy feel if his friends call his mom a milf ( gp!reader) aj is in his teens

Summary: You're a wife, a mother, and apparently...a MILF.

Warnings: Fluff, Female Objectification, Mentions of Violence, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: This drabble is part of my Growing Pains Series. All mistakes are my own. Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are appreciated. ___

"Dude! It was just a joke, bro!" The young man sputters as his friend, A.J. Barber, unceremoniously thrusts his gym bag and water bottle into his arms. "I wasn't being serious."

A.J. simply shakes his head as he brushes by his buddy, Max, to open the door before gesturing for him to step outside.

"DUDE!"

"That was my mom, man. My MOM!" The younger Barber huffs, pointing an accusatory finger at Max. "And I don't know how old she is because I'm afraid to ask. I saw my Dad do it one time and it did not go well, okay? But she's not - she's so not a...a..."

A.J. trails off, visibly shuddering as he's unable to finish his sentence. Out of nowhere comes another voice, this one belonging to the Barber family patriarch.

"What's all this commotion about, gentlemen? I can hear you from the kitchen." Andy strides into the foyer, wiping his wet hands on a navy blue dishtowel.

"Nothing." His son grumbles, blowing out a breath as he tries to resist the urge to thrust his friend out the door and slam it shut in his pencil-mustached face. "Max was just leaving."

Andy raises a concerned brow. "Before dinner? But we're making tacos in the wok tonight. Well, your mother is. I'll just be there to supervise."

And by "supervise", he meant hang out in the middle of the kitchen while you cooked so that he could occasionally accost with you kisses. While he thought of it as his own version of moral support, you maintained that he just liked getting in your "fucking way".

Your words, not his.

"He's not hungry." A.J. grunts at the same time as his pal utters the words "I could eat".

"Uh huh." The older man casts them both a suspicious look before crossing his arms over his rather impressive chest. Even in his fifties, Andrew Barber was still easy on the eyes. The budding silver-fox still managed to attract female attention wherever he went, whether he wanted it or not.

But he never paid it any mind, because he was also a happily married man who wore his wedding ring with pride

"Mrs. Barber is a phenomenal cook. My mom can't cook worth shi- I mean crap." Max laughs nervously, his hand going to rub the back of his neck. "She - my mom. Her food is not great, like at all. But, uh, maybe we could eat by the pool like we did last time."

"He's really gotta go, Dad."

"It's okay A.J. - I can stay. Mom's cool with it." Max calmly pats A.J. on his shoulder, trying to ignore the fire burning behind his hazel eyes.

"I mean...I suppose we could do that." Andy responds, a hint of skepticism in his tone. "I wonder if Y/N feels like making her homemade salsa too. I probably oughta ask..." His short, trimmed nails absently go to scratch at his bearded chin that now sported flecks of gray.

For the life of him, he couldn't seem to figure out why his son was turning such a spectacular shade of red. Or what now had him typing so furiously on his phone.

"She definitely should." Max tosses his bag back at Junior as a grin spreads across his smug face. "And you know, they say that a little sunshine does a body good."

"That it does." Andy agrees, noting of the sudden tenseness in his son's shoulders.

"And I know it's true, because the last time I saw Mrs. Barber outside she looked amazing."

Now that stops Andy quick, even as A.J. makes what sounds like a distinct choking noise in the back of throat. But the young man - Max - keeps talking, seemingly unaware of the danger he's just placed himself in.

"I was just telling A.J. here that your wife is definitely a MILF, sir. We talk about it all the time at school. And you can totally tell she works out or whatever, because she doesn't even look like how most Moms look. "

Suddenly, Andy's twitching eye mirrors his son's own.

"Hey, how old is Mrs. Barber now? Like 40?"

Andy clears his throat before casting a withering glare in the direction of his son's friend. "A word to the wise, young man - never ask a woman her age. Especially not if you want to live long enough to see your way through puberty."

A.J. nods along before returning his attention back to his phone.

"Even I don't know how old my wife is, mostly because I'm not stupid enough to ask."

"But then how do you -" Max interrupts, clearly confused by the direction of this conversation.

"If I think I need to know, then I guess. And when I guess, I err on the side of caution. Because I'm smart, and I've come to understand the meaning of the phrase happy wife, happy life."

"Oh."

"However, even without knowing just how many times Mrs. Barber has made the journey around the sun, she's still out of your age bracket. And therefore out of your league." Andy places a hand on Max's bicep, squeezing just hard enough to make the younger man gulp.

"And I would appreciate it if you didn't disrespect my wife and the mother of my son like that ever again. Do we have an understanding, Maximilian Robert Greenwell?"

"Ye-yeah. I mean yes, sir!" He quickly amends when he notices the way the elder Barber's nostrils flare. "Sorry about that. And, um, my bad, A.J."

"I took the liberty of texting your mom. She'll be here any minute." Andy's namesake interjects. "I suggest you wait for her on the front porch."

Without offering up another word, he opens the door and points toward the street. Taking the hint, his friend gathers his things once again and traipses outside. "Guess, I'll just see you at school -" He tries, only to be cut off when the door slams in his face with a satisfying thud.

"You alright, son?"

"Yep." He huffs before flipping the lock.

"You sure?"

"When he wasn't going on and on about Mom, he also threw in how KitCat and Rory were kinda hot, especially for a couple of nerds. But I shut that down fast. But then he just had to go and call Mom a MILF..."

"I understand. I've seen a lot of men do and say plenty of stupid things because of your mother, but Max..."

The two men share a look of quiet understanding. It lasts a full beat before they finally speak again.

"Max is dead to me, father."

"Good man." A.J. smiles when his father affectionately claps him on the shoulder. "We've got to watch out for the women in this house."

"We do. Plus, they'd eat a guy like Max for breakfast. I mean the level of violence I've been subjected to alone - I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy, including him."

"Mhm." Andy wraps a muscled arm around the younger Barber, pulling him close to drop a brief kiss on top of his head. "Believe me when I tell you that your Mom's silverware throwing ability has seriously improved over the years. Shit is scarily accurate now."

A.J. simply nods, choosing to take his father at his word. "Well, now that that's over, is it almost time for dinner? Protecting the women in this house can really take a lot out of you."

The elder man sniffs the air, his nose detecting the delicious aroma of fresh herbs simmering in hot oil.

"I think it is. Smells like your mother's cooking now, which means I need to get in my spot." Andy bestows one last kiss against his boy's temple before playfully pushing him to the side. "Besides, I don't think I've given her a reason to fuss at me yet today. Gotta keep the spark alive somehow, kid."

Throwing his son one last wink, A.J. then watches as his father jogs off in the direction of the kitchen bellowing "here I come, baby girl".

With a sigh, the youngest member of Barber brood turns and begins climbing the stairs, laughing when he hears his lovely mother's annoyed shouts coming from the other side of the house.

His parents were crazy about each other, that much he knew. But the older he got, the more he was beginning to realize that there was a little more to it. They were actually still in love with one another.

And that was cool. Sometimes, it even made him the envy of his friends whose folks were either divorced or barely tolerated each other. He was cool with that too.

Just don't ever call his pretty Mama a MILF. Because that shit right there...that wasn't cool no matter how you spun it.

END

[amatchinwater]

Pairing: Steo

Warnings: mild blood, violence,

Words: 2149

Prompt: @badthingshappenbingo square Slammed into a Wall

ao3 link Masterlist

---

The Shunned Fox

Stiles really wishes he took Cora’s words to heart about what it felt like to lose a member of your pack. Now, he didn't necessarily not believe her. It's just that Stiles felt it five times over. Scott kicked him out of the pack because of what happened with Donovan. Blaming the fox part of him for his wrong doings and not believing it was self defense. 

That night, while soaked from the rain, sitting outside of his broken down jeep, Stiles felt all five of those pack bonds snap. Scott, Malia, Kira, Mason, and Liam. All torn away from him for an awful mistake. Thankfully, he can still feel Lydia because she'd never do that. And he never accepted Theo as pack, so there's that too. 

Minor silver linings. 

It doesn't make the pain any lighter. Just something small to cling to when the loss gets to be too much to handle. 

So yeah, he wishes he had listened and really processed what Cora tried to tell him after Boyd died. But how could Stiles have possibly properly understood? He was still human then. 

Untainted by the Nogitsune's mark. Which was just Deaton’s way of saying that Stiles was a werefox now. Apparently when a thousand year old fox demon spits you- a now carbon copy of your own body- out, it doesn't make you with a clean slate. No. Because it had to use part of itself just to create you. 

Ever since the Nogitsune, there was no such thing as a "clean slate" for Stiles. 

And it's not like Stiles didn't know what he was. He saw his name on the deadpool right under Scott’s like everyone else did. He kept his nose down. Helped the pack like he'd always done. Dealt with the nightmares and residual mental turmoil and stress. Not to mention Isaac leaving without so much as a goodbye and Derek leaving with Cora. 

Scott never quite looked at him the same way after Allison died in his arms. As if the wolf couldn't differentiate between Stiles and the Nogitsune because they had the same face. 

Aside from Lydia, Stiles goes through all of this alone. 

If it really came down to it, the fox is almost certain that he could confide in Theo. After spending hours alone in his jeep just talking, Stiles believes the wolf would listen. After all, Theo didn't have to talk about his sister or offer to keep the fox's secret and he did. There's also the fact that Theo was Stiles' first crush. He almost wonders if he had been a little more trusting and accepted Theo as pack if he would've felt that bond snap too. Or if like Lydia, Theo wouldn't drop him no matter what. 

Because even as a kid, Stiles could've sworn he saw the same twinkle in Theo's eyes when they looked at each other. Stiles still sees it. 

But then he would have to deal with the smug smirk of satisfaction painting the wolf's face. The obligatory 'I told you so' when he admits that they're friends or that Stiles trusts him. And it also comes with the fear that the fox doesn't think he can reach out to Theo. Not after his blatant mistrust and disapproval that Stiles displayed. Why would he deserve it? 

For now, he'll continue to lick his wounds alone. Heal himself and figure out where to go from there. Pocket the childhood crush rising back to the surface for now until things cool off. 

When Stiles first became a supernatural creature, he thought it was so cool that his senses went into overdrive. While having a bad day in class all he needed to do was listen for his friends' heartbeats. Or the chance that they were talking in class and simply hear their voices. Now that he's been ostracized, walking the empty halls and hearing them planning in an empty room tears at Stiles' heart. Usually, the fox will keep walking as if he'd heard nothing. Respect the fact that he's no longer welcome. 

But this time, "you need him," stops Stiles in his tracks. He keeps his breathing slow and steady in attempts to avoid being caught eavesdropping. 

Theo could be talking about someone else. Except judging by the annoyed growl Scott gives as a response, there couldn't be anyone else. 

"Stiles is smart," Liam tries to reason with his Alpha. 

"Scott, the Beast has gotten out of control," Theo sounds just as annoyed as the Alpha. "If anyone can figure out a way to stop it, it's Stiles." 

Scott snarls, "that's what Lydia is for." 

How kind Scott, sounding like an animal while talking about why someone is useful. Would you toss her aside if she did something to protect herself too? Until her usefulness no longer fits with your perfect agenda. Though it warms the fox's heart to hear the others stick up for him. 

"I need help, Scott," Lydia scoffs and Stiles can see the exacerbation on her face. "He was onto something last I talked to him. I think Stiles knows how to stop it." 

That's true. Stiles found a book that showed a hellhound dispelling the Beast from its host. 

"Great," Theo claps. "He's outside so why don't we hear what he has to say?" 

"What?" The Alpha snaps. 

Stiles is right there with you, Scott. He thought he was being quiet enough to go unnoticed. When the door opens, Theo is standing there with his ever present smirk while the fox stares in shock. 

"Don't tell me you didn't smell him when he walked up?" Theo's smirk widens, "I could pick out your scent anywhere." 

Lydia groans, rubbing her temples, "so not the time, Theodore." 

Right again, Lydia. Now is not the time for Stiles' cheeks to be painted a hot red color. The fox doesn't miss the wink Theo tosses him before yanking him into the classroom, making the blush burn that much hotter. 

Liam and Mason, sitting on two desks offer him a small smile, the latter speaking, "what's the theory you have?"

"Do you really think it can be stopped?" Liam asks quietly. Having seen the Beast up close and personal, Stiles can't blame the young Beya for his fear and hesitation. Or for him following along with Scott. It takes a lot to defy your Alpha.

"Yeah," the fox clears his throat, slipping his backpack off his shoulder and onto a desk so he can show them the book. "I found this a little while ago," he tells Theo, fingers wrapping around the text, "it shows the Beast being-" 

"Enough," Scott growls dangerously, low and angry in his throat. Stiles recoils at the sound. "There's some poor kid stuck with the Beast in its body. I don't want to hear your half thought out plan that ends up with another teenager dead." Scott follows the fox as he takes steps back. 

He needs distance or something bad is going to happen. Another teenager dead. Scott is standing here throwing Donovan’s death in Stiles’ face as if he murdered him on purpose. Like it wasn’t a matter of life or death for Stiles. All Scott sees is the blood on his hands and Allison dead in his arms, nothing else. 

