#now I’ve rambled and word dumped

[saggitary]

Yes yes yes pleeeaaase! I am also not the biggest Hunter stan but I will sell and arm for his Joel Miller, nothing left to lose era. Season 2 of the Bad Batch definitely had some heavy stuff, but the overall them of this season was relatively light. We had a lot of filler episodes to establish relationships and what not, now in season three one guessing we will get a lot of heavy stuff.

We’ve seen Omega’s relationship with Hunter, now let me see what Hunter will do, what lengths he will go through to get her back.

We’ve seen Wrecker and Omega’s relationship, we’ve also seen Wrecker when he’s gone completely dark (chip activation) now show us the darker side of his character when he’s in full control.

I just know Omega’s going to grow on Crosshair like a weed because she will forgive him and she will try to solve their predicament. He will realize the lengths his brothers went through to rescue him even after he turned on them. It will help start the healing process.

Lastly I want to see how Echo will react to this all. We got small tidbits of Echo and Omega’s relationship this season but overall the focus was mainly between her and Tech for the ultimate gut punch in the finale. Echo has lost a lot of family over the years, first his squad, then his body and mind, then his twin, the 501st, Tech, and now Omega’s gone too. Because he’s lost so many people I think he will be acting as Wrecker and Hunter’s rock, he will be the one making the rational decisions and whatnot. We got to see Echo in his element in E7 and I want to see more of that, I want him to use his skills to find Omega.

I'm as excited as the next batcher for Hunter's unhinged Pedro Pascal era that they're setting up for Season 3, don't get me wrong. And I'm not even a Hunter girly

But I really really reallllllllly hope they lean into Wrecker's relationships with Crosshair and Omega and we see A LOT of Wrecker unhinged as well. Hunter is 100% fully the dad/big bro of the OG batch but I believe that Wrecker is closest with Omega in a sibling/friend way, and he's the one who's consistently expressed missing Crosshair since season 1, let alone he and Crosshair have had the most typical sibling moments on screen since the Batch's introduction, so the set up for season 3 opens the door for a Wrecker focused season and to highlight emotional depth to his character along with the others.

On the flip side, the bonding potential we have for Crosshair and Omega while on Tantiss and the classic trope of "bond through shared trauma" has a very strong base. I would not be surprised if they use Omega as a tool to show Crosshair that his brothers will still love him and accept him since I have no doubt that Omega will be incredibly forgiving towards him and just happy that he's alive and on their side. So I see a lot of conversation potential between the two, and Omega filling in the gaps for Crosshair because it would be on character brand for Crosshair to have taken a pessimistic view of what his brothers now think of him with it also being on character brand for Omega to slowly break through those assumptions.

I think it would be especially in line with the season 2 theme of "we're just soldiers/we're not just soldiers" by exploring the sibling depths this group has formed and how it's changed from their TCW intro to where they are now.

[phantom-does-a-thing]

Ik I am a probably very small minority on this but god I hate being asked my pronouns irl or my name. Bc it’s always from other queer kids that flock around my partner and their friends bc they go to gsa together and like ugh. It’s just so uncomfortable. I either ignore the question and let them have to guess or I just shrug and say I don’t care.

[zarameraki]

🖊️💌 𝘀𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮'𝘀 𝗳𝗮𝘃𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗽𝗿𝗶𝘀𝗼𝗻 𝗽𝗲𝗻-𝗽𝗮𝗹 🖊️💌

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 minors do not interact 𖥔 prisoner sukuna x his penpal 𖥔 just plot with porn 𖥔 mentions of abuse 𖥔 mentions of sexual assault 𖥔 pussayy eating rawr but also u suck his dick so 𖥔 uraume and toji found family 𖥔 he would kill for you 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 nsfw

: ̗̀➛ words: 10k?? idfk it's long

: ̗̀➛ notes: happy halloween, mamas! 🎃 i know ive been MIA for a while but thats because i wasnt feeling creative. but now ive dumped a 10k sukuna fic on you for you to read at 3 in the morning. this one's got a kick to it yall. its long but give the bitch a chance, shes good. if you have any requests, don’t hesitate to send them. pls follow, reblog, like, comment—whatever you want! okay love you and enjoy.

So, this was where you’d ended up—on a site for writing to prisoners. A pen-pal with an inmate.

How lonely did you have to be to fill out your info, pay a yearly fee, and do this? The answer: really, really lonely. Orphaned, friendless, and scarred from a relationship that had left you with broken ribs and a blind eye. And as if to top it all off, you wanted to reach out to a criminal. I guess you deserved at least that small bit of connection.

You scrolled through inmate profiles, noting their crimes—arson, theft, cybercrime, drug trafficking, money embezzlement, and so on. None of them were charged with homicides or serious offences.

One profile did catch your eye. The smirk in his mugshot suggested he’d probably killed someone and managed to evade the cops before they could pin anything on him.

“Sukuna Ryomen,” you whispered, clicking on his profile and staring at a laundry list of crimes. “Aggravated assault, drug manufacturing and distribution, kidnapping—Jesus—extortion, cybercrime, Satanism . . . what the hell?” You chuckled as you scrolled further. “Bank burglary, vandalism of religious properties—so that’s the Satanism part—illegal possession of firearms, stalking?”

Why was this man even on this website, given his long list of crimes?

You zoomed in on his mugshot. Was it wrong to find him attractive despite his record? He truly embodied the term “bad boy,” though he didn’t look like a boy at all. He was ruggedly handsome with hollowed eyes. His light-mink hair was swept back, with a few strands falling over his forehead, and he wore a single hoop earring in his left ear. Black tattoos marked his nose bridge, jaw, and the centre of his forehead, while narrow-eyed designs were inked on his cheekbones.

You wondered if he’d get any letters, given his long rap sheet. Maybe delusional women like you, who’s pussies sang for high-profile criminals, sure. 

Licking your lower lip, you picked up a piece of paper and a pen, tapping the end against the sheet as you continued to study his face.

Then you started writing.

Hello, Sukuna Ryomen, 

My name is Y/N. 

You thought it over. For now, you'd keep it light before diving into your deeper issues. It felt easier to share your thoughts with someone you’d never meet face-to-face than with a stranger in a bar whose only interest was getting into your pants.

You kept writing.

Dear Sukuna Ryomen,

I’m currently living in an apartment complex that’s in desperate need of renovation. I’m harvesting cockroaches—no, I’m not eating them; the fuckers just won’t stop nesting in my kitchen cabinets, and I’m tired of spending money on pest sprays. On top of that, I’m pretty broke, barely managing to keep a roof over my head. I’ve even considered trying to seduce the landlord into reducing my rent, though I doubt any man would find a woman with one working eye appealing. I noticed you have an extra beneath your real eyes. Care to share?

Anyway, this is my first time writing to someone like you, so apologies if it’s a bit awkward. I wish I could send a nude, but I’m pretty sure you’d wish you were blind after that. I feel like I’m rambling like this is my diary, so I should probably wrap it up. If you want to write back, feel free. I don’t mean to sound privileged, but I’m lonely as fuck.

Thank you (?),  

Y/N

P.S. About the Satanism—care to explain?

You didn’t bother proof-reading and folded the letter into an envelope, sealing it with a lick. From your drawer, you pulled out a pack of old stickers—remnants of your childhood—and placed one where the envelope met. You wrote the prison address provided on the website and added the stamps you’d bought during your walk, which was your final push into becoming a prison pen-pal. After selecting Sukuna Ryomen on the site and uploading your ID and other required documents, you waited for your profile to be approved. 

After three days of waiting, you sent out the letter first thing in the morning and anxiously awaited a response.

Sukuna’s fists collided with the inmate’s face, each strike more brutal than the last. Blood splattered across his knuckles as the crowd of orange-clad convicts roared with twisted delight, their voices a chorus of vile encouragement. “Finish him!” they taunted, while others jeered at the barely conscious man, urging him to get up and fight back, to aim a desperate kick at Sukuna’s balls.

“Sukuna!” A guard’s voice cut through the chaos, and soon the officers were pushing through the throng, shutting the prisoners who dared resist their authority. “Get up, now!”

“Fuck off!” Sukuna snarled, his lips curling into a sneer as he shoved the guard aside. He watched with cold satisfaction as the man lay still, blood pooling beneath him. All this because the idiot had the nerve to laugh when Sukuna missed a three-pointer. Now, the bald bastard had paid the price for his arrogance, and Sukuna breathed in the aftermath—his own dark victory painted in blood and broken bones.

Officer Gojo Satoru strode into the circle, handcuffs gleaming in his hand. 

Sukuna's eyes narrowed at the sight of the blue-eyed bastard, a wave of hatred surging through him so fierce he could almost feel his fingers tightening around Satoru's throat. The very thought of choking the life out of him fueled his dark desires.

Satoru’s father—the man responsible for dragging Sukuna down, catching him red-handed with crates of cocaine at the border, and sealing his fate with a fifty-year sentence. If Sukuna had known the old man’s spawn would end up as a deputy officer here, watching his every move with those piercing eyes, he would have never shown up to that cursed delivery. But no—he had wanted to play the good boss, personally seeing his precious cargo off. Now, every day behind bars was a constant reminder of that one fatal mistake, and Sukuna’s rage festered as he thought of the traitor, Yuji. The little fuck who sold him out would pay dearly, and Sukuna was already plotting the perfect revenge.

His own fucking nephew sold him off. Motherfucker wanted the throne for himself—an empire Sukuna built with his bare hands. 

“Throw him in the ice box,” Satoru commanded, his voice dripping with that infuriating smugness. The officer roughly cuffed Sukuna’s wrists, shoving him forward. “Cool down, Big Guy. You’re not going any—”

Before he could finish, Sukuna rammed his forehead into Gojo’s nose, relishing the satisfying crunch as the lanky bastard staggered back. The inmates roared with approval from where they were restrained by the other officers. 

Gojo chuckled, dabbing at his bleeding nose with a pristine handkerchief, the kind only a spoiled little bitch like him would carry. “You think that’s funny?” he asked, his tone laced with condescension.

“Hilarious,” Sukuna whispered, a dark grin curling at his lips.

“Okay,” Gojo replied with a casual shrug. Without warning, his fist slammed into Sukuna’s jaw.

Once.

Twice.

Three fucking times.

The officers stood by, indifferent, as their captain unleashed his fury. For them, it was just another case of self-defence.

Sukuna finally collapsed to the ground, his vision swimming. Gojo leaned over him, his voice a venomous hiss. “Who’s laughing now?” A final, vicious kick to Sukuna’s chest left him gasping for breath. “Keep him in that freezer until he’s begging to be let out. No meals for a week.”

Sukuna’s vision blurred as he glared at Satoru’s retreating figure, the ringing in his ears barely drowning out the disappointed murmurs of his fellow inmates. His body, battered and beaten, finally surrendered to the encroaching darkness.

When he came to, he found himself in the prison’s infirmary, cocooned in three heated blankets. Yet the warmth did little to pierce the deep, bone-chilling cold that gripped him. The need to piss gnawed at him, but even that seemed distant compared to the icy numbness that had taken hold. 

“Welcome back to hell.” 

Sukuna raised his head from the pillows to find Uraume, the prison’s doctor. They were also the only person he tolerated, and somewhat close to since he ended up in the infirmary more than once. He hoped they considered him a ‘something’ after he killed a two-hundred pound guy for groping their ass in the cafeteria. How did he do it? He knew Uraume kept a pocket knife in their doctor’s coat and quickly swept it out and stuck it in the dick’s jugular. 

“How long have I been out for?” he asked, squirming his arm out of the blanket to rub his eyes. 

“A day.” 

“What?” Sukuna pulled himself out of the blanket by wiggling around like the fucking worms his cell mate Toji liked to collect every time they went in the courtyard to play. They’re better company than your grouchy ass, he said once. “How long was I in the ice box?” 

“Barely an hour.” Well, that’s just pussy behaviour from him. “They pulled you out before hypothermia killed you. What a way to die, am I right?” They chuckled, preparing some pills in a small disposable cup. “Here, take these. They’re nutrients.” 

“I could use actual food.” Sukuna downed them like a shot. God, he missed alcohol. “That blue-eyed bitch restricted my meals for a week.” 

“Fuck him.” Uraume took out a sandwich from their bag and threw it in Sukuna’s direction. “Just fake illness when you’re hungry. I’m always here to feed my favourite dog.” 

Sukuna snorted. “Go to hell.” 

“Already here.” Uraume clipped back their white hair with the black dyed red. Like someone smashed their head into the wall and the colour just bled to the sides. “Oh, this came for you.”  

