#nothing sparks so much motivation in me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tteokdoroki · 9 months ago

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happy valentine's day!! thank you so much for your lovely writings ❤️❤️ may i swipe spicy (breeding kink :3) for nagi + ring? thank you again!! i hope i'm doing this right ;-;

⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚⟡. — SEISHIRO NAGI. swipe spicy: bound forever.

about. boom, it’s a match! after a perfect proposal, nagi decides to make you his forever in a more sinful way ( 2.3K ).

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! nsfw, smut, characters aged up to 20s, established relationships, engagements, light choking, cum play, unprotected sex, breeding kink, pro player!nagi, fem!reader.

・:〃⤥ bumble date, swipe right event !

seishiro nagi is effortlessly good at everything.

with his friends — his aloof charm and easygoing nature is enough to keep them entertained. they don’t find his shy and laidback nature too off-putting or boring. with soccer, his talent is natural — born from nothing but a spark of interest. when he’d first started, nagi was a level above the rest without any of the extra hard work and training…but he’d craved to be better, to win above everyone else. so, at times, soccer was worth the hassle.

and with you, well, being with you was as easy as breathing air.

effortless is exactly the word the white haired striker would use to describe his relationship with you. on good days and bad, you and nagi fit together like perfectly made pieces of a puzzle. there’s something about the way that you love him, that motivates nagi to push himself past his limits. he’s better because of you, wants to be better for you — always. there is no feeling of hassle or tiredness when it comes to making you happy, your laughter fills nagi with life and a passion akin to what he feels whenever he’s on the pitch.

seishiro has no idea what it is about you that made him this way. but what he does know now is that he can’t live with you — the way you smile at him, hold him, love him, kiss him. it’s something he can’t bare to be without now that he’s tasted what it’s like to live life with you by his side. that’s why he finds the courage to propose to you on Valentine’s Day — uncharacteristically serious and nervous as he sinks down onto one knee in the cosy corner of that restaurant you like.

what if you reject him? what if you say no? bringing back the ring would be a hassle but the thought of losing you is even worse…

though, when you realise what’s going on and your eyes light up with such undiluted love and adoration — the words of little speech nagi had prepared for this moment slip from him easily as if he had been born to ask you to marry him. to be with you forever. and now, for the rest of your lives — you will always be his and seishiro nagi will always be yours.

a promise that is commemorated with the biggest and most blinding diamond ring nagi’s hefty soccer player paycheck can buy.

romantic dinner plans were quickly thrown out of the window as soon as your engagement ring took residence on its rightful finger. after ringing up the bill and abandoning your half-finished meals, the both of you find yourselves stumbling home to celebrate the beginning of forever. your movements are frenzied and fuelled by the high of your engagement as you make it over the threshold, hands tugging and tearing at the fancy clothes inconveniently in the way while your lips meet in passionate, ravenous kisses — your tongue running over nagi’s pearly white teeth as he pours hungry moans and love and adoration into you.

“sei—!” you whimper, soft and needy as your back hits the wall behind you. your newfound fiancé uses the entirety of his strength and height to lift you into his arms, wrapping your thighs around his slender waist whilst his hips pin you to the cold surface. lines between love and lust are quickly blurred when the heavy outline of nagi’s dick presses against the treasure hidden between your perfectly plush thighs — your dress pushed up just enough to reveal them to greedy cool-tone grey eyes. “seishiro…mph, i love you…”

“y’love me, angel?” the striker’s entire body trembles with pride at the way you call his name, keening into his closeness and the way that he towers over you. your fingers rake through his silvering hair, the band of your diamond ring icy on the back of his neck as you tug him even closer as though his proximity is not enough. “s’that why you’re gonna marry me? let me…fuck, let me have you forever?” nagi coos his sinfully words quietly, tucking his face into the alcove between your neck and shoulder — kiss swollen lips dragging over your heated flesh and fluffy white lashes fluttering against the spot as well.

you’re so soft, so warm underneath him and nagi can hardly resist the siren’s call of your body — ripe and fresh for the taking, much like the fruit in adam and eve’s garden. he can’t help his innate desire to take you, and it’s just a little bit frustrating.

his dick pulsates behind the layers of boxers and slacks, desperate to be sheathed within your silken walls. and in response, you clench around nagi’s tip through your thin cotton panties almost as if you’re coaxing him into making love to you. right here, right now. each time he drags his hips back and forth, slow and steady, against you, your thighs tighten their grip around his waist and your body twitches to life in seishiro’s hold. his chubby erection, leaky and hard, slides through your panty clad folds at your sensual bump and grind, only adding to your exertion.

“‘m gonna keep you as mine...” blood rushes through seishiro’s ears and shoots through the rest of his lean body, carrying adrenaline and lust hormones via the red blood cells teaming under the surface of his skin. he needs you, he can hear how much you need him too. it’s evident in the way you gasp and mewl out for him — your own body following your fiancé’s lead.

“uh huh, wanna be yours…” the tail end of your words fall away into a whistle tone whine, layering over the sound of a clinking belt and shuffling dress pants which give nagi the room to pull his girthy cock out.

he noses his way up the side of your face, breathing growing erratic and unstable against your ear as he positions himself at your quivering entrance — sliding into you with very little resistance. “ngh…so t-tight, angel. can’t…can’t wait t’be the only one who gets to fuck you open for the rest of our lives.” seishiro sighs dreamily. his hips jut upwards, filling you up with his milky cock in one swift movement. you stretch around him deliciously, walls rippling around him to accommodate for his size — despite having been taken like this many times before. “don’t…don’t clench down on me like that. s’not fair, you’re gonna milk me ‘n we’ve barely fuck started.”

the white haired player stutters with both his words and his hips — struggling to set a steady rhythm to the way he grinds into you. like that of a wet dog slipping into his rut. sometimes nagi thinks he’s being selfish, snapping a girl like you up and making you his for the keeping…but it’s times like this — where your cunt squeezes down on his seedy cockhead every time it pulls out of you — that nagi is reminded of his ego. the selfishness that’s been born into him with every play on the field and every precise, lax movement he makes to help you reach cloud nine.

he can’t stop running his mouth, lustful and debauched gibberish slipping and sliding over his wet tongue as he builds up the momentum behind the forceful juts of his hips into yours. “unless that’s what you want, yeah pretty girl?” seishiro continues to grunt even when the length of his creamy cock slips out of you, running through your puffy folds. “f’me to knock you up… make you take all of my cum.” your dainty fingers reach down between the slow rolls of your body to push him back in, sending a shudder down your fiancé’s spine.

no matter how many times you touch him, fuck him, love him… he will never get used to having you wrapped around him like this. dripping so sweetly down his heavy balls. “make you even warmer in here… s’warm and wet all for me. ‘m so lucky. you’re so good.”

a symphony of wet slaps from skin on skin echo throughout the hallway of your apartment — for every slothful plunge of nagi’s sloppy, seedy dick against your gooey and sensitive insides reverberates in the heated buzzing between your heated and temperate bodies. nagi, and all 190cm of him, curls over you protectively — lips tacked to yours as he chases your sluice, salacious pussy for more than you can give him. an impossible closeness that he craves now that you’ve agreed to marry him.

it’s ungodly how much control you and the ring on your finger have over him — reducing the mighty, notoriously undefeatable striker to a drenched, sweaty and sex-driven mess. “i want you inside…” pressing his forehead to your own weakly, nagi’s white hair sticks to your skin and his hot, heaving breath coasts over your cherry-bitten cupid’s bow as you speak — dampening the surface. “need you to cum inside, sei. m-make me yours…please!”

all the striker does is moan low and sexy in response, the husky sound sending thunder-strikes of dopamine across your loved-up brain. all he can think about is breeding you, stuffing you full with so much cum and so much of him that you can’t walk for days. impulsively his hips twitch upwards rapidly, so fast that your eyes disappear into the dark depths of your skull and nagi’s cockhead bears down on that needy, spongy little spot inside of you.

everything grows wetter, hotter and nastier. amidst your surprise from the uptick in your fiancé’s usually languid pace, your fingertips on your right hand sink into the broad expanse of his back while your left ( the one with the ring ) suddenly ensnares the colum of nagi’s throat — pulling him down so that your faves are only a breaths width apart. the cooler press of your engagement ban against his feverish skin only eggs him on, driving the pro soccer player to pursue the intoxicating squelch of your count around his thick base, a white mixture beginning to foam there from how vigorously you’re fucking each other.

nagi is loving and lazy, but greedy when it comes to you. he plans to be that way forever, if it means he can witness the look of delirium on your face whenever he has you fucked out like this. and you’re the same, a perfect match, bucking into him as though to match his strong pace — so that you both can see stars and reach new heights of insanity together.

you’re overwhelmed, the both of you are. senses being worked into overdrive from the way nagi’s cock shines each time he pulls out of your snugg, wet sex to the way that your needy gripes and laments harmonise into the night. “g-god angel, ‘m gonna cum…g’na let go inside’a you…fill you up,” seishiro rambles in warning, losing his rhythm and tripping over his words. he could cream your cunt right now, selfishly reach his high before yours — but nagi loves you; loves the feel of your diamond engagement ring cutting into his cheek when you move to cup his face through the final moments. “spread your legs a little more f’me, ‘m gonna touch you…”

so instead, he pulls back the hood your clit with the hand on the arm that keeps you steady against the wall, and burns the letters of his name into the puffy nub. “‘hmygod, s-sei!” you squeal at the new found pleasure, groping at your man as your head falls back against the wall. it begins to creak under the pressure of sex, tinging nagi’s skin a soft pink while his dick throbs in the warm hug of your addictive walls. “‘m close!”

“i-i know pretty thing, i know,” spreading the filthy mix of your arousals over your slit while he pumps in and out of you lewdly, nagi whimpers your name loud and proud. everything is so messy, so fucking raw, his shaft is doused in an opaque white that clings to the oretty blue veins spiralling around his cock while your mound seeps and weeps a wetness only he can bring out of you. “you gonna cum? you g’na cum f’me baby? drip d-down my cock…let me cum in you after?” the pitch of nagi’s moans rise in octave until they’re enough to rival your open-mouthed bleats.

“y-yes! please sei, p-please!” fat droplets of precum and your juices along between your bodies and crudely drip to the floor, and it’s not long before the tickle at the base of your spine becomes a bright spark — your orgasm breaking dawn first.

waves of your precious nectrar and liquid gold gush from your fluttering entrance before you even realise it — so fast it almost forces the white haired striker out of you. “y-yeah, yeah, yeah…fuck! that’s it angel, c-cum all over me…” nagi’s cock never relents, bullies it’s way through your blistering hot walls to nudge at your g-spot all throughout the ordeal while the world of colours flashes behind your eyes.

you’re such a good girl, you’ll be such a good wife — letting nagi use you and continue to canter into you until your rippling cunt push him over the edge into his own high. “c-cumming!” he gasps as if he’s taken a bullet to the chest, thrusting into you as if it’s the last thing he’ll ever do — intent on keeping you bred and full. seishrio’s load pours into you like a never ending stream of thick white, warm and viscous as it coats your mound copiously. painting you in his claim.

he doesn’t budge even as you both fall back down to earth from your heavenly highs — making sure that not a drop of his cum is wasted on anything else except for you. a lazy giggle escapes you as your hand slinks down from nagi’s cheek to his plush lips, leaving a pink-ish (yet pain free) mark from your ring on his cheek.

“i love you, sei,” you whisper in tired amusement as he kisses the ring on your finger.

seishiro hums happily, squeezing your thighs in his hold. “i love you back, forever ‘n always, angel.”

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doumadono · 6 months ago

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For sinful sunday (I literally pray so my prompt gets some votes lol) - how about showering with Touya/Dabi???

Warnings: smut w/o plot, shower smut, rough smut, pussy fingering, oral (m receiving), fem villain!reader, established relationship, some spanking, quirk usage

A/N: this request got the third highest number of votes during the second Sinful Sunday poll I held. Thank you to everyone who voted!

SINFUL SUNDAY MY HERO ACADEMIA

It was hard to be a villain.

The life you had chosen was not for the faint-hearted, and it had taken everything from you, leaving only a raw, jagged determination to fight back.

Giran had seen that spark in you, the way your eyes had blazed with untamed fury when you crossed paths in a seedy alley one rainy night.

You had been on the run, a fugitive without a cause, and he had offered you an opportunity — a chance to join the League of Villains. It hadn't taken much convincing. After all, you had nothing left to lose.

Joining the League wasn't easy. You had to prove your worth through countless trials, showing that you could stand your ground amidst the chaos.

The League was a motley crew of outcasts and renegades, each with their own dark pasts and twisted motives.

The first time you met Dabi, he barely acknowledged your presence, dismissing you as just another unnecessary mouth to feed. But your persistence, unwavering determination, exceptional combat skills and quick thinking caught his attention.

Beneath the animosity, there was an undeniable attraction, a pull that neither of you could resist.

He was tough, abrasive, and often cruel, but there was something in his eyes when he looked at you — a flicker of comprehension, a hint of appreciation.

You were both broken, scarred by the world, and your shared pain forged a bond that transcended words.

Your relationship with Dabi had started with friction, but over time, the rough edges had smoothed, revealing a raw and intense connection. You found solace in each other's darkness.

The hideout was silent, save for the creaking pipes and the distant hum of city life.

You and Dabi returned after a particularly grueling mission. The adrenaline still coursed through your veins, leaving you restless and on edge.

The mission had been challenging, pushing both of you to your limits. Your muscles ached, and the grime and sweat clung to your skin, making you long for the solace of a shower, to feel clean again.

Unfortunately, the building's hot water supply had failed. Again.

Frustration welled up inside you, but the need to feel clean overrode your reluctance.

Stripping off your dirty clothes, you stepped into the cramped bathroom and unscrewed the tap in a shower stall. A shiver ran through you as the icy water hit your skin, drawing a whine from your lips. "Dammit," you muttered, hugging yourself for warmth, already shivering all over the body from the overwhelming cold. The icy water was unbearable, but you forced yourself to endure it, trying to wash away the remnants of the day.

The bathroom door creaked open, and you turned to see Dabi leaning casually against the frame, a smirk playing on his lips. "Cold, huh?" he said, his voice a low rumble.

"Yeah, no thanks to this shitty plumbing," you replied, teeth chattering.

He smirked, the corner of his mouth curling up in that infuriatingly attractive way. He pushed off the doorframe and sauntered towards you. "Let me fix that for you."

You watched, captivated, as he undressed tantalizingly slowly. His white t-shirt came off first, revealing the patchwork of scars that adorned his torso, each one a testament to his brutal past. Next came his dark pants, sliding down his long legs with deliberate seduction. Finally, he stepped out of his boxers, leaving him gloriously bare, his cock you loved so much resting snuggly against his upper thighs.

Dabi stepped into the shower behind you. The cold water didn't seem to bother him; his quirk made him immune to such discomforts. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest. His lips brushed your ear as he whispered, "Can't let you freeze to death, can I?"

His quirk activated, his body heating instantly, and the water transformed from icy to blissfully warm. Steam rose around you, enveloping you in a sultry haze. The shower and bathroom felt like a sauna, the air thick with dampness.

You turned in his arms, pressing your body against his, squeezing your breasts against his chest. The heat from his quirk seeped into your skin, and you moaned softly at the delicious warmth. You sighed in relief, closing your eyes as the hot water soothed your aching muscles. But then, you felt his rough hands on your hips, pulling you closer. Your eyes snapped open to find him staring down at you, his gaze intense and filled with hunger.

Dabi's hands roamed over your back, trailing fire in their wake.

"Thanks, I needed that," you breathed, tilting your head up to capture his lips in a searing kiss.

His response was immediate and hungry, his mouth devouring yours with a fervor that left you dizzy. His tongue teased yours, a dance of dominance and submission.

You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders as the kiss deepened.

As you two kissed, your hand drifted downward, brushing against the length of his cock.

His breath hitched slightly, a low growl rumbling from his chest as you grasped his cock, stroking him slowly.

The feel of him, firm and hot, growing hard and throbbing in your hand, sent a jolt of desire through your body, making your pussy wet. You couldn’t stop thinking about having this dick buried in your tight cunt, stretching your velvety walls to their limits.

The desire was so violent it seemed devouring your entire being.

His eyes darkened with lust, and he bucked slightly into your hand, the rhythm of your movements drawing a ragged moan from him. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze filled with an intense, burning need even though his damp bangs fell directly into his eyes. "You’re playing with fire," he growled, his voice thick with lust.

"Maybe I like getting burned," you whispered back, your voice a sultry whisper.

You kept on stroking his cock, occasionally brushing its mushroom head with your thumb as the two of you kept on kissing. Your other hand moved to his ball sack, where you gently massaged him, eliciting a deep, throaty groan from Dabi’s lips.

You moaned as his needy hand slipped between your thighs, rubbing your clit with a fierce intensity. Dabi was impatient, and you could feel it in every urgent stroke. Soon, his long, middle finger slipped into your slick entrance, gently brushing your inner walls as he finger fucked you.

His lips left yours, trailing down your neck, leaving a path of scorching kisses that made you moan softly. “You’re so fucking wet.” His thumb started brushing against your folds, pressing on them and flicking against them, making you a moaning mess.

Your body arched against him, craving more of his touch, more of the heat that only he could provide. "Dabi, please..." you begged, your voice barely a whisper.

He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. "Impatient, aren't we?"

“Please,” you whined, trying to make him slip another finger in your needy hole.

“Suck my dick and you’ll be rewarded,” he cooed, gently slapping your hand, pushing it off his one. as he brought his finger that was previously buried in you to his mouth, licking it clean. “Tasty as always.”

You knelt down before Dabi. The water flowed down your face and body, making your skin glisten with moisture. He looked down at you with a devious grin spreading across his face.

You began by gently kissing his inner thighs, teasing him with soft, wet kisses.

He let out a soft moan.

Next, you wrapped your hand around the base of his hardening cock, enjoying the feeling of its weight in your hand. The water from the showerhead made it slippery and smooth, making your task all the more pleasurable.

You then leaned forward, parting your lips to take the head of his cock into your mouth.

He hissed through his teeth, hissing, "Fuck, yes," as you began to suck on the tip of his cock.

You swirled your tongue around the head, tasting the salty pre-cum that leaked from his slit. It was a taste you had grown to love, and it only served to heighten your own arousal. You took his entire length into your mouth shortly after, your lips sliding down his shaft as your tongue swirled around him.

Dabi's moans grew louder, echoing off the bathroom walls as you bobbed your head up and down on his cock. You could feel his hands on the back of your head, guiding your movements and urging you to take him deeper.

You moved your hand in sync with your mouth, stroking the base of his cock as you sucked on the head. You paused for a moment, looking up at him.

His eyes were partially closed, and his head was thrown back in pure ecstasy.

You knew that he was close to the edge, so you decided to take it up a notch.

You took his cock into your mouth once more, using your hand to massage his balls as you pushed his dick as deep down your throat as you could, gagging yourself. You could feel his balls tighten, a sure sign that he was about to cum.

Dabi let out a loud moan, his cock twitching as he erupted into your mouth. “Fuck, yeah,” he growled.

You swallowed every drop of his thick seed, savoring the taste of his cum as you milked his cock for every last drop. Still on your knees, you looked up at him smiling sweetly, your lips still wet and sticky with his cum.

Dabi smirked down at you, pulling you up to your feet. But then, he lifted you slightly so you could wrap your legs around his waist, pressing your back against the shower wall.

“Dabi, please, I need you!”

He met your gaze, his turquoise eyes burning with desire. "I love it when you beg," he said, a wicked grin spreading across his scarred face. He nipped and sucked at the skin of your neck, marking you as his.

Your hands tangled in his hair, urging him on. “Fuck me,” you whispered, biting your lower lip.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," he murmured against your collarbone, his breath hot and teasing as he lined his cock with your tight entrance.

Without another word, he pushed his cock into your pussy with a single, powerful thrust.

You cried out, your back arching as pleasure and pain mingled in a heady rush.

Dabi set a relentless pace. His large hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he drove deeper, harder. “So fucking tight,” he murmured.