"Half thought?" Stiles shakes his head. That's not the case at all. The teenager will be fine. "Scott, I'm just trying to help y-" 

"I said enough," Scott roars, fisting the collar of the fox's shirt and slamming him into the wall. 

Sparkles dance around his vision as his head smacks the wall. 

So much happens so quickly, the fox barely registers it. But that could just be from the harsh crack his head just took. 

The second he hits the wall, Stiles half hears Mason’s, "what the fuck," over Theo's vicious roar. No sooner do Scott’s searing Alpha eyes come into focus are they being yanked away by Theo, shoving him against the teacher's desk. Malia steps in between the two and the fox, crouched and ready. Lydia appears at his side, locking their fingers together. 

"Some True Alpha you are," Theo says, managing to sound menacing and calm all at once. Like it's effortless for a Beta to overcome an Alpha like that. 

"He's not a part of this pack anymore," Scott defends, "he has no right to even be here!" 

"It's Stiles," Theo growls and shakes the Alpha. "Touch him again and I'll kill you." 

What?

"Holy shit, he's actually doing it," Lydia sounds amazed and proud. Does she understand what's happening here? 

"I'm your Alpha, you can't-"

Theo chuckles darkly, "better yet, you so much as look at Stiles again and I'll break your hands to where not even your Alpha powers can heal you. You're no Alpha of ours." His words shoot a surge of warmth in the fox's chest. The feeling of his former pack members rushing into him. 

The best of all, feeling Theo in his chest. Warmer and softer than the others. Stiles can’t explain exactly what it is, but whatever it is, it’s amazing and he wishes he could’ve felt this way the whole time.

"Theo-"

"No," he cuts Scott off again. Nice considering how little the Alpha let Stiles finish a sentence. "Come near him again and I'll officially challenge you for Alpha. Got me?" 

Scott aggressively brushes Theo's hands off of him and storms out of the room. 

No one follows him. 

Not even Liam. 

The door slams closed and Theo turns to face him, golden eyes flickering red for the smallest of moments. But Stiles saw it as Malia backed out of the way.

Theos hands cup the fox's face, "are you okay?" 

Stiles' heart hasn't quite stopped thundering in his chest, but he's alive. Bringing a hand to the back of his head, he winces at the sting the action elicits. "That hurts," Stiles says, pulling his hand back to find blood on his fingers. 

“I’m going to kill him,” Theo snarls, taking the fox’s pain.

“Allow me,” Malia growls, stalking out of the classroom. 

Liam sighs, “I’ll go keep an eye on her,” before following the coyote. 

“Mason,” Lydia tries to sound nonchalant, but her voice chirps, “he’s going to need help.” But the way she looks at Stiles and Theo- who’s still stroking the fox’s face despite there being no more pain- speaks volumes as to why they’re really leaving.

At least Mason doesn’t verbally question it, despite his face also being about as subtle as a billboard as he dutifully follows the banshee out.

“You didn’t have to do that,” the fox murmurs, gently removing Theo’s hands from his face now that the wound is healed. “I’m not worth challenging your Alpha over,” Stiles takes a step back, avoiding eye contact. 

Theo looks dumbfounded. “Not worth it? Not worth it? Stiles,” the wolf steps closer, grabbing Stiles’ hands, “I would have done it the night he kicked you out of the pack if I wasn’t focused on trying to keep Hayden alive. To me, you’re more than worth it.”

“Why?” Stiles asks, his heart fluttering at the steadiness of the wolf’s. Not a lie in sight. 

Was he right? That he isn’t the only one with a past crush that isn’t exactly in the past?

“You can’t tell me that with how ridiculously smart you are that you don’t know.” Theo smirks, “come on, Miecz.”

“I-” the fox clears the crack in his voice. He’s in a cross between disbelief and happiness that Stiles doesn’t know how to handle himself. “I think I do, yeah. But I’d rather you tell me so I don’t get my hopes up.” Stiles isn’t sure he can survive anymore blows to his heart. 

It’s fragile enough. 

Theo chuckles through his nose, dropping the fox’s hands to snake them around his waist. “How about,” the wolf pulls Stiles close, “I just show you.”

The burn in Stiles’ cheeks and the pounding in his chest don’t get to be processed because Theo’s mouth is on his. Theo’s fucking kissing him and the fox doesn’t remember how to breathe. Stiles was so swept up with being kicked out of the pack and not initially trusting Theo that he never thought this was possible. Yet Theo’s perfect lips are against his and it’s everything Stiles denied himself of wanting.

Much too soon the wolf pulls back, placing one last gentle kiss on Stiles’ mouth. “So you understand now?” Theo whispers, resting their foreheads together.

Feeling courage for the first time in who knows how long, Stiles grins, no. I think you need to explain it again.”

“I protect what’s mine. You’re mine, Miecz,” he rumbles in his chest, “and you’re worth everything to me,” Theo says before sealing their mouths together again. Explaining over and over again exactly what he meant while Stiles purrs from the affection. 

[dairy-farmer]

Red Robin had never paid much attention to Deathstroke. Out of all Bats, the alpha fighted mostly with Dick, almost never crossing paths with other vigilantes. They were archnemesis. They hated each other guts.

Or so did Tim thought. Until now.

He was standing in a dark corner, making no sound to avoid being spotted by the two alphas. He couldn't believe his eyes.

Nightwing was kneeling on a dirty concrete and sucking Deathstroke's cock with gusto & at the same time jerking off his own dick.

Tim was aware that such thing exists. There are alphas attracted to other alphas. He saw it on some pornsites, too.

But... is Dick one of them? Surely not.

Dick never miss a chance to squeeze on Tim's petite boobs or give his ass a light slap. He enjoys omegas.

And yet here he was, giving blowjob to other alpha and looking happy about it. There is no sign he's being forced.

After a moment of internal panic, Tim calms himself and start to look at the scene before him with more focus.

Deathstroke had taken off his mask and Tim sees the smug look on his handsome face. The alpha was good looking in a rugged, silver-fox kind of way. And he was h u g e. Taller and even bigger than Bruce - he could easily pick Tim up with only one hand.

Tim looks down and notice alpha's white treasure trail, and then thick bush surrounding his huge, drippin' wet from Dick's saliva cock and proportionally big balls.

Well, Tim had to admit it was quite a nice cock. Thick and uncut, slightly curved upwards as if it were as confident and arrogant as its owner. Massive, muscular thighs accentuated by skin-tight ikon suit are also a nice bonus.

Dick tugs on his own knot a few more times and cums with a loud moan. Slade follows him a minute after, letting out but a small sigh.

Tim can't avert his gaze. His pussy is tingling, soaking wet and dripping slick like a faucet. His new pretty panties are totally ruined.

Crap.

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

Few days have passed and Tim still can't forget what he saw. He didn't tell Dick, of course. Tim doesn't want anyone to think of him as some sort of dirty voyeur.

But he can't forget about Slade too (why did he missed the moment when Deathstroke became Slade in his mind???)

Tim loves Bruce. He really does. But he needs some change once in a while. Omegas aren't monogamous, contrary to popular belief.

And Slade is a powerful alpha in his prime.

He may have killed a few people here and there, but Tim prefers to do what his pussy's telling him is a right thing rather than listen to his rational side of brain.

And thus Tim started to be more clingy with Dick, always going on patrols with him, always rushing to help him fight some bad guys. Hoping that Slade will eventually come to them.

"I really appreciate your help, pretty bird, but I can manage." Dick told him with his usual charming smile.

"It’s no problem for me, really” said Tim. Dick doesn’t need to know truth. Besides, he’s one hell of a liar himself, diddling with other alphas behind everyones back.

Two weeks later they find out that Deathstroke has a new contract on some shady gothamite politician's head. Dick rushes out to stop him. Tim follows, giddy with excitement. He even 'forgot' to put on his panties for this occassion.

Tim doesn't actually have a plan, but once Slade's got a whiff of his wet cunt, he will act on instinct, right? They will mate on a roof, or maybe go to some nice hotel and spend together a very pleasurable night.

Tim feels himself blushing like a slut.

And then... nothing happens.

First off, they were too late. Slade had already killed his target.

Secondly, the fight between him and Dick was too fast and ended way too quickly. Tim wasn't even able to approach them, let alone get Slade to scent him and see how eager he is.

The same happens next time. And next time. Slade barely acknowledges his presence. 

Poor Tim gets kinda depressed.

The fact that he's in a pre-heat doesn't help in slightest. He always gets teary and emotional before his true estrus begins.

It's a dark, gloomy evening and Tim is sitting on a gargoyle on top of some gothic cathedral, feeling melancholic & re-thinking his life choices. And suddenly-

"Didn't expect to see you here, omega."

"Slade?! What are you-"

Deathstroke is standing behind him, nonchalantly leaning against the cathedrals wall.

"I can smell your heat is close, and yet instead of laying in a nest with your alpha, you are here. All alone."

Tim is speechless.

"Or maybe what you need" Slade stars to walk slowly in his direction like he has all the time in the world „is a real alpha, not that little rich boy, as tamed and obedient as a housedog. Huh, kid? What is it?"

Now when they are standing so close to each other he can see how enormously big the alpha is. Tim's face is at Slade's chest height and he has to stretch up his neck to look into his face.

On top of that Slade smells amazing. Expensive cologne mixed with alpha's natural scent & musk.

Five minutes later Tim is pinned against wall by a huge body as Slade pounds into him. Sounds of wet pussy and Tim's moans reverberating through the air. Even though this wave of pleasure is making Tim's eyesight hazy he's still able to notice a black & blue spot over Slade's shoulder.

It's Dick. Very surprised & very shocked Dick. Slade apparently thought it was a right moment to knot Tim because that's what he does, climaxing with small growl. After his knot goes down he places the omega gently on the ground.

Tim looks right into Dick's eyes, spread his legs wide and touch his pussy inner lips, thick cum slowly oozing out of him.

"Dickie, can you clean me up, please? I know how much you like Slade's cum" Tim says with a lazy, blissed out smile.

Slade chuckles.

After that event, Tim and Slade have few amorous encounters when alpha just creeps up on Tim, unzip his slit ("Well, looks like Batman's bitch has some very needy pussy and someone has to take a good care of it") and pound into his wet cunt on all fours.

When they are in Tim's safehouse and Slade wants to make their fucking a little more intimate and put his cock even deeper, right through Tim' cervix, they do it prone bone (it's also easier to do than other positions because of their size difference). Tim swears he sees heaven's golden gate during it. This position is also perfect for small talk, when Slade lazily thrust his hips up & down, up & down. His heavy balls hitting on Tim's swollen clit.

"Feels good, huh kid?"

"Mhmmm"

 "You know, I don't usually fuck omegas with such smalls tits."

 In any other situation, Tim would feel offended, but right now, when this nice huge cock is a guest in his cunny and making him see stars, he doesn't care.

 "But you have the fattest pussy out of all Robins"

Tim giggles. "I'm the only ex-Robin with a puss- aaaaah!"

"Shush. Good omegas don't try to sass alphas when they are balls deep inside them" Slade says and give Tim's soaking cunt a hearty slap.

Tim yelps, both in pain and pleasure, and reach out his hand to stroke and pet Slade' full beard. "Are you- ah! - gonna - mhm - eat me later...?"

"Not a chance"

 He loves the taste of a fertile cunt on his tongue, actually. But the bitch should know his place. Maybe next time. 

Slade groans, thrusts very deep one last time and cums inside Tim.

Three months later, when his heat doesn't appear and his titties start to ache and get fuller, Tim is very confused.

Nine months later Tim gives birth to a beautiful chubby, silver-haired baby boy. 

Slade is very smug when he hears the news.

Bruce seems to get a little heartbroken. Tim placates him by promising that the next baby will be his (or not 😌)

😍😍😍😍 tim being a slutty little omega that chases after alpha knots he desires!!!! fucking slade again and again because no one has ever fucked tim like he has.

bruce being heart broken!!!!!!! but tim placates him and promises he'll have bruce's baby but each baby keeps coming out with silver hair. because tim can't help but spread his legs for slade whenever he shows up to fuck his baby mama omega full of another sweet chubby baby.

slade shows up, fucks his omega deep for a few hours, drains his tits dry of milk meant for his babies and disappears for awhile because bruce has been hunting him since the moment the baby came out with little white curls.

[saviolum-sanguineus]

encore

A woman meets another for lunch; the latter's hair is the same color as the coat of the first. Something crystallises between them.

(1930s/pre-war AU)

Taran never sorted out his own mail, but whoever had been working at it was good enough at it to read the invisible currents of the city. They slid the envelope between a postcard from a friend somewhere in Spain and the riveting gossip hiding between the lines of this month’s issue from his Club.

—Something for you.

The vaguely bemused interest in his voice—I was still his little secret, traced out in the shape of winks and coy allusions to whatever domesticated animal he was feeling most metaphorically allured by that day, and not at all in the position of being written to by anyone with casual access to the expense clothing this missive—faded at the more immediately tantalizing letterhead from his Club. He handed the letter over without looking up, his other hand moving to slit open the Club envelope with the silver opener at his side.