Sukuna shoved the sandwich in his mouth and stretched his muscles before walking over, snatching the letter. It was already opened, a flimsy teddy-bear sticker hanging from the paper. “What the fuck is this?” 

“A letter.” 

“A letter? For me?” 

Uraume broke their attention from the computer to look at him. “Remember when you had me register you on that prison pen-pal bullshit after Toji received a pile of fan letters?”

Sukuna blinked. 

He definitely remembered being jealous when Toji got a letter from an artist who drew herself naked on paper for him, and a shit ton more asking for his dick size or when he’ll be out. Of course, Sukuna was envious of the attention. Plus, no one in prison made good company. He just wanted the taste of the outside world again after being locked in for five years now. Even if it was through ink on paper. 

But then Sukuna looked down at his first ever letter torn open. “Why is this open? Who read it?” If it was Satoru, he was going to rip his eyeballs from his sockets and feed it to Toji’s pet worm. 

“Relax. They’ve got to identify if there’s any substances attached to the paper, or any other shady shit. Whoever wrote to you is just a harmless nobody.” 

Sukuna frowned, bringing the letter up to his nose. It smelled like a plain envelope. No drugs, nothing.

He found purchase on the bed again, pulling out the folded paper and ironing the creases out on his leg. Here we go.

He began reading each word carefully. 

A week went by since you’d mailed your letter to Sukuna Ryomen. A week of pure torture to hear something back from the criminal. You’d relaxed on Sunday because the post offices are closed, but on Monday, you were at your mailbox, watching the mailman sort out letters and slip them through the boxes. 

Once he left, you dashed to your box and flipped through the coupons, flyers, newsletters—

Your breath hitched. 

Everything dropped from your hand except the cream envelope with an address from the prison. You didn’t care about reading it upstairs and quickly, yet carefully, tore it open from the side, reading the writing. 

Trying to read it. 

Sukuna had terrible handwriting. It made you giggle. 

You leaned against the mailboxes and murmured the words written under your breath. 

Hey, Y/N

I don’t know how to start a letter since I’ve never written one so don’t mind if I hurt your little feelings. Don’t know if you’re aiming to entertain me or bore me to death with this “dear diary” bullshit. I thought I’d get a nude, at the very least. Hell, Toji over here—yeah, the bastard who was on the news last year with a thing for setting houses on fire—gets way better fan mail every week. Pictures, drawings, mostly nudes. And I get your whining about rent and cockroaches?

Look, I may be locked up, but I’m giving you some advice here. Don’t fuck your landlord. You’ve got one eye? Good—use it. Hell, that’s already intimidating enough. Threaten the prick to call pest control, or better yet, trap those damn cockroaches and give him a taste. Stuff a few down his throat if he still doesn’t take you seriously. People respect action, not whining.

Speaking of. One eye? Really? Now, how’d it happen? Was it torn out? Still got some sight in it, or is it just gone? That’s gangster. Hot, even. I’d fuck a one-eyed chick. Maybe when I’m out we can cross that off my bucket list. Nah, I’m just playing with you.

Or maybe I’m not.

Think on it.

Hate (in a friendly way),

Sukuna.

P.S. Yeah, I took out some satanist scum who tried kidnapping one of my people’s kids. But don’t go thinking I’m in with those freaks. I’m just the Devil they wish they could be.

“Woah,” you breathed out, hugging the letter to your chest. This was it. This was what you were waiting for. A pull towards something real, something thrilling. It’s all you’ve been craving for eons now. 

“Whatcha got there, sweetie?” The voice snapped you back, harsh as nails against glass. Your landlord had wandered out of his door on the first floor, wrapped in a faded bathrobe and gripping his mug like some king holding court. “Made a mess on my floor with your papers.”

“Sorry,” you muttered, quickly tucking Sukuna’s letter back into its envelope and reaching down to gather the stray papers scattered on the floor. When you straightened, he was already in your space, close enough that the coffee on his breath made you flinch.

“Excuse me—”

“You’re excused.” His smirk widened as he leaned in, his nose grazing your neck. The greasy warmth of his breath made bile rise to the back of your throat. “Just wanna take a little bite out of you.”

Sukuna’s advice echoed in your mind. You’d never—never—think of following through with his revolting insinuation. But letting this sleaze get away with treating you like this? No. Not anymore.

“Step away,” you commanded, your voice low but unyielding. “Now.”

He blinked, then chuckled, dismissive. “Feisty today, huh? Got a letter from your boyfriend in prison, sweetie?” How did he know that? Fuck. Did he go through your mail before it was deposited? “Let me guess—you think he’s got your back now?” He leaned even closer, the stench of his laugh wafting in the air. “Come on, where's that one eye of yours aiming, sweetheart?”

“Next person who mentions my eye eats the dirt,” you snapped, every ounce of your resolve boiling up. “And as for what I’ve got—it’s something way out of your league, old geezer. So get the hell back to your apartment, and call pest control now.” 

For a second, he was stunned, face going pale as your words sank in. But you could feel Sukuna’s thrill, his twisted approval in the back of your mind. You’d tapped into something that wouldn’t settle. But then, “Well, I’ll be damned. Someone put on their big girl panties.” 

Your jaw tightened as you held your ground, taking steady breaths. You’d rehearsed this moment in your head, picturing a confrontation that ended with him backing down. But things never went as planned with him.

“I’m not here to beg,” you said evenly. “But I’m not gonna let you walk all over me, either. I pay rent. It’s your responsibility to keep this place livable.”

He snorted, raising his coffee mug and giving you a once-over that made your skin crawl. 

“Not for free, sweetheart. You’ve gotta give me something worth my time.” His eyes travelled down your body. 

Your pulse throbbed in your ears, but you squared your shoulders. “I’m already paying rent. It’s your right to ensure your tenant's safety.”

His face darkened, lips curling into a bitter smile. “Not when that tenant’s acting like a spoiled little bitch.” And then, with a flick of his wrist, he launched the mug’s contents right at you.

You dodged, but a few hot droplets scorched your arm, leaving a raw sting that only fueled your anger. He laughed, shaking his head with a mocking scowl. “Get the fuck out of my sight before I kick you out on the streets.”

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. You turned on your heel, heading back upstairs with quick steps, forcing the tears back until you could lock the door behind you. Once inside, you slumped to the floor, breathing hard. The letter from Sukuna crackled beneath your hands, and you clutched it close to your chest, feeling the heat of humiliation turn into something fiercer, darker. 

“Damn it,” you whispered to yourself, pushing back to your feet with renewed energy. You marched to your desk, grabbed your notebook and pen, and let the words pour out, hurried and jagged. If anyone would understand this kind of anger, it was him—the one man whose entire life was carved from rage.

And this time, you wouldn’t hold anything back.

“Letter for you, Ryomen.”

Sukuna dropped down from his top bunk, snatching the letter right out of the guard’s hand.

“From your girl?” Toji asked from across the table, flipping a card, halfway to beating Sukuna in Blackjack.

“Not my girl,” Sukuna grunted, tearing into the envelope. But still, he smirked as he unfolded your letter.

Hey, Sukuna. 

Fuck my landlord to hell and back. I need you to know I’d kill him if I could get away with it. I’m trying to keep this “ethical” so they don’t cut off my letters, but let’s just, I hate the elderly. They should be rotting in retirement houses instead of owning properties and doing a shit job running them. That senile asshole threw hot coffee at me this morning. Burning. I nearly shattered the damn mug over his skull.

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, his fingers squeezing the letter hard enough to crumple the edges.

And now he’s saying he’ll kick me out, as if I have anything to pay him with. This place is a dump, anyway. I might hit up one of those shelters for women, maybe hop from couch to couch for a bit. My job at corner store’s giving me scraps; it’s not nearly enough to get by. So yeah, you could say I’m screwed.

And to answer your question about my eye—yeah, I’m blind in it. Got it from a real piece of work I used to call a boyfriend. He decided my face was fair game, and thought I could just live with it. But he's dead now. Overdosed last I heard from his brother. Good riddance, am I right?

Oh, and for that kink of yours you mentioned—sending my picture along with a little extra treat. 

Hate (because I’m about to go crazy here), Y/N

P.S. For all the things you’ve done, I can’t lie—the world you talk about sounds safer than this one. Well, except for you committing the most heinous crimes. 

Toji clicked his tongue. “Look at that dumbass grin on your face.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Sukuna muttered, flipping the letter over—and there it was: a stick drawing of a woman lying on a bed, two messy circles for her chest, legs spread wide, and what looked like . . . well, he didn’t need to guess. Sukuna went from grinning to outright laughing. “She’s hilarious.”

“Not just that. She’s sexy as fuck,” Toji said, holding up a photo, ripped clean in half.

Sukuna’s eyes flashed. He swiped the photo and pieced it back together, cursing himself for tearing through the envelope like a brute. But as the two halves reconnected, he felt his pulse kick up, hard.

“Well, shit.” You were more than just beautiful. The way your hair fell, the curves of your body wrapped in that short black dress, standing under a streetlamp with the city lights glinting around you . . . But it was the smile—the easy, teasing grin—that really did it for him. “I’m definitely jerking off tonight.” Respectfully, of course.

“Can we get back to the game now, or—”

“Fuck the game. I’ve got a letter to write.” And a plan brewing to get you out of that dump and right where he wanted you.

Your landlord was pronounced dead. 

An ambulance had arrived early in the morning, around nine, waking up every tenant. You were one of them, groggy from your sleep, and all the crying you’d done from realising how high rent was these days.

Apparently, he had a heart-attack, said one of the residents. 

He was eighty, said another. 

You stuck to the back of the crowd as his body was wheeled out on the stretcher. How could he have died just five days after you sent your last letter to Sukuna? It couldn’t have been him, could it? Maybe one of his associates? Given the man’s extensive criminal history, you suspected he had some serious connections.

As the crowd began to disperse a few minutes later, you joined them but didn’t head upstairs. Instead, you made your way to the mailroom.

And luckily, Sukuna’s letter was present. 

All he wrote was: 

You’re welcome. 

Neutral, 

Sukuna. 

You broke out laughing, or crying. Whatever it was, it felt good. So good. 

Hey, Sukuna!

These days, I’m feeling calm. Really calm. I’m sleeping well, eating better, even starting to enjoy work. Sometimes, I’m scared it’ll all get snatched away. By who? I don’t know. Life’s been that way, though. I’ve lost so much—my parents, my friends, even my left eyesight. At one point, I lost my will to keep going. But I guess some part of me held on, believing a better day would come.

Turns out, those days are here. Who would’ve thought a felon could make me feel less alone? I know it sounds crazy, but my life’s been full of surprises lately.

If you think you can’t bring happiness to someone, I’m here to tell you you’re wrong. I’m genuinely happy, and it’s thanks to you. I already think of you as a friend—and I hope you think of me the same way. You don’t get a choice in that, by the way.

Love (genuinely), Y/N

P.S. I’d like to come visit you sometime soon.

Sukuna lowered the letter, his eyes settling on the wall where he’d pinned up your picture. “Toji?” he called out, still staring at the photo.

Toji paused mid-pushup, raising an eyebrow. “What, bitch?”

Sukuna let out a low laugh, barely shaking his head as he spoke. “I think I’m in love.”

Hello, Y/N.

When I’m out in fifty years, I’ll give you a real surprise. And don’t write me any more of that sentimental crap, alright? Save it for when you visit. I’d rather hear it in person.

Hate (but maybe not so much), Sukuna

P.S. You’re beautiful.

You pressed the letter to your chest, biting your lip as warmth spread across your cheeks, your face aching from how much you were smiling. It was official—you were falling for Sukuna Ryomen. You’d have to look your absolute best for your visit. Just the thought of seeing him, hearing his voice, maybe even feeling his hand brush yours, made your heart race. You’d kiss him if they’d let you. And if they didn’t? What could the guards do? Throw you in jail? Now that would be ironic.

But fifty years . . . Would you really wait fifty years for Sukuna to be released? How high was his bail, anyway, that even his hidden cash stash wasn’t enough to cover it? He had to have some kind of pull with the right people, didn’t he?

With a sigh, you grabbed a piece of paper and began to write your reply.

Sukuna,

Fifty years is a lifetime, don’t you think?

Love, Y/N

Sukuna read the short note you’d sent, surprised by how much you’d poured into just a few lines. He noticed small, faded dots on the paper—tears, unmistakably yours. You’d been crying, and it didn’t sit right with him. His stomach tightened, but thankfully, he’d already secured your visit through Uraume, who handled it while Gojo was away.