The cool tiles pressed against your back, a stark contrast to the heat of his body as he pinned you in place, fucking you rough, just the way he liked.

Your breaths mingled, ragged and urgent, as the tension built within you. You could barely catch your breath, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you tried to anchor yourself. "Dabi," you moaned, your voice a mixture of desperation and bliss. "Don't stop."

His lips curled into a smirk at your words, and he leaned in to capture your lips in another kiss.

You could taste the salt of your combined sweat and the faint metallic tang of his tongue piercing.

He broke the kiss to nip at your earlobe, his breath hot against your skin. "I won't stop," he promised, his voice a low rumble that sent a thrill down your spine. "Not until you scream my name." His grip tightened on your hips, and he angled his thrusts to hit that perfect spot inside you.

You whined pathetically like a cheap whore. You could feel the tension coiling in your belly, ready to snap at any moment.

His hips pistoned into yours, his veiny cock brushing against all your sweet spots as he fucked you rough.

Your eyes rolled back into your skull whenever the tip of his cock pressed hard against your cervix, making you wetter with every passing second. You were glad he was fucking you in the shower; otherwise, he’d leave you a total mess, too exhausted to clean yourself. You slipped one of your hands between your bodies to rub little circles around your clit for more friction, rolling your head back to rest it against the tiles as the pleasure made you shiver and moan.

Dabi chuckled darkly, squeezing the meat of your ass before spanking it hard enough to leave an imprint of his hand. "That's my little cockslut," he praised, nibbling your earlobe.

When he hit that particularly sweet spot of yours a few times in a row, you couldn’t help it. With a cry, you squirted, your release mixing with the water cascading around you, staining his shredded abdomen.

Dabi chuckled, licking his lips. "That's it, little matchbox, that's my good girl. Is daddy making you feel that good?”

“Y-yes,” you whined, burying your head in the crook of his neck, feeling all shy out of sudden. “I… I wanna cum…”

Dabi chuckled and hissed after feeling your pussy clamping down on his cock. "Daddy's going to make you cum."

With a final, powerful thrust, you both shattered, the release crashing over you like a tidal wave.

Your pussy convulsed around his cock as if it tried to milk all of his cum, every nerve ending alight with pleasure.

Dabi held you tightly, riding out his own peak with a guttural moan. Before he cum though, he withdrew from you, and jerked himself a few times, coming all over your abdomen with a loud groans escaping his lips.

As the aftershocks subsided, you clung to each other, the steam slowly dissipating around you.

Dabi's forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and soothing. "Feeling clean now?" he teased, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

You chuckled, brushing a damp strand of hair from his forehead. "Yeah, I guess… I feel even more tired, but damn, it was worth it.”

He kissed you gently, a tender contrast to the intensity of moments before. "Anytime, little matchbox. I fucking love you.”

You chuckled, gently stroking up and down his toned chest and abdomen. “And I love you too, my edgy arsonist.”

A frown crossed his forehead, but he let out a soft chuckle. "Well, this time I'll let it slip, but call me that again and I'll have to punish you."

You nodded, and the two of you began washing yourselves.

No matter how hard it was to be a villain, facing it together made it all worthwhile.

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phyrestartr · 6 months ago

Text

Divine Favour | Sukuna x Kitsune!Reader (Pt.2) NSFW

W/C: 3.2k #NSFW, THEY FUCKIN', bottom!reader, top!sukuna, mild yuuji/reader, yuuji and gang are v early 20s, heian sukuna, male reader, typical kitsune shapeshifting, canon typical violence, morally grey reader, sukuna ignores feelings through the force of sheer willpower, unhealthy relationships, power imbalance, dubcon elements, blood as lube (SORRY), Sukuna unhinged horknee, ABO elements

A/N: I wanted to make this include more parts, but I am so flabbergasted and in awe of the response to this fic that I feel the need to feed y'all feral creatures LMAO. JKJK but 👀 Thank you for all the feedback and support! It really gives me the motivation to continue writing and to interact with the JJK community. I'm having a lot of fun!

tags: @kamote-kuneho @kamote-kuneho @nyanwko @kamote-kuneho @better-imagination-9 @3zae-zae3 @chibiduck @kiiyoooo @lukaijah

“What the fuck is this?” Sukuna drawled, an intense fury simmering through his being. His gaze couldn't tear free from you, not even to size up the blindfolded weirdo watching him intently.

He shattered the coffin, freeing you from the makeshift cursed bath some freak had forced you into. He smoothed damp hair from your sickly face and searched for sparks of life somewhere in the cold stillness that'd overtaken you. And there was something. He found it, a little glimmer of vitality in the smallest, shakiest inhale.

“Good,” he praised, brushing your hair back more and more to get a better look at your face. You looked like the frail little thing he saved all those decades ago.

“You know,” Gojo interrupted, but Sukuna paid him no mind, “If I didn't know any better, I'd think you actually cared about that kitsune.”

“Then you don't know what this is,” Sukuna decided blandly. “Figures.” Kenjaku kept him off the record, huh? Guess that's a bonus.

“Oh? Do you wanna enlighten me before Yuuji comes back?” Gojo smiled, as if he really expected Sukuna to play nice and be honest with him. “Come on, come on, it's your chance to be vulnerable~”

“Tch. Pretty damn sure the fox'll be the one to tell you.” His hand smoothed over your stomach and rubbed slow, gentle circles against your skin as reverse technique sought to bring you all back to him. “He yaps about as much as your insufferable ass does. Granted, he talks a lot nicer.”

“Wow, rude.” Gojo sighed and clapped twice as if clapping on a light. “Okay! I've had enough bullying. Yuuji–”

“Brat, don't you fucking dare–”

Yuuji inhaled sharply. He blinked owlishly at your calmed expression, your eyes now closed and breathing now steadied thanks to Sukuna's aid.

Aid. That wasn't something the king did.

“Sensei,” Yuuji managed, voice quivering under the weight of memories’ emotion. “Can you fix this?”

Somehow, you were stuck in the throes of flirtation with the malevolent king of curses.

“It may be courtship,” Uraume guessed, soft smile brightening their cold exterior.

(They'd been smiling more recently, actually, ever since you completed that overcoat and presented it to them. Nary a day went by when they did not don the sentimental garb.)

But you weren't so sure; the event of courtship was serious business across all lucid creatures. Animals and creatures of primal existence sought out partners with favorable genes and strong constitution, whereas humans and the like yearned for merit or love in their coupling. You didn't quite grasp the way humans thought. Not yet.

Well, save for flirting. You decided it was a sort of pre-courtship where nothing became serious and nothing was on the line, but frivolous touches and haughty words of praise ran rampant when those concerned crossed paths.

Much like today.

(Much like the days before and after.)

You walked along the stone-paved path most mornings, lost in thoughts and mumbling to yourself bits and pieces of poems. Most were unfinished, but in their own time, verses would find one another and complete the incomplete.

A groggy yawn hummed from the palace entrance. And moments later, Ryoumen Sukuna fell into step with you, grumbling and mumbling complaints about the nippy Spring morning while he tucked his arms away into his sleeves.

He followed you, idly looking around the expansive space you'd helped curate and maintain when you weren't busying yourself with the girls or decorating clothing. The gardens weren't a mess before, not at all, but now they had a certain taste–trees and flowers were planted with specificity, stones were moved, paths reworked. You took the outside over completely. The king didn't mind.

“Sukuna-sama,” you said, voice melting in kind with the morning frost. “I'll need to leave for a short while.”

Sukuna quirked a brow and looked at you. You gazed upon the large, thick koi flashing their beautiful scales and ornate patterns of orange and white as they swam and followed you. Tch. How come even the fish were drawn to you?

“And how do you think you'll accomplish that?” Sukuna tossed a rock into the koi pond, making the fish scatter. “Getting away from me isn't something you can do.”

You huffed and looked at him. “I understand. I simply seek your permission.”

“Denied.”

“Ah.” You deadpanned. “Why?”

“You're mine; I decide where you go, how you breathe, if you eat. Or are you forgetting that?”

You sighed and let your ears droop sadly with your tails. “Surely you jest.”

“Are you laughing?”

You whined like a sad, sad street pup before cozying up to him, slipping your hands up his stomach and chest like you were supposed to. “Please?”

“No.”

You chittered and pressed your face against him, but didn't protest and complain much more.

Sukuna’s thoughts whirled. The show was amusing, sure, but you didn't do anything without reason, especially when it had to do with breaking character and acting out like this out of–

Oh?

Sukuna leaned down and sniffed you, searching for the intriguing coil of flowery citrus he nearly missed on the warming breeze. It was so, so faint, but decadent and alluring in a way that made the master of toxins cautious–most poisons tasted sweet, after all.

You pulled your head back, shrinking down the slightest bit with your ears flattened against your skull. Your eyes, wide as a full moon, stared up at him, expectant. The touch of your hands on him never left, though.

“Brassavola nadosa.” Sukuna tilted his head. “You smell like it.”

You blinked curiously, relaxing. “Is that so?”

We don't have that orchid in the garden. Sukuna hummed and lifted a lock of your hair, catching another weak waft of the flower's faint scent.

It's coming from him, then. Hm.

“Tell me again why you want to leave the palace?” Sukuna asked on a hunch.

And that hunch doubled down when you fidgeted with the cloth of his haori and looked aside.

“I wish to bear children," you admitted, shy and quiet. "To try, at the very least. Perhaps find a mate, too.”

Children. You wanted children. After everything those sorcerers put you through for who knows how many years, you still wanted to mother a runt of your own. And you were willing to run off into the wild to, what, let some random man knock you up? Fill you with seed of unknown origin, unknown value, unknown potential?

Sukuna's ego flared. He leaned down to you, tilting your chin up to make you look him in the eyes regardless how small you felt in that moment. He deserved to witness you. You deserved to witness him.

“You're not leaving,” he breathed, and he swore he could hear your heart break. “If you want a brat, you'll get a brat–only if you stay here 'n give up on those shitty thoughts of finding a sire out there.”

Your eyes scanned his face, tracing over serious lines and honest creases. Clearly, you searched for an answer–

“How?”

–one that Sukuna didn’t have. Or maybe he did. Perhaps he just couldn't find the words for it.

He scoffed and ruffled up your hair, unable to answer you. “You're not leaving. Not unless I say so.”

The first time he let you go, he left scars.

He found you in your chambers come early evening. Your tails swished and flicked as you sat amidst a nest of his robes and the missing linens from his chambers while you futzed over the embroidery of another haori, this time adorning the plain thing with the darkest scarlet one could find. Sukuna could already guess why.

Your being burns as wildfires do. Lively. Emphatically. Devouring more and more so long as the earth lets you. Yet where you do not lay ruin, you grant warmth and light in a divine way. Wildfires are not such horrible things if one stays a respectable ways away.

Your poetic nonsense irritated him to no end, but he fell enamored all the same; you spoke to honor him with every utterance of his name. You didn't try to kiss his feet nor did you bask him in compliments–you only spoke into existence that which hummed through your mind, unprovoked. It just so happened to be everything Sukuna liked to hear.

So when he found you secluded away, beckoning so sweetly with intoxicating scents of citrus and gardenia, what choice did he have but to lay claim, to give you the brat you so sorely yearned for?

You sensed him. Your gaze flicked to him, stoic and unmoved as ever, as the energy in the room built into suffocating silence, something like tectonic plates caught in deadlock, holding their disastrous energy, waiting for the right moment to devastate the world with a single, cataclysmic shift.

And of course, it was the impatient predator that moved first, setting a catastrophe into motion.

The hours blurred together.

Every minute of the chase was thrilling, invigorating, surprising–you were filled with tricks and traps, never slowing down for a second to think or doubt as the beast of a sorcerer pursued you through his palace, through the city below, and now into the looming forest in the mountains.

Admittedly, he'd gotten carried away. He lost himself in the rush of it all, the adrenaline and pure, destructive desire pushed his self-control into unraveling just the slightest bit; honest attacks tore through space and time, hoping to maim and cripple you if they were to hit. And, honestly, the way you avoided his attempts to strike you down enthralled him as much as it enraged him–he was seconds away from unleashing his domain until a less-than-satisfying ripple of cursed energy tore across your thigh and put you down.

It was then, walking up to you, to his prey, that Sukuna remembered you weren't a sorcerer. Most would be able to stand and walk it off, maybe even heal with reverse technique, but you could only grasp at your weeping wound and grimace. Because you were not a sorcerer, you were a kitsune: a trickster, a creature full of mischief and void of cursed energy.

Yokai. Not a human. Not a curse. Not like the rest of the boring souls wandering his earth.

Sukuna pinned you the second you tried to make a break for it. Fangs and claws gnashed and tore into him while his hands strained to keep you down and rip those damn clothes free from your burning skin.

Mating's never a pretty thing when it comes to nature. Humans like you made it something more.

Sukuna clasped a hand over your mouth and forced his weight onto you, ripping reedy yowls from your core as you twisted and turned, primal mind urging you to run, run, run, don't make this easy, make him prove his worth–

Rip.

Ribbons of what were once your robes fluttered to the ground, useless and unsalvageable. They were plain black, so unlike what you usually wore. You wouldn't miss them.

“Make this as difficult as you want, pet,” Sukuna whispered as he loomed over you. His hand slid from your mouth to your throat when you stilled.

“You know how this ends.”

His pants were pulled down while another hand wiped slippery blood against your pliant entrance–and that was the only warning you got before he pushed into you.

Where you should have screamed, you instead sighed. Your back arched off the ground like a work of art. Two hands gave up on holding you down in favour of gripping your waist and hips, pulling you closer to him, forcing you flush against his body.

He noticed it then: a litany of old scars and discoloured marks shining against your skin. Marks left by those who did not deserve to taste such a delicacy.

Unsightly.

Blood painted the grass. Cleaves and slashes ate away at those tainted scars, painting over the ugliness left hidden for too long–now, his marks would decorate you. Now, those hidden scars would mean something. They’d mean everything.

Yet Sukuna's selfish maiming wasn't fitting the bill, and your antsy-ness was proof of it. You tried for the last time to pull from him, but his grip tightened around your throat. You gazed at him, then, eyes so wide and hungry, eager to fight or fuck–whichever came first.

He braced over you and nearly winced as he dragged out of your suffocating heat. A sharp snap back inside loosened you, the glide of blood and slick aiding him.

“I'll take you the way you need it,” he drawled as he built the pace quickly, already feeling his own obsession and excitement reverberating through his body, filling every fibre of muscle with electricity.

“Then,” he growled, leaning closer to your face. “I'll fuck you the way you want it.”

“More,” you sighed, digging your nails into the pillow you had your face buried in while the beast fucked you from behind. Sukuna groaned in compliance and lanced into your guts deeper, harder, faster than before–you were the only one that could handle the brutal way he let loose, and he was more than willing to indulge in that privilege.

The hands all over you rose to the occasion, too; one had your tails fisted in his ruthless grasp, rudely holding you still and pulling you back against his hips; another rested on the curve of your ass, only moving to give a sharp slap or to knead your soft, perfect skin; the last two held your hips in a crushing force, his calloused fingers digging into your plush sides and sharp hip bones like you might disappear at any second.

A sharp, sweet whine signaled the beginning of the end, as did the restless fidgeting and shifting in the king's grasp. Seeing you, a poised, powerful, mischievous being, come undone beneath him came to be one of Sukuna’s favourite sights, especially knowing it could only be because of him--only him.

He leaned over you, his heavy chest pressing into your back as one hand released your waist in favour of fisting in your hair and tugging your head back and out of the futon you so desperately clung to.

“Ah-ah,” he scolded breathily. “No hiding.” It was a familiar sentiment, one he had no problem reminding you of now and again. You had a horrible habit of trying to vanish when overwhelmed, after all.

“Terrible beast,” you snapped back, scoffing indignantly when the deep bassy laugh of the man rolled through your body. “Horrible.”

“You love it,” Sukuna growled back, grinning through every word.

Something about it clearly struck a chord with you, judging by how fast you choked on your voice and came undone, legs trembling and body tightening around the too-big intrusion. The king groaned and bit at your neck, licking whatever blood beaded at the surface in between rushed, hushed words of praise for you and your efforts–most, if they heard the things he said, would call it out of character for the beast. Most didn't get to see beyond his raw power and crippling cruelty, however.

Sukuna grunted and spilled inside you, pulling you back by your hair, hips and tail to ensure he forced every bit of his offerings deep into your core. Your body rocked and twitched against his, accepting all he had to offer you at the end of yet another coupling, before he let go of your locks and let you collapse face-first into the futon.

He pulled out slowly, watching as every inch slipped from your abused hole before popping free and uncorking a dribble of whiteness from inside. He tutted and scooped it up with two fingers before stuffing it back in.

“Oi, oi, are you even trying to keep it in?” He teased, smirking as you huffed.

“You've exhausted me. I have no energy to attempt the impossible,” you lamented, nuzzling your nose further into the soft sheets smelling of cedar and fresh blooms–something so uniquely Sukuna.

Your king sighed and gave your ass a firm few pats. “Guess I'll have to spoil you even more.” He settled onto his back and easily pulled you onto him, yanking you up to straddle his waist right where that second mouth laid open and eager to taste you.

“This is uncouth,” you sighed. But you rocked back against the thick, heavy tongue pressing into your pliant heat, licking deep into you with a mind and hunger of its own.

“Seems couth enough for you,” he commented, watching you ride his centre with rapt attention. “Little harlot's getting off on this, hey? Such a needy little brat.”

His hands smoothed up and down your legs and sides as you shamelessly chased a second high. Your hands clasped over his as he took you into his hand and stroked you back to ample stiffness, the soreness of too many rounds of fucking making you far too sensitive to touch.

“S-Sukuna-sama,” you stammered. “I can't–”

Sukuna's head tilted with a pleased smirk. “Ho? I thought you wanted to bear children? Are my offerings not enough for you?”

You scrunched your face up into something of a prissy glare, but the shine clinging to your lashes and the shuddering of your body against his betrayed your crumbling demeanor. Of course, he was impressed with how his fox was fairing considering everything he put you through.

He maneuvered you onto your back, grinning as you growled and weakly struggled against him. You looked perfect–stomach swollen, hair fanned out behind you, eyes teary but unable to tear away from the creature that’d tormented you for hours upon hours with no desire to give you a break.

“Greedy god,” Sukuna lamented. One hand came to rest on your bruised neck again, fitting around so perfectly. “Nothing’s ever fucking good enough for you.”

“You are.”

That gave Sukuna pause. He stared down at you, all eyes looking over you with rapt attention as he tried to think. Tried to understand. Tried to parse those words and uncover what exactly you tried to convey.

But it didn't click.

“Tch. You're lucky I'm a generous god,” he scolded, releasing you from your torment in favour of collapsing down beside you for some much-needed rest. Not only did your beautiful body wear him out (not that he'd admit it), but your whimsical words wore his sanity thin. The worst part was you didn't even intend to damage him so.

“I am truly honoured to merely be in your presence,” Your voice, light and dreamy as petals fluttering, laughed, and Sukuna's soul did something odd.

He stared at the ceiling as you shuffled beside him, quickly returning to his side, donned in one of his haori and determined to make a comfortable nest of blankets and clothes around you both for the rest of the night–ah, morning? Huh. What an ordeal.

You curled up next to him, shoving your back firmly against his side the way you often did when resting as a fox, and Sukuna huffed.

“Turn to me,” he commanded, and you obeyed.

He, too, turned to face you to envelope your lithe form with invincible arms and divine protection. Your soft purrs rolled through him, settling his wild spirit into a lazy tempo of an early morning stroll through a garden filled with one sort of white orchid:

Brassavola nadosa. “Lady of the Night.” Your calling card. Your divine essence.

"Brassavola nodosa (Lady of the Night) is a medium-sized epiphytic or lithophytic orchid species boasting extremely fragrant flowers throughout the year. The blossoms, 4 in. across (10 cm), emit a citrus fragrance at night. Each flower features long, slender, pale green or creamy-white sepals and petals and a large, heart-shaped lip sometimes adorned with purple or dark red spotting." - gardenia.net

#sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x male reader #sukuna x m!reader #sukuna x you #jjk x you #male reader insert #male reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen reader insert #jujutsu kaisen x male reader #jujutsu kaisen x you

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chachued · 10 months ago

Note

I wanted to request lando x fem reader if possible when he’s leaving for a while and they’re extra affectionate the night before with longer hugs and more reassurance, it could even get emotional??