It was addressed to Miss Esme Odile. Starting at ‘O’, the slant of the letters became slightly more capital, as if to highlight the awkwardness of it against the easy richness of twenty-dollar paper. I could have taken it as the slight it was meant to be, but this city made certain things cheap, like closing my eyes to the generosity of Taran’s mouth, and other things free, like rearranging your name until it fit like a second skin under bright lights.

Taran took a sip of his martini and I opened the letter.

The mother of Taran’s son took me out to lunch at Veselka. It had occurred to me on the walk over that she could derive no small amount of pleasure from watching me flounder at ordering—Taran’s habits and dictation were painfully obvious to the both of us, even in his absence—but two platters of varenyky were already on the table when I arrived, neat piles of golden-brown onions nestled beside dollops of sour cream along the cerulean pattern edging the plates.

Her son was noticeably absent, and for a moment I wasn’t sure if it was relief or dread that panged through me at the realization. Dahlia and I shared a vital commonality: our individual relationships to a very specific man were very well-defined, but to each other? I thought suddenly of Andrey, as if a tenuous alliance might bolster my spirits, but just as suddenly I remembered our first meeting. The uptick in morale was therefore short-lived.

—So good to see you again! Esther, isn’t it? Charming name, it suits you.

—You wrote it correctly. Lovely handwriting. Just like the primers.

Dahlia smiled thinly. In the restaurant’s clear light, the coldness of it turned her hazel eyes into something like the Hudson. It made sense why she’d be wearing a fur coat in October then: the thing lay over the back of a third chair at the table in a quiet, glorious rustle of tawny fox fur and soft ostentation.

She watched me sit, still smiling, and offered: Cassius is off with his father today—and isn’t it nice that we could chat?

Of course, she waited until I had taken a sip of water (brunch’s mimosas were too generous a mercy for Dahlia, apparently) to speak, so I kept her waiting with another, crossing my legs beneath the table and relishing the tiny flicker of annoyance in her eyes.

—Lovely of Taran to take him out to a show. It must be a treat for Cassius to spend time with him, I said with a smile.

Those came cheap in the city too.

—Mm. I heard he keeps you entertained the same way.

The barbed irritation in Dahlia’s voice went well with my forkful of varenyky; almost too rich. She watched me eat in silence for another breath, the corners of her mouth taut. Just as I began to swallow, Dahlia took a minuscule, impossibly dainty bite of her own, swallowed like a smug cat, and dabbed feathers of sour cream off her lower lip.

—You must feel like you’ve accustomed yourself to the city very well.

I looked at her and felt my fingers start to curl hard into the swell of my palms, leftover defenses that didn’t care about French tips or keeping up appearances. Dahlia smiled at me, hazel eyes sparkling. My patience shriveled, all dry husk and jagged edge against the soft rustle of her fur coat.

—Well, once you start receiving mail at a place, it really does become home, I said. I find the city suits me well.

—Is that what he told you? Very sweet.

Neither of us were smiling anymore, but somehow I preferred it that way. This felt realer than all the performances Taran and his circle demanded of me: more tangible and genuinely enticing. As much as I embraced the ease of leaning into the image of a willowy enigma ricocheting as desired between ingenue and seductress, there was meat here to sink my teeth into, an itch that could stand to be scratched instead of aching.

Dahlia took another bite, then laced her bare fingers together in front of her. She paused, ostensibly to give me the chance to pluck low-hanging fruit off the bough she’d offered.

My smirk pulled unexpectedly dry. The weight of it grated my tongue against teeth like cogs in a machine finally realizing how far the rust had crept. All the bright crystalline light surrounding us suddenly smelt of a circus. For the first time in my life, the thought of dancing under a spotlight was not an exciting one.

—You ought to know better than me that he doesn’t say anything for other people’s sake. What do you think I’m here for, Dahlia?

Her lips twitched and for a very serious second I thought she might slap me. Part of me wished she would. That would be familiar. That would be known.

—You don’t belong here, Esme.

And there it was, the elephant slain and skinned on the table between us and our naked hands.

Dahlia took a deep breath and pressed one slim palm flat against her temple. It was the sort of pose Mary took in the windows of St. Patrick’s, immaculate sufferance on display for the world to see.

—It’s not just you, Dahlia said in a voice that suggested she was angling for the patience of a saint. There are plenty of girls like you—you know, they come here from some plains town in Iowa or Georgia or wherever, and they think the dream is coming true. You wanted to be a star, didn’t you? Make it big, land the albatross.

She studied my face for a while. Whatever Dahlia found, it introduced a soft, squirming streak of dismay to her expression.

—I’m trying to save you some heartbreak. Yours, whatever family you’ve got hoping to hear from you back home, whoever you care about enough to lie to yourself about. Certainly not his, don’t mistake me. This isn’t the life for you.

—And what makes us so different?

I had played into her hands without realizing it, but Dahlia didn’t take the easy, immediate kill. She lifted her hand from her head and set it over mine.

—I think you know.

I could not move her. I could not move myself. For all the things seething under my skin, the only thing I could do was unclench my jaw and release my bite to bark.

—I wish he’d mentioned you. I’d have known to ask for advice. That coat brings out your eyes so well.

Dahlia matched my desperate spite, which made my own less desperate. An accidental kindness on her part, no doubt, but one all the same.

—Nothing stopping you in the future! He always did like my eyes, loved the lashes especially. And Portia has such beautiful hair. She keeps it long, you know, like the milkmaid girls in those God-awful European pictures. But it suits her.

Dahlia’s eyes flicked over me: up, down, and back up again. We smiled at the same time and in the same way, and she released my hand.

—Seems like he’s trying out a new flavor. On a diet, maybe.

She laughed: high, clear, glassy. I tasted it in the back of my own throat, the same phantom ache. The waiter came over from the wings of the circus tent and refilled our glasses without a word.

Another one of the city’s whimsies: watering the animals became a thankless task.

[qqueenofhades]

Journalist nonny here again, saw the question about Red Wave narratives and wanted to add– a lot of it is also on how journalists are trained. I’m not American, but like here, I doubt US oligarch bosses have the time to lurk over shoulders and tell us to make something more right-wing. But we’re trained to maintain distance from our own feelings, defer to a sense of ‚balance’ and precedent (ie, a first midterm = crushing defeat for ruling party), and focus on Changes (bc those are news)--

--and that does tend to lead to a lot of, sometimes to often even left-sympathizing, journalists going hardcore for a the-right-is-winning approach that ‚feels’ more Journalistically Correct. See hard-data journalists like Nate Silver sighing about journalists flying on vibes alone. I think people tend to blame our bosses for a lot of this stuff, and they’re not entirely wrong, but I can’t emphasize enough how much this profession rewires your brain. (Breaking News beat will desensitize you jfc)

Yeah, true, but that's not quite the same thing as what I'm talking about. When I say "the media tried to put it in the bag for Republicans," I'm not referring to local TV organisations, independent journalists, city papers, or other news organisations with some degree of localised autonomy, where people like you can make individual judgment calls on what to report. I'm talking about the collective huge monolith of flagship cable TV, nationwide news sites, "papers of record" like the New York Times which has become increasingly puerile, and the rest. We knew that say, CNN, traditionally considered as an inoffensive milquetoast centrist network such as the kind played in hotel breakfast rooms, was taken over by a guy who literally announced that he wanted to make it "more sympathetic" to Republicans and turn it into Fox News Lite, whereupon the liberal or liberal-leaning commentators were either fired or soon left on their own accord. We are talking about the months, MONTHS, of "Democrats in disarray/nervous/braced to get pasted" articles that relentlessly flooded the zone, while so-called "experts" insisted that Americans didn't actually care about abortion and democracy and this election would only be about The Economy, because that was the Conventional Wisdom. We had garbage Republican pollsters flood the information sphere with shoddy polls that even respected pollsters put into their averages as a way of "modeling possibilities." Let's not even talk about the garbage cesspit of Facebook and Twitter, as usual.

In short, blatant misrepresentation and/or disinformation implicitly or explicitly intended to boost the Republicans was pumped into the public sphere for MONTHS, and not as a result of any one person making an individual judgment call as to what or what not to print or present. Even after the midterms went better for Biden than literally anyone thought was humanely possible in this climate, we have the AP and (of course) the New York Times desperate to talk about the Warning Signs and Why This Is Bad For Democrats. It makes Republicans gleeful and it makes Democrats nervous, so either way they click and read it.

Now there are, believe me, an entire universe of pundits and political commentators very upset that they can't publish their self-congratulatory masturbation aids about "How Democrats' Wokeness Went Too Far And Cost Them Everything," because it turned out that the American people DO value abortion and democracy and voted accordingly, even in a difficult economic climate and stark polarisation. Because that particular kind of establishment is not our friend, will never be our friend, and treats everything as a smug thought experiment for public clout. Investigative and independent journalists are obviously terrific and we owe them the world, but the corporate media funded and subsidised to serve the interests of the 1%, and their preferred narratives and politicians, should always be treated with an extreme amount of skepticism at best. Because yeah. They're there to serve their paymasters and get average Americans to believe that it's actually the best thing to do (often by making them feel scared and worry about being poor, plus racism) and that's it.

[petrikaira]

The Butler

Chapter 6: Douglas Fir

Pg 3 (Previous, Next)

Rating: T for Teen

He knew that in the butler’s pantry was Queen Aikaterine’s beloved iron teapot. Surely both the weight and the iron of it would take his pursuer out, and he would avoid the whole dragged back to the fae kingdom thing. 

Butler charged, throwing open doors with wild abandon and leaping through rooms and hallways. Lucky for him, all of the rooms were unoccupied these days and the maids were elsewhere within the castle walls. It was even luckier that today the lights were out, as the Queen’s headaches were managed best by darkness. 

As he reached the Butler’s Pantry, distantly he heard the sound of shouting. That was a problem for a later time. He threw it open and lunged in. Over his workstation he went, fingers finding the latch for the china cabinet. His paws darted in, feeling the silver spoons and the crystal wine goblets. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he hunted- and found the polished slab of wood the iron pot sat on empty. 

Well shit.

A pink glow filled the hallway beyond him. Fuck fuck fuck.

Eksender’s eyes were bright as he turned towards Butler. “How does this look, Sir?” He had asked, snickering and over-eager.

He had proven a worthwhile footman. He worked hard, harder than other people he had trained before in the very same job, and despite himself, Butler had begrudgingly begun to like him. There was something about the level of smugness that had given him somewhat of a shine to his newest footman. 

He made a show of looking over the gleaming crystal goblets, taking them in for any speck in case Queen Aikaterine called for a ballroom dance. She apparently had before, but not once in the time Butler had been there. Her headaches had been too debilitating. 

The crystal had been flawless. It was not often the footmen and the butler’s job to shine it, but it sometimes fell to them depending on lots for the castle. Butler had needed to know Eksender could do it, and do it he could. The glass had been spotless.

“Finally, you are putting some gumption in,” Butler said with satisfaction. “Almost perfect. Do not forget where your fingers touch.”

He never liked it when those blunt little fingers left prints. 

“Yeah yeah, I will,” Eksender said. He took the rag once more and went back to it. “So, you got any plans for tonight?”

It had progressed to the point that Butler no longer needed to let Eksender know he was not interested. He had stopped asking. He was relieved he had gotten it through his mind, could maybe move on to some other handsome wolf demon out there, or perhaps a fox. Maybe one of the Vulpis. Whatever it would be, it was not Butler’s problem, now. 

“Just a simple card game.” “Mmm, sounds nice.”

Butler had only considered for a moment. If the man truly had moved on, there would be no harm in it, surely. He just hoped he wasn’t inadvertently throwing a bone that would rekindle a fire.

“Why don’t you come along?” He had asked.

He almost had regretted it with how fast Eksender had said yes.

Now, he truly did. If he had never invited the man, the opportunity would have never arisen. It was not like Eksender had not bided his time. A few more months of playing cards, every friday. He had even let Butler trick and cheat his way through winning every match. He had been like a snake in the grass.

Butler careened out of the doorway on the other side of the Butler’s Pantry, bursting into sounds and lights. The cooks were busy cooking for the Canis Royals’ lunch tomorrow, roasted pig spit over the fire. It took all night to do, and pig was a treat from the surface worlds. Butler ran past it, the pads of his paws feeling the heat of the fire on every stone.

“Butler, where are you-” asked one of the serving wenches as he went past her.

“No time to talk now,” he said. “I have to go.”

A clatter behind him. The sound of the serving wench yelping “Eksender-?”

Oh for fuck’s sake. Now the man had speed? Now, when Butler was going the wrong, stupid, way?

He opened the door to the pantry. The one with all of the simple china and the bread. This room led nowhere. He knew that. He had begun to take over stocking it from the head Butler, Agni, just recently. He knew that the back walls enclosed the space to keep the potatoes dry.

And Butler hated this.

He lunged, leaping into the potato bin and scooping the potatoes with his hands, burying himself in. The round tubers hit all of the soft spots of his body. He buried himself, bit by bit, potato by potato, until he swore he was breathing in only potato skins and dirt. 

And he waited.