Now, all that was left was seeing you.

He wondered how he’d keep his hands to himself after all the nights he’d spent memorising your picture, losing himself in thoughts of you. Every night before sleep, every morning when he woke, every time Toji was out cold and couldn’t hear Sukuna’s barely-stifled groans as he imagined you were there. God, he wanted to steal you away. 

The day of your visit finally came. Sukuna was led to the visitor room, wrists cuffed, flanked by two guards. He hadn’t set foot in this room since a couple of his associates had visited months back with updates on the family business and Yuji’s latest fiascos. They’d kept everything running despite his brother’s mess-ups, and Sukuna owed them.

He glanced down at his hands. Fifty years. He’d been scheming for a way out since he first set foot in here, but now, with you in the picture, the urge to escape was relentless. Bail was twenty million. Even if he could scrounge it up, he doubted he could get it done without tipping off the wrong people. No, his only real option was breaking out.

“Sukuna.”

A soft voice pulled his head up slowly. He couldn’t remember the last time his name was spoken with such warmth. 

“Y/N.”

He shot up from his seat, his eyes flicking to the guards stationed in the corner before letting himself drink you in. You looked stunning—a soft sundress, hair delicately curled, makeup enhancing every curve and angle of your face. His gaze lingered on your eyes, marvelling at the contrast: one foggy, hazy, while the other was bright and striking. A smirk pulled at his mouth, but he softened it for you. 

“Hey,” he whispered, the one word holding more emotion than he’d ever admit, especially with witnesses around.

“Hi,” you whispered back, eyes lowering down his muscled body, the pattern tattoos like rings around his wrist and with the first three buttons of his jumpsuit unbuttoned, you found the top of the rings on his pecs as well. His light-pink hair was brushed down, the tendrils poking his reddish-brown eyes. A peculiar colour. “Hi.”

He smiled. “You already said that, baby.” 

Baby. Gosh, you were even more nervous now. 

“They said I can’t shake your hand.” You looked at the cuffs on his wrists and tossed a glare at the guards. “Or hands.” 

“Fuck them.” Sukuna sat down and you followed. “You’re stunning.” 

You blushed. “Thank you.” 

“Not gonna compliment me back?” His deep voice was cocky, smug. You loved it. 

“You’re handsome and you know it.” 

“I sure do.” 

You chuckled and Sukuna watched you with a soft expression. “Thanks for . . . you know.” 

He understood the words you mouthed and smiled. “A little Ricin never hurt anyone.”

“How did you pull it off?”

His eyebrow arched in surprise. “Just because I’m stuck in this hellhole doesn’t mean I’ve lost everyone’s respect out there. Blood is thicker than water in my clan—except when it comes to my nephew. I just want to drain it out of him.”

Your own smile faltered. “Well . . . I’d like to have coffee with you. But fifty years, Sukuna, is too long.” 

He sighed. “I know.” 

“Isn’t there any way to get you out?” 

Sukuna saw the longing on your face and wanted nothing more than to hold it in his hands and stare at you for hours. He just couldn’t believe you were real. He would’ve killed you if you were cat-fishing him. “I really want to touch you,” he whispered instead. He did. He really fucking did. 

You pinched your lips in a smile. “Me, too.” 

Sukuna placed his hands on the table and grabbed both of yours. They were so soft and small. He wanted to kiss each finger. Knuckle. Vein.

“Hands off, Ryomen,” the guard warned. He didn’t relent, and simply winked at you. “I said hands off.” 

“Fuck you,” Sukuna spat back. 

“Visit’s over.” The pair of guards pried Sukuna away, making you reach out for him with a protest. 

“I’ll see you this weekend.” Sukuna winked and let the guards drag him away. 

You sat stunned before the officers escorted you out of the visiting room and apologised on his behalf. 

When the weekend finally rolled around, you found yourself standing at the prison gates once more, entering alongside a pair of guards.

Waiting by the visitor room was a towering figure with straight silver hair and striking blue-eyes. You got a closer look at the badge—Satoru Gojo. You’ve read the name in one of Sukuna’s letters complaining about him.

“Y/N. What a pleasant surprise,” he greeted, waving away the guards and pressing a hand on your back, leading you down the opposite direction. 

“We can chat another time, officer. I’ve got to meet Suku—”

“He can wait. Prison teaches a man patience. He’s got fifty more years left. Plenty to visit then.” Gojo opened the door and guided you inside. The shutting made your shoulders flinch. The lock clicking had dread pooling in your stomach. “Sit. Would you like anything to drink?” 

You eyed the dark setting bathed in a golden light from a corner lamp. There was a cart with a decanter set and a mini-fridge to the right. A bookshelf and a wardrobe on the left. “I’m fine, thank you.” 

Gojo shrugged and poured himself whiskey before taking his seat behind his table. You sat opposite him. “So, what’s your relationship with my favourite prisoner?” 

You blinked. “Uh, we’re just pen-pals.” 

“Lying to a police officer is a serious offence.” 

“I’m telling the truth,” you said. “We’re strictly pen-pals.” 

“I’ve read your letters to know that isn’t true, Princess. So unless you want to sit there and lie to my fucking face, I suggest you start using that mouth for good and tell me the goddamn truth.” He slammed his glass down, but his face remained smiling with false politeness. 

You felt suffocated in the office, eyes darting left and right for anything sharp in case he tried some other method to get you to talk. 

“I’ve been in this field for a decade now to know when someone is hiding something from me,” Gojo continued, taking a leisure sip from his drink. “I have a file on you, Y/N. You’re an only child, with no proper education or a stable job. You’re one bad decision away from being trafficked. You’re submissive, a follower, who if went missing, no one would look for.” Tears welled your eyes at his words. “And I know that bastard’s the reason you’re still living in that dump you call home.” 

That was the last nail in the coffin. 

“I’ve been following you since your first letter,” he said quietly. “You think I don’t know what you’re up to? Oh, Princess, you couldn’t be any more wrong.” He stood up and rounded his way to you. 

You quickly scrambled out of your seat. “Please. I don’t know anything. I—I don’t—Sukuna’s a friend, yes, but I’m not involved in any of his criminal activities.” 

“Friend?” Gojo spat out. “That man is the last person you’d ever want as your friend.” He stalked forward and you retracted. “He’s committed more crimes in his lifetime than any other man. He’s killed half the people in this country, extorted money from politicians, burned down houses for fun, and killed my father!” He grabbed the collars of your dress and slammed you back into his wardrobe door. A cry ripped from your throat. “And you, a nobody, has the audacity to call that fucker a friend? Sweetheart, you’re just a ploy, a pawn, a time-pass for him. A hole to warm his cock in.” A sardonic chuckle. “That’ll never happen since he isn’t getting out anytime soon. But, hey, maybe I can prepare you for him.” 

Your breath quickened, a whimper slipping past your lips. “How does that make you any better than him?” 

Gojo smiled and brushed his lips over your ears. “Because I have the power to get away with it.” 

Your eyes, frightened and flickering, dragged up to his blue-ones. 

In the blink of an eye, you slapped him across the face, taking him by complete surprise and broke free from his hands. He leaped towards you as you unlocked the door and ran out and down the hall, shouting for help. 

A pair of officers turned the corner. 

“Help, please!” You fell into the arms of one of them. “Please, he’s going to hurt me!” 

“Who?” one asked with concern. 

“Satoru Gojo!” 

They exchanged a look and briskly turned away, leaving you standing. Their spines straightened as Gojo walked down the hallway, flattening a hand down his chest. The duo saluted him and walked away with their heads down. 

Your heart sank. 

You had no power here. 

“I told you, Princess,” Gojo purred, prowling towards you, “this is my domain.” 

You cried out and ran towards the visitor’s room. The door knob was locked and could only be opened with a keycard. “Help!” You slammed your palms on the surface. “Please, someone! Help—ah!” 

Gojo gripped the back of your hair and pulled you from the door. “Perfect timing, actually. I’d like to see the look on Ryomen’s face before I split his woman on my cock.” He swiped the card and opened the door, pushing you inside but controlling you with the grip he had on your head. 

Sukuna was already standing and enraged, held back by two guards who struggled. He must’ve heard your helpless cries. You wish he didn’t have to. “Let her go, Gojo!” 

“Oh, I will,” said Gojo, “as soon as I’m done with her.” 

Sukuna growled, thrashing against his restraints. “You fucking prick, I’m gonna tear you in half you if you touch her!” 

“Like this?” Gojo squeezed your left breast and laughed. 

Sukuna elbowed one of the guards in his nose, momentarily seeking freedom to hit the other. Hope blossomed in your chest as he fought them off and made his way towards you. 

Gojo chuckled and pulled out his gun, shooting Sukuna in the leg. You jumped with a scream as he fell to the floor, clutching his thigh. “All this chaos for a common whore,” he muttered. “Come on, Princess. Let’s put you to good use.” 

“No, please!” You shouted as he dragged you away. “Sukuna, no! Sukuna!” 

“Y/N.” Sukuna reached his arm out, his hand curling into a fist and falling defeatedly onto the floor. “Don’t hurt her, please.” His face was squeezed in pain, as the guards kept him pinned to the floor. “Please! Don’t fucking hurt her—” 

The door closed shut, and the last sight before your eyes was Sukuna crying. 

Sukuna hadn’t heard from you in over a month. 

He’d also spend the month in the infirmary after Uraume did an extensive surgery on his leg. It hadn’t hit a vital artery. He believed Satoru’s aim was calculated to keep him alive. To continue letting him suffer. 

Sukuna also went quiet. He hadn’t spoken a single word to anyone except murmuring to himself. He read back on your letters, slept with the papers under his pillow, if he slept at all. 

Every morning, afternoon, night, in and out of his dry sleep, he was plotting a way to get out of this hell and find you. Would you even want to see him? Would you even care? Were you even alive? He’d dragged you into his mess, put you in danger, and fell into Satoru’s disgusting trap. 

“You need to eat something, Sukuna,” Uraume advised as they have been since his injury. They placed the tray in front of him. “At least eat the yogurt.” 

Were you eating? Were you still living in his house? Were you alive? That question rang in his head again. 

“For fucks sake.” Uraume brought forth a stool and sat next to his bed, staring at the side of his face. “What the hell do you want to do?” 

He wanted to kill Satoru first. Then escape with Toji since he was the only bastard he trusted in this place. Then find you and run away from the law as far as possible. It was a simple plan that required efficiency. 

“Are you gonna talk—” 

Sukuna shoved the tray aside, the food falling onto the floor. He was irritated by the questions outside and inside of his head. “I need to find her,” he mumbled to himself. “I need to know if she’s alive.” Please, baby, please be alive. 

“Everything all right in here, doc?” One of the guards stationed outside the door asked with his head peering through the door. 

Sukuna stared at him, then went back to Uraume. They met his eyes with their blank stare. They scanned down his body, to his injured leg, then back to his head. 

A sigh left them. “No,” they replied. “Do you mind helping me clean up the mess?” 

Sukuna gritted his jaw as the guard walked in, closing the door and crouching down, grumbling curses at Sukuna. Uraume stood from their stool and made their way to the cabinet, pulling out a syringe and a small vial. 

Sukuna's eyes lightened, spine straightening. A smile curved at his lip as they flicked the droplets from the tip of the injection and walked over, making small-talk about the weather. 

Suddenly, Uraume jabbed the needle into the officer’s neck and pushed down the plunger. He fell to his side, clutching his neck and staring up at them as they shrugged. Sukuna watched with pure delight as his body began to convulse, foam gathering at this mouth and dripping from the side. 

Then he stopped. 

“He’s dead,” Uraume said before Sukuna could ask. “Works the night shift so you won’t have a problem running into anyone else. Change into his clothes. I’ll drive.” They walked away to grab a face mask. 

“Why?” asked Sukuna. 

Uraume sighed, head dropping. “Because I fucking hate it here.” 

Sukuna was definitely going to hire them once he killed his Gojo, and his nephew. 

He quickly changed into the officer’s clothes, giving him a hard kick in the stomach that had Uraume rolling their eyes. 

Sukuna followed behind as they led the way. “Let’s take Toji.”

“Why?” they asked. “That’s a hassle.” 

“Just feel bad.” 

“And when did you start feeling guilt?” Uraume easily slipped past the security gate, waving to the officer who was busy on his phone. 

“I don’t know,” he said, smiling because he knew. Sure, you’d only touched him once, but your letters were what truly began to change him. Just the other day, he’d lost a round of blackjack, stacking his debt to Toji by a million, and instead of knocking the guy out cold, Sukuna shook hands and called it a ‘good game.’ “On second thought, let’s leave him here for the time being.” Until he got his money in check. 