Thank you in advance🥰

omg, yes. absolutely adorable!!! such a cute idea, this is.

━━ NEVER LEAVING | LANDO NORRIS ⁴

He never left without you, but you couldn’t come with him this time. It wasn’t easy, to say the least, but this night made it all the better.

↳ lando norris x fem!reader

W/C 0.5k

CONTENTS fluff — so much fluff, best bf lando, clingy reader, a bit of attachment issues, half proofread, short imagine

TOMORROW WAS THE DAY. Even though you begged for a day off—just to spend time with your boyfriend—today was too far busy, said your boss.

It was already late at night, so you expected Lando to be asleep already. He had to leave tomorrow morning, so you let bygones be bygones.

You didn’t know work would last so long, there’s barely enough time to be with him. And most of it will be used sleeping beside him. Everything consumed the energy that usually sparked inside you — The one that was excited to go home to him.

The key was deep inside your bag while you shuffled for it, prolonging the wait outside your door, which was insufferable. All you wanted to do was lay in bed—preferably with his arms around you.

The door handle clicked, and then it opened. “You’re home!”

“You’re still awake?” You were relieved, but rightfully worried because it is twelve in the morning.

His hand took yours, dragging you inside. “Of course, I am.”

“What’s that — And that smell?”

“Well, that is your favourite movie, with your favourite food, and your favourite snacks, actually.”

Wow. He really did it all for you.

There were candles that were already half-melted, probably the ones that were hiding in an obscure area. The line of expensive meals and cheap takeout showed a variety of food. It’s like he knew you hadn't eaten yet.

Lando couldn’t help but notice the way the light hit your face, highlighting that pretty smile of yours—melting him from the inside. “There’s also a bunch of blankets to get you comfy. I’m sure you would’ve been tired when you got home.”

“I love you so much right now.”

“You didn’t love me before?”

“Maybe,” you said, smiling.

“I love you too.”

Anxiety piled up — That overwhelming feeling.

It finally hits you he’d be leaving tomorrow morning. All this effort and it didn’t even last long because, before you knew it, he’d be gone. It hurt, and you didn’t know why.

It wasn’t the fact that he was leaving. It’s because he motivated you throughout the day, promising kisses and goods—giving a reason to be excited about life. What could you do without him?

Lando was cuddled up next to you, lying on your chest, when he heard your sniffling. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“I’m here,” he said, and in all honesty, it made the tears harder to hold in.

But you stayed strong.

“It’s just… You’re leaving, and all that. I don’t know, I feel a bit silly.”

He held you tighter, not planning to ever let you go. His eyes were heavy, but he’d stay up all night to be with you.

No amount of sleep can replace you, he thought.

“I’ll come back as soon as I can.” His hand slithered onto your cheek, wiping the loose tear. “I’m never ever leaving you.”

That was the promise he’d never dare to break.

It was insane. You felt insane. He was doing all this for you, and you felt like a burden. There was nothing you did to deserve this—

You felt his soft lips on yours—holding on for a second—and the warm embrace melted you in quick.

“Text me and I’ll fly back to you, alright?”

“Okay.”

“Alright?”

A giggle slipped out of your mouth. “Alright, yeah.”

This was home — Your home.

And it would never fall apart, not with him.

↳ bonus ; next morning ´ˎ˗

LOADING . . . ✎

#lando norris x reader #lando norris #f1 x reader #f1 #formula 1 #lando norris fic #lando norris imagine #fluff #mclaren #ln4 #ln4 x reader

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reidmarieprentiss · 3 months ago

Text

Wasteland, Baby!

Summary: We learn a little about reader's past, Spencer tries (and succeeds) to get back in her good graces. Happy ending!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: angst, fluff

Warnings/Includes: bad past relationships, past cheating, pregnancy (not reader), getting broken up with, divorced parents, past hooking up with strangers, alcohol consumption, mentions of being drunk, mild depression, time jumps, penelope garcia being the best person alive, derek morgan saving the day

Word count: 10.3k

a/n: final installment of Too Sweet!! i know they're a mess but i love these twooo might give them some blurbs in the future <33 thank you so much to everyone reading! your comments and interactions seriously motivate me to write sooo much faster and make my heart burst!!

main masterlist

part one part two

Flashback…

You sat there, the rim of your glass resting against your lips as you drained the last of your drink. The burn of the alcohol was distant, almost nonexistent—just like everything else these days. The numbness had long since taken over, seeping into every part of your life, leaving you cold and detached. You chased sensations, tried to force yourself to feel something, anything, but nothing worked. Not the new piercings that adorned your skin, not the tattoo etched into your flesh, not even the alcohol that should have brought warmth, or the rage rooms where you shattered objects in a futile attempt to break through the void.

Work had once been your refuge, a security blanket that made you feel capable and strong. Military intelligence had given you purpose, a clear path forward. But now even that had become a nightmare, as Jackson had managed to ruin yet another thing you loved. The betrayal cut deep, but even that pain had dulled, leaving only a hollow ache in its place.

“Y/N… you should go home,” the bartender, Drew, said with a shake of their head. They had seen you here night after night, watching as you spiraled deeper into whatever darkness had taken hold of you.

“I don’t have a home anymore,” you slurred, the words bitter on your tongue. The thought of the apartment you had shared with Jackson twisted like a knife in your gut. He was there right now, with his fiance—your replacement. All your things were still there while you slept in a cheap motel that barely felt real. He got the apartment, the girl, the job, and all you got was a long bar tab.

Drew’s expression softened with pity, but before they could say anything, a deep, smooth voice cut through the haze.

“Hey, beautiful, you can come home with me,” the stranger called out, his tone dripping with confidence. His voice was like honey, dark and rich, promising the kind of escape you craved.

You looked up, eyes narrowing as you focused on him—tall, broad shoulders, a chiseled jawline, and eyes that gleamed with something dangerous, something alluring. He was exactly what you needed: a distraction, a thrill, something to make you forget for just a little while.

And thus began the one thing that finally brought feeling back into your world.

You pushed the glass aside and slid off the barstool, unsteady but determined. The stranger’s smirk grew as you approached him, his hand reaching out to guide you out of the bar. The warmth of his touch was electric, a spark in the darkness that reminded you that you were still alive, still capable of feeling—if only for tonight.

You didn’t know his name, and you didn’t care. All that mattered was the fire he ignited within you, the way his presence chased away the numbness that had plagued you for so long. It was reckless, it was dangerous, but it was exactly what you needed. The emptiness was too much to bear, and if he could fill it, even for just a moment, you were willing to take that chance.

As you left the bar, wrapped in the stranger’s arm, the world blurred around you. For the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t consumed by the void. The thrill, the anticipation—it was enough to make you feel alive again, even if it was fleeting.

—

Present

The team was gathered around the round table, JJ had just finished briefing everyone, her voice steady as she laid out the grim details. As the discussion continued, Emily’s brow furrowed as she reviewed the case file in front of her, something sparking a memory.

“This reminds me of the Atlanta case… Hotch, do you know what department Y/N is in? I want to ask her a question about that case file,” Emily said, her eyes still scanning the paperwork.

Hotch’s expression remained neutral as he answered. “She’s not here right now. You can get the file from the archives if you need.”

Penelope immediately picked up on the shift in tone. Her concern was evident as she asked, “Where is she?”

Hotch didn’t hesitate, his response professional and matter-of-fact. “I wasn’t made aware of the specifics. She’s on a leave of absence.”

Emily looked up, her curiosity piqued. “Do you know how long she’ll be gone?”

Hotch’s gaze was steady as he replied, “I do not. Why don’t you call her if you’re concerned? But let’s stay focused. This isn’t pertinent to the case at hand.”

The room fell into a brief, awkward silence, the unspoken questions lingering in the air. The team exchanged glances, sensing that there was more to the story, but knowing better than to press further. Hotch’s tone made it clear that they needed to get back to the task at hand, and so they did, though the concern for your absence lingered in the back of their minds.

—

“Spencer,” Penelope’s voice cut through the quiet hum of the break room, startling him.

“Ah! You scared me, Garcia,” Spencer exclaimed, nearly dropping his mug.

She didn’t smile or laugh at his reaction, her expression unusually serious as she approached him. “How did it feel?” she asked pointedly, her voice carrying a sharp edge.

Spencer blinked, confused. “What?”

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” she taunted, using the same words he had cruelly thrown at you.

Realization dawned on Spencer, and a wave of anxiety washed over him. “Penelope, what are you talking about?” he stammered, already dreading where this conversation was headed.

Penelope’s eyes narrowed, her tone full of disappointment. “I heard you, Spencer. I held Y/N as she cried. I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but that was a nasty scene. And I am seriously disappointed in you.”

Spencer winced, guilt twisting his insides. “I know… I messed up.”

“No kidding,” Penelope shot back, crossing her arms. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. The truth was, he hadn’t thought that far ahead. He had been so caught up in his own anger and hurt that he hadn’t considered the consequences of his actions.

“Well, you’d better figure it out,” Penelope said firmly. “Because this isn’t like you, Spencer. You’re better than this, and she deserves better than what you did.”

Spencer nodded, feeling the weight of her words. He knew she was right, and the guilt gnawed at him, but he was at a loss for how to make things right. As Penelope turned to leave, he was left standing there, staring into his now-cold cup of coffee, wondering how he could possibly begin to fix the mess he had made.

—

Flashback…

“Hey, hey, are you alright?” an unfamiliar voice asked, cutting through the quiet of your tearful moment.

You sniffled, wiping your nose before looking up to see a stranger standing in front of you. “Yeah, thanks,” you mumbled, trying to pull yourself together.

“I’m Jackson,” the man introduced himself with a soft smile, gesturing toward the bench you were sitting on. “Can I sit?”

You hesitated for a moment, but then shrugged, scooting over slightly. “I guess.”

Jackson took a seat beside you, giving you space but not too much. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked gently.

You eyed him suspiciously, your guard still up. “Is this a thing for you? Talking to crying girls on benches?”

He looked genuinely taken aback, holding up his hands defensively. “What? No, of course not. You just… you’re so pretty, too pretty to cry.”

You shot him a skeptical look, raising an eyebrow. He laughed, the sound warm and easy. “That was really bad, huh?”

“Yeah, it was really bad.” You deadpanned, expression unchanging.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make it worse.” Jackson cringed, his face morphing into one of mild embarrassment and regret.

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but giggle a little. “No, no. It’s… it’s fine.” You heaved a big sigh, the weight of your emotions still heavy on your chest. “My, um, my partner… they just dumped me.”

Jackson’s expression softened with sympathy. “Oh, I’m so sorry. How long were you together?”

“Three years,” you replied, your voice shaky. “We started dating right out of high school.”

“Wow,” he said, clearly surprised. “And they just… ended it?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, the pain of the breakup still fresh.

Jackson hesitated for a moment before offering, “Do you need a hug?”

You narrowed your eyes playfully, trying to lighten the mood despite your sadness. “Depends… are you going to kill me?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Promise I won’t hurt you.”

You gave a small nod, and before you knew it, Jackson wrapped his arms around you in a comforting embrace. It was unexpected, but in that moment, it was exactly what you needed.

—

Present

“Hey, Hotch,” Spencer called out, picking up his pace to catch up to his unit chief as they walked through the hallway.

Hotch turned his head slightly, acknowledging Spencer as he fell in step beside him. “What’s up?”

“Do you happen to know when Agent Y/L/N will be back?” Spencer asked, trying to keep his tone casual.

Hotch glanced at him, his expression unreadable. “No, I don’t.”

“Alright, thanks,” Spencer replied, nodding as he looked down, feeling a bit deflated.

But Hotch wasn’t one to let things go so easily. “Why are you asking?” he inquired, his tone measured.

Spencer hesitated, searching for a reasonable explanation. “Just… have a question for her.”

Hotch gave him a considering look. “Get her number from Penelope. I’m sure she can answer any question you have that way.”

“Yeah…” Spencer trailed off, clearly not thrilled with the suggestion. He knew he could easily get your contact information, but after everything that had happened, the idea of reaching out to you directly felt daunting. Still, he gave Hotch a small nod of acknowledgment before the unit chief walked away, leaving Spencer to wrestle with the uncertainty gnawing at him.

—

Spencer knocked lightly on Penelope’s door frame, his nerves evident in the way he hesitated before speaking. “Garcia, can I come in?”

“I’m mad at you,” Penelope replied, not looking up from her computer, her tone sharp. “Enter at your own risk.”

Spencer nodded but stepped inside anyway, taking a cautious seat across from her desk. “Could you give me Y/N’s number?”

“Absolutely not,” Penelope said immediately, her voice firm. “You’ve done enough to that poor girl.”

Spencer shifted uncomfortably. “I thought you wanted me to fix things?”

“I do,” Penelope said, finally turning to face him. “But getting her number from someone else is tacky.”

“What should I do then?” Spencer asked, genuinely at a loss.

Penelope eyed him for a moment, considering. “I don’t know, Spencer. You could go to her apartment, make a grand gesture.”

“Okay… but why would I make a grand gesture? Can’t I just say sorry?”

Penelope sighed, her frustration clear. “Did you see the same woman I did? She was broken, Spencer. Whatever is going on between you two cannot be solved by a simple ‘sorry.’”

Spencer sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can I tell you something in confidence, Garcia?”

Penelope narrowed her eyes but nodded. Despite her anger, she would never betray his trust. “I suppose.”

Spencer took a deep breath, the words coming out more slowly than he intended. “Y/N and I… well, we were intimate after the Doctor Who convention.”

“I knew it!” Penelope exclaimed, her eyes widening.

“What? How?” Spencer asked, startled.

“Doesn’t matter,” she said, waving off his question. “Continue.”

“Alright… Well, it was an amazing night. The whole day, really. We got along so well. But then when I woke up, in her apartment, mind you, I was alone with just a note asking me to lock the door. And then she showed up here acting like she didn’t know who I was.”

Penelope’s expression softened slightly, her earlier anger giving way to understanding. “Spencer… that explains a lot.”

“I don’t know what I did wrong,” Spencer admitted, his voice quiet. “I don’t know why she left or why she’s been avoiding me. And then I just got so angry, and I took it out on her… I know I shouldn’t have, but I was hurt.”

Penelope leaned back in her chair, considering his words. “Spencer, it sounds like you both have a lot of unresolved feelings. But if you want to fix this, you need to do more than just apologize. You need to show her that you care, that you’re willing to put in the effort to make things right.”

Spencer nodded slowly, taking in her advice. “I just… I don’t know where to start.”

Penelope offered him a small, sympathetic smile. “Start by being honest with her. Tell her how you feel, what you’ve been going through. And if you really want to make it right, maybe that grand gesture isn’t such a bad idea after all.”

Spencer nodded again, this time with more determination. “Okay. I’ll figure something out.”

Penelope watched him leave, a hint of hope in her heart that maybe, just maybe, Spencer could make things right with you—if he was willing to put in the effort.

—

You were curled up on your couch, surrounded by a sea of crumpled tissues, the remnants of countless tearful nights. Your eyes were puffy and red, evidence of the endless crying sessions that had consumed your days since you took a leave of absence from work. In your hands, you held a photo album, the pages heavy with memories that now felt more like burdens than treasures.

The album had been a gift from Jackson’s mom for your fifth anniversary, a thoughtful compilation of your relationship’s most cherished moments. At the time, you had been so sure it was a precursor to something bigger, something life-changing. You had even found the ring hidden away in Jackson’s things, and your heart had soared with the hope that he was going to propose. But that hope had been cruelly dashed when you learned the truth—that ring wasn’t for you. It was for Jessica, the girl he’d been sleeping with on the side, the girl who had taken your place in his life.

The betrayal was like a knife in your chest, twisting deeper with every memory you revisited. Each photo, each smiling face, felt like a lie now. You had loved him, trusted him, and in return, he had shattered you. It wasn’t just the loss of Jackson that haunted you, though. There was Margo too, the one who had left you first, making you doubt your worth, your ability to be loved, leading you into the arms of Jackson. Literally. And then there was Spencer.

You had tried so hard to keep Spencer at arm’s length, to protect yourself from another heartbreak. But despite your best efforts, he had weaseled his way into your heart. You had let your guard down, just a little, and in return, he had crushed you, just like everyone else. At least Spencer had been quick about it, you thought bitterly. Over and done with in a single, devastating blow.

Your chief had been kind enough to grant you a leave of absence, requiring little explanation. You were a diligent worker, always going above and beyond, and in their words, you deserved a break. But this break had turned into something else—a time to mourn, to dissect everything that had gone wrong in your life. You replayed every failed relationship in your mind, trying to figure out where you had gone wrong, why you were always the one left behind.

But the answers didn’t come, only more tears and more heartache. The memories in the photo album blurred as your eyes filled with fresh tears. You had thought Jackson was the one, that you were finally going to have the life you’d always dreamed of. But now, that dream was gone, replaced by the harsh reality that you were alone, yet again.

And Spencer… you couldn’t deny the sting of that particular wound. You had pushed him away, trying to protect yourself, but in the end, it hadn’t mattered. He had hurt you anyway, and now you were left wondering if you would ever truly be able to trust someone again.

As you sat there on your couch, surrounded by the remnants of your broken heart, you couldn’t help but wonder if things would ever get better. Or if this was just the way it would always be—endlessly hoping, endlessly disappointed.

—

A knock on the door pulled you from the haze of your crying-induced slumber. You blinked, disoriented and groggy, not expecting anyone. At first, you tried to ignore it, assuming it was just a delivery person or maybe a neighbor. But the knocking persisted, growing more insistent. With a groan, you rolled off the couch, reluctantly dragging yourself to the door. You swung it open, puffy face and all, prepared to shoo away whoever was there.

Instead, you were met with the concerned face of Penelope Garcia. “Oh honey, come here,” she said, her voice soft and full of warmth as she immediately pulled you into a much-needed hug.

The floodgates opened again, and you found yourself crying into her shoulder, the weight of everything pouring out of you. Penelope held you tightly, rubbing your back and murmuring soothing words as you let it all out. Once you had cried yourself dry, she gently guided you back to the couch, making sure you were comfortable before she began tidying up the mess of tissues and empty mugs scattered around.

Penelope busied herself in the kitchen, making you a cup of tea, the comforting sounds of her movements a balm to your frayed nerves. When she returned, she handed you the warm mug and sat beside you, her hand resting on your knee in a gesture of quiet support.

“Pen… you really didn’t have to do all of this,” you said, your voice hoarse from all the crying.

“I know I don’t have to,” she replied, her tone firm but kind. “I want to.”

You managed a small, grateful smile. “Thank you. You’re a really good friend.”

Penelope smiled back, squeezing your knee. “I’m always here for you, sweetie. Do you want to tell me what’s got you in such a mess?”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Me,” you said, the words tinged with self-deprecation. “I’m the problem.”

“I know that’s not true,” Penelope countered gently. She picked up the photo album from the coffee table, the one you had been staring at for hours. “Who is this?”

And so, for the next few hours, you told Penelope everything. You started from the beginning, recounting the pain of your parents’ divorce and how it had shaped your views on love and trust. You told her about your first relationship with Margo, how it had ended so abruptly and left you feeling lost. You explained how Jackson had swooped in that same day, picking up the pieces, only to shatter you even more five years later when he cheated on you and ruined the life you had built together.

You confessed how, after Jackson, you had spiraled, sleeping with random people just to feel something, anything. The emptiness had consumed you until you met Spencer, and for the first time in a long while, you had actually felt something real. But even that had ended in heartbreak, leaving you more confused and hurt than ever before.

Penelope listened intently, never interrupting, just letting you get it all out. When you finally finished, you felt drained but also a little lighter, as if sharing your burden had eased some of the weight on your shoulders.

Penelope looked at you with compassion in her eyes. “You’ve been through so much, Y/N. It’s no wonder you’re feeling like this. But you’re not alone, okay? You have people who care about you, who want to help you through this.”