(Previous, Next)

[english-professor-wraith]

Fictober 2022: Day 16

(I am still writing these, yes. They are going very slowly because I have been busy and tragically uninspired. This one ain't perfect but at least it is complete)

Your skirts swirl around your legs, gathered petticoats hidden beneath the finely-embroidered overdress. Your hands, clad in silky gloves, rest gently on your partner’s shoulder and hand. His hand is warm through his white kid leather glove, and your feet move perfectly in time with each other and the music. Though your faces are turned to each other, you look staunchly past him, ignoring the way his eyes behind his corvid mask are pinned on you. This mask is different from his usual, the one you’ve seen a hundred times in the forest staring blankly at you from behind the barrel of his gun and a cloud of smoke. This one maintains most of the crow design, though only the top half of his face is covered, and is formed from delicate silver scrolling instead of black leather. There are no lenses, leaving open gaps through which his cold blue eyes watch you, and some of the wires spiral down to his jaw and into his hair, holding it in place securely. 

Yours is more typical, tied with a simple ribbon behind your head, though moulded slightly to fit your face more securely. The red fur of your mask is smoothed to allow visibility, and the fox’s hue practically shines when paired with your deep green dress. Those green skirts catch the light as you spin in this man’s arms, the embroidered leaves almost shimmering in the candles’ glow. 

“If it was such a punishment to be seen dancing with me, you ought to have turned me down, darling.” His voice almost purrs, and you can’t tell if it was meant to be sincere or  a threat. 

“You know as well as I that that could never happen, Lord Frederick.” You practically spit the title at him, and relish in the momentary satisfaction of his flinch and the subsequent fading of his smug grin. He finally looks away from you, scanning the room before leading you away from the dance floor. No one seems to mark his exit- either they are very well paid (which would not be a surprise) or this man- who is apparently a nobleman, though you’ve only ever seen him tousled and dirty in the forest- pulls women from the ballroom to a side hallway frequently. 

“I was hoping we could speak civilly while dancing, assuming you would prefer the presence of others for safety. It would seem your civility is reserved for…well, I’m not entirely sure where. I’ve certainly never seen you be such. Either way, what do you think you’re doing here?” His fervour surprises you slightly, and you step back before answering, pulling your wrist from his grasp.

“I was following a lead, Freddie- if that really is your name- on a possible threat to the de Rolo family. I heard there was to be an attack tonight and I wanted to ensure that they stay safe.”

“Even if it weren’t my name- which it is, mind you- what would it matter? We’re nothing more than rivals, if that, and we haven’t even seen each other for months until tonight. Why do you care so much for m- for the de Rolo family?” You notice the quick change of subject and hear the slip, but are distracted from any comment by his eyes. Something behind them has changed: no longer do you see contempt or haughtiness in them. Instead, like looking through a shattered window, there is something there that you have never seen before: panic. 

“They’re good people, Frederick. They care for the people of this city- unlike you, apparently, since you are keeping me from my intent of protecting them.” With this, you stalk back towards the ballroom, checking through your open pocket to make sure your thigh sheath is still in place. Just as you touch it, though, a hand comes down on your shoulder. Before you can think, you’ve already pulled out the dagger and slammed the body connected to that hand against the wall, knife held to their throat. Freddie stands in front of you- if you had taken another moment, you would have realised it was his hand- breathing heavily as your blade lightly brushes against his skin, his pulse hammering in his wrist, pinned to the wall by your other hand.

“Please listen to me” His voice is quiet, though you’re not sure if it’s intentional or if you’ve knocked the breath out of him. His mask is crooked from the rush, the beak now tilted at an awkward angle, but it makes it easier for you to get closer and hiss into his face.

“Oh I am, highness. Every word.”

“I’m not who you think I am.” The basic reply earns him a scoff, and you roll your eyes. In doing so, you see another guest coming into the hallway, not looking your way yet but you know they will very soon. You flip your blade around and tuck it against your arm, silently indicating the newcomer to Freddie and his eyes widen.

“Trust me, please”

Before you can even comprehend what he’s said, he has spun the two of you and placed your back against the wall. One hand cradles the back of your head to keep it from hitting the wooden panelling, and the other shoves up his mask in an instant and then hits the wall next to you. Your hands are caught up in his flurry of movement- the one that was holding his wrist is held next to your head, wrapped around his forearm as his fingers lace into your hair. The other, the knife still hidden behind your arm and brushing against the glove, he traps between your bodies to further hide the blade. 

And then-

His lips are on yours.

The beak on his mask was too long to allow it, but the short muzzle of your fox mask barely even makes him turn his head to reach your mouth.

Gods above, his lips are soft

Your eyes drift shut on instinct, though you catch a short glimpse of the newcomer shuffling quickly past your pairing, their arm now around their own partner’s shoulders protectively. 

He’s so warm, I thought for sure he would be cold…

You try to listen carefully to make sure they have left before opening your eyes, but between Freddie’s shallow breaths and your heartbeat pounding in your ears, there is little chance of you being able to hear the quiet footsteps as the other pair leaves the hallway.

Is this what it’s always like?

A sudden rush of coldness as he steps back, and you gasp in a breath that you try to stifle with little success. The two of you stare for a moment, blushing and stunned, until Freddie shakes himself a bit and replaces his mask.

“Come on, we need to find a more private place to talk.”

“And the de Rolos? What if there’s an attack?”

“I have some friends here- extra muscle in case of emergency. Trouble seems to follow me”, he chuckles, turning towards the other end of the hallway from the ballroom.

You follow, though uncertain, and replace your dagger in its sheath (though you keep a hand in that open pocket, just in case). Eventually he stops in front of a door- different from the others, metal and heavy looking.

“We’ll be safe and undisturbed here, this is my workshop. No one comes in without my invitation, so it will stay quiet.” He stands by the door as you enter, then pulls the heavy door closed with a surprising lack of sound. He steps past you to sit on the stool by the workbench and gestures at a chair in the corner. “Grab that and pull it closer if you like, or sit over there. Whatever you like.” His face is still red, and you’re not sure what you’re hoping the reason to be. 

“Your workshop? Do you work for the de Rolos or what? You’re nobility- so many people recognized you in that ballroom- but you still have this-”, gesturing at the grimy walls as you sit on the chair he had indicated, “workshop here. What’s going on?”

He sighs, as if he had hoped not to have to explain it. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? Look at me.” He pulls off his mask and looks squarely at you, expectation in his eyes. 

You stare at him, confused. “I see you, Frederick, I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me.”

“You’re looking at me, but you don’t really see.” He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and reaches towards the shelf to grab a pair of glasses that are sitting there. As he puts them on, he takes another look at the handkerchief and then hands it to you. Looking down at the monogram, you see the de Rolo crest embroidered on it. As you look back up at him, his glasses now in place, a glimmer of recognition appears in your mind. 

“Are you- but his name isn’t Frederick- or Freddie-”

“One of my names is. Yes, I am one of the de Rolos- My full name is Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III; Percy to my friends, and Freddie to those who don’t treat me like some prissy aristocrat upon first meeting.”

Percival de Rolo kissed me

What? Why is that my first thought?

“What the FUCK, Freddie?” He winces at the sudden exclamation, then nods brusquely before pushing on. 

“I know I shouldn’t have lied, and I’m sorry for it, but-” Before he can even finish his sentence you are already continuing your tirade, standing from your chair to pace across the workshop. 

“No, you don’t know. You couldn’t! Look, we were rivals, enemies somewhat, but I trusted you. Stupid, I know, to trust one’s rival, but I knew who you were, at least- or so I thought. You’re nobility! Do you know what having injured you will do to my life if anyone ever learns of it? It’s only now that I find out that the person I’ve been arguing with, fighting with, falling in-UGH”. You finally cut yourself off with a sound of disgust, burying your face in your hands as you collapse back onto the chair, ignoring the ominous creaking of the wooden legs beneath you. 

Past the fingers which now block your eyes, Freddie- Percy- cocks his head, looking like nothing so much as the crows after which his mask- laying on the bench beside him- is patterned. He leans forward, his gaze dropping from you as his head falls towards his chest. His hands are limp, his elbows settled on his knees as he stares at the stone beneath him.

“You’re right.”

You look up at this quiet admittance, so different from the haughty persona he had been half-maintaining this whole time. His voice is barely audible, hardly louder than the muffled string music still creeping beneath the door.  

“You’re right”, he repeats, “I should have told you. I should have been honest. I know it’s not a proper excuse, but I just- I suppose I simply wanted something in my life that wasn’t tied up in the cords of nobility and expectation. I am-” He looks up at you, his eyes meeting yours and showing you again that broken, panicked expression. “I’m deeply sorry for having lied to you. I don’t expect you to trust me. I won’t ask you to stay. But I hope you know that I never held any bad intentions toward you- only selfish ones.”

You carefully steel your expression, disguising the tangled hurricane of emotions coursing through your soul. You stand, taking a step towards him and handing his handkerchief back to him. He takes it, then looks up at you with confusion as you continue to hold out your hand towards him.

“A truce, Frederick. I accept your apology, and I hope you will accept mine for my actions, both intentionally harmful and not.” 

As he reaches up and wraps his hand around your wrist in a knight’s shake, the sound of chaos comes from down the hallway, screams and crashes echoing into the workshop. The two of you release each other quickly and Percival sweeps a gun from the bench into his holster and sweeps up his silver mask, scowling at its impracticality before striding towards the door, reaching behind him for your hand to lead you down the hallway and towards the sound of the battle. The two of you run towards the ballroom, pushing through the fleeing crowd. Shots of blazing light shine through the doorways, voices shouting with intent as Frederick quickly explains who his ‘extra muscle’ is and finally pushes into the main room. You gaze around in horror at the carnage already spread about the room, and your hand tightens around Percy’s until you realise you’re still holding him, then drop his hand and pull your daggers from your pockets. He chuckles as he looks over at you, knowing that those two are only the beginning of all the weapons you’ve stashed on your person, then strides away from the door towards the centre of the room, watching the fights occurring along the walls. You follow, carefully watching to gather insight on the pattern of creatures and heroes. You stand with Freddie, back to back, and fling your first dagger as you hear the click of his gun about to shoot. 

[softlystarstruck]

Prompt : Birthday!

P.S. I love your fics! 🤍

so i’ve gotten TWO birthday prompts (both anon) in the past week and decided that today would be the perfect time to post something for birthday boy draco :) read on ao3 here! big thanks to my lovely beta @curlyy-hair-dont-care​​

“Good morning, birthday boy,” Harry mumbles, rolling over in bed. The spot beside him is sleep-warm but notably empty, and he blinks hard in an attempt to orient himself. “Draco?”

It’s early, too early for Draco to willingly be up, so Harry pulls on a silky blue dressing gown from the hook in Draco’s wardrobe and pads into the kitchen. No Draco, but there’s coffee warm in the pot, so he pours himself a cup before exploring the rest of the house. Outside, the darkness is slowly turning to pink as the sun rises, and Harry catches a glimpse of a slim figure at their garden table. Ah.

He doesn’t bother with shoes, walking out onto the dewy grass and waking up fully as dampness slides underneath his toes. Draco gazes out into the distance but tilts his head in acknowledgement as Harry approaches, so Harry settles into the wrought-iron chair across from him and takes a long sip of coffee. Their silence is filled with the song of morning, long grass rustling in the breeze and birds calling out to each other from the trees. Harry takes the time to study his husband, savoring how the faint golden light of sunrise kisses Draco’s long hair and his beautifully curved mouth.

“What?” Draco asks, softly enough to not disturb the morning. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re just so beautiful,” Harry says immediately, as though the words were simply waiting in the wings of his mouth.

“Oh,” Draco replies, quickly looking away from Harry with a small smile. “I’m forty-one today.”

“Mm, a regular silver fox,” Harry says into his coffee. “Happy birthday, love. What time is it?”

“Nearly five, I think.”

“And you’re willingly up? Who are you, and what have you done with my grumpy husband?” Harry reaches across the small table to poke playfully at Draco’s ribs and Draco bats him away, laughing.

“Stop, let me have a crisis about my age in peace.”

Harry stops poking him and laces their fingers together instead. “Are you? Having a crisis, I mean.”

“Possibly,” Draco says, squinting towards the slowly lightening horizon. “I haven’t quite yet decided.”

Harry stays quiet, giving Draco time to gather his thoughts.

“It’s just… I’ve now spent over half my life as a good person. Or at least a better person than I was before eighteen. That first birthday after the war, I spent in– I was in Azkaban, remember? Waiting for the trials. And the next birthday I was struggling to pay rent in a flat where the faucets rarely worked and no one knew it was my birthday at all. But I was… becoming better, already. Learning how to be good. And somehow I’ve managed to keep doing that.”

“You are good. Though I notice you didn’t mention the birthday after that, which is arguably the most important one,” Harry teases, gently squeezing Draco’s hand.

“Oh, you mean the one where I got messy drunk and you kept buying me shots and then made us both drink a vile sober up potion just so you could take me back to yours and kiss me against the fridge until it started making that weird sound?”

“Precisely,” Harry says, and he can’t keep the smugness from his voice.

“And they say romance is dead,” Draco says drily.

“Hey, it worked, didn’t it?” It had, rather fantastically; the gold ring on Harry’s finger is proof of that.

Draco rolls his eyes fondly, then lets his gaze linger on their house. “I suppose.”