Once they settled into Uraume’s car, Sukuna quickly discarded the officer's cap, tie, and badges. Uraume entered your address from the letters, and they drove in silence for the next thirty minutes.

When they arrived, the building matched your description: shitty.

Uraume stopped Sukuna before he could leap out of the car. They scanned the street for any signs of police presence. “Go. I’ll wait here.” 

Sukuna nodded and dashed out of the car, walking inside the apartment. There was no buzzer system, which meant anyone could stroll in, armed and dangerous. This was a problem. He needed to get you out of here and into one of his safe houses—a hidden place even his bastard nephew didn’t know about.

He hurried up the emergency stairwell to the tenth floor, slightly winded by the time he reached door 1090.

This was it.

With his hands gripping the edges of the door, he hunched forward, heart racing. Please, be alive.

Finally, he knocked.

He chewed the shit out of his bottom lip, hissing impatiently through his teeth. “Come on, Y/N.” He knocked again, his impatience boiling over. “It’s me, Sukuna! Please, open the door.” He pounded harder, fear creeping in with each passing second. The Sukuna Ryomen was . . . scared. “Goddammit!”

“Sukuna . . .?” 

He halted mid-breakdown and turned slowly, his heart dropping at the sight of you standing there with two bags of groceries. You looked so fragile, your complexion pale, and the radiance he remembered from your visit had completely vanished.

The grocery bags slipped from your hands and fell to the ground.

In an instant, you both rushed toward each other, and he lifted you off the ground effortlessly. You wrapped your arms around him, sobbing uncontrollably as he buried his hand in the back of your hair, inhaling the comforting scent of your body wash.

“It’s okay, baby,” he whispered. “It’s okay, I’m here.” His eyes were directed straight ahead, and he was shaking. Terribly. “I’m here, sweetheart.” 

You pulled back, cradling his face in your small hands. Gently, you brushed aside his dark, mink-like hair, tracing the tattoos on his skin with your fingertips. “You’re alive,” you whispered, overwhelmed by relief. You couldn’t help but touch him, and he simply smiled, allowing you the closeness. “God, you’re alive. Sukuna—you’re really alive. How?”

“Of course, I am. I just needed to know you were alive,” he replied, his hands enveloping your cheeks. “Where did you go? Why did you stop writing to me?”

Your face went blank. “What do you mean?”  

“Your letters. You stopped writing to me.” 

“They . . .” Your voice cracked. “They told me you were sentenced to death.” 

He was taken back. “What the fuck?”  

Realisation dawned upon you. The second time you visited Sukuna, Satoru had literally dragged you out of the station, kicking you out the doors. He’d threatened to take you to his office next time, but since he had a meeting with officials that day, he’d reluctantly let you go. That didn’t stop you from sending countless letters, pouring your heart out until, two weeks later, you finally received a notification from the police station. Sukuna had been sentenced to death by lethal injection and was no longer alive. You’d cried for days on end. You imagined he had been cremated and reduced to ashes, stored away somewhere. The thought shattered you. For an entire month, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave your house.

Until tonight. 

And he was here. Sukuna was here. He was alive. 

“Y/N,” he murmured, his thumb gently brushing the area below your sightless eye. “Let’s head inside, alright?”

You nodded, pressing a soft kiss to the underside of his wrist. He held your hand tightly while using his other arm to carry your grocery bags. Once you reached your apartment, you opened the door and locked it securely. The deadbolt you had installed was a precaution against Satoru, just in case he showed up.

“I’m so happy you’re al—” 

Sukuna kissed you before the words could leave your mouth. You wrapped your arms around his neck, moaning from the taste of his lips, the taste you’d been craving for months now. He didn’t allow you to breathe, didn’t pull away. You both stood there in the alcove, kissing for minutes, clinging to each other. He cupped the back of your head and drew apart from your lips, peppering kisses over your face, especially your foggy eye. 

“I don’t want to fuck you, baby,” he whispered in your ear. “I want to make love to you. For hours.” Your grip tightened in his shirt. “Then I need you to pack everything in a bag and run away with me.” 

“Run away?” You searched his dark-reddish eyes. “Run away where?”

His knuckles grazed your wet cheek. “Somewhere not even God can find us.”

You swallowed hard. “They’ll send out a manhunt, Sukuna. What if we get caught? What if they take you—”

He cut you off with a kiss. “No one is going to take me away from you. Do you get that?” His strong fingers moved through your hair. “I’d turn this world to dust before that happens.”

Your insides melted from the threat. “Take me,” you murmured over his lips. He kissed you. “Take me everywhere, anywhere, wherever, as long as it’s with you.” 

Sukuna lifted you effortlessly, carrying you like a bride as he kicked open your bedroom door. He set you down on the bed, then began stripping off his clothes, revealing the geometric tattoos that marked his thighs and torso. You were caught off guard by how quickly he moved, fumbling to take off your sweater and jeans. By the time you looked back at him, he was already naked, and your gaze dropped to what you could only describe as a gloriously, long erection. 

“Woah,” you whispered, feeling your mouth go dry. “You’re abnormally big.” 

“You can take it.” He leaned over you, tearing your panties without a second thought. Before you could protest about them being your favorite pair, he spread your legs and went down on you. “Oh, my god—Sukuna—wait—”

“Waited too long,” he growled, his mouth finding your clit as he buried his nose between your wet folds. He nipped, licked, and bit, his tongue plunging deep into you, creating messy sounds that filled the air. You couldn't form words or catch your breath, gripping the roots of his hair tightly.

When you came like a flood, Sukuna lifted your hips, making sure not a single drop of you was lost to the sheets. He let out loud, deep moans as he sloppily lapped at your sensitive cunt.

He wiped his glistening mouth with his fingers and then pressed them against your lips. You eagerly sucked on his warm, thick digits, noting the lustrous glint in his eyes. He pulled his fingers out abruptly. “Suck my cock.” 

Suck his what? 

You looked down and saw him leaking at the tip. You clenched your legs, unsure. He wanted you to take that into your mouth?

You licked your lips, managing to kneel while he stood before you. He took hold of himself, rubbing the tip against your lips. You instinctively flicked your tongue out to taste him, causing him to flinch. “Sorry—”

“Don’t apologize.” He seemed to enjoy it. “Just take it in your mouth.”

You nodded, wrapping your fingers around his hot, veiny length. You opened your jaw as wide as you could and slowly took him in. His head fell back, and he engulfed your face with his palms. Your performance was mediocre, and yet he was entertained.

His tip pressed against the back of your throat, making you pull back to cough. He laughed softly, brushing your cheek with his hand.

“Come on, baby. You need to get used to it.”

“I’ve never done this before,” you replied, your voice shaky as you reached for him again.

“Stick your tongue out.”

You took a deep breath and extended your tongue. He rested the head of his cock on it and started to move his hips slowly.

Slowly, you took him in, feeling his satisfaction as he gently rocked his hips back and forth. He tasted warm and a little salty, and you found your hand wandering between your legs, seeking some relief.

“I’m going to pick up the pace, alright, baby?”

You nodded in response.

“Don’t be embarrassed if you choke,” he said, hooking a stray lock behind your ear. “It’ll just make me come faster.”

With that, he thrust deeper, and you gripped his hips tightly, struggling to catch your breath. He noticed and pulled back slightly to give you a moment, but it was brief before he pushed back in again. “You’re taking me so well, baby. Fuck.” His movements became more feverish, and you felt the pressure building as you choked and gagged, saliva escaping at the corners of your mouth. “Fuck, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come down your throat.” 

You tapped his leg, shaking your head.

“No?” He smirked. “You don’t want me to come down your throat?”

You shook your head again and pointed between your legs.

In an instant, Sukuna pulled out. He flipped you onto your chest, lifting your ass up in the air. Without a second thought, he thrust himself deep inside you, and you cried out his name into the pillow.

He felt so full, so thick, pushing into you with a force that made your breath hitch. It was everything you needed—so good, so fucking good. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned. He filled you completely, driving into you with a fast rhythm that left you moaning, completely lost in the pleasure.

Your nails clawed at the sheets as his thick tip pressed against your womb, punctuated by the stinging slaps of his hands against your ass. He showered you with a blend of sweet and dirty words—“good fucking girl,” “cock slut,” “so perfect and tight,” “little whore”—and you pushed back, needing him deeper and deeper.

Sukuna released a torrent of warm cum inside you, still driving his hips against you, holding you securely by the waist. The sensation sent waves of pleasure through you, and he pulled out, flipping you onto your back. He bent your knees, driving himself back inside without hesitation. How was he still so hard?

Your hands cupped his flushed, beautiful face, a lazy smile stretching across both your lips. Sukuna leaned in, kissing you deeply before trailing his lips down to your neck while his hand found its way to your breast. “I’m not on birth control anymore, you know?”

“Good.” He pulled back to meet your gaze. “And don’t even think about getting back on it.”

“But we can’t afford the risk, Suku—”

“I love you,” he said, his grip firm on your jaw. Everything inside you exploded. “I love you, baby. I love you so fucking much that I’ll take every fucking risk.”

You moaned softly as he came again, your trembling fingers brushing against his lips. “I love you, too.” He kissed your fingertips, a promise in every touch. “I’ll take every risk with you.”

“Fuck yeah you will.” He didn’t pull out, his eyes locked on yours. “Starting with putting a baby in you.”

You happily accepted your fate.

Sukuna pulled the trigger, shooting another police officer in the back of his head. The sound of the gunfire mixed with the blaring sirens, echoing through the flickering lights of the corridors—a devious melody composed just for him. He chuckled low, the corners of his mouth pulling up in a grin as another officer lunged out, attempting to stop him—pathetic. A single shot rang out, and the man crumpled like paper.

The path to Satoru’s office was a long one, and the bodies he left sprawled out in his wake were only a brief distraction from the task at hand. He had things to do today, after all.

Another officer stumbled into view, eyes wide, panic evident. He didn’t stand a chance. Sukuna barely glanced at him as he fired, stepping over the man as he slumped against the wall. Blood splattered his shoes, but it was hardly the worst stain on his day.

You were going to be pissed. He could practically hear the biting tone, the disappointed scowl that’d meet him the moment he finally made it to Mai’s first birthday party. Sukuna scoffed as he shot a bullet straight through a door that dared open near him, knocking down yet another obstacle.

But this was necessary. He needed to do this.

Free Toji. Kill Gojo. And then, eventually, deal with his meddling nephew. Everything would finally align, and maybe—just maybe—he could stop all this. For you. For your daughter.  

Satoru’s office was close now. He could smell the antiseptic scent of the door, the false air of authority that seemed to reek from it. He cocked his gun, steeling himself. Because when he was done here—when he’d finally finished what he’d started—he’d make it up to you.

Or so he told himself, as another officer charged and met the floor with a hole in his skull.

Sukuna didn’t bother with the doorknob. He slammed his boot into the door, sending it splintering inward with a loud crack. The office was stripped bare; Satoru’s usual pile of clutter, the irritating stench of his cologne—gone. Only the dust of where things once sat remained on the shelves and desk.

The bastard had fled.

Sukuna’s jaw clenched as he surveyed the room. Gojo knew he was coming and had bolted like a coward hours ago. He pulled his lighter from his pocket, flipping it open with a flick of his thumb, the small flame dancing aglow. Without a second thought, he stepped to the heavy, pretentious curtains Gojo insisted on, pressing the flame to the thick fabric. It caught quickly, embers licking up and curling black around the edges as the fire took hold, consuming Satoru’s last pathetic hold on this place.

He turned and walked out, ignoring the smoke that was already billowing into the hall. The prison alarm was still blaring, red lights flashing down the cold corridors as he made his way to the cells. Every so often, he’d pause, assessing the prisoner cowering behind bars. Rapists, pedophiles, molesters, abusers, killers of innocent lives—he moved on from them. But when he found those who didn’t quite repulse him, he took a single shot at their lock, releasing them in a stream of confused, wary freedom.

As he approached the far end of the corridor, a familiar sight greeted him—his old cell. And standing behind those hard, metal bars, arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, was Toji.

“Didn’t think you’d come back to this hellhole,” Toji remarked. 

“Not for long,” Sukuna replied, levelling his gun at the lock. He fired once, the lock shattering as the cell door swung open. 

Toji stepped out of his cell, took one look around, then paused. “Hold up.”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, watching as the man crouched beside a loose brick in the wall. With a wry smile, he pulled out an old, scratched-up plastic bottle with a wriggling, sickly-looking worm inside. He tapped the side of the bottle, making the creature twist and writhe. “Almost forgot my little friend here.”