You nodded, feeling the truth in her words. For the first time in a while, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, things could get better. And with Penelope by your side, you knew you didn’t have to face it all alone.

—

Spencer was struggling, caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions that he couldn’t quite reconcile. He knew what he had done wasn’t okay—it was uncalled for, cruel even. But despite that knowledge, there was a part of him that felt vindicated. After all, you had hurt him first. In his mind, that gave him a reason, however flimsy, to lash out.

He knew it was an extremely childish and lame excuse, but he was grasping for straws, trying to justify his actions to himself. The rational part of him recognized that his behavior had been immature and unprofessional, but the wounded part of him clung to the idea that you deserved it. You had made him feel abandoned and discarded, so why shouldn’t he make you feel the same?

But as much as he tried to convince himself that he was in the right, the guilt lingered. Spencer had always prided himself on being better than this—better than petty revenge, better than letting his emotions get the best of him. And yet, here he was, refusing to apologize, holding onto his hurt like a shield to protect himself from the vulnerability that had already been exposed.

The truth was, Spencer didn’t want to apologize. Not yet. Because apologizing meant admitting that he had overreacted, that he had let his feelings dictate his actions in a way that was unbecoming of him. It meant acknowledging that he had hurt you, just as you had hurt him, and that scared him. It was easier to stay angry, to keep the wall up between you, than to face the messy emotions lying beneath the surface.

But deep down, he knew that this wasn’t sustainable. He couldn’t keep holding onto his grudge, not if he wanted to move forward. The tension was eating away at him, and no matter how much he tried to justify his actions, the truth was undeniable: you both had hurt each other, and the only way to heal was to confront it head-on.

Yet, for now, Spencer was stuck in limbo, torn between the desire to hold onto his pride and the nagging realization that he needed to make things right.

—

The atmosphere on the jet was warm and filled with camaraderie as the team reminisced about their time together, particularly the time they had spent with you while JJ was on maternity leave.

“JJ, you would have loved her,” Derek said, a nostalgic smile on his face as he recalled your time on the team.

“I did get to meet her briefly before I went on leave!” JJ replied happily. “She was so sweet. I’m glad she was a good fit while I was gone.”

“Yeah, of course, we’re all so happy you’re back,” Emily added, gazing lovingly at JJ. “But if you need a break, you know who to send!”

Spencer sat quietly at the back of the jet, watching his teammates share fond memories of you as they traveled home from their first case with JJ back on the team. Everyone seemed to miss your positive attitude and bright presence—especially Spencer. Not that he was going to admit that, not even to himself.

During a video chat with Penelope, Derek’s curiosity got the better of him. “Garcia, you went and saw her this week, right?” he asked.

“Yeah, I did,” Penelope confirmed, though her voice held a note of hesitation.

“Oh! How is she?” Emily asked excitedly.

Penelope paused, trying to tread carefully. “Um, she’s holding up,” she said, not wanting to give too much away but also not wanting to lie.

“Did something happen?” Derek asked, concern etched on his face. He had grown to care about you and was worried about what might be going on.

“Just some… personal things. She’ll be okay,” Penelope assured them, though her words did little to ease the tension.

Hotch, always the pragmatist, jumped in. “Did she say when she’ll be back? Emily and Spencer expressed interest in her help on previous cases.”

Everyone’s attention shifted to Spencer at that remark, surprised by Hotch’s comment. As far as they knew, Spencer wasn’t exactly your biggest fan. What they didn’t realize was that Spencer had asked Hotch about you in private, hoping for answers he didn’t want to admit he was seeking.

“No, she didn’t mention when she’ll be back to work,” Penelope replied, trying to sound casual.

The conversation eventually moved on, but Spencer stayed quiet, lost in his own thoughts. The knowledge that you weren’t doing well gnawed at him. Guilt tightened its grip on his heart. God, I’m an asshole, he thought bitterly.

Back at Quantico, Derek wasted no time. He cornered Spencer as soon as they got off the jet. “Reid, can I talk to you for a sec?” Derek’s tone left no room for refusal.

“Yeah, what’s up, Morgan?” Spencer replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Walk with me,” Derek said, leading the way to the break room, which was thankfully empty at that time of the evening. Once they were inside, Derek didn’t waste any time. “Do you remember telling me nothing was going on between you and Y/N?”

Spencer gulped, his throat suddenly dry as he realized where this conversation was headed. He could feel Derek’s eyes boring into him, the weight of his scrutiny heavy. “Uh-huh,” Spencer managed to get out, his voice tense.

Derek didn’t miss a beat, his expression unwavering as he leaned in slightly, his tone flat and unyielding. “I call bullshit.”

Spencer’s heart rate kicked up a notch, his mind scrambling for a way out of this. “Wh—what do you mean?” he stammered, trying to keep his composure even as his anxiety began to spike.

Derek crossed his arms, his gaze steady and unflinching. “You’re being weird, Reid. More so than usual.”

Spencer could feel the heat rising in his face, a flush of embarrassment mixed with frustration. He rolled his eyes, attempting to deflect with a weak jab. “Thanks,” he muttered, though he knew it wouldn’t be enough to throw Derek off the scent.

But Derek wasn’t letting it go, and Spencer knew he was cornered. The truth was about to come out, whether he was ready for it or not.

“I just mean that you’ve been moody, distant, grumpy. You snap at people, question Hotch. Anytime Y/N’s name is brought up, you get all twitchy, and you think we don’t notice, but we do. What happened, man?”

Spencer sighed, knowing he was caught. Stupid profilers. He realized there was no use trying to hide it anymore. Maybe if he confided in someone else, he could get some advice. Garcia was too biased, after all.

“Well, uh… we slept together before she started.”

“Whoa. Didn’t see that coming,” Derek admitted, clearly taken aback.

“Yeah. And she… she ditched me in the morning. In her own apartment. Never heard from her again until she showed up here.”

“Shit, man, really?”

“Mhm. I was so mad at her. She was acting like nothing happened, like she didn’t know me. So when we got that assignment in the club, I saw my opportunity, and I took it.”

Derek’s expression grew serious. “What did you do, Reid?”

“I… I used her,” Spencer confessed, his voice small.

Derek’s eyes widened in shock as he processed what Spencer had just revealed. “What? How?” Derek asked, his voice laced with disbelief, as if he couldn’t quite comprehend that Spencer, of all people, had done something so out of character.

Spencer swallowed hard, the weight of his actions pressing down on him. “That night… after the club… I went to her hotel room, and we… slept together. Again,” he admitted, his voice faltering slightly. “But this time… I left her.”

Derek stared at Spencer, the silence heavy between them. When he finally spoke, his tone was filled with disappointment. “That’s cold, man,” Derek said, shaking his head slowly, the disapproval clear in his voice. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing—this wasn’t the Spencer Reid he knew.

“I know,” Spencer replied quietly, his guilt evident. He looked down, unable to meet Derek’s gaze, the shame of his actions gnawing at him. He had crossed a line, and he knew it.

“There’s more, isn’t there?” Derek pressed.

Spencer nodded, his shame overwhelming. “When we got back here, everyone was gone—at least, I thought they were—except Y/N. And I—I went up to her and said some nasty things. Letting her know I did it on purpose.”

“Reid… who are you?” Derek asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

“I don’t know!” Spencer admitted, tears welling up in his eyes. “I’ve never felt like this before, and I feel so terrible. I don’t know how to fix it.”

Derek stared at Spencer, disbelief etched across his features. "Can you fix it? That’s fucked up, man."

Spencer’s shoulders slumped, the weight of his actions pressing down on him. “Yeah, I’m not sure,” he whispered, his voice thick with regret and self-loathing. He couldn’t meet Derek’s gaze, the shame too overwhelming.

Derek sighed, his mind working to piece together the situation. “You said someone else was there?” he asked, his tone cautious as he tried to understand the full scope of what had happened.

“Penelope,” Spencer confirmed, the word coming out almost as a sigh.

Derek’s eyes widened slightly. “And she didn’t tell me? I’m gonna have to spank her,” he muttered, shaking his head, though his voice lacked its usual playfulness.

“She told me to fix things,” Spencer continued, his voice trembling slightly. “I guess Y/N was a mess.”

“I bet she was,” Derek said, his tone softening with a mixture of sympathy for you and disappointment in Spencer.

“But I don’t know how,” Spencer admitted, his frustration evident. He was desperate to make things right, but he was lost, unsure of where to even begin.

Derek’s expression grew stern, his disappointment clear. “Honestly, Reid, you’re on your own with this one. I’d love to help, but… I’m really disappointed in you.” His words were blunt, but they needed to be. Spencer had crossed a line, and Derek wasn’t going to sugarcoat that.

Spencer nodded, tears finally spilling over as he realized just how badly he had screwed things up.

Derek’s expression softened slightly. “I still love you, and I want you to make it better, but I wouldn’t blame her for not forgiving you.”

“I know,” Spencer whispered, his voice barely audible as he grappled with the weight of his actions.

—

After Penelope’s visit, you really tried to pull yourself together. Knowing that you had a friend who was willing to show up, help, and listen just because they cared was enough to get you off the couch. It was a reminder that you weren’t as alone as you felt, that there were people who genuinely cared about your well-being. That realization gave you the strength to take the first steps toward healing.

You began by slowly cleaning your apartment, reclaiming your space from the chaos that had taken over. The simple act of tidying up felt like a small victory, a sign that you were starting to regain control. You indulged in some much-needed self-care—long baths, good food, and moments of quiet reflection. It was during these moments of solitude that you finally allowed yourself to confront the emotions you had been avoiding.

In the end, you came to a few important realizations. Yes, you did like Spencer more than you had anticipated, more than you had wanted to admit to yourself. But he had hurt you, and that pain couldn’t be ignored. You wondered if you could ever trust him again, and whether you were willing to take that risk. After much contemplation, you decided that it was time to be the bigger person. You needed to apologize to Spencer, to acknowledge your part in the situation, and to put it all behind you so that you could move forward—both professionally and personally.

However, the thought of facing Spencer in person was daunting. It felt like too much, too fast. You had already done more personal growth in the past few days than you had in years, and you weren’t quite ready for that kind of confrontation. So, you chose the next best route: writing a letter. It was a way to express yourself honestly without the pressure of a face-to-face conversation.

You took a deep breath and began to write.

Spencer—

Clearly, we have let things get too far, and we are both to blame for that. I’m sorry that I initially approached you and started things up between us. And I am sorry for leaving you that morning; I was so used to avoiding intimacy that when I felt a spark with you, I ran instead of confronting it. That was my mistake, and you did not deserve that.

I was unaware that you had felt something as well. Had I known, I would have talked to you sooner instead of facing you with pure professionalism.

As for our last case, let’s just forget about it and put it behind us. I want to be able to work together in the future and not hold any grudges if that is okay with you.

I hope you can forgive me. I’m sorry, Spencer.

Y/N

You read the letter over a few times, making sure it said everything you needed it to. It wasn’t perfect, but it was honest, and that was what mattered. You hoped that by reaching out, you could begin to mend the rift between you and Spencer, even if it was just enough to work together without the weight of the past hanging over you.

With the letter finished, you carefully folded it and placed it in an envelope. As you sealed it, you felt a small sense of relief. Whatever happened next, at least you had taken the first step. The rest was up to Spencer.

—

Returning to work the next week, you felt a renewed sense of purpose. The time off had done you some good, giving you the space to process everything that had happened and to refocus on what mattered. You were ready to dive back into the work that you loved, ready to face whatever challenges came your way—bad guys and all.

But before you could truly settle in, there was one task you needed to take care of. You arrived at the office extra early, the halls still quiet and the lights dim. You moved through the bullpen with a sense of stealth, hoping to avoid any of your early-rising colleagues. The letter to Spencer was safely tucked into your bag, and you were determined to drop it off on his desk without anyone noticing.

You approached his workspace, heart pounding slightly as you pulled the envelope out and set it down. You took a moment to look around, ensuring you were alone, before placing it neatly on top of the stack of papers already waiting for him. The envelope stood out against the manila folders, a small but significant gesture.

You didn’t know how or if you’d hear back from Spencer. Part of you wondered if he’d read it and simply brush it aside, or if he’d respond in some way. But regardless of the outcome, you felt a sense of closure just knowing that you had reached out, that you had done your part to clear the air. Whatever happened next was in his hands.

With the letter delivered, you headed to your own desk, ready to start the day. There was work to be done, cases to solve, and while the tension with Spencer might still linger, you were determined not to let it hold you back. For now, you would focus on what you did best—being a valuable member of the team and making a difference in the world.

—

Spencer walked into work as usual, his routine in full swing as he slung his bag over the back of his chair. But something on his desk caught his eye—a white envelope with his name written on it in a familiar handwriting. He froze, recognition dawning on him. It looked just like the writing on the note you’d left him that morning at your apartment.

His heart pounded as he quickly opened the envelope, unfolding the letter inside. As he read your words, a sinking feeling settled in his stomach. You thought you were to blame? Spencer’s guilt surged, hitting him like a tidal wave. He had been angry and hurt when you left him, but now, realizing how much pain he had caused you in return, he felt even more like an asshole than before. This wouldn’t do at all. Spencer couldn’t stand the thought of you carrying the blame for what had happened between you two.

He knew he had to find you—now. He needed to make things right.

Without wasting another second, Spencer made a beeline for Penelope’s lair. He found her surrounded by her monitors, fingers flying over the keys.

“Garcia,” he began, trying to catch his breath, “do you know what department Y/N is in? I need to talk to her, apologize.”

Penelope turned to him, eyebrows raised skeptically. “Counterterrorism.”

“Thank you!” Spencer replied, already turning on his heel to head toward the elevator.

He punched the button for your floor, his nerves growing with each passing second. The setup was similar to their own, and it didn’t take him long to find the cluster of desks where you were stationed. He spotted someone he recognized—Jordan—and hurried over.

“Jordan, is Y/N here?” Spencer asked, trying not to sound too frantic.

“Uh, hello to you too, Spencer. Yeah, she’s in her office,” Jordan replied with a bemused smile.

“Thanks!” Spencer said quickly, making his way to the office with your name on the door. He paused outside, taking a deep breath to steady himself before knocking.

“Come in,” he heard your voice call from inside.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside, feeling a rush of emotions as you looked up from your desk. Your eyes widened slightly in surprise before your expression quickly shifted to one of neutral professionalism.

“Hello, Doctor Reid. Can I help you?” you asked kindly, though there was a distance in your tone that made Spencer’s heart sink.

“You should have never apologized to me,” Spencer blurted out, unable to hold back.

You blinked, confused. “I’m sorry?”

“No, no, I mean—I should be the one apologizing,” Spencer clarified, his words tumbling out in a rush. “I was the jerk. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Spencer…” you began, but he could see the weariness in your eyes. “It’s over. Let’s let the past be the past.”

“No!” Spencer’s voice was more forceful than he intended, and he took a step closer to your desk. “I don’t want to push it aside. I want to talk about it. I want to fix things between us.”

You seemed taken aback by his intensity. “Why?”

“Because I care about you. I like you,” Spencer admitted, his voice softening as he finally voiced what he had been keeping inside.

“Oh,” was all you managed to say, your own emotions conflicting.

“Yeah,” Spencer let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I was kind of hoping you’d say you liked me too.”

You hesitated, glancing down at the papers on your desk before looking back up at him. “Oh, well, um, can we talk? After work? I’m really busy right now,” you said, your tone apologetic.

Spencer felt a pang of defeat, the familiar sting of rejection threatening to surface again. But he nodded, trying to keep his voice steady. “Yeah, do you want to come to mine?”

“No,” you shook your head gently. “How about we just talk here? Can you come back around 6?”

“Okay,” Spencer agreed, though the sinking feeling in his chest didn’t quite go away as he turned to leave your office.

As he walked back to his own floor, he couldn’t help but worry about what the conversation would bring. But he knew one thing for certain—he wasn’t going to let this chance to fix things between you slip through his fingers. Not again.

—

When Spencer returned to the bullpen, he immediately noticed Derek standing in the doorway to Penelope’s office. The two of them seemed deep in conversation, their body language tense. Spencer’s gut told him they were talking about him—he could feel it. The atmosphere had shifted, and when Derek glanced over his shoulder and caught sight of Spencer, his suspicions were confirmed.

Spencer knew he couldn’t avoid this, so he gathered what little pride he had left and walked over to them, trying to appear more composed than he felt.

“Baby girl here tells me you went to see Y/N?” Derek asked the moment Spencer stepped inside the office, his tone a mix of curiosity and concern.

“Yeah, I tried to apologize,” Spencer admitted, his voice lacking its usual confidence.

“Tried?” Penelope’s voice was softer than it had been earlier, her concern for both of you evident.

Spencer sighed, running a hand through his hair. “She left me a note this morning. It was on my desk when I got here. She took responsibility for everything that happened, asked if we could forgive and forget. I felt so awful because I’m the one who made a mess of everything. So I went to go tell her that, but she asked me to come back after work because she’s busy.”

Penelope exchanged a glance with Derek, her expression softening further. “And how did that make you feel?” she asked gently.

“Defeated, I guess,” Spencer replied, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I wanted to fix things right away, but it feels like I just keep making things worse.”

Derek crossed his arms, his gaze steady on Spencer. “You’ve got to understand, man, she’s probably just as conflicted as you are. Maybe even more. This isn’t going to be a quick fix.”

Penelope nodded in agreement. “She’s trying to process everything too, Spencer. Give her the time she needs, and don’t push too hard. But don’t give up either. If you really want to make things right, show her that you’re willing to do the work.”

Spencer nodded slowly, taking in their advice. He knew they were right, but the waiting, the uncertainty—it was eating at him. Still, he couldn’t force this. He had to be patient, had to respect your boundaries. He just hoped that when the time came, you��d be willing to let him in again.

—

The clock felt like it was crawling at a snail's pace to Spencer. He watched as the seconds ticked by for what felt like hours—though it was really just minutes, probably. To you, though, time was slipping away faster than it ever had before. You were dreading this conversation. You had hoped the two of you could put this all behind you, maybe be friends one day, and then, maybe—just maybe—something more. But you knew that if you talked to him right now, one look into those big, beautiful brown eyes and you’d melt faster than Derek when Penelope called his name.

But alas, you had already agreed to talk, and those puppy eyes had already got you. Honestly, you were just proud of yourself for having the resolve to ask him to come back later instead of jumping over the desk and into his arms the second he said he liked you.

Your thoughts were still spiraling when that much-anticipated knock on your office door came. You cleared your throat, trying to steady yourself, before calling out, “Come in.”

—

Flashback…

“Come in,” you called out, your voice light and unassuming as a knock sounded on your office door.

“Hey,” Jackson’s head appeared in the doorway, his expression hesitant.

“Oh, hey babe,” you perked up at the sight of him, but something about his demeanor immediately put you on edge.

“Can we talk?” he asked, stepping inside with an uneasy shift in his posture.

“Uh, yeah,” you replied, your smile fading as you sensed that something was off. “What’s up?”

“Uh, so there’s not a great way to tell you this…” he started, his voice trailing off, filled with uncertainty.

Your stomach twisted with sudden anxiety. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. For now,” he answered, but there was no comfort in his tone.

“Jackson, spit it out,” you demanded, losing patience as the tension built.

“I got someone pregnant.”

Your entire world stopped. The air around you seemed to thicken, your ears buzzing like they were filled with water, your lungs constricting as if you were drowning on dry land. The words didn’t make sense, not at first. Not until they slammed into you with full force.

“Who?” you managed to choke out, though a part of you already feared the answer.

“Jessica.”

“My best friend, Jessica?” The disbelief in your voice was palpable, a desperate hope clinging to the idea that this might be some horrible joke.

“That one, yup,” he confirmed, his voice lacking any hint of remorse.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Please tell me this is a joke and you’re going to propose instead,” you pleaded, your voice rising as anger and heartbreak collided.

“What? No, Y/N, I’m being serious.”

“Then why did I find a fucking engagement ring in your sock drawer?” you demanded, your anger boiling over as your heart cracked in two.

“Why were you in my sock drawer?” he deflected, his tone defensive.

“I was doing laundry! Answer me, Jackson!”