“We could go to a club tonight to celebrate, dance like we did when we were twenty?” Harry suggests, waggling his eyebrows in a way that prompts Draco to scrunch his face up in poorly hidden amusement.

“I’m old, I can’t do shots,” Draco complains.

“Fuck off, you’re forty-one. Not dead.”

“Easy for you to say, young lover of mine.”

“Young lover– I’m only two months younger than you!” Harry exclaims, trying not to laugh.

“I’m practically cradle-snatching,” Draco says dramatically before slumping back in his chair.

“Is this really about getting old?” Harry asks seriously, studying the small furrow between Draco’s eyebrows.

“Yes.” Draco frowns. “No. I don’t know. It’s just strange, isn’t it? That I made it here. I’m twenty years older than I ever expected to be, married to you, a proud owner of two cats. I’m a librarian. A librarian. If you told me at sixteen this is where I’d be, I would’ve…” Draco quiets with a small frown, picking at something invisible on the table. “I would’ve thought it was too impossibly good to be true. That I would never do anything good enough to be deserving of this.”

“Love,” Harry says softly, and his hands ache to hold Draco. Standing up, he circles around the table to stand next to Draco, pulling the other man towards his chest and tangling his fingers up in Draco’s soft hair. “You’d deserve a good life no matter what. But you put so much work into being a good person, and I’m so proud of you. I’m so glad I got to be there with you for most of it.”

“I’ve been with you half of my life,” Draco says wondrously, as though this thought hadn’t yet occurred to him, and Harry bends down to kiss the top of Draco’s head. “Oh Merlin, darling. Darling,” Draco murmurs, turning his face up to speak against Harry’s lips. “Harry. Darling. I love you so fucking much.”

Harry kisses him hard on the mouth, steady as Draco’s fingers dig into his hips. When he finally pulls away they’re both panting softly into the morning air and the sun has burst bright over the horizon, painting Draco with brilliance under Harry’s hands.

“Draco, I love you so much, but can you continue to be introspective in our bed? It’s five in the morning and you’re irresistibly beautiful and I’d like to suck you off,” Harry says, and Draco chokes on air. “Or are you too old for a birthday blowjob?”

“I’m only forty-one,” Draco huffs, but he’s fighting a smile, the faint creases around his mouth deepening.

“C’mon, then.” Harry tugs Draco up from the chair and they’re kissing again, as though it’s muscle memory, and it takes too long to get inside the house because Harry refuses to let Draco leave his arms and Draco can’t stop laughing in between whispering I love you over and over again.

~

drarry prompts are OPEN just send me an ask!

Read on AO3

[ggomomomo]

A Different Mask

@felixmonth

Felix Week 2022 Day 4 (Cookie Version) | Kwami Swap

AO3 | Masterlist

"So what's your name?" Sibyll bent down to examine his new suit intently. Her curiosity didn't fade even as she tugged on the rabbit ear on his head and he slapped her hand away.

"Silver," the hero replied calmly, "Derived from the rabbit genus Sylvilagus."

"Huh. Lame but it's alright."

Silver glared. "It's not lame."

In fact, when they had talked about swapping Miraculouses, he had meticulously drafted his hero names in the notes app of his phone. Now that he donned another mask, it felt funny on his skin like he was somehow betraying Plagg (though the little gremlin probably didn't care at all).

He gave Sibyll a similar once-over. "Where's the Fox Miraculous?"

She shrugged. "Haru hasn't given it yet. Heh, I'm sure he's afraid to give it."

"Why?"

Sibyll chuckled mischievously. "'Cause he knows I'm going to cast illusions that'll make everyone in Paris think they're high." She rubbed her chin. "The entire Bee Movie script written in the sky . . . or a big ass rabbit next to the Eiffel Tower, but the head is Bugs Bunny."

An image flickered in his head: a fox Sibyll standing over the rooftops, cackling madly as the Bee Movie script scrolled behind her. ". . . Please never do that."

"I make no promises." Sibyll looked smug—as if the illusions were the best ideas she ever had. "By the way, you can't use Burrow."

Silver stopped in the middle of testing his weapon. "Why not? What's the point of the swap if I can't use the Rabbit's power?"

"You can use the umbrella."

"Sibyll."

"Okay, okay." She sighed, putting her hands on her hips. "Two reasons. First, I may or may not be using the Burrow as my personal hideout and extra storage space—"

"What—"

"And second! Time is extremely fragile. I want to keep other people from accessing multiple timelines as much as possible. There are things you're better off not seeing and events you can never interfere with." She shuddered. "The past and future are equally frightening."

Silver fell into silence to let her words settle. The times when Sibyll would be serious were sporadic, which meant that he wasn't to take her warning lightly. He didn't know what his friend had witnessed in the great unknown but the experiences seemed to continuously change her as a person. "I don't have to enter the timelines. I only want to enter the Burrow."

She glances at one of her watches. "Fine. But I'll supervise."

Silver nodded in agreement and stretched out the arm holding the umbrella. "Burrow!"

The bright portal materialized in front of them, a stark contrast in the cloudy night. They peeked into it at the same time, gaping at the interior.

"What the hell?" Sibyll was first to comment. " My Burrow doesn't look like this."

It was obviously a product of Félix's mind. 'The Burrow' was an old library with gigantic shelves, each filled with hardbound books. A metallic winding staircase led to a mezzanine that held Renaissance paintings and cabinets. The 'portals' to other timelines were glass doors lining the walls (some were trapdoors on the floor as well).

Silver was mesmerized.

"What does your Burrow look like?" He asked Sibyll as they stepped inside. The portal closed behind them.

"Screens. Lots of screens and a huge table with a swivel chair in the middle," she described. "I can click on a screen to view or get into a timeline."

Silver blinked up at the chandelier-adorned ceiling of his Burrow. "I suppose it's different for each holder."

"I guess. Fluff didn't mention this at all."

Silver walked towards a shelf and plucked a book out of it. Flipping through its pages, he found that it was completely empty. He got another book. It was both title-less and wordless. "What's with the books here?" he frowned.

"Ah, I have these empty drawers and blank post-its in my Burrow too." Sibyll looked over his shoulder. "I think it manifests most of what you want for a Burrow but not specific details unless you really consider them."

She stretched her arms, yawning. "Or maybe it's like that so you can log your travels. One of the past holders did that apparently."

"That's . . . convenient." He was still wrapping his mind about bringing a pocket dimension to life with his own subconscious but he told himself he had weirder days.

Next, Silver scanned the glass doors. The timelines were playing through quickly—he could barely register what was happening. The portals in the mezzanine were blurred out or filtered in mosaic.

"So you still won't permit me to enter any of the timelines?" He asked Sibyll.

"Nope. I know I always timeline-hop without a care in the world but that's because I'm used to it." She flicked her braid to the side. "The rest of you on the other hand . . . it's too dangerous. You can't go to any period. Especially 2028. Or 1869. Do not go to 1869."

"What's in 1869?"

Her expression was inscrutable. "You don't wanna know."

Sibyll pushed her glasses up her nose. "Hmm, there is one time period that's pretty safe to visit though."

"And that is?" Perhaps 'safe' had different connotations for each of them.

"Hold on, lemme look for it." Silver followed as Sibyll navigated through the shelves and past multiple doors.

She stopped in front of one that looked blinding and barren. "Here it is! I wonder if you have . . ." She trailed off before perking up and spotting a parka hanging nearby. "There we go."

Silver hadn't realized what was happening yet when she opened the door, kicked him inside, and went in after. He gawked at the surroundings: snow coating the ground, a clear sky, and the cold nipping at his face. Sibyll zipped up her jacket, snickering.

"Manny! I'm back!" She hollered out, cupping her palms by her mouth.

"Who's Ma— aaaack!" Silver yelped and dodged to the side, missing the wooly mammoth's foot by only an inch.

Sibyll flashed a cunning smile and reached out to him as an invitation. "Shall we take a ride?"

--

"Let me get this straight." Danaus crossed his arms. "You want me to akumatize you?"

Cosette nodded quickly as she bounced on her heels. The enthusiastic sparkle in her eyes was something he had only encountered a handful of times. But he knew that look. It spoke of trouble.

"Why didn't you ask Zee yesterday?" he asked.

"Zee didn't want to," she said quietly.

"Then he must have a good reason."

"NO!" Cosette uncharacteristically raised her voice, grabbing onto his arm. "Do it, please."

She pulled out the puppy dog eyes. She pulled out the puppy dog eyes! Danaus looked away in an attempt to resist. "Why do you want to be akumatized so badly?"

"I've never tried it." She smiled sheepishly. "It'll help me improve my connections with my champions."

"Oh really? No ulterior motive?"

She shook her head.

Danaus cast her a look of suspicion. He'd have control over the link, and he could always reclaim the akuma. Despite knowing this, his subconscious sensed that it could all end badly.

And Zee would have his head.

"Fine." He gave in. "Let's try it. Do you have a spare butterfly?"

Cosette shrugged off her crocheted backpack and dug out a glass jar with a Viceroy butterfly residing in it. She carefully transferred it into his hands and he summoned his power while connecting with her emotions. The akuma fluttered towards one of her hairpins.

Her figure was bathed in a shimmering light, signaling the transformation. The appearance of Akumatized Cosette didn't stray too far from her civilian form: she wore a more elaborate dress, with bold makeup and hair pulled up into a bun.

She studied herself for a few seconds. "I don't feel different," she said disappointedly (though Danaus also sensed an accusation in her tone).

"Any powers?"

"Nothing." Her hands dropped limply at her sides. Cosette pouted up at him.

"What?"

"When you create an akuma, you must focus on the goal you want your champion to achieve," Cosette lectured. "If your champion doesn't have a strong inclination towards something, nothing will happen."

Danaus' eyes widened when she took her hairpin and crushed it, releasing the butterfly. That was Cosette's disapproving fury. He obediently reclaimed it, restoring the butterfly back to normal.

"Try this one." She stopped him and pulled out another jar from her bag ( where is she getting all these butterflies?). This time it was a Blue Morpho.

"Does the type of butterfly matter?" Danaus questioned.

"I don't know but it's safe to experiment."

He captured the new butterfly in his hands but paused. "I can't think of any goal for you."

"Anything," she urged.

"Champions also influence their transformations don't they?" He recalled the variety she had as Solandis. "What if you think of what you want to be?"

Her tongue stuck out slightly as she considered. "Okay."

Danaus closed his eyes, channeling more deeply into the link. He couldn't perceive the exact desires Cosette fed into the connection, but he transferred it into the akuma and set it free. It touched her bag this time.

Her outfit was the same except for one glaring difference: she now had a pair of cobalt blue wings stretching from her back where her bag once was. Cosette gasped in delight, moving the wings according to her will. Her feet lifted off the ground for a bit as they fluttered.

"Your wish was to become a butterfly?"

"It's my calling," she whispered determinedly, looking straight into his eyes. "A-yah-yah, I'm a little butterfly."

A split second passed before she lifted off the ground. And she was fast. Cosette launched herself from the alley and flew to the top of the buildings before Danaus could grab hold of her. Dread stirred in his gut as he went after her in a panic. He knew (she probably did too) that if he reclaimed the akuma suddenly, she'd immediately fall to the ground.

Danaus pinched the bridge of his nose as he quickened his pace to chase her.

Zee was going to kill him.

--

On the third night of swapping Miraculouses around, he was scheduled for a patrol with Marinette. This time, he had the Ladybug Miraculous while she had the Butterfly. By far, the Ladybug suit was the most comfortable to wear around.

The yoyo, however, was another story.

He heard Marinette's—Nymphis'—giggles when the string wrapped around his legs and tripped him. Vermeil untangled himself and cautiously kept the weapon at arm's length.

"I was worse when I first started out," Nymphis said in between bouts of laughter. "You just need to get used to it."

"It seems that it has its own version of physics," he grumbled.

"No, no, no it's all practice. Here, let me show you." He handed the yoyo to her. Nymphis performed a short trick before throwing it over to the next building. It caught onto the railing with precision, winding around the metal securely.

"See?" She beamed at him. "Try focusing on the path of the yoyo instead of the destination."

She unwound the yoyo to give it back. Vermeil took a deep breath. He told himself inwardly that he shouldn't make a fool of himself in front of the original holder. Especially because it's Marinette. He pulled his arm back and threw. The yoyo sailed through the air, stopped by a ledge, and anchored onto it with a tug.

"Good!" Nymphis praised. "Now try jumping to the other side."

Vermeil took tentative steps towards the end of the building. His hand tugged at the yoyo before he allowed himself to be pulled along. On the other building, he jumped to land safely on the ledge while unwinding the yoyo. Nymphis followed after with quick leaps.

"That wasn't bad," she said. "How do you feel?"

"Still wary of the yoyo," he replied. "Other than that, I feel lucky."

"Lucky?"

He pressed his fingertips to his suit. "Perhaps it has something to do with wielding the Black Cat for so long. I'm not sure—I can only describe it as 'lucky'."

"I'm glad it worked out well for you then." She tapped her cane on the ground. "There isn't a sentimonster attack right now, so you can't really use the powers but I can tell you'd make a great Ladybug."

"I would?"