Sukuna barked a short laugh. “You’re out of your damn mind.”

Alarms blared louder as they navigated the winding corridors and ran past prisoners surging toward freedom. Some guards tried to block the path, but they were quickly swept aside by Sukuna’s bullets and Toji’s fists. By the time they hit the outer gates, the entire prison was pandemonium, prisoners scattering into the open like ants from a burning nest.

Outside, a sleek, black car idled just past the gate. Uraume sat coolly behind the wheel, watching the stampede of convicts with bored detachment. As they approached, Uraume rolled down the window, glancing at them with their nose slightly crinkled.

“I could smell you two from a mile away,” they said dryly, eyes flicking to the stains of blood on their clothes. “Maybe next time, schedule a prison massacre that doesn’t fall on your daughter’s birthday?”

“Just drive,” Sukuna replied, sliding into the backseat with Toji following. Toji glanced at Uraume with a quick nod, still keeping a light hold on his bottle, the worm twisting inside.

“Welcome back to the real world, Fushiguro,” they said, starting the car as they drove off into the night.

The road stretched long and dark, winding into the depths of a thick forest. The further they drove, the thicker the trees became, their branches curving overhead to cast everything in shadows. The road narrowed into a rugged trail, overgrown and wild. Uraume navigated it deftly, until at last, the forest opened up, and they could see the soft glimmer of moonlight on the water beyond.

Perched on the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean stood their safe house—a dark brick estate against the endless stretch of water. Waves crashed against the rocks far below, the scent of salt and sea heavy in the air.

Sukuna looked at the house, then at Toji’s surprised face.

“This is where you’ve been hiding for the two years?” he asked as soon as they were out of the car. 

“Not for long if I fuck this up.” Sukuna slipped in through the garage, keeping his steps light. He had just one goal at this moment: reach the shower before you spotted the blood streaked on his clothes and the smell of gunpowder clinging to him. 

But as he shut the door, there you were, arms crossed, eyes sharp as they landed on him.

“Sukuna,” you started, an edge in your tone that he recognized all too well. “Do you have any idea what day it is? Look at you; you're a mess!” You gestured at the dark stains on his shirt and his unmistakable smirk.

Instead of trying to dodge the lecture, he listened, that faint smile tugging at his lips as he watched you, soaking in each scolding word. You were the one person who never held back with him, and it made something dangerous in him soften, something in him settle. “I know, baby,” he replied, pecking your cheek. “But I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“Barely,” you replied, sighing, though you couldn’t quite hide the relief in your voice. You glanced over his shoulder. “Toji, Uraume—it’s good to see you both.”

Uraume gave a slight bow, a wry smile still tugging at their lips, while Toji just gave you a quick nod.

You waved a hand, turning back to the kitchen. “Both of you boys—shower, now. I won’t have the two of you smelling like a prison while I’m trying to decorate my daughter’s cake. Go on!”

Toji gave Sukuna a knowing look and shrugged, as if to say, She’s right. Sukuna shot him a warning look, then followed up the stairs, chuckling under his breath as he imagined how you’d cornered him like this. 

Fifteen minutes later, he stepped out of the shower, cleaned up, feeling far lighter as he tugged on a fresh shirt and came downstairs, catching the scent of the dinner you’d prepared. 

He walked over to you, wrapping his arms around you and pressing a kiss to your temple. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile that melted your anger as he pulled you close.

“Gojo got away,” he murmured. “He knew I was coming, and he ran like the coward he is. But I’ll find him. And I’ll make him pay for what he did to you. I swear it.”

You paused, looking up into his eyes, your hand settling on his cheek. “I know you will, Sukuna. But don’t miss the important things here. We’re what’s important now, not just revenge.”

The words took root in him, grounding him, but that flicker of rage still danced in his eyes. He pulled you close, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ll never let him touch us again. I promise you that.” 

Just as you leaned in for another kiss, Sukuna heard the faint sound of your daughter stirring awake from her nap on the living room floor. Mai’s soft little whimpers broke the room’s quiet. Instinctively, he abandoned your kiss, his attention snapping to her as he practically floated over to where she was squirming in her pink dress, rubbing her tiny fists over her eyes.

“There’s my girl,” he murmured, scooping her up with all the gentleness he could muster. Her sleepy eyes blinked open, and he was rewarded with that toothy little grin she’d recently mastered, one that brought an uncharacteristic softness to his entire face. He pressed a cascade of kisses on her cheeks, nose, forehead—anywhere he could reach. “Look at you, sweetheart. All dressed up for your birthday, huh? The prettiest girl in the world.”

You laughed softly from the kitchen, watching as Sukuna held her close, stepping into an impromptu waltz around the living room, his steps surprisingly skilled. She squealed in delight, her small hands reaching up to his face as he spun her around. Even Toji, who had just come down from the shower, stopped in his tracks at the sight, a rare, amused smile tugging at his mouth.

Sukuna glanced up, catching Toji’s presence, and with a proud smirk said, “Toji, meet my daughter, Mai. She’s already got more spirit than most of the people you and I have met.”

Toji stepped forward, studying your daughter. He reached out a hand, and she looked at him with wide eyes, inspecting him with her natural, innocent curiosity. “She looks like trouble. Must take after her old man.” 

“Her mother, mostly,” Sukuna said in your direction, bouncing her lightly. “She’s going to have a whole world to handle, with us around.”

In the background, Uraume was setting the table, their usual precision in each movement. They threw Sukuna a blank look, brushing off their hands. “Now that the table’s set, if you’d all just take your seats, maybe we can have a peaceful birthday dinner without the talk of blood and violence for once.”

Sukuna chuckled, shooting them a dry look before turning back to his daughter. Holding Mai close, he took a seat at the head of the table with you beside him. He looked around, taking in the sight—the cake you’d just set down, the quiet chatter as Uraume and Toji exchanged comments, and his daughter babbling in his lap, still pawing at his face with sticky fingers.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt peace. 

The “Happy Birthday” song had been sung, candles blown out, cake shared, and Toji had crashed in the guest room, completely knocked out. Uraume, too, was resting in another room, finally allowing herself a few hours of sleep.

In your bed, the soft rise and fall of your daughter’s tiny breaths filled the space between you and Sukuna. She slept peacefully between you both, tiny fingers curled into fists as she dreamed. But you and Sukuna were both wide awake, eyes locked on each other in the moonlight. His hand drifted up, fingertips brushing your cheek. 

“Do you remember my first letter?” you asked.

A smirk began at his lips. “You mean the diary entry about the cockroaches in your kitchen and how you thought seducing your landlord was a better solution than paying rent?”

You laughed, covering your mouth to keep quiet, not wanting to wake your baby. He loved that laugh—the way it sounded like music only he got to hear.

“Or how no one with one functioning eye could ever be taken seriously romantically,” he added. “Debunked, by the way.”

Your laugh softened, and you looked at him with a smile that held a thousand memories. “Do you remember the last thing I wrote?”

“The part about Satanism?”

You laughed again, the sound bubbling up and melting into the dark. And as he listened, he couldn’t help but chuckle alongside, his thumb tracing along your cheek, taking in the moment like he was trying to memorise it.

You took a breath, glancing down before meeting his eyes again. “I said I was lonely as hell, remember?” Sadness wove into your words. “And . . . I was. Back then, I thought no one could ever really understand me. Until you did.”

Sukuna shook his head. “You were never meant to be alone, baby,” he murmured. “Not then, not ever. Not while I’m here.”

You swallowed, heart catching as you looked at the life you’d built, the fragile happiness that now lay nestled between you both. “I’m just . . . scared sometimes,” you admitted. “I’m scared of losing this. Of losing you. I don’t know if I could protect what we have.”

“We’ll protect it together,” Sukuna affirmed. “Nothing will take this from us. Not while I’m still breathing.” He leaned forward, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was deep, reassuring, exactly like the one he’d give you when you’d sealed your vows. When he pulled back, you met his eyes, a soft smile tugging at your mouth. 

“I love you, Sukuna,” you whispered, fingers brushing his sharp jaw. “Genuinely, your wife.”

He took them and gave a kiss to the tips. “And I love you most, baby. Genuinely, your husband.” 

Moments later, your eyes drifted shut, your breathing evening out as you finally slipped into sleep. But Sukuna stayed awake, his gaze never leaving you, or your daughter. 

This was the family he’d fought and bled for, the life he’d killed to create. And yet, an unsettling undercurrent of unfinished business tugged at his nerves. But tonight, he forced it away, just for a while. 

For now, there was no room for anything but the second chance he’d been given.

Genuinely, by you.

[benevolentbones]

coffee | spencer reid x reader

warnings: ??mild flirting, spencer checking you out?? gender neutral

word count: 0.7ish

summary: you meet spencer for the first time while he gets his morning coffee.

!!this is my first time writing for this fandom,, and first time writing in over a year so i may be rusty!!

it was a known fact that spencer reid was practically fuelled by coffee, and this morning was no exception. spencer had been up all night reading case files and finishing off his paperwork from the last case, which usually didn’t take the man too long, but his mind had been elsewhere for the last few days.

it had come to his attention, when the team returned from their last case, that the bau had hired a new receptionist. and usually he wasn’t too fussed about newcomers that weren’t directly associated with his team, but something about you was different.

he first noticed you standing in the kitchenette of the bullpen, with penelope. the blonde woman had you engrossed in one of her rambles about one of the fantasy games she often played in her downtime.

you stood beside her, a blue mug that read ‘worlds best dad’ glued in your grasp as you listened intently. you nodded along to everything garcia was saying, wisps of your neat hair falling out of place, which you quickly tucked behind your ears.

spencer noticed you wore a dark button up, which you had rolled up to your elbows. along with a nice fitting pair of dress pants, his hazel eyes lingering on the curve of your hips a little longer than intended.

he blinked himself out of his trance, ambling over to the coffee maker which conveniently was right beside you.

“-and when you level up, you get the ability to enchant your armour, and y’know your girl had to get some-“ garcia continued to rant as spencer picked up a cup and turned the machine on.

“hey reid have you met our newest member?” penelope beamed, turning to face the brunette who began to pour the worlds worst filter coffee into his cup.

his hazel eyes darted up from what he was doing and met yours. you had turned now fully to face him, garcia standing to your left.

“hi” you smiled sweetly at him, brushing your thumbs over the ceramic of your cup.

spencer felt his face flush warm for a second, the man spluttered out a ‘nice to meet you’ before turning his attention back to his coffee.

penelope hummed, knowing that was probably the best introduction he was going to get.

“well i’ve got to get back- lots of hacking to do.” garcia shot you a smile and darted off in the direction of her office.

you couldn’t help but stare as you watched the man begin to pour a mountain of sugar into his cup, every time you thought he would stop he tilted the container more, to further dump the sweet substance into his beverage.

before you could even think, words had slipped past your lips. “do you want some coffee with your sugar, dr.reid?”

you immediately pursed your lips shut, afraid that maybe joking around was too forward after having only met the man a minute prior.

you noticed a small smile grace his features as he stopped pouring the sugar, reaching for a spoon to stir it together.

“actually it’s not uncommon for people to take their coffee this way, around 65% of the US add sugar and/or cream to their coffee.” he mumbled out, taking a sip and making eye contact with you.

“y’know what, i won’t argue with that.” you smiled, taking a sip of your drink.

spencer eyed your form, his cheeks growing warm.

“let me guess…you take yours black?” he mused, noting little details about how you crossed your legs when you stood or how you chewed on your lower lip after saying something.

you trailed your gaze along his suit clad form, his striped shirt was fully buttoned with a black tie to compliment it. he wore a dark grey pair of chinos, standing with one hand in the left pocket as he took another sip from his cup, his focus never leaving you, hazel eyes studying you through thick rimmed glasses.

“you guessed right dr.reid, i’m already sweet enough.” you gave him a small smile before walking back to your desk.

[withloveajaxx]

forgetting your wallet

𓂅 genre: childe, diluc, zhongli, xiao x gn! reader

𓂅 warnings: none

𓂅 summary: how they react when you go shopping and tell then you forgot your wallet

𓂅 note: eyyy it's rich boys ft. zhongli n xiao 😎 anyways as you can see below,,, there's going to be other version of this fic featuring different fandoms/characters i've been thinking about writing for for a while now!! i hope it won't be weird seeing me post something other than genshin content 💀 if you think i should make separate blogs for separate fandoms just lmk hehe. ALSO!! got inspo from those couple vids of "telling my bf i forgot my wallet" trend on tiktok :"D. OKAY ENOUGH OF MY RAMBLING PLS ENJOY THIS FIC N HAVE A GREAT DAY MWAH 🫶

[VALORANT VER.] [HAIKYUU!! VER.]