“I’m going to ask Jessica to marry me,” he said, his words hitting you like a sledgehammer.

Your mind raced, trying to make sense of the betrayal. “Is it because she’s pregnant… or do you love her?” you asked, your voice trembling. You weren’t sure you wanted to know, but you needed the truth.

“I—I love her,” he admitted, his voice weak.

“How long?” you asked, your voice eerily calm as the tears began to stream down your face. The numbness was already setting in, the shock taking over, leaving your gaze blank and distant. Jackson had never seen you like this in all the years you’d been together, not even when he first found you on that bench.

“What?” he stammered, thrown by your sudden composure.

“How long have you been sleeping with her?” you repeated, the question sharp and cold.

“A few months,” he confessed, his voice barely audible.

“Get out,” you ordered, your voice devoid of emotion.

“Y/N—”

“Get the fuck out, Jackson!” you shouted, the rage finally breaking through the numbness.

Jackson hesitated, guilt flashing in his eyes. “Um, before I go—and I will—you need to move out.”

The final blow. The nail in the coffin. You couldn’t believe the audacity, the cruelty. “I hope you both live a very unhappy and unfulfilling life,” you spat, your voice dripping with venom.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he offered weakly, but the apology was hollow, meaningless.

You turned away from him, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing any more of your pain. Jackson left without another word, leaving you alone with the shattered remnants of what you thought was your future.

—

Present

Spencer walked in, closing the door softly behind him before turning to face you. “Hi,” he breathed out, his voice carrying a mix of nervousness and resolve.

“Hi, Spencer,” you replied, your tone equally cautious but warm.

“How was your day?” he asked, clearly trying to ease into the conversation that both of you knew was coming.

“Agonizing, thanks. And yours?” you responded, a hint of humor lacing your words despite the tension.

“Just about the same,” he admitted with a small, rueful smile. “I’m sorry about that too. Should we just lay it all out? No more tiptoeing around?”

“Probably,” you agreed, feeling the weight of the conversation ahead settle in your chest.

“Okay,” Spencer said, taking a deep breath as he prepared to speak. “I can go first if it’s easier.” You nodded, gesturing for him to continue.

“Um, I don’t date much. Or sleep around, ever, really. So spending that night with you was important to me. Especially because it was with you,” he said earnestly, his eyes meeting yours with sincerity. “I really enjoyed the time we spent together—the convention, the bar, your place, all of it. I was so, so hurt when you were gone the next morning. It took me weeks to make peace with the fact that you’d left without a word. And then you showed up to my work, the new girl, and acted like nothing ever happened. While I understand now why you did that, it still stung—a lot.”

Spencer paused, taking a breath as if to steady himself. You opened your mouth to respond, but he shook his head, signaling that he wasn’t finished yet.

“But even when you were pushing our time together aside, you were so kind and helpful, so good at your job… it sucked,” he laughed lightly, though there was an edge of bitterness to it. “Because I wanted to hate you so badly, but I don’t know how anyone ever could hate you.” Your eyes welled up with tears at his words—he had no idea how much that simple sentence meant to you.

“Then you noticed little things about me,” Spencer continued, his voice softer now. “You drove when we were paired, you never grabbed my hands, you didn’t force me to talk to you… you were so considerate. When we had that assignment to play a couple at the club, I was so upset because that’s all I wanted—I wanted you to be my girlfriend, I wanted it to be real. But it wasn’t,” he smiled sadly, his eyes reflecting the regret he felt. “And afterwards, when I was feeling sorry for myself, I decided it was your fault we weren’t together, and that I wanted to hurt you back.”

Spencer looked down, fidgeting with his hands as he searched for the right words. You waited, sensing that this was the hardest part for him to admit.

“That was the meanest, cruelest, most immature thing I have ever done. And I am so, so sorry,” he said, his voice trembling with genuine remorse. “I understand if you don’t forgive me, but I just need you to know how amazing you are, and how none of my actions are at all a reflection of you or how I feel about you.”

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. You could see how much it had taken for him to come here and lay it all out, to admit his wrongs and ask for forgiveness. And as much as the hurt still lingered, you could see that he was sincere, that he truly regretted what he had done.

—

Flashback…

“Y/N! Y/N, please! Just hear me out!” Jackson’s voice was desperate as he called after you, his footsteps quickening as he tried to catch up.

You stopped in your tracks, spinning around to face him, your glare so hot it could have burned him alive. “Jackson! Enough!” you seethed, the fury in your voice cutting through the air like a knife.

“Please… I need to explain,” he pleaded, his eyes wide with panic.

“Explain what?” you snapped. “You cheated with my best friend, got her pregnant, and dumped me. What more is there?”

His face crumpled as he tried to find the right words. “I still love you,” he blurted out, his voice trembling with emotion.

“Go fuck yourself. Or Jessica. I really don’t care,” you retorted, your voice dripping with disdain.

“No, baby, please—”

“Do not call me that,” you cut him off, your tone icy.

“Okay,” he muttered, stepping back with his hands up in surrender. “Just, please?”

You crossed your arms, staring him down. “Fine. Two minutes.”

Jackson blinked, caught off guard by the time limit. “How am I supposed to tell you everything in two minutes?” he asked, panic rising in his voice.

“Time’s ticking, troglodyte,” you shot back, your patience wearing thin.

“What’s that? Wait, no, don’t answer that,” he stammered, realizing he was wasting precious seconds. “Okay, well, I just… I’m so insecure, and I was worried you didn’t like me anymore, and Jessica made me feel good about myself—”

“Bullshit,” you interrupted, your eyes narrowing.

“No, no, it’s true,” he insisted, his voice wavering.

“You’re saying it’s my fault you cheated?” you asked, your voice deadly calm.

“No! You were so busy, and I needed attention,” he said, his words tumbling out in a rush.

“So it’s my fault,” you repeated, your anger simmering beneath the surface.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said quickly, his voice rising in desperation. “Please, stop interrupting me. We got into this routine that made every day feel so mundane. We never did anything exciting anymore, and Jessica was new and thrilling, and—”

“Time’s up,” you interrupted, your voice cold and final. “Bye.”

“Y/N—” he started, reaching out as if to stop you, but you were already walking away, your footsteps resolute as you disappeared down the crowded sidewalk.

Jackson stood there, his hand falling limply to his side as he watched you vanish into the throng of people. He knew, in that moment, that he had lost you for good.

—

Present

“You wanted me to be your girlfriend?” you asked, your voice small and uncertain.

Spencer looked up, startled by the calmness in your tone. There was no anger, no bitterness—just a quiet curiosity. “Yeah, I really did,” he admitted, his heart racing.

“You don’t anymore?” you asked, your eyes searching his face for an answer.

“Huh?” Spencer blinked, caught off guard by the question.

“You said ‘wanted’ and ‘did,’” you explained, your voice wavering slightly. “I’m just wondering if the feelings stopped.”

Realization dawned on him, and he quickly shook his head. “No, they didn’t.” Spencer’s heart pounded in his chest as he took a bold leap, hoping it was worth the risk.

You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts as Spencer watched you, his nerves on edge. “Listen, Spencer…” you began, and his heart sank as he braced himself for the rejection he feared was coming. He dropped his gaze, the weight of your words pressing down on him. “I have a lot of baggage. I’m basically damaged goods,” you laughed sadly, the sound tinged with self-doubt. “I haven’t been someone’s girlfriend in a long time. I don’t know that I would be any good at it.”

Spencer nodded, feeling the final sting of rejection sink in. He understood, or at least he thought he did. But then your words started to process, and something didn’t add up. “Wait,” he said, his head snapping up as he noticed the small smile playing on your lips. “What are you saying?”

You met his gaze, the warmth in your eyes catching him off guard. “I’m saying, if you’re willing to be patient with me, I’d love to be your girlfriend.”

Spencer’s breath caught in his throat, disbelief and joy swirling together as he processed what you were saying. A smile slowly spread across his face, the weight he’d been carrying for weeks suddenly lifting. “Are you serious?” he asked, his voice filled with hope.

You nodded, your smile widening. “Yeah, I’m serious.”

In that moment, Spencer felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time—pure, unfiltered happiness. He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as it found yours. “I’ll be patient,” he promised, his voice soft but firm. “I’ll be whatever you need.”

You squeezed his hand, a sense of relief washing over you as the tension between you finally began to melt away. For the first time in a long while, you felt like maybe, just maybe, this could work.

“What if all my baggage is too heavy?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly with lingering doubts.

Spencer’s expression softened as he looked at you, his eyes filled with understanding. “Y/N, I’ve been kidnapped, drugged, addicted to said drugs, and tortured. I don’t think anything you say will scare me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh through the mild tears that had formed over the course of the conversation. His words, though dark, were comforting in their own way. “Thank you, Spencer.”

“Are you sure you can handle me?” he teased, a playful glint in his eyes.

“Not at all,” you shook your head, your laughter mixing with his. “But I’d rather be with you than without.”

Spencer’s heart swelled at your words, and without thinking, he leaned over your desk and kissed you. This kiss was different from all the ones you’d shared before—it wasn’t driven by lust or desperation, but by care, passion, and something that felt a lot like love.

When he finally pulled back, he couldn’t help but smile at the dazed look on your face, your lips still parted slightly in surprise. “One more thing,” he added, his voice light but a little sheepish.

“Mhm,” you managed, still a bit breathless as you looked up at him.

“Penelope and Derek know everything… sorry. They’re pissed at me.” Spencer laughed a bit at himself.

You blinked, then smiled. “Penelope already knew, babe,” you reassured him. “I’ll make sure they know everything’s good.”

Spencer let out a relieved sigh, grateful for your understanding. “Thank you,” he said softly, his hand gently brushing your cheek.

You leaned into his touch, the weight of your worries finally beginning to lift. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew you wouldn’t have to face them alone—not anymore.

—

Three years later

“Y/N?” The sound of your name caused you to spin around from where you were examining flowers with Spencer.

“Jackson?” The shock in your voice was unmistakable as you registered the familiar face.

“Oh my god, wow!” Jackson exclaimed, stepping closer with a broad smile. “It’s so good to see you! How have you been?” He moved in for a hug, but you kept your hands on the flowers, avoiding the embrace.

He quickly took the hint, stepping back awkwardly. “Uh, good. You?” you asked, your tone polite but distant.

“I’m great, yeah! Still working on base. What are you up to?” Jackson’s voice held a note of forced cheerfulness, as if trying to bridge the years that had passed.

“FBI,” you replied simply.

“Wow! That’s amazing! What do you do—” Jackson began, but his question was abruptly cut off as Spencer approached, holding a different set of flowers and unaware of who Jackson was.

“Darling, what do you think of these?” Spencer asked, holding up the bouquet for you to see, his tone casual and affectionate.

“Those are beautiful, baby,” you replied with a warm smile, feeling a sense of calm wash over you as you turned your attention back to Spencer.

Jackson cleared his throat, drawing your focus back to him. “Who’s this?” he asked, clearly caught off guard by the presence of another man.

“Oh!” You had honestly forgotten he was still there. “This is my fiancé,” you said, a note of pride in your voice as you gestured to Spencer.

“Doctor Spencer Reid,” Spencer introduced himself, nodding politely but with a friendly demeanor.

“Oh, hi. Uh, Jackson,” he replied, awkwardly extending his hand, which Spencer smiled at and lifted his in a wave as a response.

There was a tense silence, filled only by the ambient noise of the flower shop. Jackson looked like he had more to say, but the words seemed to elude him. Meanwhile, you felt nothing but gratitude for the life you had built with Spencer—one filled with love, trust, and a future that Jackson no longer had any part of.

“Are you guys, uh, looking at flowers for your wedding?” Jackson asked, his voice a little hesitant as he glanced between you and Spencer.

“Yeah, we wanted to pick everything together,” you replied, smiling up at your very handsome fiancé. The warmth in your voice was undeniable, and it wasn’t lost on Jackson.

“And you?” Spencer asked politely, still unsure of who this man was but trying to be courteous.

“Oh, uh, these are ‘I’m sorry’ flowers for my girlfriend,” Jackson laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

“Jessica?” you asked before you could stop yourself. At the mention of her name, Spencer’s expression shifted, finally catching on to who Jackson was.

“No, hah, we broke up a long time ago,” Jackson admitted, the awkwardness between the three of you growing palpable.

“Ah, well, I hope your child is doing well,” you said, your tone polite but distant. You nodded to Jackson before turning back to Spencer, gently tugging him by your laced fingers as you both walked away, trying to stifle the giggles that threatened to escape.

Once you were out of earshot, Spencer leaned in, a mischievous grin on his face. “Was that your ex?”

“Mhm,” you confirmed, grinning back at him.

“What a charmer,” he teased, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

You laughed, the tension from the unexpected encounter melting away. “You know, I’m really glad it’s you I’m marrying.”

“Me too,” Spencer replied, squeezing your hand affectionately as you both walked out of the shop, leaving the past firmly behind you.

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

tag list <333 @dirtytissuebox @yokaimoon @khxna @noelliece @dreamsarebig @sleepey-looney @cocobean16 @i-live-in-spite @placidus @criminalmindssworld @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @charismatic-writer @fxoxo @hearts4spensco @furrybouquettrash @kathrynlakestone @chaneladdicted @time-himself @mentallyunwellsposts @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @gilwm @reggieswriter @loumouse @spencerreidsreads

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readychilledwine · 9 months ago

Note

span it into March, Liz. Make us cry instead

You asked for it.

Pieces of You Pt 1

Summary - After losing Feyre to childbirth, Rhysand finds himself leaning on one of her friends much more than he'd ever expected

Warnings - depression, self destructive behavior, babies, grieving, loss of motivation in life, Rhys feels his spark is gone, we haven't seen into readers headspace yet

Prologue

Rhys had not left his bed in 7 days. He had not changed. He had not bathed. Dark circles were beginning to form under his eyes as a permanent reminder of the lack of sleep he allowed himself.

It took one week. One week for him to feel the light Feyre lit in his soul to go out. One week for him to feel the last of his spark die. One week of tugging nothing but an aching empty void. Rhys saw no joy in life anymore, just burden and heartache.

Cassian entered the room, sitting on the edge of the bed. It had been like this the whole time. Each day, a different member of the Inner Circle would come to his newly claimed room. They'd try to tell him about his son, try to force him to eat, to drink something other than another bottle of whiskey or wine. They all would leave when they realized he wouldn't budge, and that's how Rhys wanted it to be right now. He wanted to be alone. To drown himself in self hatred, in guilt, in anger, in the depths of sadness he had never felt before. “She's asking when you're going to come see him. She's concerned you aren't bonding with him and-”

“Tell her I just lost my fucking mate and I will see him when I'm ready to.” Rhys growled out every letter, glaring at Cassian. “She's fully fucking capable of caring for both of them.”

Cassian's shoulders fell. “Rhys, she just lost her mate, too, remember? The so-called accident in the port? The one we are fairly sure Beron and Koschei planned? He was one of the males killed.”

A moment of sympathy crossed through Rhysand's face before his own grieve ate through the emotion completely. “She was one of Feyre's friends, Rhys. Trust me. She's mourning as hard as we all are as well as mourning her mate, and trying to process it all while caring for two newborns in her home unexpectedly.”

Rhys rolled away from him, indicated he was done, and Cassian sighed, looking down towards his feet. “She's keeping Nyx alive, selflessly, Rhys. Our last physical piece of Feyre. At least consider going and seeing him.”

Members of the Inner Circle had all but moved into your cottage.

You had gone from just you and Wen to you, Wen, Nyx, and which ever member or members arrived to take care of you that day.

Today, Lady Death stood at your door with Cassian. They were holding baby supplies, food for lunch, and clothes for both of the babies. Nesta was a shell, moving into the home in silence and setting things down as if time was moving at a slower pace for her.

Cassian tucked your messy hair behind your ear. “I asked him to come see Nyx.”

Your eyes lit up, hope for the little heir shining in them. “And?” Cassian just shook his head, eyes beginning to water as he did.

“Is he asleep?” You nodded at the question. “And Little Mor?” You nodded again.

“I fed them both about 20 minutes ago.”

“Go do something for you,” Nesta's voice was lifeless. “We will make lunch. Azriel will be here soon.”

Azriel had become a constant companion. As soon as he realized Rhys had no interest in seeing Nyx, he had been here, standing in where a father should be. Doing whatever you needed, whatever the babies needed. Even though he was there for Nyx, he still treated “Little Mor," as the Inner Circle had all named your daughter, like he was here for her too.

You moved into your bathroom, looking at the now lukewarm bath you had drawn for yourself. It would be fine. You'd be quick. Then you would be ready to go be super mom and nanny again.

Azriel froze when he saw Rhys dressed in casual clothing, waiting for him at the door. He had lunch for the High Lord, hoping he'd be able to make him eat before leaving to be with you and his favorite babies. A shadow curled his ear, whispering how Rhys wanted to go see his son. How he needed to meet you officially. How he was struggling to set aside his own needs. How he was a scared lamb where a lion once stood, ready to run the second things became too difficult.

Azriel held a hand out, reaching for Rhys like the brothers had reached for each other so many times before. He waited, smiling softly at Rhys as a shaking hand placed itself in his and he walked them through the shadows before Rhys could change his mind.

Struggling flowers in pots sat outside of the cottage, wilting slightly from the lack of time and care put into them. A blue door sat on silver hinges, greeting them brightly. Mocking Rhysand's sadness with its cheerful presence.

You were an artist, Rhys knew that much. Where Feyre loved to paint, you used charcoal to express yourself. He also knew the two of you were fast friends, constantly having lunch together, shopping together, giggling.

You had been all Feyre spoke of when she met you 4 months ago. Her first true friend with no ties to a lover, to the inner circle, to obligations. You chose her, and she relished in every moment of your love, and from what Rhys understood, you relished in hers.

Rhys had a piece of your artwork. You had sketched out Feyre, mind and hands deep in paint, glowing towards the tail end of her pregnancy as she worked on painting Nesta rising from the Lake as Lady Death.

You had an impeccable eye for details and for making emotions readable through lines. You were a true gem to the Rainbow. A valued member of Velaris. He knew your name long before Feyre had mentioned you, but now, you were irreplaceable.

To him, to Nyx, to the Inner Circle.

They owed you. Rhys owned you. The very least he could do was drag himself out of a bed, throw on clothing, and come see his son. Rhys shook as his hand reached to knock, before scarred ones gently lowered His and twisted the knob.

“We don't knock. We just enter. No loud noises, okay?" Azriel opened the door, nodding to where Nesta sat with her hands on her hand, and Cassian was making lunch. “They must be sleeping?”

Cass nodded not turning his back to face them yet. “Little Mor and Nyx just fell asleep 25 minutes go. Y/n is Bathing in cold water because Mother forbid that female takes a moment for herself-”

As if on cue, as if sensing Rhysand's presence, a piercing cry broke through the house, and they heard a door open and then another. Azriel pulled Rhys with him to the nursery where Nyx and Morwenna slept during the day. "That cry was Nyx," Azriel said softly. "He struggles during naptime. Little Mor has a more rattle cry."

Long hair dripped water onto the wooden floorboards as a small winged figure rested his head on a bare shoulder. “I know, sweetheart,” you bounced him so softly, soothing him back to sleep. “I know you're lonely. It's okay. We can cuddle, I don't mind.” A deep huff left his mouth as he settled in, basking in the contact you were offering him.

Rhys moved like a ghost to the second bassinet where a sweet girl slept, happy and content for what he hoped was a few more moments.

The two of them could have been twins. Same dark hair, similar noses, similar lips set in a forever baby pout.

Aside from gender, there were only two glaring details sitting on Nyx's back that were the tell-tale sign of their different parents. Two glaring details that killed his mate, his wife. “And your son's mother,” a soft feminine voice whispered. “She was his mother, too, High Lord. He is missing her just as much as you are.”

Azriel looked to Rhys, calling for him in his mind. Daemati. Check your shields.

"His shields are fine. He's just screaming his thoughts like they're going to manifest into life if he does."

A deep voice finally answered, void of all emotion. “I don't think he misses her half as much as I do, my lady,” Rhys continued to look at Morwenna. A picture-perfect babe who caused you no harm.