"Problem-solving skills, quick thinking, resourcefulness," she enumerated. "You fit in."

For the first time that night, Vermeil took a proper look at her under the moonlight. Nymphis was incredibly stunning, more so wearing her usual uplifting smile. She evidently put some thought into her outfit as its details stood out in the dimness. He felt his cheeks warm up. "Thank you."

"So . . . race you?" Nymphis challenged.

He mirrored her excitement. "Loser owes the winner a drink."

"Deal!" She faced towards the next building and tossed her cane as far as she could.

"Um—" Vermeil stared at her. "Why did you—"

" I thought I was holding my yoyo!" She blushed.

They raced across rooftops, with Nymphis emerging as the winner (it was no surprise, but on the bright side, he'd never let her forget her mistake). After a breather, they tried to spar to get accustomed to different weapons. Time passed in a blink. Soon, it was half past one and the exhaustion was finally spreading to their limbs.

"See you tomorrow at school?" said Nymphis.

"Yes, see you tomorrow." The corner of his lip tugged upwards. "Don't lose your cane on the way home."

"Hey!"

They parted ways, going towards the direction of their homes. Vermeil dropped down into a nearby alley to detransform and feed Tikki.

"Oh my god, Nooroo did you see him? He looked so—so—! So good!"

Félix froze. Marinette. She was on the other side of the wall.

"I swear it's all Tikki's fault! She—she made Félix more beautiful with that suit!" Marinette rambled loudly. "Agh, I couldn't stop looking at him! Do you think he noticed?"

His gaze snapped towards the red kwami in front of him, who was muffling her laughter behind paws. He felt heat reaching the tips of his ears.

"I think he was too busy with the yoyo," Nooroo assured.

"Yes he was! But still! I was going to have a nosebleed!"

"Why will you have a nosebleed?" A mixture of worry and confusion laced the kwami’s voice.

"I—uhhh . . . remind me to tell Cosette to let you watch more anime."

Meanwhile, Félix was a glowing red. He covered his blushing face with both his hands, clinging on to any thought to bring his heartbeat back to normal.

--

He got the Dragon Miraculous from Zee, but he didn't have any safe space to practice with it. Zee roped him into a video chat and suggested the park near his house. Félix, taking the name Drakon, positioned himself at the corner of the area. He leaned his phone against a bench to provide a good view while Zee mentored him.

"I can't activate any of the powers." Drakon sat down on the grass, frowning.

"I predicted as much." Zee clasped his hands together. "Like the Peacock and Butterfly, the Dragon is also tied with the holder's emotions. More specifically, the personality. That's why it's not that easy to use the Miraculous."

"Can you elaborate on that?"

"Let's start with water." The boy held up one finger. "It's adaptable. It resonates with people who can be flexible under any situation."

"You're saying that doesn't characterize me."

"I'm saying you don't have enough of the characteristic. Or at least, the amount the Miraculous requires. Of course, you are flexible in some way and it depends on a lot of factors but the Miraculous needs a big amount of that kind of energy. That means you have to constantly supply that when you try to become water."

Drakon tapped on the hilt of his sword. Zee had a lot of wisdom on psychology—his 'mentoring' resembled a therapy session.

"And I need more of that when I try to become wind?" Drakon asked.

"Wind is different." Zee shook his head. "It's more on the free-spirited side. The best example I can give is probably Sibyll or—to some degree—Haru. Unlike water, wind doesn't bend to any stress or pressure. It goes wherever it wants and changes direction the second it feels the urge to."

"In other words, that's not me."

"Yup. Not exactly you."

"What about lightning?"

"Lightning is persistent, determined. Its presence is prominent, loud and bold. Think Marinette or maybe Alina."

"Let me guess." Drakon sighed. "You can masterfully wield the Dragon Miraculous because you have those qualities."

Zee chuckled. "You can say that. But it doesn't mean it's impossible for you to use the powers. A lot of past holders had trouble with that too. For now, instead of becoming the elements, you can try controlling them instead." He made a dramatic gesture with his hands. "Be the avatar."

Drakon listened to Zee's patient instructions. He had trouble moving around since it was dark, but he managed to pull out droplets from leaves, redirect a soft breeze with his fingers and ignite a quick spark. While he practiced, Zee narrated his own experiences.

"If in case you have to use the Dragon in battle, it gets easier to transform into the elements," said Zee. "Because it's a high pressure, risky situation and all."

"That's convenient but—" Drakon let the floating water drop back down to the grass. "—I'd take this Miraculous as a last resort."

He had never considered compatibility with Miraculouses before, but after that experience, he began to think about the idea more often.

--

Haru didn't even talk about precautions in using the Miraculous. He only sent a text that said: don't go too wild :/

Félix decided to use it in broad daylight this time, presuming that his illusions were nothing out of the ordinary. He tucked himself away in an unfrequented part of the city near the school and cast his illusions. For half an hour, he happily watched his creations roam around as he remained in a low crouch, knees to his chest.

Until Haru caught him.

Haru was taking a walk in the area, finished with his business in the school's art room. Le Renard's eyes widened as they saw each other. The former took one look at him, chortled, and grabbed his phone to catch the whole thing on video.

It didn't end there.

Sibyll also stumbled into the scene and stopped to stare alongside Haru. She was clearly stifling her laughter, while Le Renard hid his blush and continued gazing down at the illusions as if nothing had happened. There was a ginger cat sleeping by his feet, while he pretended to pet a black one even though his hand didn't sense anything tangible. Around him, there were more cats walking around: Bengals, Maine Coons, Persians, one Burmese, and two Siamese cats.

"Of all you could've done," Haru wheezed, "You made illusions of cats ?"

"They're harmless," Renard mumbled abashedly, "And cute."

"Sweet, sweet Fé, how many did you make?" Sibyll asked as another cat emerged from the shadows.

"I made enough."

At that moment, Cosette, Marinette and Zee also arrived after Sibyll relayed what happened. Cosette immediately jumped at the chance to talk to the cats; Marinette cooed about how cute the illusions were; while Zee silently observed with a smirk on his face.

"What gave you the idea anyway?" Marinette bent down to take a closer look.

Le Renard cleared his throat. "There's not a lot of strays near our house so I . . ."

"So you made an army." Sibyll raised an eyebrow.

"They're cats." He scowled. "You can't go wrong with cats."

Renard moved his hand to steer the illusions a bit. More cats appeared from their hiding places—they meowed and crept out of the openings in the abandoned building before heading towards the group. To say that they were everywhere was an understatement. Calico kittens ran out in groups, some bigger cats stopped to groom themselves, and a few approached Le Renard for some 'petting'.

" Holy —" Haru choked out, jaw dropping. "Félix, I'm taking away your Fox privileges." 

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Trapped Secrets

Dr. Spencer Reid x Reader, Derek Morgan Platonic x Reader

Words: 3692

Summary: With no time to lose, you and Morgan storm an unsub’s house before the rest of the team gets there. After not hearing back from you, Spencer and the team start to panic. Injured, trapped, and keeping a major secret, you and Morgan have to stay alive in a frightened unsub’s basement. 

Notes: I picture this in season four because that’s where I am in the series. Plus I really like Spencer’s hair cut at the beginning of this season.  I am totally in love with Spencer Reid so expect to be seeing more imagines for him and for Criminal Minds in general! I hope you guys are as excited as I am. 

Find more Spencer and more HERE

-

“You’ll be careful, right?” You asked, straightening your boyfriend’s tie underneath his vest. 

“Only if you are.” Spencer gave you that little awkward smile that he always gave you. “Besides, I’m not going with Agent Action Hero.” He motioned to Agent Morgan; your search partner for the evening. 

“He’s not an action hero.” You laughed, strapping on your vest. “He just really likes kicking in doors.” Spencer snickered slightly, but his expression was still uncomfortable. 

“You jealous that I’m riding with your girl Reid?” Morgan laughed, patting the younger agent on the back. 

“Morgan.” You hissed, jerking your head towards Hotch. 

“What? We all know about you and the brainiac.”

“Yeah, and Hotch doesn’t exactly like being reminded about it.” The relationship between you and Dr. Reid wasn’t exactly protocol, especially on the same team. You hadn’t quite been able to figure out why SSA Hotchner hadn’t reported you or told you to put an end to it. 

“You guys better get going. We only have about five hours before he’ll likely kill Audrey Lang.” Spencer hooked his finger with yours, only for a moment, but it sent a sweet, tingling feeling up your arm. With both of you being new to any kind of serious relationship, you stuck to pretty small signs of affection. You didn’t mind. It was personal and perfect. Spencer went to join Hotch and you headed to the car with Morgan. 

“Is it just me, or did Reid actually look kind of worried?” Morgan asked. It was more to tease you than from concern. 

“Shut up.” You couldn’t help but grin. Morgan had that effect. You got into the passenger side and waited for his list of snarky comments. He wasn’t done poking fun at you yet. 

“I have to say, you’ve got ‘rule breaker’ all over you, but I honestly did not see this coming from Dr. Teacher's-Pet.” He shook his head with a smug smile and started the car. You just sat and rolled your eyes. Any response would just mean more provocation. “But dating a younger man… I always pictured you as more of the ‘Silver Fox’ kinda girl.” Now that pressed your buttons.

“Okay, first of all, just because I like Richard Gere, doesn’t mean I like older men.” You retorted, “Secondly, I’m not even that much older than Reid. There’s what, three years, between us?” 

“Uuuhuuuh.” The side eye he gave you made you want to slap him. Morgan chuckled. “Come on, you and I are friends, right? Don’t I get a few little details?” From the smirk on his face, you knew what he was talking about. 

“Derek Morgan, we are on a case. We are professionals on a case about three murdered federal employees. I will not divulge information regarding my sex life!” 

“I never said anything about sex, Agent Y/L/N.” His grin grew and you begrudgingly turned your face to the window. Morgan laughed at the red flushing your cheeks. You would be mad if he wasn’t your best friend. 

In the other car, Reid rode beside Hotch in tense silence. Spencer knew that his relationship with you could potentially get both of you into trouble with the bureau. Every time he was around Hotch, he waited for the reprimand. The unusual quiet was almost worse. Hotch turned a corner and took a heavy breath. 

“It’s a bad idea. You know that right?” 

“I know it’s against the rules, if that’s what you mean.” As intimidating as his superior could be, Reid was sure of himself. 

“The rules are there for a reason, Reid.” Hotch sighed. He would give anything to not be having this conversation right now. 

“Have either of us proven to be less efficient?”

“That’s not the point.” 

“If our relationship complicates our work, I can assure you that Y/N and I will be the first ones to address it.” 

“Reid-”

“You know, if anything, I think that we’ve working better together than we have in the past, which is saying something because Y/N and I-”

“Are you happy?” He asked a little more aggressively than he had intended. Reid just blinked at him blankly.

“What?”

“Are both of you happy?” He glanced over at the younger agent and Spencer shifted in his seat. He was awkward, but assertive. 

“I can’t totally speak for Y/N, but… yes.” He sat and waited for his superior’s response. Hotch fixed his eyes on the road. 

“Okay.” 

“I’m sorry?”

“I said okay.” Maybe he was going soft, but he’d never seen Reid or you like this before. If this relationship could help the both of you get through the horrors you saw every day, then turning a blind eye might not be the worst thing. 

“Thank you.” Spencer felt a small smile creep onto his face. Hotch scowled. 

“If a single problem arises, and I mean any dispute or laps in judgement-”

“You didn’t know anything about it. Got it.” Spencer stared at his lap to hide his smirk. 

You were still avoiding Morgan’s inquiring gaze when Garcia’s voice came through your earpiece. 

“Guys, Audrey Lang’s phone just turned on.” 

“Where?” Morgan’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. 

“157 21st Street.” Your stomach turned. As selfish as it was, a part of you had hoped that someone else would be closer. Morgan whirled the car around. 

“That’s just around the corner from us. We’re right on top of him.” He slammed on the brakes in front of the house and the two of you jumped out of the car. The house was about what you expected from a paranoid, conspiracy-obsessed unsub. The windows were boarded up and two different cameras looked down at you from the roof. 

“Morgan.” You pointed to the devices. Jacobs knew you were here. He nodded and spoke into his radio. 

“This guy has surveillance everywhere. He’s going to panic.” He glanced back at you, waiting for you to have his back. Despite your building panic, you didn’t have time to hesitate. You gave him a strong nod. “We’re going in.” 

You pushed your fear to the pit of your stomach. If you showed even the slightest panic, Morgan would know and you could jeopardize everything. So when he kicked in the door, you were right behind him. 

The house was silent. With guns raised, you both covered the first floor, finding nothing but scattered notes and ‘Big Brother Is Watching’ flyers. You located a flight of stairs leading to the basement and cautiously followed Morgan down. Similarly to the floor above, the basement seemed other than a desk with a few surveillance screens. Across from the stairs was a large metal door. It was open.  

Morgan charged towards it, but something wasn’t sitting right with you. 

“Hotch, how close are you and Reid?” You asked tentatively. 

“Five more minutes. Have you found Mrs. Lang?” 

“She’s in here!” Morgan announced. You stepped into the room, but kept close to the door. Morgan was kneeling over the unconscious body of Audrey. While she was out cold, she was still breathing. 