CHILDE

literally offended™️ like what? what do you mean you expected him to let you pay for shit?

the moment you enter a clothing store, he's looking at you with a completely lovesick gaze, watching as you scan through the various clothing items.

willingly holds the shopping basket for you as you pick out an item or two, turning them to check their prices.

he sees you reach in your bag, eventually frowning and putting the items back. he's confused at first, catching your wrist before you can hang the clothes back on the rack.

"why're you putting them back? they'd look so good on you," he comments, a puzzled frown making its way to his face.

"i forgot my wallet," you admit sheepishly, giving him a bashful smile. "it's fine though. i'll come back and–"

"you expected me to let you pay?" he asks in disbelief, jaw comically dropping to the floor. you don't even get the chance to get a word in before he's snatching those clothes for you and stuffing them in the basket.

"you're unbelievable." he scoffs in an exaggerated and lighthearted manner before gesturing to the rest of the store with a nod of his head. "just get whatever you want, babe. don't worry about anything."

"are you sure?" you ask doubtfully, looking around the rest of the store with a barely concealed look of desire.

"mhm. go wild." childe chuckles, pecking your forehead and nodding in response. the blinding smile and little fashion show you gave him afterwards was all he would have ever asked for in return.

DILUC

poor man is so confused when you start putting the things in your shopping cart back on the shelves :((

he was so entertained seeing you grab all the goodies you wanted and dumping them into the cart.

he's looking at you with concern when you stop in the middle of the aisle to check your bag, a growing frown on your face as your eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"what's wrong darling?" he asks, placing a hand on the small of your back to give you some reassurance. "are you looking for something?"

"my wallet..." you sighs and close your bag, looking at the mountain of stuff in your cart with a disappointed pout. "i forgot it somewhere at home."

he's frozen in both confusion and shock when you slowly start returning items to their rightful places on the shelves. "i'll just get them some other time, i guess."

now it's diluc's turn to furrow his brows. he's literally right in front of you???? he can and will pay for anything???

"oh, darling," he coos gently, placing whatever he could recall you getting back into the cart. "i can pay for it. you don't need to worry about such things."

"thank you diluc," you smile, standing on your toes to place a grateful kiss to his cheek. "i promise i'll repay you some time."

"no need, dearest." he sends you a smile that has your heart squeezing almost painfully in adoration for the man before you. "you're happiness is all that matters."

ZHONGLI

okay i know this man doesn't have much money, but i can pretty much guarantee you that you're getting whatever you lay your eyes on.

you're looking through a small trinkets kiosk with some of the cutest accessories you've ever seen.

zhongli admires the trinkets along with you, smiling as you pick up some pieces of jewelry to try them on.

"that looks wonderful on you, dear," he compliments you fondly, admiring how exquisite a particular bracelet looked on your wrist.

thankfully, the bracelet wasn't made out of any expensive materials so it was rather affordable, and you could easily get it for yourself.

however, as you rummage your bag for your wallet, it's unfortunately nowhere to be found.

zhongli, ever the observant, already noticed the troubled look on your face. he's connected the dots by now so this man is bringing out his own wallet. "let me, my love." he starts looking through his wallet for some spare coins and any bills he can find.

you grab onto his coat sleeve in an attempt to stop him from paying on your behalf. "zhongli, i can't let you–" he's already handed a stack of coins and a single bill in payment before you can even finish your sentence.

"nonsense, dear." he pats the bracelet on your wrist. "it's my pleasure to buy something that looks simply stunning on you."

he brings your hand up to his lips to kiss it lovingly before linking your arms together once more. "if there is anything else that catches your eye, do let me pay for it. it would be my greatest honor to spoil you."

XIAO

he's far less lovey-dovey and physically affectionate compared to the other men mentioned above, but rest assured he'll get whatever you want <3

he doesn't really like being in a crowded space with tons of people, so when you go shopping he's more quiet.

of course he's helping you by carrying the basket and giving you his opinions when you ask for it, but that's about all he does.

he's still as observant as ever though, so when he sees you putting the stuff you wanted back in their places with an upset expression, he knows something's off.

"why're you putting them back?" he asks, brows furrowing in slight confusion.

"i don't have money to pay for it right now. i left my wallet somewhere," you explain sadly, putting the last of your items on the shelf.

he simply hums in understanding before going back to being quiet. he doesn't immediately do something but you'll see how much he loves you later on.

"why don't you go back to the car?" he hands you the keys, and gestures to the basket filled with the rest of the stuff he's getting for himself. "maybe your wallet's in there. you go look while i pay for my stuff."

you agree and by the time you've searched all over the car, xiao is back with numerous bags. you were still upset about your wallet so you didn't get to notice the oddly numerous amount of bags before hopping into the car and letting xiao drive you both home.

however when you get home, he hands you literally everything you were eyeing, his expression soft. "i can pay for stuff. don't be afraid to ask me. i can't say no to you," he reminds you, the tip of his ears blushing red at both his admission and the happy smile you give him that makes his heart pound in affection.

© withloveajaxx 2022. please do not copy, plagarize, or translate in any way.

[leighsartworks216]

Hello! Oh, I am happy to see you're still doing these! How about 48. kisses to shut them up with Astarion, please? And thank you so much if you do this! <3

48 - Kisses to shut them up

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Wanted to write something easy and quick, and this seemed perfect. Honestly after not writing for Star for a little bit, I'm very happy with this

Warnings: none

Word Count: 476

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Astarion hummed noncommittally, nodding along whenever it felt appropriate. When he asked about what you were doing, he didn’t expect to receive an answer as long-winded and enthusiastic as Gale talking about some dusty old tome. Not that it wasn’t interesting - the light in your eyes, the excitement behind your gestures, and the endless tangents you went down to ensure he understood well enough to write a novel all about it.

As much as he loved it, you’d been working on your little project for hours, and explaining it to him long enough for the moon to pass its zenith. It would only be a few hours more before the sun rose and the adventure continued, and you hadn’t gotten a wink of rest. Even as you blinked away the blurring in your eyes, you blundered on, refusing the signs you needed to stop.

You lit up again as you recalled another factor of the process, turning to him as you prepared to start another endless ramble. It was in all your best interest that he swooped in and silenced your mouth. All in your best interest that he cupped your jaw and pulled you in closer, parting your lips with his as his tongue delved in to swallow the surprised sounds you made. Surely, there were no underlying selfish gains to this.

Only once you’d dropped your project and reached out to him, fingers brushing into his hair and fiddling with the untied laces of his shirt, did he pull away with a smirk. Devilish glee danced in his eyes in the light of the oil lamp.

“As much as I’d love to hear all about it,” he assured in a soft purr, “I do believe our dear leader needs their rest.”

You frowned, pouting up at him. “Did you just kiss me to shut me up?”

He gasped, pulling away like you burned him. “After all I’ve done, you accuse me of such underhanded techniques? Darling, please! I have some tact.”

“So that’s a yes.”

“You’re no fun.” He dropped the act with a teasing scowl. His fangs seemed even cuter when they peeked out behind pouting lips. “I simply wanted to ensure you were well rested enough for all the maiming we’ll get up to tomorrow.”

You couldn’t stay mad at him for long, even playfully. All too quickly, a grin broke through your act. You pulled him closer by his shirt, kissing that stupid smirk off his face. It was addicting to be able to kiss him like this. The trust he placed in your hands… You reach up to caress the tip of his ear, a silent thank you.

You pull away with one last peck to the corner of his mouth. “Alright. I’ll go to bed now.”

“You can tell me more about it tomorrow.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

---

Tag List:

@satelliteapotheosis @hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog @catching-fire-in-the-wind @phantoms-fandom-blog @thespectacularspaceace @lynnlovesthestars @sylverqueencosplay @tototini @ashrio20 @bambamwolf87 @astarion-imagine-archive @thistrashisreadytobash @rosxtinted @bongwaterflavoredgatorade @the-lake-is-calling @nyxmainex @squid-killer @godoffuckedupcats @dontneedbiologytoadopt @dark-angel-is-back @gaymistakeboi @asterordinary

[abbacchiosbelt]

New Year

Pairing: Yandere Mahito x GN!Reader

Notes: i wrote this while high and didn't edit it so sorry if it's funky

WC: 792

Notes: Yandere, implied kidnapping, implied death (not of reader), nonconsensual kissing, Mahito being a menace.

“Look what I got you!”

The words that left Mahito’s mouth instantly have you on guard. You warily turn towards your captor, narrowing your eyes at the generic bag that he excitedly shakes in your direction. Anything Mahito gave you was never what it seemed - there were no gifts without strings, nor was anything given to you without purpose. Whether it was to terrify or to sicken or to make you beg for him to stop, there was always a reason.

Mahito ignores your expressions and bounds over to you, dumping the bag out all over the couch cushion next to you. It takes you a moment to register what you’re seeing, your eyes darting between Mahito and the pile on the couch.

Next to you sits a pile of various items, the one thing they had in common being their reason for existence: the celebration of 2024. The new year…? It couldn’t be. It’d… there was no way it had been that long. Mahito kept the time and date from you, but you swore you’d been somewhat accurate in counting the days that had passed. You want to ask him if this is some kind of joke, but no words make it past your scratchy throat.

You look up at him, mouth parted - and the unnaturally large smile that seems to span his entire face answers the words that refuse to pass your lips. Mahito’s hand comes to your face and for one millisecond you think it’s all over before he simply squishes your cheeks together with his fingers.

“Are you so happy you can’t speak?” Mahito presses his fingers into your cheeks upward to push your lips into a crude smile, only stopping when he presses so hard that you whimper. “There you go. If you can’t speak, you can at least give me a smile after I went to the trouble of getting you this stuff.”

Mahito grabs one of the accessories from the pile - a party hat with a generic New Year quote - and places it on your head, adjusting it so that the band under your chin is just so. He grabs a noise maker for himself and startles you by leaning forward to blow it in your face, leaning back to cackle when you jolt away.

“You know, this is one of those human holidays I don’t really get.” Mahito waves the noise maker as he speaks, specks of glitter falling to the floor. “All the humans I took this stuff from seemed to be having fun. Especially the couples.” 

The humans…? Your blood turns ice-cold in an instant. While Mahito rambles, you force yourself to look back at the pile. You hadn’t noticed it before, but there was a faint, metallic smell in the air. It was different than the sickeningly sweet stink of rot that clung to Mahito.

It smelled fresh.

If you looked hard enough in the pile, there’s no doubt that you’d find several things spattered with blood.

Mahito startles you out of your shock when his hands are suddenly on your shoulder, the icy cold chill of his skin biting even through your clothing. “Hey. Are you listening?”

You nod, still unable to speak, but Mahito doesn’t retreat from your space. He presses in forward until his lips nearly rest against yours, and you struggle not to recoil at the scent of iron that clings to his mouth.

“We were supposed to kiss at midnight, but since you don’t know what time it is, now is as good as ever.”

Mahito places his lips against yours, surprisingly chaste, and pulls away. “I forgot to tell you. You’re the only person I’ve kept long enough to see a new year go by with.” He gives you no time to react before he leans in again to capture your lips in a domineering kiss, ignoring your groan of discomfort when he wrenches your mouth open with his inhuman tongue and licks the inside of it. He stops again, pulling back in full this time.

Mahito places his hand on your shoulder like you’d seen him do before to the many humans he’d mutilated and forced you to watch. Paralyzed by fear, feeling ridiculous with the hat on your head that had most definitely belonged to a now-dead person, you finally manage to squeak out a plea for mercy. “Mahito, please don’t hurt me!”

“Calm down, cutie. I just wanted to wish you a proper new year for our first time together.” 

Mahito lifts the noise maker he’d shoved in his pocket to his lips and blows it hard, giggling like a child when he pulls it away from his mouth.

“Happy New Year! And if you’re lucky, you’ll be here next year too~”

[blasphemecel]

Michael Kaiser — On Your Knees

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader WORD COUNT: 2.9k TYPE: Humor, Teasing, ERM I think y/n and kaiser might like each other 🤓 WARNING: Suggestive sorry (flirting is only verbal but explicit at times)

Kaiser always looks alright with his hair wet. Not, like, stunning or anything, but passable. Then you know it’ll start standing up in weird ways after it dries a little and he’ll ask Ness to help him with it — which, embarrassing, by the way.