“Little Mor,” Azriel said as he stroked her tuff of dark hair. "This is Morwenna, but we call her Little Mor.” Azriel then moved to Nyx, a ghost of a smile as his lips quickly trembled before he masked it. “You should hold him, Rhys. He might remember your voice.”

“It would be good for both of you,” you whispered. “He needs you. Look into his little mind and then Wen’s,” a pointed look to Azriel allowed Rhys to finally see you.

Tired eyes, features pale from exhaustion, a small smile that didn't reach your eyes. Your beautiful eyes. You were stunning, even by high fae standards, Rhys knew that, but he could hardly appreciate it the way he once had. There was no more beauty in his world. No more light. Feyre had taken it all with her.

“High Lord, please, holding him. Even just for a second.” You moved to Rhys, standing before him, offering so much more than just his son. “He needs you, and you need him. Just open your eyes and see that.”

Rhys held out shaking hands, taking his son in his arms for the first time, holding him for the first time. Bright blue eyes looked up at him, laced with sleep and confusion, before snuggling so closely into his chest that Rhysand felt something stir again. You moved him to the chair, forcing him to sit and handing him tissues as the tears began to fall.

He looked up to where you had grabbed your daughter before she could start crying, soothing her as well. He listened to the soft whispers of your voice, he watched you care for her no differently than you had Nyx, treating them like they were both your own.

It explained the little heir's health, the rolls beginning to form on his little body, the rosy cheeks. You loved him like he was yours, and he loved you.

Rhys looked back down, and as he stared at Nyx, watching each little movement of his chest, feeling his warmth, his happy thoughts and dreams of his and Feyre's voices, of you singing to him and rocking him to sleep. Looking at his son, Rhys realized that maybe, just maybe, there was still some light left in this world. He felt for the first time in a week that maybe, just maybe, there was still something left to live for.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanager @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @daughterofthemoons-stuff @tayswhp

Rhys taglist:

@tothestarsandwhateverend @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson @avajustreads

Pieces of You Taglist:

@dr4g0ngirl @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @blueeclipsepaperstudent @thisblogisaboutabook @mybestfriendmademe @novalovi @rachelnicolee @sleepylunarwolf @sidthedollface2 @acourtofbatboydreams @bunnyredgirl @fandomrejects

If your username is in bold, tumblr is not allowing me to tag you. Hopefully it will fix here soon, though!

#acotar #acotar x reader #rhys acotar #rhys x y/n #rhys x you #rhys x reader #rhys fic #rhysand fic #rhysand x y/n #rhysand x you #rhysand x reader

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fallingforfelix · 1 month ago

Text

❛❛midas touch❞

큐피드의 화살은 눈이 멀 수도 있지만 항상 마음 속에 그 표시를 찾아냅니다.

cupid's arrow may be blind, but it always finds its mark in the heart.

.° ༘🎀⋆🩰₊˚ෆ

synopsis: kinktober day #1 — hair pulling (trichophilia)

pairing: roomate!felix x fem!reader

content: 18+/explicit (MDNI tyvm), viewer discretion advised, so highly suggestive it’s probably considered smut, college au, second person view, older fem reader, mature and unestablished relationships

warnings: noona kink, colour word system used, profanities and suggestive language, teasing, bruising and consensual pain, bdsm power play and loss of control, mentions of orgasms, age gap, coercion, whiny kink, dom reader and sub lix, hair tugging, begging kink if you squint, mentions of oral sex, pain kink i guess, dry humping, begging, pet names (pretty boy, angel, doll, good boy, love, sweetheart), hickeys

word count: 2.3K (2392)

note: i wanted to commit to the ‘kinktober’ trend, but…four days in and not looking very strong😓😓 i also wanted to post something for channie’s bday yesterday but that didn’t happen either :( the smut scene was supposed to be wayyyy longer but i kept on having unsystematic bursts of motivation and really needed to upload some content. i think tmrw i’ll try to write smth, maybe fake texts or a short story where the reader/felix/another member comes to terms with their kink but nothing smutty actually happens. i might even be able to sneak in a fluffy kinks drabble later tonight but that’s probably just a load of big talk. anyways i hope you guys really do enjoy this🫶

inspired by: rosy by @rosylix, slowly to me by @jilixthinker, and pretty please by @naeviskz

song reference: midas touch by kiss of life

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

“lee felix!”

you had entered the dorm, only a few minutes prior to felix’s arrival. and much to your dismay, the sight of an empty cookie jar greeted you, its desolate state an affront to your cravings.

the racket of keys stirred your senses, and the squeak of his high tops along the wooden floor announced his arrival. you called out, your tone laced with disappointment.

the aussie‘s head protruded from

the around the corner. “is something wrong noona?”

your gaze narrowed. “you know exactly what’s wrong, lix. i’ve been craving those cookies all day!”

a sheepish look crept across his face. "oh, uh, about those..." he began, scratching the back of his head.

you sighed heavily. “you owe me.”

“yeah, yeah,” felix drawled as he advanced towards the couch on which you were accommodated.

as he walked over to you, his blonde locks caught your eyes. felix’s hair was styled in two braids that were gently woven from the crown of his head, cascading down either side of his head like two delicate rivers of gold. each braid was tightly woven, with subtle wisps framing his face.

he plopped down beside you, his nonchalance testing your patience. a lecture about the sanctity of shared snacks brewed on your lips, but a mischievous spark intervened. your hand darted out, tugging at one of felix’s braids in protest.

you expected defiance, not a high-pitched whine that fled his lips as he tried extracting his braid from your grasp.

you stared at him, your heart skipped a beat at the unexpected vulnerability, and it took him a moment to cognise what he just did. felix’s face flushed pink, his relatively small hand rose to cover his pink, plump lips, and he breathed in shakily.

for a moment, the dynamics shifted, and perhaps it was a hormonal surge, or some other weird psychological phenomenon, but suddenly you found yourself conquered by a newfound self-assurance.

felix’s eyes met yours, a flicker of euphoria in his gaze, ignoring the unspoken tension that had just become palpable to him too.

“well, well, well,” you smirked, your vision tracing the blush that now dusted felix’s cheeks. “that was quite the intriguing sound you just made, pretty boy. mind if i uh…hear it again?”

felix’s dark eyes clouded with guilt as he hesitated, but you tightened your grip on his braid, the motion eliciting another sharp whine from his lips.

“n-noona. please,” he spoke breathily.

“captivating,” you purred, the fingers on your spare hand tracing the contours of felix’s jawline. “i didn’t realise you could make such…arousing noises, love.”

“you’re enjoying this…aren’t you?” he asked, his voice trembling.

you chuckled, otherwise ignoring his question. “you know, i’ve never thought about this before,” you mused as you continued to hold felix’s braid. “but these braids of yours really suit you.”

felix’s breathing was now noticeably shallower, his chest rising and falling at a rapid pace. he tried to speak, but the words got caught in his throat, replaced by another whimper as you wrenched on his braid, this time even harder than the last.

“please,” he managed to say, his voice a hoarse whisper, “i can’t...i need—“

your smirk widened as you heard the desperation in felix’s voice. you could feel the heat and tension radiating off of him, and it was clearly affecting him just as much as it was affecting you.

“hearing you like this…it does something to me,” you whispered, voice low and husky, cradling his braid.

“please,” he asked again, his voice thick with need. “touch me. i n-need to aah feel you. please.”

your heart was racing now, the sound of felix’s voice and the way he was begging for your touch driving you wild. you wanted nothing more than to give him what he was asking for, but there was a part of you that wanted to tease him just a little more.

“i think i’ve discovered a secret of yours, angel,” you murmured, leaning closer to felix. his ears flushed crimson as he attempted to turn away.

slowly, you reached out to his other braid, toying with it between your fingers before giving it a light pull. felix involuntarily let out a soft whimper, his eyes widening in surprise at the sudden intensity.

your lips curled into a sly smile, relishing the effect you had on him. “it seems like i’ve got a little weak spot, don’t i?”

felix’s voice dripped with smug satisfaction. “oh, you definitely do,” his words laced with a thick, raspy undertone, which, despite your dominant position, left your head reeling.

you released one braid, your fingers drifting up to softly cup felix’s chin, guiding his gaze to meet yours. his eyes were now visibly darker, a mix of shock and arousal, as he struggled to regain composure.

“you have no idea how much it excites me to hear you making these sounds,” you whispered, your thumb tracing the lines of his parted lips. “absolutely intoxicating, lixie.”

“feels like you’re shre—shredding my sanity, noona…” felix gasped.

“oh but look at you doll,” you purred, your eyes roaming all over his flushed face. “all red and flustered, it’s adorable.”

“i am not adorable. i’m supposed to be…to be hot mm. you’re supposed to be c-cumming at my blissedth state,” big talk for someone who was still trying to gather his thoughts, felix’s mind a jumble of sensations. and with each passing second, your words and touches were making him more and more unravelled.

“hot? you’re incandescent, felix, burning me up with every whimper. but let's see who breaks first—your control or my restraint,” you replied.

“i don't know how m-much longerrr i can...ah, fuck,” another drag at felix’s braid, securing a lewd groan from him.

“i could get addicted to these little noises you make,” you continue, your fingers now delicately outlining his jawline. “i’d make you whimper and whine and beg for more.”

“y-you’re already making me. you’re, you’re playing dirty…stop gloating mm,” he spoke, trembling.

“dirty? you have no idea how filthy i can be. and i'm just getting started. unless you want me to stop? or do you want me to push you further?” you grinned like a crescent moon, knowing felix’s resolve was crumbling with each passing moment.

“you’re insane... but i think i’m cra-zier for ngh wanting more,” felix slurred.

your breath hot against his ear, you whispered. “just imagine how you sound when i do…this.”

with a single, swift movement, you tugged harshly on both braids, pulling his back to expose his neck. felix let out a guttural moan, his eyes fluttering shut as the sensations coursed through him.

“oh, god…” felix whined, his body arching, yielding to your touch.

you took your chance. holding your breath, you leaned towards felix’s exposed neck, and you latched your lips onto the upper edge of his collarbone. gently at first, although the sudden contact seemed to have already aroused him judging by the way his body jerked at your touch.

a stifled gasp slipped from between felix’s lips as your tongue darted across his skin, making his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed heavily, fighting the urge to make any more sounds.

“aw don’t get all shy now pretty boy. let noona hear those angelical noises,” you teased, detaching yourself from his skin with a slight drag of teeth.

you licked a strip across the sensitive skin of where you just kissed him. felix did not hesitate this time, eluding a low groan which contrasted from his whines.

you began to suck at a new spot on his neck, closer to where his adam’s apple was, his braids still tightly in your grasp. you could feel the way his pulse was thrumming though his veins under your lips. felix’s hands, which had been laying uselessly at his side, jerked up to grip at your waist as an act of steadying himself.

his grip on your waist was hard, his fingers practically digging into your skin as he struggled to keep himself from trembling. felix’s breathing hitched in his throat as you continued to lavish his sensitive spot with attention, your tongue leaving a wet path in its wake.

your hand progressed upwards, solidifying itself at the base of felix’s hair, holding as tight as ever. he let out sobs in pain and pleasure.

he started to feel light-headed, tipsy, overwhelmed by the feeling of heat rushing through him, spreading lower throughout his body. felix’s usually rational mind was fogged by the sensation of your hand in his hair, and your mouth on his throat.

he was losing control, and he knew that he couldn't take much more of this.

and neither could you.

you could feel the heat pooling in your stomach, your own desire growing stronger by the second. you couldn’t resist him any longer. the way felix was unraveling under your touch, the sight of him desperate and needy, was too much to handle. you wanted him, you needed him just as badly.

you gave felix a particularly hard suck, pulling his skin in through your teeth. the whine that followed ripped at your core and you almost combusted on the spot. that had to have been the highest moan you had heard from him, from anyone at that.

you lift your head up, gazing at the boy below you who was losing all coherent thought.

“colour, pretty boy?” you inquired, your lips throbbing from all the sucking.

“green…d-don’t stop. don’t ahh- fucking stop, noona-yah,” he panted, words illiterate.

your spare hand came up to rest upon felix’s right shoulder, rubbing smooth, consoling circles around the area.

you swooped your head again, your warm breath dancing across the skin of his neck for mere seconds before you latched yourself onto his neck, now directly on top of his adams’s apple.

“ooh…ooh f-fuck noona! ye-yes! mm, harder…” the noises he was making were blood curdling, toe curling even.

you swear you just cummed. you gushed with slick, your own body quivering now. the temptation to let go of felix and please yourself seemed like a losing battle.

instead, you relaxed your full weight upon felix’s lap, rocking your hips onto his erection, and oh boy, he was rock hard.

he exhaled another huff, followed by a string of curses and other incoherent words. you lost suction of the hickey you were forming, smiling lowly into his skin. as if it wasn’t already obvious that you had him right where you wanted him, and still pushing him over the edge.

you attacked his adam’s apple for the second time, opening your mouth wider to tease a larger area of his skin. his hips subconsciously bucked upwards into you, earning a sigh on your end. your warm breath on the newly-formed hickey sent felix into complete overdrive.

his hands slipped past the upper edge of your sweatpants, expertly finding the waistband of your panties, pulling the lace into view and rising it up level to your hip line. you winced in pain as felix began fingering your lingerie, occasionally bumping the side of your hip, where he had left bruises from his tight grip earlier on.

the hand that was on felix’s shoulder jerked up to his braids once more. you ran your fingers through the plaits, unravelling them like you unravelled their owner, leaving waves in his milky blonde tousles.

you kissed the spot where you were marking your possession, moving your placement to the underside of his defined jaw, teeth gnashing at his freckled skin. his laboured breathing echoed through the room, a symphony of surrender.

“s’good…oh you’re so g-good noona. what have i…been m-missing out onn?” felix spluttered.

you just yanked his hair in response, his braids now completely unthreaded. every word and every sound he expressed ignited your nerves, set your heart alight. your oxygen was depleting steadily, but you weren’t going to stop and take a breathe. you were going to suck felix’s skin to the death and die a happy woman.

but as that thought was revolving around your brain like an eagle circling it’s prey, felix came to an abrupt halt, releasing your lingerie and letting it hit your skin like rubber ricochetting. he mustered the strength to grip your shoulders, before gently prising you off him. a look of concern came over you, worry concealing the lust in your eyes.

“felix, sweetheart, i’m so sorry…are you hurt? what did i do?“ you voiced, exasperated.

“noo i’m all good…y-you’re all good, noona-yah. oh you’re fucking, fucking phenommmenal, god. i just…i need a favour,” felix tripped over his words.

“of course. anything, felix, you’ve been such a good boy. just tell me what you need. let me take care of you,” you replied.

your expression was filled with concern, worry, and just a hint of lust as your eyes travelled over his body, taking in his red face, messy hair, and heaving chest.

felix’s heart slammed into his rib cage, as his eyes locked with yours. he took a deep breath, feeling the air catch in his throat as he tried to speak.

“n-noona,” he murmured, his cheeks flushed an even darker shade of red. “i need you to…can you let me…?”

your heart skipped as you heard the hitch in his voice, they way it trembled with need and desire. you knew what he wanted, you had made him fall apart under your touch just a moment ago, but you had to hear him say it.

you leaned closer, moving your body against his, letting your breath brush against his ear as you encouraged him.

“tell me, pretty. tell me what you need.”

a full body shiver ran through felix as your breath ghosted over his skin, sending a wave of heat straight to his core. he closed his eyes, drowning in the sensation of your body so close to his, the weight of your words in his ears.

he swallowed hard, his voice quiet and husky again as he finally spoke.

“…can you hold my hair back…whilst i ea-eat you out? please?”

oh. well, you thought that he was going to ask you to suck hickeys onto him further down, on his chest maybe. or he might’ve asked for you to kiss him.

but when your pretty roommate offers to give you head, are you really one to decline it?

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

part 2??

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lucystark12 · 3 months ago

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milevens are insane

warning now - i get extremely heated in this so if you're going to tell me to calm down leave. before any of you weird bitches tell me to go do something more productive or to touch grass- no. i'm fifteen, it's summer, and i'm a highly involved high school student. i'm not here because i have nothing better to do, i'm here because i understand good writing and am able to have hobbies ❤️

anyways

was on the mileven endgame hashtag just now and because i don't choose violence i wont be addressing any of them directly, but i will be addressing some of the ridiculous bullshit on there. term bullshit used intentionally

the love confession came as a result of mike "gaining the confidence" to tell el how much he loves her because he was afraid that he loved her more than she loved him.

are you listening to the words that are coming out of your mouth right now? i want to sit down and get a coffee with you and dissect what the fuck you meant by that. sure, right, yeah, he gained so much PRODUCTIVE confidence from his conversation he had with will where will was using eleven to mask his own feelings for mike. it makes so much sense narratively that this end all be all mileven event is sparked from will's feelings and not mikes! sure! right! this is such an idiotic piece of reasoning. you are literally saying that you are okay with your endgame ship only being endgame based on faulty communication and lies. are you joking? "you just gotta improve your motivation" ass piece of evidence

also, mike being insecure about loving her more than she loves him is complete, total, utter bullshit. el frequently expresses her love to mike via letters and youre here to say that mike would have any problem with doing the same thing if he were insecure about her love for him? that literally makes no sense. i wouldn't be afraid of loving somebody more than they love me if they are actively putting more effort into insuring me that they love me than i am to them. like, what does that even mean?

“Will Byers is a pathetic loser annoying character and contributed little to the plot of ST. "

yes that is a direct quote. no i'm not kidding.

what kind of fucking neanderthal watches stranger fucking things- a show about a kid who disappears- and thinks the kid who disappears isn't a central part of the narrative? the first episode of the goddamn show is called "the vanishing of will byers"! maybe this is hard for you and your confused brain to get your head around, but el and mike met when mike was out looking FOR WILL. mike and el are still together because mike gained courage from WILL'S LOVE FOR HIM. what a fucking idiot you must be. i would try to explain to you the myriad of other reasons why will is absolutely central to the plot of the show, but since the show itself has clearly gone in one ear and out the other, i probably wont be able to get through to you either.

“what if we learned to cope with world that doesn’t accept us as individuals by embracing each other completely?” said about mileven

um.. what. that's literally byler. closeted gay guys in the 80s. but sure, the ones that aren't being accepted are the two white and allegedly heterosexual individuals. the "world that doesn't accept us" in question is a few high school bullies in comparison with the stigmatization, violence, and ostracization that has longstanding been a part of what it means to be queer. be so serious right now. mileven is not important for being non conformist, the GAY SHIP IN THE 80S IS!!

“The only people who queerbaited, was byler fans themselves lmao.”

even if we're ignoring the horrible grammar there are still SO many things wrong with everything that was just said. what they're saying above for anybody who can't decipher the weird medieval english code this person is using is that bylers actively queerbaited themselves which inherently makes no sense at all.

below i have included the oxford dictionary definition of queerbaiting: "the incorporation of apparently gay characters or same-sex relationships into a film, television show, etc. as a means of appealing to gay and bisexual audiences while maintaining ambiguity about the characters' sexuality."

how is it possible that byler shippers themselves are the ones doing the queerbaiting? are we running the show? nope! before you come on and post something as offensive as this- which i will get into- at least make sure you know what you're saying. xoxo

to insinuate for even a second that mike wheeler not being gay would be anything other than deliberate queerbaiting is insane. there is something wrong with you. aside from the parts of the show where his queerness is deliberately alluded to like music, costuming, analogies, allegories, and set design, netflix has been, weather you like it or not, actively marketing in favor of byler and mike not being straight. all below come from official netflix accounts-

how is this not queerbaiting? genuinely what are you on about. this is literally textbook.