“What about Jacobs?” Hotch asked. 

“We looked everywhere upstairs and he wasn’t there.” 

“Reid, when you went to the other crime scene, you said that the victim had been covered and made to look like part of the rubble, right?”

“Yeah, Jacobs wanted to hide the body. If the construction worker hadn’t been working there, it likely wouldn't have been found.” Spencer’s voice wavered as he figured out where you were going with this. You looked at Morgan with wide eyes. 

“Then how did we get here so easily?” 

Hotch yelled into the radio. 

“It’s a trap. Get out of there. Now!” 

You whirled around and came face to face with Steven Jacobs. You fired your weapon, but didn’t get the chance to see if you hit him. Instead, you stumbled backwards and the large metal door slammed shut. 

“No!” Morgan shouted, throwing his weight against the door to try and break it down. “Hotch, can you hear me? Reid!” The radio connection was dead. Morgan slammed against the door again. 

“Derek.” 

“We’re going to get out of here.” He searched the door for any point of weakness.

“Derek.” 

 “Let us out, you son of a bitch!”

“Derek!” You finally yelled. When he turned around you watched his face morph with panic. Blood leaked through your fingers, your hand pressed against the wound in your shoulder. It wasn’t your gun that had gone off, it was Jacobs’. And you were hit. 

-

The street swarmed with teams from local police, S.W.A.T, and the BAU. In the middle of all of it was Spencer. He just stared at the front door. Somewhere in the basement of that house, his girlfriend and his closest friend were trapped by a paranoid schizophrenic with a gun. Neighbors reported already hearing a shot go off. Judging by the lights still on in the house and the fact that you and Morgan still hadn’t come out yet, it wasn’t one of your guns to make the shot. 

“He must be using something to jam the signal.” Prentiss huffed, her attempts to get a hold of either of you failing. “We need to get in there.” 

“We don’t know what Jacobs has in there.” Rossi said gruffly, joining them after meeting with the S.W.A.T leader. “For all we know, he could try and blow the whole block.”

“The longer we wait, the longer he has Morgan and Y/L/N.” Spencer ran his fingers through his hair. “Audrey Lang is probably dead and we don’t know who shot the gun or-”

“When they found her, Morgan didn’t say anything about Lang being dead.” Hotch said sternly. 

“He didn’t say she was alive, either.” Spencer’s voice was harsh considering he was speaking to a superior. 

“Reid, I want to get them out just as badly as you do, but if we try and storm in there, Jacobs will likely kill them and himself.” Hotch’s tone was stern and surprisingly calm. 

“You thought you had me, didn’t you!?” A voice boomed from the house. Every agent in the street tensed and raised their weapons. Prentiss was the first to lower her gun. 

“Look in the bushes.” She pointed to the shrubbery on either side of the door. “Speakers.” 

“You all thought you would silence the truth! Well I’m smarter than you. That’s right. And I will not be silenced!” 

Hotch looked at the hostage negotiator, who gave him the okay to talk. 

“Mr. Jacobs we don’t want to silence you.” 

“Tell that to the three spies in the other room.” Underneath Jacobs' voice was the sound of banging. Like fists against a door. Listening closer, Spencer could hear a yelling voice. 

“Morgan.” He whispered to the others. They listened to the sound of their coworker- their friend- trying to break free. 

“Jacobs you son of a bitch, we’ve got two injured people in here!” Derek screamed. You closed your eyes, trying to drown out the sound that was just making the pain worse. 

“Derek, don’t antagonize him.” You grimaced, trying to keep pressure against the still gushing bullet hole in your shoulder. “It’ll just piss him off.”

“Y/N, we need to get paramedics in here. Audrey is barely breathing and you’re bleeding out.” He knelt in front of you, lifting your hand slightly to look at the wound. 

“I thought you weren’t supposed to tell the patient they’re going to die.” You teased, trying to get your mind off of the guilt and regret. Derek winced. 

“You’re not going to die. I didn’t mean that.” 

“Go check on her.” You motioned towards Mrs. Lang. “I’ll be fine.” You adjusted slightly so your vest was in your lap. You had to take it off in order to tend to your wound and it left you vulnerable. 

As Derek crossed the room, you felt your vision blur with tears. You should have told him. You should have told him. 

Outside the tension was only getting worse. Jacobs had gone quiet and the team was itching to break the door down. Spencer was pacing, running through plan after plan in his head. If Garcia could hack into Jacobs’ system, they could cut the surveillance feed and go in. But if Jacobs noticed the hack, he would kill everyone inside. Finally, the shrill voice came back over the speakers. 

“One of your spies is dead.” He laughed frantically, a madman slipping more and more into his delusion. Spencer froze. “She said she didn’t know anything, but I knew she was lying. You train them well, you know.”

“She.” Spencer whispered, the panic making his hands shake. 

“Mr. Jacobs, which woman is dead?” Hotch asked carefully. Jacobs laughed again. 

“You have chips in all of them, you tell me.” 

“Mr. Jacobs, I need to know who died.” While he kept his gaze focused on the house, Hotch could tell that the team was holding their breath. 

“Damnit!” Derek exclaimed, slamming his hand against the floor. Audrey was dead. 

“There was nothing you could do, Derek.” You said grimly. You looked around at the metal walls and felt the last bit of hope leave you. “He’s going to kill all of us.” 

“No, no, you don’t get to talk like that.” Derek crouched in front of you and put a hand on your cheek. “We are not going to die in here.” A tear slipped down your cheek and you shook your head. 

“I never even got to tell him.” Maybe it was shock, but you started to hyperventilate. “I didn’t tell him, Derek.” 

“Sweetheart, what are you talking about?” 

“I didn’t tell Spencer.”

“Tell Reid what?” Derek’s eyes searched yours until you watched the realization on his face. “You’re not…”

“Yeah, Derek. I am.” You wiped another tear away. “I found out a couple of weeks ago.” 

“You’ve known that long and haven’t told anybody?” He sighed, sitting down beside you. You laid your head on his shoulder. 

“I’m telling you now, aren’t I?” You laughed humorously. “I know I should have told Hotch as soon as I found out, but I couldn’t tell him before I told Spencer and I just couldn’t figure out how to tell him.” Your voice cracked and Derek pressed a kiss to your temple. 

“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” 

It was eerily quiet. Jacobs had stopped his rambling and the sirens outside seemed distant now. Your hands fell to your stomach and you smiled sadly. 

“Help me think of names.” 

“Hmm?”

“Come on, distract me from the pain. Help me think of names for the little genius.” You shifted so that you were looking at Derek. “I was thinking that, if it’s a girl, I want to name her Diana. Spencer’s mom has always been such a big part of his life and I think that’s what he would want.”

“Diana is a beautiful name.” He gave you a sweet smile and took your hand in his. “What if it’s a boy?”

“See, I can’t make up my mind on that. I’m sure Spence would want some super smart author’s name or something, but... he’s the smartest person I know.” You spread your fingers over your belly, thinking about everything you had to lose. 

“Well if Spencer Jr. doesn’t stick, you could always name him after your favorite profiler.” Derek chuckled. His smirk fell when he looked at the sorrow on your face. 

“I need you to tell him.” 

“What?”

“If I don’t…” You gulped. “If I don’t make it out of this, I don’t want him to find out from some doctor. I want him to hear it from you.” 

“Don’t go there. Don’t you go there, you hear me?” He stood with new determination. “We are getting out of here and you and that wonder baby are going to be just fine.” He brought your hand up to his lips before turning towards the door. 

“What are you-”

“Jacobs!” He pounded on the door. “I’m ready to talk! I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” 

“Derek what are you doing?” You struggled to stand and Derek moved you to the wall beside the door and motioned for you to stay still. 

“I’m ready to talk, Jacobs! You win!” You both readied your weapons and Derek stood in the corner. 

It didn’t take long for Jacobs to take the bait. Slowly, the metal door opened and Jacobs cautiously stepped inside. His wild eyes locked on you and your gun and he charged towards you. Before he could get far, Derek kicked the door into him. The impact made him stumble forward into you, shoving you against the wall. Your head hit the concrete hard, disorienting you long enough for Jacobs to aim his gun at your stomach. 

This time the shot wasn’t his. And you didn’t miss. 

-

The second shot had everyone ready to go in. Teams were prepping when the front door opened. 

“Hold your fire!” Morgan shouted. “I’ve got an injured agent here!” He emerged from the house walking as fast as he could. He was carrying you. Spencer broke into a sprint, rushing alongside him and trying to examine your injuries. 

“What happened? Is she okay?” Before he could answer, paramedics swarmed them. 

“She was shot in the left shoulder, no exit wound, and she’s lost a lot of blood. She also hit her head pretty hard, but she’s remained conscious.” He informed them. 

“Sir, you’ll have to come with us so we can examine you as well.” One ordered. 

“I’m coming with you.” Reid said firmly. Nobody argued with him and so they all climbed into the back of the ambulance. 

They sat Morgan and Reid down and got you onto a gurney. 

“Agent Y/L/N, can you hear me?” 

“Agent Morgan, did you sustain any injuries in Mr. Jacobs’ basement?”

“Dr. Reid, I need you to stay over there.” 

So many things were happening at once, Derek could barely get a word in. 

“There’s something you need to know before you give her anything.” He told the woman tending to you. He finally looked at Reid. He’d been avoiding his gaze since he stepped out of the house, but now he had to keep his promise to you. He had to tell him. “She’s pregnant.” 

The paramedics acted accordingly and Spencer just stared at him. 

“What?” 

“She’s pregnant, kid.” Derek put a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off, his gaze shifting to you. 

“That’s not… she would have told me. She would have-”

“She wanted to tell you. She was just scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“I don’t know, kid.”

“Don’t call me that!” Spencer pushed away from him. 

“Sir, I need you to calm down-”

“Reid-”

“You should have waited! If you had waited for the rest of us, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“We were trying to save Audrey Lang.”

“Audrey Lang died!” Spencer snapped. “And now so could Y/N. She could die and could my…” He trailed off, his anger fading quickly into a devastated panic. 

“This is really not the place for this argument.” One of the paramedics warned. 

“She’s going to be okay, Reid. Her and your baby are going to be okay.” He pulled the younger agent into a hug, trying to convince himself as well. 

-

The whole team was in the waiting room. Hotch watched Reid carefully as he paced relentlessly. Judging by the tension between him and Morgan, there was something the two weren’t saying. 

The bodies of Audrey Lang and Steven Jacobs were found in his basement. Hotchner would be filling out the paperwork as soon as they found out your condition. When the doctor finally approached them, everyone was on the edge of their seats. 

“Agent Y/L/N will have to wear a sling for her shoulder injury and she’s suffering from a concussion, but in time, she will make a full recovery.” Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. The doctor continued. “As for the other matter,” She gave Spencer a small smile, “she’s asking to speak to Dr. Reid before any other visitors.” 

With everybody’s eyes on him, Spencer followed her back to your room. You looked a lot better now and you were giving him a nervous smile. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey.” He stood in the doorway for a moment, unable to move. 

“I’m going to go fill out some forms, but I will be just down the hall if you need anything or have any questions.” The doctor said before leaving the two of you alone. Spencer shoved his hands in his pockets and slowly shuffled forward. 

“Is everything okay?” He asked. “I mean… is the… are you-”

“We’re both fine, Spence.” You held your breath, waiting for him to react. Spencer pulled up a chair and took your hand in his. His hands were shaking slightly. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Spence…”

“Were you that afraid of how I would react?”

“No!” You exclaimed, laying a hand on his cheek. “Spencer, I was afraid of everything. I was afraid of facing it. I love you and I want this child, I do. But… I know geological profiling and how to link victims and what to say to a grieving family. I don’t know how to be a parent.” 

“You think I do?” He laughed anxiously. “I don’t know the first thing about being a dad. But…” He gulped. “I know that I have been happier with you than I have in my whole life. I don’t know a lot about love, but everything I do know, I know because of you. And if you can do that, then we can figure this out.” 

A grin spread across your face and you pulled his lips to yours. You were too distracted by each other to notice the other figure at the door. 

“I believe I was told something about naming a certain baby after me?” Derek smirked. Spencer gave you a look. 

“You’re delusional, Morgan.” You laughed. Derek looked at Reid. 

“Are we good, kid?” 

Spencer smiled. 

“Yeah. We’re good.” 

[ikeromantic]

Lunches with Friends

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfic, approx. 1600 words. This scene takes place post-romantic route epilogue. Fluff, angst, and friendship.

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: Loyalties

Hideyoshi straightened his clothes once more. No matter how he smoothed the fabric, it felt awkwardly fit. As if it wasn’t the clothes so much as his skin that didn’t sit right. The chatelaine would arrive soon to meet with him and he felt nervous. Which was ridiculous. How many times had he talked to her before? Helped her carry her bags? Had tea? But today felt different.

Maybe because she wasn’t really the chatelaine now. She’d moved herself to Mitsuhide’s manor, an outward signal of her choice. But there had been no official decision from Nobunaga, no ceremony, and that meant there was a chance he could save her.