But anyway. You wanted to check out the communal bath after you took a shower, figured you’d be alone because it was already bordering on late, and Kaiser followed you because why wouldn’t he. Not like you value your peace and solitude or anything. He can be such a pest sometimes.

You were telling him what Isagi told you — it’s called a sento and apparently it’s different from the more popular onsen — and he said you weren’t ‘worldly’ and that you weren’t ‘impressing him’ and then some more about how ‘everyone knows this.’ Shithead. You should spit in his breakfast tomorrow, if you remember.

Well, you like sitting in the bath, at least, so you’re not too sour right now. Even Kaiser being right next to you can’t ruin it.

“I like this Raichi guy,” you say.

Kaiser shakes his head a little to show you he disapproves. “Don’t tell me you mingle with them. Also, the guy’s always benched. He’s second-rate.”

“No, listen, he was telling me about this sexy soccer motto he has. I really wanna know what it’s about.”

“You’re embarrassing. If you’re in my entourage, you should act like it.”

“Dude, you’re just mad at Isagi ‘cause he was trending on football twitter more than you were that day,” you say.

“I’m not!”

Very persuasive argument coming from him here. It’ll take a lot out of you to take it apart. He’s fuming about it, too. Maybe it’s not so bad Kaiser came along if you can poke fun at him.

“I don’t know why you’re the favorite on the team, anyway,” you say. “They all die over your corny tattoo and not to mention how much you love showing it off. Not cool at all.”

“You wish you were me. Now you’re being jealous because no one likes you, and it’s making you look even uglier than usual,” says Kaiser, seeming to believe himself if the smug look on his face is anything to go by.

“I mean, I had a girlfriend till recently, you know.” Kaiser rolls his eyes, but you ignore him. He’s always doing this, pretending he doesn’t want to hear you. “She had this botched blue dye job and said things like ‘pussy power,’ with the crystals in her room and the tarot cards and all.”

“Yeah? Sounds great. Did you pick her up after a match, loser?”

You click your tongue and wag your finger at him just to be annoying. “No, I don’t fool around with fans. Seems more like your forte.”

He flicks the offending finger away. “I’ve never done that, you slanderous pig.”

“No, but listen, she didn’t care about football at all. She didn’t even know what a scissor kick is. Ooh, she drove me wild.” You sing the last part, looking up at the ceiling fondly as if you’re recalling a warm memory.

Kaiser narrows his eyes at you, frowning. “You’re one strange individual.” And what a pompous way to put it.

“But anyway, wanna know what kinda tattoo I’d get?”

“I seriously don’t care.”

“A skull with two guns. Hard as fuck.”

“You’re so lame. It’s appalling, and also probably why you got dumped.”

He’s taking the tattoo thing seriously. At least seriously enough to insult you over it. He’s even snickering at you in amusement. His face is always, how can you put it… snide, but he does look a touch more evil when he starts grinning and shit. What a hoot, though. Really.

“Nah, there was this guy. He wore suspenders with plaid polos and these little sweaters over them. They were sustainable. Sustainable. Can you believe it? Sustainable! I didn’t stand a chance.” You poke him on the neck, already distracted from what you were rambling about. Kaiser is going to bring up your low attention span soon, you can smell it on him. It doesn’t take any effort to reach out, though, what with him sitting so close next to you. “This isn’t such a bad spot for a tattoo, actually. I don’t know, maybe you were onto something.”

“Paws off,” he says, swatting you away like a bug. A pedestrian bug, probably, at least in his imagination. “You really wanna fondle me that badly, you’ll use any excuse to do so?”

“Paws!” you repeat, clapping. “You’re hysterical.”

Kaiser rolls his eyes again. He seems to like to do that a lot, at least in your presence. If there was such a thing as competitive eye-rolling, you wager he’d be good at it, maybe even better than he is at football.

“No, but listen-”

“God, I hate it when you say that,” he interrupts with a groan, then contradicts himself by also swinging an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer just to yawn in your face with great exaggeration. The water is way too hot for this nonsense, so you push him away. “Because I never want to listen to you.”

“You’re crazy. Insane. It’s super clinical. Like, really.”

“Yes, I’m sure, unlike me, you’d pass a psychiatric evaluation because I’m crazy and you aren’t. Of course.”

“Imagine-”

“Can you stop topic-hopping?” Kaiser asks, annoyed. See, you knew he’d bring it up. “Does your head ever hurt with how much bullshit goes through it?”

You shush him. He scowls at you like you’re some mold growing in the bath, but you disregard his expression of disdain. “Imagine you’re having a nice day, I don’t know, at practice. Then I barge in with all of my asshole glory, right, and I walk up to you, and for no reason, I say, ‘On your knees,’ instead of greeting you. Isn’t that kinda deranged?”

Kaiser stares at you. To his credit, he’s decent at maintaining a poker face, but once he’s embarrassed, there’s no hiding it, no going back. Because no matter how much he does his usual male posturing or whatever it’s called, his face is all red, the blush even going up to his ears, mouth wavering the slightest bit. “W-What? In your dreams.”

“Oh, do you like getting bossed around or something?” you ask with the sensitivity of a numb toe. “That’s so pathetic.”

It’s quite the spectacle when his skin somehow becomes even more flush. Sick of your leering, maybe, Kaiser whips around, albeit not all the way, and covers his cheek with his hand while peering at you through his fingers. Finally, he decrees, “You suck,” with too much authority.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Forget about me, though. In that situation, do you spit or do you swallow?”

It’s unclear whether you’re getting any gratification out of this besides the satisfaction of flustering him, but you smile in amusement regardless. As if you care about Kaiser sitting there, looking all pretty and nervous because of some nonsense you’d been spewing. Not like you’re crazy about him or anything. That’d be ridiculous. You couldn’t be more unfazed if you tried.

You grab your towel with what you’d call impressive swiftness, then turn around and stand, covering yourself before preparing to go on your merry way. Kaiser pulls you back by the ankle, trying to trip you or something, the menace. Hilarious guy, really.

He is staring up at you in this petulant sort of way, grabbing onto his own towel with his other hand. “Why are you leaving so soon?” he asks, sounding peeved, as if you haven’t been here with him for an unreasonable amount of time already.

“I thought I should give you some privacy since you’re all hot and bothered now,” you say (with this douchebag laugh you have for situations like these, where you’re being a douchebag — self-explanatory), stepping out of his grip. Then you try to imitate his voice, but more high-pitched, accompanying your performance with a few vulgar hand gestures. “Oh, [Y/n], you slanderous pig! I think that’s what you’d sound like.”

“You’re such a lowlife,” he says, before all but leaping out of the bath and trying to maim you right here on the spot, and the only thing to save you from your demise is that he gets lightheaded and almost faints immediately after.

You reach out to pull him up and keep him steady, holding him by the arms. “You can’t be jumping out of the bath like that, man, come on.”

The lack of response concerns you, but after a while, Kaiser gathers his wits enough to say, “I’m going to make you slip, and I’ll be praying you split your head open.”

You burst out laughing. “Do it, then. You don’t have it in you, do you?”

Instead of doing as he promised to retaliate to your provocation, he settles for letting go of you and glaring, before clutching the side of his head and going still again. If there was any medical wing in this goddamn football contraption, maybe you would’ve taken him, but alas. At least you don’t need to worry about Kaiser too much since he eventually concedes and holds onto your arm for support.

The sight of you two stumbling around towards the changing room is probably comedic — uncoordinated as hell, covering yourselves with these flimsy little towels, using the hands not clutching at the other.

“You’re supposed to drink a lot of water before getting in,” you say.

“It’s your fault! You didn’t warn me we were going.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you weren’t invited. Jeez.”

“Oh, whatever.”

You return the tiny towel to the basket, swapping it for a bigger one and making quick work of drying yourself. You’re slipping on your shirt when you ask, “Is your head all right now?”

“I’m fine.”

When you turn around to judge whether he’s being truthful or not, he’s dabbing himself in a manner which is way more laborious, examining his reflection in the mirror as if he’s in some slow motion commercial where the camera will capture a conspicuous water droplet falling down his neck, admiring his jaw from different angles. He makes you sick sometimes.

“I’m not gonna wait for you to finish checking yourself out.”

He shoos you away with a dismissive wave of his hand. Unlike his, your actions most often align with your words, though, so you do walk out of the door. You’re not even ten steps in when Kaiser reappears, now magically dressed.

“Stop rushing,” he says, pushing you out of the way — and for no reason! There’s enough space for both of you in the hallway. You end up lagging a bit behind him. “I’m dizzy.”

“I thought you said-”

“Blah, blah,” he cuts you off, untying his hair and doing a bad job of smoothing it out with his fingers.

You’re rooming with him and Ness, so you’re already headed in the same direction. As much as this stinks, your other option was Gesner and Grim. God, is fucking Gesner obsessed with dick cheese. Of all things, that’s what he’s always talking about. Grim has your condolences, but the problem is out of your hands now.

“Your hairstyle’s ridiculous.”

Kaiser turns his nose up and smiles, coming off as pleased by the insult. “You can only wish to pull it off.” Always preening like a peacock. He’s entertaining. You swear he is.

You hook one of the ends, where it’s the bluest, around your finger, twirling it around and around. “I had a dream about you recently.”

“Aww, I’m on your mind even when you’re unconscious. I could vomit right now.”

“You were in the meditation position, but you were levitating, and the rat tails were holding you up.”

Maybe you’ve committed some kind of utmost offense, because he doesn’t even bother insisting they’re not rat tails this time. “Wow, those are the kinds of things you dream about me? Your brain is defective to the core.”

“What do you want me to dream about you, then? Are you implying something?”

He faces you, and he has this way of looking at you like you’re a blight on humanity. You have an urge to press your palms against his cheeks to check how warm they get when he blushes, but resist it. “You’re so delusional.”

He’s rolling his eyes again.

“Keep rolling them, see where it gets you.”

“What, are you implying something?” Kaiser asks, mocking you, but he seems kind of happy at the insinuation. You’re not about to point it out, though, having a semblance of self-preservation.

“But anyway, your hair,” you say. “It looks good for tugging on.”

He snorts, either at your audacity to speak such things out loud to him, or at the way you straight up ignored his question.

So you elaborate, just so he doesn’t get the wrong idea, “Yeah, like, I kinda wanna grab you and swing you around till you fly outta my grip.”

“What?! As if.”

“It’d be so funny, though.”

“Maybe to other stupid people like you. Dense people who always ruin the fucking moment, for example, that type of thing.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you say, stifling a laugh before entering the room.

The lights are still on when you come in. Ness seems to be reading some kind of book, sitting upright and all. “Hey, guys. You were gone for a while.”

“We were,” Kaiser says, you assume just because he likes hearing himself talk. “All that time I can’t get back.”

You crouch down to get him a water bottle in case he forgot how dehydrated he was (or more likely decides he’s above getting it by himself). It’s rare for you to do something out of the goodness of your heart, so when you turn around to pass it and find him draping himself over the solitary bed — the one you won dibs on in an honest round of rock, paper, scissors — you swear to never do anything nice for him ever again.

“Hey, get off! It’s mine.”

“But I want it,” he whines, as if his word holds more weight than the aforementioned game of rock, paper, scissors, which, as already established, you won.

You’re about to make an earnest attempt at throwing him out of the bed until Ness comes to his defense. “Come on, leave him alone.”

Saying no to Kaiser is exceptionally easy. But going against what Ness is asking? You can’t get a read on the guy. He’s either way too happy most of the time, or is secretly plotting your murders for all you know. You toss the water bottle at Kaiser, leaving him to smirk at your relenting.

“By the way, do you mind if I turn the lights off after I do my nighttime routine in the bathroom? I’m kind of tired,” Ness says.

“Sure,” allows Kaiser. So generous and charming with a winning personality to boot, this guy.

You lean against the bunk bed and ask, “Oh yeah, why are you still up?”

“I thought it might be rude if I went to bed before you both came back, so I decided to wait.”

Damn, now you feel kind of bad for dilly-dallying for so long. You clutch your chest with a tasteful sense of drama. “You’re so perfect. Hey, Ness, you wanna take the top bunk?”

“Wow, really?”

“Why not at this point,” you say. After all, Ness came in second in the game, but gave it up to Kaiser, and he ruined everything already.

“Thanks!” He grins at you before rushing off to do his business, almost blinding you with the sweetness he emits. Your gaze trails after him until he leaves the room.

Kaiser is looking at you with a mix between scorn and disgust when you walk over to his side to retrieve your phone from the bedside table, but you pretend not to notice.