“will is fruity but mike didn't like the fruit on his pizza”

you seriously are basing your argument about mike not being gay on him not liking fruit on pizza? you seriously think that some of the most commended and celebrated writers of the last decade would use symbolism involving a word that can literally be interpreted as a slur when their show has two characters who are canonically a part of the group affected said slur? are you fucking stupid? that was harmless banter used to communicate the differences in habitual action across the country. it wasn't the duffers trying to do for you what they do for us in deliberate, straightforward NON-OFFENSIVE symbolism.

i saw somebody claim that mike's character arc in season four was inherently about not believing in his self worth nor in his competency to be in a relationship with el

while i do for the most part agree with you, i'm going to ask you a question- mike was never anxious about his identity and self worth involving el before season four. why do you think that just came up now if not for the fact that he's been having insecurities involving his sexuality and romantic attraction to women as a whole? in my opinion, mike realized that he might not like girls in that way circa the end of season three- a realization that only festered and grew through the absence of not only the boy he loves that is causing this insecurity but the girl whom he is using as a way to say hey, i can't be gay, i have a girlfriend! mike was clearly going through some serious emotional struggles as we can immediately see in this scene with how suddenly awkward he is with will and the immediate emphasis that's put on the "from mike" on the flowers.

i agree that his season four and part of his season five arc are about his feelings of insecurity about being in a relationship with el, however, i don't think he's insecure because he thinks she's better than him in the sense that she's some superhero, i think he thinks she's better than him because he knows that he'll never be able to love her the way she deserves to be loved. he's not going to outright come and say to will that he doesn't think that he can love her in the way she deserves to be loved. he's closeted. what he says in the van scene is the only way he knows to express his feelings. it's very similar to what will does in the same scene. it makes no sense for this insecurity to randomly manifest in him if it wasn't for an external factor that doesn't involve el, because nothing has really changed with the dynamic of their relationship other than the move. one could argue that mike is feeling insecure over el's supposed popularity she claims to have in her letters, but mike's arc has never been about caring about popularity in school. that's not something on his mind so much as the grand scheme of the world is. lets not forget that he joins hellfire in season four.

“When Mike didn’t say “I love you”, By*ers twisted it to their narrative. When Mike did say “I love you”, By*ers twisted it to their narrative.”

you literally sound like trump going on about the democrats. listen to what your saying right now. also, it's a ship name. there's no need to censor it you fucking weirdo.

wasted time building up mileven

i'm sorry, what build up? i'm confused. there's no "build up". THIS is build up:

above is will, possessed by a monster who feeds off of those lacking love in their lives, only being able to be broken out of possession by a heartfelt monologue by the PERSON HE LOVES detailing how the best decision he ever made was to befriend him.

above is will claiming he will never fall in love, then his love for one of the other main characters becomes a central plot point of the two seasons to come. joyce and i see through will and all of you weird milevens

mike telling will how it's not his fault will doesn't like girls only after he loses the person he's been using to cover up his own insecurity about the same thing- not liking girls. suspicious.

will's LOVE FOR MIKE being the thing to give him the confidence to help el SAVE THE WORLD, only episodes after we establish that mike is bound to be pissed that he was lied to. and theres no buildup? THERE'S REALLY NO BUILDUP?

if you don't see buildup i fear you are literally just a lost cause because it is so painfully obvious to anybody who made it past seventh grade english class that there is something deeper and more intimate than friendship going on between will byers and mike wheeler.

“Women can be independent while being in a relationship guys😭!!”

OBVIOUSLY! i am literally the biggest feminist on the entire western seaboard. i couldn't agree more with this, which is why we have arcs like nancy's where she actively becomes more independent while still maintaining a relationship with jonathan. the difference is that mike and el have been together since they were like thirteen. when el was immersed into the real world for the first time in season two she immediately leaned on mike for support in that. it's not that she can only be independent on her own, it's that mike is directly symbolic to her of a time when she was stumbling around the world with naivete and not quite knowing how to navigate that. by spreading her wings away from that relationship, it will not only give her independence, but also a way to see beyond the barriers of hawkins and a life where she was valued mostly for the qualities she brings to the supernatural equation. el's arc is one of my favorites. i would never claim such a thing and discredit the essence of what makes the emotions behind her character so interesting. she's somebody who was literally raised in a lab. she shouldn't be held back by somebody she is quite literally dependent on.

last but not least, i saw a post that said milevens always win.

"are you sure about that?" i ask, noah schnapp's most recent instagram post open on my phone, finn wolfhard's spotify playlist in my headphones, my mike holding will's painting funko on the desk in front of me, wearing a yellow shirt with a blue sweater over it.

thank u for listening to my ted talk 💙💛

#stranger things #byler #mike wheeler #will byers #byler nation #byler is endgame #stranger things 4 #byler brainrot #stranger things 5 #anti mileven #milkvan is bones #i hate mileven #el hopper

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tastesousweet · 2 months ago

Text

⭒ the other woman

christopher sturniolo x poc!reader

summary: an angsty story of regret and selfishness told through different moments in time

warnings: alternate universe (takes place in the early 2000s bcs i’m obsessed), angst, implied sex, cigarettes, cheating (with, not on y/n)

a/n: hiiii srry for ghosting u guys again :/ i finally have motivation to write again!!! send in blurb or one shot ideas pls. unfortunately im putting tgwtt on hold for right now bc i feel writing that series takes so much out of me and i end up not enjoying anything i write. i hope u understand & im sorry to those who enjoy it! anyways i hope this is well received since it’s a bit different than my other works — lowkey tuned into my inner sally rooney bc her angst HITS . luv u baiiii

★ march 2004

there’s a vile and shameful look to you that you’re not so sure you’ve hidden well enough.

your stomach feels overweight and heavy with an extreme amount of pain bubbling and stabbing your insides whenever they decide to pop.

you clutch at the edge of the bathroom sink, staring at your figure and aching eyes (you added some dark eyeliner into your routine hoping to distract from your disdainful mood but you’re starting to think you may have drawn more attention with the dramatic look).

you suck your stained bottom lip into your mouth out of comfort or maybe a need for something to hold as you move to dig for the pack of slightly crumpled cigarettes in your small, wine-red purse.

the door handle begins to rattle unnervingly just as you spark the slim stick to life.

you comically still yourself in your exact position (bent over odd and cupping your hand around the cig as if there was any sudden wind to blow out your flame in your friend's classy bathroom).

"y/n? you in here?!"

your eyes widen first, before they eventually roll. you wave your hands around to cut through the plumes of clogged smoke in the quaint room.

“y/n!”

“someone’s in here!” you reply, taking another puff of smoke and adjusting your hair a bit in the mirror.

“you gonna open up for me?”

“ummm,” you sputter through the cigarette held in your mouth as you adjust your strapless dress with both hands in the mirror.

“y/n.”

you let out a soft groan and quickly smash the cigarette a few times against the french vanilla ceramic sink bowl, throwing what's left of it in the trash. you practically shove yourself against the tiny wall space to the side of the door as you inch it open enough for the two of you to gain a full view of each other.

you smile, “chris.”

★ december 2003

they say the holidays are worst when spent alone.

and despite having three siblings and parents who’d want nothing more than to spend their christmas eve with their son, chris has always preferred to spend the holidays with a beautiful girl — in hopes that she’d gift him the intoxicating feeling of her thighs tightly trapping his face by the end of the night.

so it’s shocking that he’s at your door step, dressed in a suave, ribbed white long sleeve, dark blue jeans, and somehow caught without one of his usual hats slouched on top of his head of fawn hair.

and it’s real fucking odd that you answer the door wearing a dress that fits you extremely well, paired with a cardigan to keep some modesty.

it’s so very weird given that chris has his girlfriend of over a year texting him another apology for abandoning their plans together to visit her family in wisconsin as you both share an intimate hug on your porch.

you try not to think it’s so unnatural for you and chris to go out for dinner, despite the fact that everyone in your small town knows he has a girlfriend who’s notably quite the opposite of you.

thank goodness chris keeps some casualty — leaving you to open your own door when climbing into his beloved truck.

★ february 2004

“okay, um, this is something you can eat and there’s, like, a million types- you like granny smith!”

“oo, apples!”

chris nods excitedly and flips to the next card, “it’s my favorite meal of the day.”

“breakfast!”

“yes, you’re perfect. alright this is casper the friendly-”

“ghost!”

“amazing! ‘kay, i’m always complaining that mine isn’t stiff enough.”

“your dick?” josh jokes.

“fuck off, josh! i’m more than capable…” chris laughs.

“gross! chris?!”

“what?! don’t make it a biggie. now hurry ‘n gimme that answer baby, please?”

“well i’m guessing it’s your mattress?!”

“you have 7 seconds!” nick says while intensely staring at the tiny hourglass.

chris gives an encouraging hand motion for her to continue on that path.

“ummm… your bed?!”

“yes! that’s what i’m talking about!” chris shoots up from his position, on the ground in front of the coffee table, and immediately picks liv up from the couch in celebration.

the group let out plenty of laughs and giggles at the fear in her eyes as she’s lifted up and down excitedly.

cassie yells out, “aw yay mom and dad!” when chris sets her down and kisses her lips.

you try to control your face. your eyes flicker over and see them smiling with their faces so close together. and it drives you a little mad that whatever chris whispered to make her burst into laughter can’t be heard from your spot across the couch, especially not when there are so many conversations going on at once.

it’s just a game. you have no right to be jealous. it’s fucking taboo.

you clear your throat and uncross your legs as you begin to leave from the leather couch, “matt and josh, you can go before me- i’m just gonna grab some water.”

★ march 2004

“smoking cigs again?” chris asks as he steps into the bathroom.

“no,” you lie, resting your hip against the edge of the counter.

he knows you’re lying but doesn’t bother to pressure the truth out of you, he’s not your father. or your boyfriend at that.

“are you doing okay?” he pauses and waits for you to acknowledge him.

you don’t.

he clears his throat, “you look beautiful in this,” he tugs your dress down showing off the cleavage you’d just got done hiding.

“‘m all good,” you answer his initial question while exaggerating a smile.

chris mindlessly nods his head and somehow gets even closer to you, to the point where you have to tilt your head just the slightest bit to make eye contact.

“can i kiss you?” he asks with a genuine glimmer of generosity in his eyes and tone; as if he wanted you to want it more than he wants it himself.

you’re silent. he holds your neck gently and raises his other hand to drag your large bottom lip downward, cooing a tease, “hmmm..?”

you whine a little to yourself — this can’t happen again.

“yes?” chris mocks a little, giving a squeeze to your neck, “say it.”

your eyes droop and suddenly the ache of pain and guilt melts down to a slush of excitement and warmth both inside and evidently outside, if the stickiness of your lace underwear says anything. you nod your head.

chris is so obsessed with your mouth, his thumb doesn't move from your bottom lip as you peek your tongue out to wet it, "yes, please." your words echo off of his lips that now practically hover yours.

even though you've used your manners you manage to deliver it as a command. and it doesn't help that you paired the sentence with your hands running up the hot skin underneath his dark shirt. his mouth hangs slightly ajar as his head nods softly once more and his eyes flicker over your pretty face.

you wait for his response before your eyes lock onto his and you pout, "i thought you wanted to kiss me, chris?"

★ december 2003

“that’s hot,” chris mumbles as he kicks his legs over eachother and stretches out on the longest part of your L - shaped, funky-green couch.

“what is?” you ask as you return to the living room, popcorn cradled in an oversized bowl against your waist.

“pamala anderson,” chris jokingly moans out, biting his bottom lip and covering his lower half with one of your fuzzy throw pillows.

“gross, you perv!” you throw a handful of popcorn at his face — that’s stretched into an adorable smile — and take a seat next to him.

“baywatch reruns are all that nbc play anymore,” you squint with a sigh, taking a swig of the cool bottle of beer chris requested before handing it to him.

“they lost the best thing to ever happen to ‘em, i’d milk that shit too.” he then takes a sip, smirking when a desperate pamala anderson begins to run in slow motion on your fuzzy box television.

“what would liv think of you drooling over some baywatch tits?”

“what would liv think of me replacing her with you for my christmas eve dinner?”

you can’t help but think that ‘replacing’ is possibly the meanest word he could have used.

he smiles and gives a soft laugh when your face doesn’t respond, “joking- don’t spaz on me now…” he rolls his eyes from you back to the screen in front of you.

you swallow and adjust your legs to sit underneath you, trying to get comfortable while remaining in your small red dress.

★ march 2004

“never again,” you remind chris and yourself as you step into your once discarded underwear.

chris nods his head a few times, replying when he finally catches his breath, “right.”

“okay,” you slip your dress back on and chris redresses himself away from you.

chris slowly comes up behind you, kissing your shoulder once and hugging you gently. you want to cry — because in any other circumstance you’d embrace this feeling. but you can’t help but feel dirty.

he whispers with his head buried in the side of your crowded neck, “you know your my best friend, right? i love you.”

and you can’t help the shivers and sobs that decide to escape from your sad, used body.

“shhhh,” he apologizes, “i’m sorry.”

★ december 2003

chris imagined having sex with you plenty of times before — figuring most guys have thought of it with all of their girl friends, at least his friends made it seem true.

though his imagination could never ever live up to your whines and the way your body effortlessly takes him as you bounce yourself on top of him.

you both knew this was a bad idea, it was bad before you ended up back at your place after dinner. chris is an admittedly horny drunk and you’re no better so sharing a few beers while sitting so close to each other was bound to backfire.

only in the morning would some ounce of guilt and regret wash over him, when he’d listen to the cheerful voicemail his unknowing girlfriend left him while he was busy with his fingers in your mouth.

★ november 2004

chris hasn’t spoken to you since you came clean to liv about your disloyalty, six months ago.

he yelled and cried at your doorstep. he told you that you ruined his entire life, that he never wants to see you again.

you convince yourself you never want to see him again, but you tend to miss him in the loneliest times. when you’re sat awake in your dark bedroom.

you still miss his voice and his face.

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #angst #sturniolos #chris sturniolo x black reader #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets fan fiction #matt sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets smut

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imagine-darksiders · 24 days ago

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Eden's Heir, chapter 6.

Prison break.

Summary: You manage to get your hands on Vulgrim's precious artifact. War is nice to you in his own, strange way, and Strife is his usual self.

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War has never been one to hide his true motivations behind crooked smiles and sly glances. Their eldest, Death, used to say that of all the Nephilim to be born from the dust of angels and demons, War was always the most forthright. Abnormally so.

Even among his ilk, he was the odd-one-out. Too fair, too just, 'getting to be a little too much like those damned birds.'

Why? Because he doesn't care for lies? As if Angels can't be just as underhanded and amoral as demons. Still, those who threw critique his way usually ended up leaving sadder but wiser, and often sporting broken bones and a new gap between their teeth courtesy of either himself or Fury. Death was more the sort for dolling out verbal degradation, and Strife... Well, Strife wasn't around a lot when War was still a whelp.

Regardless, perhaps it's that very forthrightness that means it doesn’t concern War in the slightest to be staring at you as he is, nor that you’ve been casting several, perturbed glances up at the underside of his chin before snatching your eyes away again every few seconds, evidently rattled by his unwavering attention.

Conversely unashamed and indiscreet, War has absolutely no qualms about frowning down at the small human in his arms, regarding you as one would a piece of mildly interesting trivia he’s never encountered before but is determined to decipher.

Truly, you’re nothing at all like the humans he’s heard about.

Humans aren’t fighters. Eden was a historically peaceful place, the name itself synonymous with Paradise. And yet only moments ago, War had borne witness as one of its prior denizens pulled a tiny blade from out of nowhere, and with a feverous desperation carving lines into your face, you’d plunged that blade into the hand of the gumptious demon who snatched you up.

… Belatedly, War realises he’ll have to tell Strife to be more thorough the next time he goes snooping for hidden weapons.

Humans adapted well to their new home on Earth, faster than anybody thought they would. They’re sturdy and solidly built, well-defined in body, and often ungainly in how they carry and present themselves; perfectly suited to learn the pursuits of agriculture, crafting and gathering.

You, however, stand as a stark contradiction to your entire species.

You’re soft. Graceful in your extravagant raiment, but inarguably fragile, far more-so than your fellow human, which is saying something.

War has felt the jarring give of your skin under his blade.

Strife has not.

War has tested the pressure of his grasp on your limbs and found them astoundingly delicate.

… Strife has not.

It’s why his brother’s actions riled War so fiercely after throwing you across a Creator-forsaken pit of lava onto this stone platform. He’s not certain Strife quite grasps the magnitude of the situation, nor the implications of a human being here in the first place. For you to turn up in the Void, speaking Common, dressed like a pampered Seraphim… it raises a series of rather urgent questions.

But to even have a hope of getting them answered, he and Strife ideally need to keep you alive...

… If only he could figure out how to get that notion through his brother’s thick skull…

Blinking out of his musings, War sees you raise your eyes to peer up at him again, although in this instance, much to his unspoken surprise, you don’t look away. Whilst certainly anxious, there’s a spark of something else tangled within the labyrinthine strands of your unusual irises, something that nearly has an invisible thread tugging at one corner of his mouth.

At last, it seems you’ve rediscovered the same nerve that called you to defend yourself from the demon.

“Put me down,” you utter quietly in a voice that quavers with the effort of keeping it level. You even maintain bold eye contact as you say it.

Again, War almost has to admire your gumption to demand something of one of the Four...

Almost.

If he were a curious Nephilim like his brother, he would probably concede that, yes, there is something about you that invites fascination. Like a mystery that hasn’t yet revealed its secrets.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, merely holds your watery gaze expectantly until you either remember yourself and lower your eyes or-

“Please, put me down?”

And just like that, War’s unspoken admonition is knocked off its tracks.

He hadn’t been expecting… He thought you’d just…

… Oh.

In hindsight, he supposes it was rather foolish of him to expect a human to adhere to the same social rules as another species, and he has to remind himself that just because you’re still meeting his stare, you aren’t being deliberately provocative.

Just… naive.

But why would you know of his reputation? Or of the tall tales whispered by nervous, fledgeling angels who like to try and frighten each other with stories… Stories about what happens to those who are unlucky or unwise enough to look the Horseman, War, in his eye.

Your ‘please’ is foreign to him. He knows of its usage, of course, but to hear it spoken so liberally… It’s as though you assumed ‘please’ was what he was waiting for. Is offering it a human’s way of showing deference?

Curious…

“Ahem…”

The sound of a throat being cleared snaps through War’s thoughts like the crack of a whip.

Quick as a flash, the scowl that had been gradually lifting from his expression slams back into place, and he turns his heated glare onto Strife, who stands in front of him with his arms folded neatly across a silver chest and his helm cocked to one side, eyes narrowed accusingly.

“You done being greedy, or are you gonna share?”

War’s scoff, and your huff occur at the same time, leading the two of you to share a brief glance before the former gives his eyes an exaggerated roll and finally, finally obliges, lowering you to the ground as swiftly as he can while maintaining a strange air of caution that betrays how breakable he thinks you are.

Large, metal gauntlets slide out from underneath your legs, depositing you on a flat piece of stone that’s relatively clean of demon blood.

The very instant you’re free, you only hesitate long enough to squeak out a hurried ‘thanks!’ before tearing yourself away from the gauntlet that hovers behind you and stumble several paces off to the side, putting some much-needed distance between you and the Horsemen. You almost trip over the train of your dress in the process.

Clinging to your elbows, you have to stuff your teeth into your lower lip to stop the sound of despair bursting out through pursed lips.

Your legs may as well be replaced with toothpicks for all the support they’re giving you. Terrible possibilities have begun to swirl across the mire of your brain.

What if you hadn’t found your nail file in time…?

What if Strife had never returned your bag?

You shudder, overwhelmed by the feeling that you’ve landed on the right side of a coin-flip, by no other will than dumb-fucking-luck.

You’ve never come that close to certain death before. You never want to come that close again.

At your back, unseen, Strife gives you a fleeting once-over, only returning his eyes to your veil when he doesn’t spot any immediate damage.

With his typical flair for bad timing and inability to read a room, he stretches his mouth into a hidden, cocksure grin, gives an approving nod and declares, “You did good, kid.”

Giving a harsh sniff, you tip your head towards the ceiling and let out a sharp, brassy laugh, utterly devoid of humour.

“Good?” you echo, rounding on the Horseman, your lungs still feeling two sizes too small when you draw breath, “GOOD!? I could have died! I almost did!”

“Almost!” Strife parrots eagerly, venturing a few steps towards you and spreading his arms out wide, apparently unbothered by your brazen reproach, “You almost died. But you didn’t.”

“That isn’t reassuring, Strife!” you wail.