A polite tap at his door let Hideyoshi know she’d arrived. He cleared his throat and welcomed her in. Light followed her as the door slid open, golden on her skin. With her bruises healed and the exhaustion of travel gone, she was as beautiful as ever. Like a - a very pretty little sister. “Please, have a seat. I’ll prepare some tea.”

“Thank you! It’s been awhile since I visited you here.” She sat down gracefully. Her eyes tracked him as he moved around the room. “I’m glad you had time to meet with me. I wanted to ask, well, to see if I could change jobs.”

Hideyoshi hadn’t expected that. He wasn’t sure why she’d asked to meet, but this hadn’t even made the list. He covered his confusion by rearranging snacks on the tray.

She took his silence as encouragement. “I thought since Mitsuhide was going to continue his work for Nobunaga, I need to find something I can do too. Something besides chatelaine, since I live in the Akechi manor now.”

“I see.” Hideyoshi poured the tea and sat down across from her. “What did you have in mind?”

“I’d like to join the seamstresses.” She looked down at her tea, an anxious smile playing at the corners of her lips. “In my - my hometown, I designed clothes. Sewing is something I love and I’d really-”

He interrupted her. “It’s fine. I’ll clear it with Nobunaga.” He reached over and patted her head. “I want you to do what makes you happy, which is why -” Hideyoshi cleared his throat. “Which is why I want you to reconsider this, this thing with Mitsuhide.”

Her head snapped up, eyes wide.

“I know he’s . . . interesting. But you can’t ever really trust him. He lies as easily as he breathes.” He wrapped his hands around hers, feeling how fragile and warm she was. “You deserve a love with trust that goes both ways. Someone that won’t lie to you, won’t hurt you.”

She pulled her hands back, out of his grasp. “And who is that? You?”

Hideyoshi rubbed his face, wishing just once he had the kitsune’s silver tongue. “It could be. Or Mitsunari. Nobunaga. Ieyasu . . . even Ranmaru. He’s closer to your age too.” He stood, unable to stay seated when his heart was hammering in his chest like this. “I . . . look, anyone would love you. And anyone but Mitsuhide would be a better match.”

Her small hands made tiny, white knuckled fists in the fabric of her kimono. “I love him. And I trust him. I know he sometimes . . . keeps things to himself. But he does it out of loyalty and kindness.”

“I’m sure that’s what he says-”

“Hideyoshi. I thought you were my friend.” Her eyes were damp with tears and her cheeks flushed with anger. “I can’t believe you! Trying to - to -”

“I am trying to protect you.” He bent down and took her by the shoulders. “If you marry him, you will never be safe. Never. Not from his enemies, and not from his lies.” His voice shook.

The chatelaine tried to pull out of his grasp as she stood, but he wouldn’t let her go. He pulled her close. Pressed her to his chest as if she were a balm to the thundering there.

“I love you. As my - my sister. And I can’t watch you hurt yourself like this.”

“Let. Me. Go.” She stared up at him as if she were seeing a stranger. “It is my choice who to love. And I love Mitsuhide. I will be his wife, even knowing that yes! Yes, it will hurt! I know what he’s like, and I know how dangerous the life he leads is. I am not afraid.”

Hideyoshi studied her face, seeing in it her iron will. She had decided and words would not sway her. He let go and took a step back. “Then . . . forgive me. I . . . misspoke.” He bowed low and waited there for her to speak.

After several breaths, she reached out, fingertips grazing his shoulder. “Can we just pretend that never happened? Hideyoshi?”

He straightened and gave her a nod. His chest still felt tight, his heart heavy as lead. “We can.”

She gave him a half-smile. “Good. Because I do think of you as a friend. Or, or maybe a big brother. And I don’t want to lose that.”

Hideyoshi cleared his throat. “I just need to understand that my little sis knows what she’s doing.” He tried out his own, awkward smile.

“Let’s sit and drink our tea and - we can talk about something else. Is that alright?”

With some relief, they sat down and resumed drinking their tea. They were quiet for a time, but eventually fell into the comfort of their relationship, sharing stories about the other maids and things in town.

***

Mitsuhide spent most of his morning drafting a letter to Sasuke. He wanted to make it clear what he was asking - but only to the ninja - and to cover his tracks should it be intercepted. Afterall, regardless of the friendship between his lover and Kenshin’s henchman, they were still enemies on opposing sides of an unresolved conflict. It would not do to be caught out for a treason he was actually committing.

The final letter probably read like nonsense to anyone besides Sasuke. Asking about the frequency of the ‘worms’ and whether or not they had a season . . . he just hoped the ninja understood. And that the answer was the one he sought.

He was in the process of sealing it up when his door opened. Masamune stepped in, carrying a covered tray in one hand, and a bottle in the other. He grinned when Mitushide looked up. “If looks could kill. You want a rematch for our raincheck?”

Mitsuhide chuckled. “I’d rather not. But you could have sent word that you were coming. Or at least knocked.”

“Ah, but then I’d miss that expression on your face. Crafty fox caught with a hen in his mouth.” Masamune’s laugh felt too loud for the room. He didn’t notice.

“I can only assume you are bothering me for a reason.”

“I am! I heard congratulations are in order. And, I haven’t brought you lunch since you got back.” Masamune sat down and gestured for Mitsuhide to join him.

It was the quickest way to be rid of him, Mitsuhide reasoned. And he was hungry. And, though he would never admit it, it was good to see Masamune. He sat.

Masamune unpacked the lunch he made. A variety of savory and sweet foods, all presented in easy to eat bite-sized bits. He grinned as he set out the last dish.

“What is this?”

“You always say eating is an annoyance. You want convenient foods, right? So . . .” he gestured to the plates. “Different flavors, all easy to eat. One of these has got to stir those tastebuds of yours.”

Mitsuhide hid his surprise behind a razor-thin smile. “Thoughtful of you. But what is it you want.”

“Exactly what I said. And to tell you congratulations. You and the lass made it official yet?”

“If you mean, have I spoken to Nobunaga, then no.” Mitsuhide picked up a ball of what looked like steamed daikon. “There is no need to hurry. Is there?” He raised an eyebrow.

Masamune shrugged. “I wouldn’t delay. The lass is a treat, and you can bet others have noticed. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear Nobunaga’s getting offers for her hand.”

“Those letters, if they existed, would never reach our lord.”

“Heh, that so? And what about those in the alliance with an interest?”

Mitsuhide finished swallowing the daikon. It was faintly spicy, not enough to get a reaction. “I am unconcerned. Nobunaga has allowed her to make her own choice. And I know who she will choose.”

“I think you’re scared.” Masamune sat back with a smug smile.

“Scared?” One eye brow arched.

Masamune nodded. “Of what your enemies will do to her if she’s your wife. Of the way love dies in a marriage. Of her coming to regret you.” He waved a hand in the air, encompassing all of the ways things could go wrong. “You always overthink things. Try to plan your way around problems. And now you’re stuck.”

Mitsuhide wanted to scoff. Such problems were for ordinary men, not the kitsune warlord. But . . . Masamune wasn’t wrong on any count. Ranmaru’s threat made him realize how easy a target the chatelaine would make. And he worried for her happiness. She’d yet to meet his family, see his home. And there were so many examples of marriages gone sour over time. This blissful love - he didn’t want it to fade.

“Assuming any of that nonsense was true, what would you recommend,” Mitsuhide asked finally.

“Stop dancing around it. Marry the girl. Take life as it comes. And eat your damn lunch.”

Next: My Favorite Place

[its-kall-the-clown]

writingamongther0ses submitted:

Red Son and Huntsman forming a "Has a Crush on a Hero" Club where they're just... messes about Xiaotian and Sandy

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This is such a silly goofy light-hearted idea it kind of ended up on crack territory sorry XD but it ends up being angst at the end. This also gave me a chance to talk about Huntsman’s human disguise I plan to one day draw when I get the energy

Enjoy!

prompt list

Secret Fan Club

Rated: G

Huntsman adjusted his dove-colored button-up. He felt overdressed but Syntax INSISTED that he at least try and dress quote-unquote 'normal' for when he was on the surface around humans.

He felt less normal than he had been in his LIFE right now. it's too tight and too hot for him in this form. He passes by a window of a shop and shudders when he sees himself in the reflection.

A human face looks back at him.

Too few green eyes and grey hair pulled back into his normal braid. He adjusts the watch around his wrist that was responsible for making him look like this, an invention created by Syntax. One that cost him all his hidden snacks to borrow for the day, and cost him even MORE promised snacks to have Syntax configure it to his body. (He was a hair shorter than them and much wider).

But regardless the results were eerily perfect. He was described as a 'silver fox' by Syntax which he didn't know what that means but foxes are crafty predators so it must be a compliment.

And the pain and fuss would be worth it.

Because he had a very important mission and an even more important person waiting for him that would be the solution to his problem.

He enters the coffee shop and scans the crowd and spots his target.

The demon prince Red Son.

They dress similarly, a sharp wine-colored button-up that he has rolled to his elbows with an expensive pair of sunglasses covering his eyes and disguising him. They have a laptop in front of them that he types away at.

He slides in the seat across from him casually and Red Son holds a single finger up as he finishes typing whatever he had left. He clicks off and closes his laptop. And folds his hands in his lap.

“Did you bring it?” he asked and Huntsman does a quick look around the coffee shop to make sure no one was looking, nothing but awkward first dates and hipsters with their laptops out.

He drops the folder onto the table and slides it across to Red Son who only raises a brow at him challengingly.

“Read it and weep,” Huntsman smirks as even underneath the sunglasses he can see the demon roll his eyes at him. They huff and open the folder and flip through, each page he only glasses at before he slams it close and throws it back at him from across the table.

“Pathetic.”

“What?!”

“I said pathetic! None of these are good.”

Huntsman growls and snatches the folder back; he grabs the third page and rips it out, shoving it in the smug bastard's face.

“You can’t tell me THIS picture isn’t the best thing you have seen. He's shirtless for crying out loud!” Huntsman flips the photo around to examine the buff blue image of Sandy as he works on loading some crates onto his ship. The setting sun cast him in a halo light that makes the spider demon weak.

“He’s always shirtless, it's nothing special. Now, THIS!” Red Son flips his phone around to show a photo of MK. “-This is TRULY spectacular.” The boy is leaned back against the bars of his fire escape, the photo, a tired look to his face, and a popsicle dripping down his chin as he tries to beat the summer heat.

Red Son examines his own phone now and sets his face into his chin with a sigh.

“He’s frustratingly handsome no matter what he does...wish we could have hung out that night” the demon grumbles looking at the phone heartbrokenly

Huntsman sighs and leans against the table, he understands exactly where Red Son is coming from, he’s in a similar situation. Crushing so hard on the larger demon and absolutely no way to bridge the gap between villain and hero. It's why they started meeting up. They were in a similar boat and understood each other's strife more than anyone ever could.

So they would share pictures, talk about how ridiculously handsome or cute their crushes were. Huntsman would talk about how he wanted Sandy to put those big muscles to use and Red Son would talk about how he knew MK’s favorite noodle bowl on the menu was.

Was this creepy? Absolutely.

But what other choice did they have? They didn't have a chance in hell to get a relationship with the objects of their affection, so it was best to fantasize from afar and hope this stupid Crush would pass.

Huntsman didn't think his crush would ever disappear.

His fist tightened on his pants as he stared at the folder of pictures. It was unfair. Why couldn't he have fallen for a regular spider demon from his clan? Why did it have to be someone who was endlessly patient and kind and who smiled so brightly? He had watched the man nurse a fucking butterfly back to health for crying out loud!!

How could you NOT fall for a man who could handle something so delicate with such large….warm….hands. He wonders if those huge hands would cradle him as gently as butterfly wings. Holding his face between them before they leaned forward and-

Huntsman shakes his head realizing he was drifting into daydream territory again. Couldn't have that.

“I was thinking….” Red Son sets his phone down and looks nervous, the first time Huntsman had ever seen the man fidget before so this must be serious.

“About?”

“What if…” Red Son bites his lip “-what if I asked him out? You think he would punch me?” Red Son looks at Huntsman with expecting eyes and it reminds him that not only is the prince younger than him but that Red Son had a sensitive side he kept locked up. He had only seen it a handful of times in their secret meet-ups.

Huntsman considers his words carefully. Red Son and MK were enemies, buuutt Red Son and the Monkie kid had teamed up to defeat his queen during new Year, something he was salty about but became an off-limits talking subject between the two.

MK and him...they had chemistry. He’s certain that If Red Son put in the effort MK would give him a chance.

“I think... it's worth trying,” he says and the younger of the two eyes light up with the verbal support he received.

“You should try the same with Sandy” Red Son encourages and Huntsman can only give him a forlorn smile.

“It would never work….” he gathers up the photos of Sandy and puts them neatly back in the folder. There are a few photos of sunsets and cats he took when he was waiting for Sandy to show up to his normal spots,

He sets those pictures on top, hiding the rest from view. He actually was finding he was enjoying photography, perhaps he should take it up as a hobby. Maybe take photos of landscapes and black and white bridges and give up creeping on Sandy.

Never give up his crush... He didn't think he could do that, but at least he should give up torturing himself. Especially if Red Son somehow worked it out with MK.

Then he would truly be alone in his strife.