Shaking fingers lift to try and thread through your hair, only to meet the barrier of your veil. Thwarted, you let your arms flop bonelessly back down against your sides and curl your hands into fists. “I’m not…-!”

But the words won’t come. Instead, you fall silent, realising how redundant it would be to say, ‘I’m not like you,’ out loud.

Christ, what an understatement.

You’re not the type to look at an ‘almost death’ and consider it a triumph. It’s a nightmare. You want to avoid death! That’s the most human instinct of all.

You shouldn’t even be here. You’re not like these two larger-than-life beings from another world. You can’t shoot guns like a master marksman, you can’t swing a sword that’s longer than you are tall, and you certainly can’t make impossible jumps that seem to defy gravity itself.

Hell, you can’t even stand up to your own fiancé and his family…

Sullen, despondent, you allow the adrenaline to seep out of you like water from a leaky pail, leaving you with limbs that feel far too heavy, and a head that’s tired as death.

“I’ve got to get out of here,” you eventually murmur to yourself, resisting the urge to scrub at your eyes lest you spread mascara all over your face. Your heart thunders inside your chest, palms slick with the heat, but more so with the creep of dread that rises in your belly as you picture the demon’s rancid maw in your mind’s eye and grit your teeth, unable to quell the waves of anxiety crashing against you like breakers that pummel a rocky cliff.

All the while, Strife is busy trying to pluck a response from midair, racking his brain for reasons as to why you can’t just ‘get out of here.’

Then, to his surprise and your own, the silence is broken, and it’s War’s stoic voice that brings a pause to the hopelessness dragging your soul down into the pit of your stomach.

“That was a Slag Demon.”

Blinking, you knit your brows into a frown and lift your eyes to the Horseman’s hoodless face. “Excuse me?”

And War, evidently sincere in every aspect, assumes you didn’t hear him, and repeats himself. “That was a Slag Demon.”

Once again, your eyelids flutter in a series of rapid blinks. “Yeah, I… I heard you,” you reply falteringly, “I just-“

“That demon,” he cuts you off, sending you a pointed look, “was forged in the deepest blast furnaces of Hell. They’re deceptively fast, almost invulnerable, and notoriously hard to kill.”

When he falls silent and doesn’t continue for several moments, you shift your weight and awkwardly drawl out, “… Oh-kay~?”

What the Hell is he getting at?

The way he’s peering down at you is… odd, you decide. He still has that perpetual scowl on his face, but the eyes under his furrowed brow seem… brighter, somehow, not quite as piercing and disparaging as they were before.

You’re not sure you like it any better.

Appraising you for a few more seconds, War gives a solemn nod, and states, “You found a weakness. You used what you had at your disposal to gain the upper hand.” Then, after taking a brief moment to consider his next words, he must eventually deem you worthy of them because he averts his gaze and scowls off at the distant stalactites, grunting, “It was a good kill.”

… Your jaw nearly hits the ground.

And judging by the way Strife’s helmeted head snaps around to send a wide-eyed stare at his larger brother, you suppose War must not say this sort of thing very often.

Looking down at yourself, you take in the meringue wedding dress, the ruffled tulle and overall extravagance of your attire.

“But…” Your tongue darts out apprehensively to wet your lips, “But I didn’t even kill it.”

Turning away from you, War begins to march back over to the grate, stopping only long enough to retrieve his enormous sword from the ground.

He barely takes a second to mull over his next answer as he slings the blade into its proper place along his spine. “You created the opening that gave Strife a clear shot,” he tells you, coming to a halt above the iron bars set into the floor and twitching his head towards you, his profile obscured by long, ice-white hair, “It counts.”

And with that, he reaches up to thread large, metal fingers into his hood and flips the crimson fabric up and over his head, once again hiding his face in dark, familiar shadow.

For… quite some time, you’re left speechless, gawping at the back of War’s head, and reeling now from the near-death experience and the unexpected approval of one of the scariest men you’ve ever met. A glance down at your hands confirms they’re still shaking, fingers tight and rigid like the bones under your skin have locked up.

“…Well,” Strife chimes in, heaving his massive shoulders in a shrug, “Good thing I don’t mind sharing.”

Sauntering over to you, he lifts an arm as if he’s about to drape it across your back, but the moment you see him coming, you lurch into motion and start after his brother, following the path War had picked through the dead imps, all the while trying to avoid glancing down at their cold, dead eyes.

Only thrown for a moment, Strife is quick to recover, waltzing after you and continuing, “So! Big day. You killed your first demon, kind of. How d’you feel?”

Your mouth twists up into a grimace. “Like I’m going to pass out, throw up, have a heart attack then die. In that order.”

Which is eerily similar to how you felt walking up the steps to the church.

The panic is… well, it’s definitely still there. The threat of a downward spiral haunts the edge of your mind, always keeping itself in the periphery. But for now, War’s stoic assessment has apparently shocked you so much, it broke the nosedive you were about to take into a total fit of hopelessness.

The Horseman beside you barks out a laugh and takes a few loping steps until he’s swaggering along beside you, the heavy ‘clunk’ of his boots drowning out the ‘clicks’ of your heels. “Don’t worry, we’ll keep a closer eye on you, next time.”

“Next time?” you sputter, brows shooting up towards the top of your veil, “I-I am not planning on doing this again.”

“Eh.” With a dismissive waft of his hand, he replies, “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Now c’mon! Sooner we get the artifact, the sooner we can be outta this heat.”

Well. You suppose you have to agree with him on that front.

The sudden clatter of metal skittering across the ground nearly has you jumping out of your shoes.

At your side, Strife jerks to a halt, his boot lifted halfway off the ground and his helm tipped down to search for the thing he’d inadvertently kicked with the toe of his sabatons. His keen eye latches onto it at once, and he utters a sound of intrigue at the back of his throat.

Following his gaze, you hone in on the little object that’s still skidding several paces away from you before it slides to a stop, laying small and shiny on the dark stone.

Stooping down, Strife reaches out a hand to gather the little object into his palm.

“Huh, guess it was knocked when I shot that big bastard...” he mutters, rising to his full height and unfurling each finger one by one, peering down at his prize, “I thought you didn’t have any weapons in there.”

Turning towards you, he holds up your bloodied nail-file as he jerks his chin at your bag.

Admittedly, you’re surprised to see it again, and even more surprised at the surge of gratitude that courses through you at the prospect of being reunited with something from the real world.

“Technically speaking,” you sniff, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “A nail file isn’t a weapon.”

Bringing it close to his visor, Strife tilts his head and squints at it, humming dubiously as he runs the pad of his finger over the coarse metal, giving the end a testing tap.

“… It looks like a dagger,” he points out, “… A very small dagger.”

“Or a toothpick,” his brother grumbles up ahead.

“Well, it isn’t either of those things… It’s just something I use to keep my nails tidy…” At the incredulous glances you receive – one from Strife and one from War who deigns to cast you a bemused look over his shoulder – you breathe a weary sigh and thrust your hand out towards the former of the pair expectantly. “Look, can I just… have it back?”

In truth, you half expect him to refuse, whether to simply get a rise out of you or to mitigate your temptation to attack them with the nail file – not that you’d be so foolish.

So, when Strife extends an arm and holds your ‘weapon’ out towards you, you can’t help but let your jaw drop open in undisguised shock.

“Sure,” he says breezily, “I ain’t gonna keep it. More of a gun man, myself. And War’d be embarrassed to be seen with a blade this small.”

You don’t know whether you’re supposed to take offence to that or not.

“Here,” Strife offers again, lowering his upturned palm in the private hopes of coaxing you closer when you just continue to gape at his appendage, “Take it.”

Warily, you start inching your hand up towards his, keeping your eye on the silver helm and those piercing, golden eyes that drill right into you with attentive wonder.

Swallowing thickly, you dare to flick your gaze down to the nail-file, still sitting pretty at the centre of his palm… Up this close, you spot something that threatens to turn your stomach inside out.

“Ew! There’s blood all over it!” you exclaim, retracting your outstretched hand like he’s trying to give you a live snake.

Indeed, it isn’t the silvery metal that’s glinting in the firelight, but a coating of thick, shiny blood that’s already begun to dry on the file’s roughly-hewn surface.

Strife – who had given a start at your exclamation – pauses, then blinks and cocks his brow down at the offending blood sticking to your weapon.

“Oh, so-rry, Princess,” he chuckles, lifting the file to his cowl and wiping it several times against the fabric, smearing dark flakes of blood into the wool before he holds it out towards you again, “That better?”

Tipping your nose into the air, you give the file a thorough once over. Deeming it adequately clean, you at last reach up to pluck it from his grip, holding it gingerly between your thumb and forefinger. “Much. Thanks.”

You’ve turned away before you can see his eyes glow brighter, considerably pleased with himself.

By the time he stops sticking out his chest, you’ve already reached his brother, stopping a respectable distance away near the opposite side of the grate.

War doesn’t even spare you a cursory glance. Instead, he stands still and strong as a statue, his frost-blue eyes scrutinising the bars with rigid focus.

You don’t dare ask him why he hasn’t retrieved his ‘artifact’ yet.

“Hey, War. What’s the holdup?”

Apparently, you and Strife are on the same wavelength. How disconcerting.

A metal elbow suddenly brushes against your side as a titanic body disregards your own personal space and sidles up next to you, pulling a gasp from your lips that goes entirely ignored while Strife addresses his brother over the top of your head. “You gonna grab the artifact or what?”

Grumbling under his breath, War raises his eyes to fix his fellow Horseman with a stony scowl.

“The grate,” he retorts darkly, tossing a hand at the ground as if the answer should have already been obvious, “It’s locked.”

“Oh,” Strife answers flatly, though it isn’t long before he plants a decisive fist on his hip and declares, “Well, then we’ll just have to find the key…” Swivelling around in place, he casts an eye around the chamber and adds, “Maybe the demon had it?”

… You hate to point out the obvious, especially when you haven’t been invited to do so, but…

“Um… You mean the demon that just fell over the side?” you venture.

A thick, uncomfortable silence ensues, during which you’re sure you must have offended him somehow, because Strife’s body goes utterly motionless, and War huffs a breath through his nose.

“… I see your point,” the former concedes at last, and you realise he isn’t angry, just... bashful.

Another derisive sound escapes from the larger Horseman’s mouth, prompting Strife’s helm to snap towards his brother. “Well, you’re the strong one,” he gripes, “Just tear out the bars.”

Now it’s War’s turn to stop and ponder. He casts a sideways glance down at you, regarding you briefly from the shadow of his hood. By the time you’ve lifted your eyes to his face, he’s already turned away, cracking his neck with an audible ‘Pop!’

“Very well,” he rumbles.

It’s a little prideful of him – and Creator knows Death would expect better - yet War can’t help but wonder if you’ll be awed by a show of might. Maybe you’ll be afraid... Moreso than at present.

Pounding a fist into his gauntlet, he lowers his immense bulk down onto one knee and slides his fingers around the bars, rolling his shoulders as he prepares to demonstrate the raw, physical strength of the Red Ri-

“-Can’t you just… reach in and grab it?” you ask, cleanly derailing War’s train of thought and knocking the wind from his sails, “I mean, it looks small enough to fit through the bars, right?”

… Well, War supposes that’s a fair suggestion, but for one not-so-small problem.

Without turning to look at you, War simply holds up his gauntlet and flexes the metallic fingers into a fist. “I would not get my knuckles through,” he states simply, bobbing his head sideways at his brother, “Nor would Strife.”

“Oh,” you falter, shrinking backwards and stuffing a canine into your bottom lip whilst the Horseman curls his hands around the bars once more.

“Um, why don’t I take a crack at it then?”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you find yourself wishing you could snatch them out of the air and stuff them back behind your teeth.

Of all the fool things you could have said, why on Earth would you offer to put your hands anywhere near a stone that’s glowing like raw Uranium?

But it’s too late.

Strife has turned a thoughtful, wide-eyed gaze onto War, who returns it with the slightest parting of his brows.

“… Why didn’t we think of that?” Strife posits.

Before you can verbally – and physically – backtrack, War has already twisted his torso about and wrapped his colossal fist around your forearm, notably aiming for the one he hadn’t sliced open with his sword.

Warm metal engulfs your appendage all the way up to your elbow, and though you try to resist, he hardly seems to notice your efforts as he tugs you towards his side, then lowers his hand, leaving you with no choice but to follow its weight and drop to your knees in front of the grate, wincing as they bump against the hard stone beneath your dress.

“Here,” he says firmly, allowing you to snatch your arm back in favour of pointing his finger down at the glowing crystal, “Reach down and take it.”

Curling your hand into your chest, you give your head a shake and protest, “I can’t!”

“You just said you could!” Strife rebuffs.

That you did… “But-!” Wracking your brain, you add, “But what if it’s like… radioactive or something!?”

Visibly, the Horseman balks. “Ray-dee-oh… what?”

War’s eyes start to roll towards the ceiling as he listens to your back and forth with his brother, and he considers whether it would have been faster to rip the grate out of the stone after all.

You proposed a solution however, and in his frank opinion, you ought to stick by it.

The massive gauntlet enters your peripheral just as you open your mouth to shoot another argument up at Strife, but no sooner have the metal tips of War’s fingers ghosted across your arm than you wrench it away, whipping around to face him with startled eyes.

Hastily, you hold up your hands in surrender.

“Okay! Alright!” you acquiesce, “Jesus, just… give me a second…”

Flicking part of the veil over your shoulder, you lean forwards and brace yourself with one hand on a bar, lowering your torso down to stretch your other hand down and into the pit below, fingers blindly fishing around for the Vulgrim’s precious artifact.

When they brush against a warm, smooth surface, you can’t refrain from yelping and snatching your hand back as if it had moved.

The leathery smack of a gun being drawn from its holster reaches your ears.

“You okay?” Strife demands, shifting his weight restlessly.

Swallowing back your embarrassment, you nod and reply, “Uh, yeah, yeah. It’s just hot!”

“Hot enough to burn you?” War cuts in with a rough growl.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you brave another go, reaching down and brushing your fingertips hesitantly over the surface of the crystal. Though it is disconcertingly warm to the touch – no doubt from the ambient heat in the atmosphere – you realise with a third stroke that it isn’t anywhere near as hot as you feared it would be.

“No,” you sigh, only partially relieved.

The massive presences surrounding you relax slightly.

“Good,” Strife murmurs, raising his voice to add, “Can you get it loose?”

You can, as it turns out. Quite easily in fact. The crystal isn’t being held in any kind of clamp. To your mounting astonishment, it seems to simply float in midair.

“This is so freaky~,” you sing to yourself as you slide your palm down the long side of it, feeling for the pointed base and cupping your fingers around it with an audible gulp.

The whole crystal seems to buzz and hum under your touch, sending an eerie tingle racing up the length of your arm and raising the hairs all the way up to the back of your neck.

According to all sense and reason, this thing is nothing more than a pretty, pink crystal. But here, where sense and reason have been turned on their heads, pulled inside out and shaken up like a vodka martini, the thing in your hand is no more a mere crystal than the Horsemen are mere men.

Trying very hard to ignore how much the fluctuating thrum beneath your fingertips reminds you of a pulse, you clench your jaw tight, close your eyes, and pull… with a little too much force.

It’s lighter than you expected it to be. Nearly weightless. And it slips straight through the bars of its prison without even dinging against the sides.

Letting out an undignified bleat, you teeter backwards and land painfully on your backside, the crystal smacking against your bosom before falling from your trembling fingers and sliding safely into the soft, white fabric of your skirts.

Cracking your eyelids apart, you blink down at your lap, chest stuttering on a breath. “I… I got it?”

That was…decidedly easy…

Well, aside from almost getting eaten by a demon in your quest to find the damn thing.

The soft, pink glow of the crystal lights up your face as you peer down at it, glittering off your wedding dress and bathing the fabric folds in warmth.

“Wow,” you hear yourself whisper.

With cautious awe, your fingers wander towards it and slip gently around your rescued prize.

You’re so busy admiring the smooth, faultless lines that you don’t notice the shadow of a hand falling across your shoulders until War’s gauntlet has slid beneath your arm.

Aside from blurting out a squawk, you helplessly have to let yourself be lifted with unnerving ease onto your feet, still clutching the crystal close to your breast.

“Good job, kid,” Strife declares, slapping a palm on your back.

If War’s fingers hadn’t tightened around your arm at the moment, you’re sure you’d go tumbling over onto your face.

The force of the larger Horseman’s warning growl sends tremors through his gauntlet and down into the toes of your shoes, rattling the teeth in your skull.

Strife, pleasantly unfussed by his brother’s idle threat, leans over your shoulder as War releases you, and together, you all stare down at the crystal in your arms.

“Wonder what this thing’s worth to that soul-sucking ghoul,” Strife remarks after nobody breaks the quiet hush that’s fallen over you, as though he can’t bear to sit in silence for too long. Bringing his gauntlet up to rub at the chin of his helm, he thoughtfully adds, “We could always convince Vulgrim to throw in a little extra…”

At his suggestion, a tiny frown-line blooms to life between your brows. It is a very pretty gem… but while you know next to nothing about demons, you aren’t sure you like the idea of trying to bargain with one, not when your run-in with one of Vulgrim’s ilk had almost ended so disastrously.

You don’t know if it should come as a shock or not when War’s shoulders bristle moments later, and he bares his canines at Strife, his cavernous chest puffing up until you have to lean sideways to avoid getting jostled by it.

“The artifact, in exchange for information,” he snarls dangerously, “We will honour our agreement.”

‘Honour among Horsemen of the Apocalypse?’ you muse privately, ‘Wonders will never cease.’

Though only in War’s case, evidently. Strife just heaves an obnoxious sigh and tosses his helm back, “Ugh, you have no ambition… Why’ve you gotta be such a killjoy?”

War’s lips start to curl even further apart.

“So!” you quickly interrupt the broiling fracas, “We’ve got the… this thing-“ You shrug the crystal in your palms. “-H-how exactly do we get back?”

That, at least, gets the pair of bickering brothers to fall silent and pivot their attention from one another onto you. War’s expression is still as stony as ever, but you consider it a win that he looks marginally less murderous.

“Huh,” Strife says, “That’s a good question.”

Rumbling at the base of his throat, War grunts, "It would be prudent to find a way out of this realm as quickly as possible."

"Oh?" A mischievous glint sparks in his brother's keen gaze. "And here I thought you were.... warming up to the place."

Unbidden, a short puff of laughter is scoffed right off your tongue, more amused by how bad the joke was than the joke itself.

Either way, Strife's chest fills out proudly as his helm quirks towards you, one eyelid flashing closed behind the visor in a wink.

Oblivious, War just grumbles, "You know your humour escapes me."

And quick as a whip, Strife returns, "All humour escapes you."

Giving a brusque shake of his head, the larger Horseman decides it isn't worth getting into this argument for the umpteenth time. Turning his attention down to you and the crystal in your hands, he beckons with a gauntlet for you to step closer.

"Come. If we retrace our steps, we may be able to-"

You never get to hear the end of his sentence.

It isn’t that you’re particularly unlucky, you think… God, you hope. You’ve never thought yourself significant enough that the Universe would have it out for you personally, after all.

But when the ground suddenly disappears from under your feet in a blinding flash of vivid, blue light, and the deafening rush of air buffets your dress and boxes your eardrums, you can’t help wondering if you’ve somehow - in some unwitting way - slighted the powers that be, and now they’re playing their revenge card.

Which is a hassle for you, because you’ve had just about enough of portals and getting whisked off to places unknown for one day.

The last thing you see as you throw your head up and open your mouth to release a scream that’ll be sucked away with you as your atoms once again rearrange themselves to fit through a spatial rip, is Strife’s luminous, golden eyes flaring hotly like bursting stars – a direct contrast to the cool, ethereal blue of his brother’s, who’s own gaze opens up in surprise and, you think, alarm, one gauntlet outstretched in your direction.

And that’s all you manage to glimpse before the light overtakes you, and your body is yanked like a fish on a hook into the luminiferous aether.

#Eden's Heir #Darksiders #Darksiders Genesis #Strife x Reader x War #polyamory #Friendship #Reader #fem reader #x reader

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