Figuring you have nothing better to do, you take Ness’s previous spot, lying down on your stomach, ready to check your notifications. In your peripheral vision, you see Kaiser take his shirt off theatrically, then he has the fucking nerve to throw it at you. He makes such a big show out of existing.

It’s probably more painless to throw him a glance now than to be stubborn, so you exhale out of your nostril in resignation and turn your attention back to him. Kaiser props himself on his elbow while reclining on his side, posing on the bed, gracing you with a bastard smile. Almost presenting himself like a Renaissance painting you’re supposed to admire in some chaste, intellectual kind of way.

“Wanna know something?”

“What?” he asks, apparently irritated since you don’t seem so appreciative of him right now.

“I think shitty, obnoxious guys like you need to be put in their place,” you tell him.

It really is way too obvious on his complexion when he starts getting shy. He’s like a breathing mood ring. It’s almost fascinating. For a second, Kaiser is incredulous, but then he turns smug again, addressing you with a sense of challenge. “Don’t even joke. You’re not really about it like that. All you do is talk.”

You think you’re gonna start having even more fun together after today.

___

No homo I HATE HIM 😍

[angel-of-the-moons]

A Rose Under the Moon

Moon Knight System (Marc/Steven/Jake) x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Domestic violence mentions, hints at child abuse, child abuse mentions violence, phantom pains

MINORS DNI: I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Again, none of this is beta read. We die like the younglings Anakin snuffed in the Jedi Temple

Taglist: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @shirukitsune @bad4amficideas

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

Chapter 3:

The Victims

You sighed, checking the little egg timer in your apron pocket to see how long until the scones you were baking had left in the oven. Fifteen minutes. Ugh.

It had been a few days since Steven had come in and purchased his pillar of books. The two of you would make small talk, him thumbing through books and rambling about a subject on ancient Egypt that he knew. The moment you brought up your own obscure facts you have memorized from the things your father would read to you as a little girl, Steven’s eyes lit up and he got the biggest grin on his face, and launched himself headlong into info-dump mode. It was kinda cute, really, how excitable he got. You could tell the poor guy probably didn’t have many friends, aside from his brothers, whom he’d told you about, and a friend named Layla. You also found it endearing how his messy, bed-raggled curls would flop over his face, or how animated he’d seem when he would interrupt himself to bring up another fun fact…

But, it had been a day or two since he’d come in last. And to be honest, you kinda miss the guy. He was probably the nicest most engaging customer you had. He even admitted that he didn’t come in just for the books. He told you he liked your teas and treats, and he loved the comfortable atmosphere of your shop over a crowded cafe. But one day, he just had to ask:

“I’ve been meaning to ask…” He started, looking at the muffin in his hand.

“Hm?” You hummed as you stocked shelves.

“Are these… vegan?” He seemed hesitant to touch the muffine now, as if it were poisoned.

You giggle softly. “Yes, actually. I try to use recipes that everyone can enjoy. Vegan, gluten-free…”

“Oh! Wonderful!” He scarfed the muffin down rather quickly after that, his nose buried in the textbook on archaeology he had in his hands.

You set your phone down as you sipped your spiced tea. It was a rather cold and gloomy day today, not uncommon this late in the year, but still, it sucked. It reminded you of where you grew up in Maine, off the coast. Storms blew in all the time, you’d remember as a little girl getting up in the morning, wanting to run outside and play, just to be met with a dark and angry sky, blistering winds, and pelting rain.

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

Your poor little six-year-old heart was crushed one day when a particularly bad squall blew into town, and you were trapped within the confines of your house, arms crossed, feet firmly planted as you glared out the window, lip wobbling.

How dare the weather ruin your plans for the day? You were going to play in your treehouse! Now the stupid wind was gonna blow it away! And if it did, your father would have to build another one, and that would take forever!

“Hey, there, Lil’ Bit.” Your dad said, kneeling behind you, as you stubbornly looked out the window in a seething rage. So, so angry for a little girl. You inherited your temper from your mother, surely. Though you personally never saw her mad, of course. Ever. But then again, she worked so much…

Your mom was what your dad told you was a “breadwinner”, which was a term you found dumb. You mom never entered contests and she certainly never won bread as a prize. It was so dumb! Why did adults have to use such dumb words for things?

“Hey, kiddo.” Your dad sang, leaning forward from where he was crouched to put his chin on your tiny shoulder.

“No, daddy, ‘m angy.” You mumbled, trying to shrug him off as lightning flashed in the distance.

He chuckled, his voice warm, much like your favorite pair of fuzzy socks after they were just taken out of the dryer. “Come on, princess. It’ll pass. They always do.”

“But why did it have t’ do it today!” You whined, not budging.

“Dunno, kid. The sky just felt like dumping buckets, I guess.” He said, humoring you.

“Daddy...” You groaned, rolling your eyes. “Clouds don’t use buckets!”

“Sure they do!” He grinned, waggling his eyebrows at you. “You just never see em!”

“You’re silly.” You scoff.

“You’re silly!” Your dad laughed, scooping you up and spinning you around, finally getting a smile out of you as you shriek in laughter.

He tucked you against his chest and kissed you on your forehead. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s get you some sna–”

His eyes went wide and he gasped when you writhed, crying out and wincing like you’d just been struck.

“Babygirl, what’s wrong?” He asked, hurriedly sitting you on the couch as you curled in on yourself. He could see the welts start to peek out from beneath the sleeves of your little pink shirt.

It was happening again.

The pain in his heart gripped him like ice, knowing he couldn’t do anything to ease the pain his daughter was feeling. His poor, poor baby girl, whose soulmate was constantly being inflicted with whatever horrors they faced with.

He would curse it, sometimes. Your mark. Your bond. You were already enduring abuse that wasn’t directed at you. Or maybe it was in a way… Given that it was happening to your other half. Who you would one day meet. Maybe things will be better, when you had. Maybe.

But one thing was for sure, he hated whomever was inflicting those injuries on your soulmate more. Not only were they hurting your soulmate, they were hurting you. He’d imagined that you were close in age. If so, who the hell would abuse a child in such a way? The concept was completely foreign to him.

He rubbed your back, murmuring sweet and loving things to you.

He noticed something odd about your mark about a few years ago, right when the welts and bruises started to show and you would recoil in phantom pain... There was a new addition to your mark. At first it was one crescent moon. But then one became two, and two became three.

Right now, the bottom right moon was full.

He wasn’t sure what it meant… But he noticed your crying slow to soft little hiccups and sniffles as you sit up, rubbing your eyes.

He rested his forehead against yours. “It’ll be okay, sweetheart. I promise.”

“I jus’ wanna know why it hurts so much, daddy.” You sniffle.

“Trust me, I know. Me and your mom are similar. I remember when we were kids, before we met… She fell from a tree and broke her leg. Man, it hurt so bad…”

You looked up at him, your big beautiful eyes glistened with tears. Your mother’s eyes. Little gems of hers that you would always have.

“Really?” You peeped.

“Really.” He stood and walked over to the bookshelf above the living room fireplace, and plucked a book off of it. He turned back to you and sat next to you, pulling you into his lap and kissing the top of your head.

“This book came from your great auntie over in London. You remember her, yeah?” He hummed.

Your fingers grazed the cover, old and worn, obviously well-read and well-loved. It had a picture of a woman with wings and a pretty dress on it. You couldn’t read the other words on it just yet, you were still learning how to read the bigger ones.

“Want me to read you some of the stories in it?” He inquired.

“Uh-huh.” You nod.

Your father flipped the pages open, and hummed again, softer.

“Now, let’s start with the tale of Isis and the Seven Scorpions…”

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

You jumped, almost dropping the egg timer you had in your hand when your shop’s door dinged and swung open. A frantic young woman rushed inside, her sunken and baggy eyes looking at you, wide with fright.

You skipped the usual welcome and regarded her with a confused expression.

“I… Can I help you–”

“Please, I just need to–to hide!” She said, rushing over to you and gripping your hand, pulling you behind her and further into the winding shelves that made up your bookstore.

“Hey, Hey.” You say, putting your hands on her shoulders. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“My–my boyfriend. He… He’s… I messed up and burned lunch and…” She looked to the side trying to check if he somehow didn’t materialize out of thin air over her shoulder when she wasn’t looking; and when she did… you saw them.

The already darkening bruises on her delicate throat.

Immediately you went into protector mode. You gently urge her towards the door leading to the stairwell that went up to your flat above.

“You hide up there, and call 999, okay?” You say to her. “You can stay here until the police arrive. If it makes you feel safer, there’s a deadbolt to the door up there. If your boyfriend comes in I’ll act like I didn’t see anything.”

You rush to the oven when you hear the timer go off, and pull out the scones (after slipping on your mitts), when the bell to your store dings.

You curse under your breath and say to the girl quietly. “Stay quiet, honey. I’ll be up when the police get here.”

You carefully slip the tasty treats onto a plastic tray and toss the pan into the sink with a clang; instantly regretting it when the young woman flinched and curled into herself, her arms instinctively reaching to cover her head.

You muttered and apology and balanced the pan on your hand as you hastily make your way down the stairs, to see whomever was incessantly dinging your “ring me!” button at the register.

When you finally break free of the labyrinthine bookshelves, you spot a rather large and angry looking man.

This had to be the boyfriend.

“Hello, one moment, please.” You say tersely, sliding the scones into the small display case showcasing the fresh treats of the day.

“Oi, you seen somebody come in here?” He demanded gruffly.

You take another visual sweep of his appearance. Rather big build, probably abuses the gym too much. He looks like he exclusively dines on protein shakes more than food… He could be trouble, if he got violent. The only upside is that you knew the layout of your little shop by heart, he didn’t. You really wished you had a gun under the counter, right about now.

You made a mental note to sign up for the courses and get the certificate from the police..

“Other than you, no, you’d be my first customer of the day.” You force the cheer into your tone as you bring a box of books and begin to half-assedly place them, hoping to look normal.

“Ain’t no fuckin’ customer.” He growled. “Don’ want no books.”

“Well, I also offer a variety of coffees, teas, and snacks–”

“I ain’t no fuckin’ customer!” He barked, getting in your face.

You could smell the alcohol on his breath. That explains the slurred speech.

“Sir, I’m gonna have to ask that you please back away, you’re a little too close…” You say, your hands up in a submissive gesture, hoping to appear as non-threatening as possible.

"Does it look like I giv' a fuck? Ya fuckin' muppet?" He hissed at you, his eyes dilated and glassy.

"Look, I don't want to cause trouble, but–"

He seized your arm and gripped it painfully tight, you could feel the crunch of your radiocarpal joint being squeezed under his rough and indelicate fingers. "Did ya hear me, ya fuckin' cunt? I'm lookin' for my girl, I know she came in here! Don't lie t' me!"

"Sir, people come into my store all the time, and it's not really my business why unless they buy a book or a muffin. Let me go!" You retort, trying to pry his fingers from around you with your free hand.

"Shut th' fuck up!" He snarled, pushing you back against the bookshelf so hard the back of your head cracked on one of the shelves. Great, another pain.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" An unmistakably American accent called from the door of your shop.

How had you missed the bell? How did you not notice the sound of the door opening?

The drunken man holding you turned, still gripping you. "Great, another fuckin' yank? Can't you fucks stick to ya own country?"

You felt your pulse quicken, and your eyes widened at the man who stood in the door; dark, honey-tinted eyes aflame with anger. But the man the eyes belonged to?

Dead ringer for Steven. But he carried himself entirely differently, he even had his hair styled back in a different way. He wore a white hoodie, faded blue jeans, and some steel-toe boots.

"None o' ya fuckin' busniess, you dick." The man sneered, looking back down at you.

"It is if you're hurting the lady." He said gruffly.

"Oi, you got a listening problem?"

The man turned again, but he was met with the knuckles of the American man who just came to your aid; straight to his jaw, knocking him back against a cart you had full of discount books, sending them to the floor with a clatter.

The man cracked his knuckles, before gently grabbing you by the shoulder and moving you behind him for cover.

At this distance you could just barely catch a whiff of sandalwood and some kind of spice. A hint of aftershave wafted into your senses in accompany.

"You fuckin' dick!" The man grunted, shaking his head in an attempt to reorient his brain.

"You need a better repertoire of insults, buddy. Or stop hitting the sauce." The other man sneered. "Probably both."

The drunk lunged at him, and this guy was one step ahead, intercepting him by grabbing his wrists.

The crunch of bone was enough to make you squeeze your eyes shut, and when you dared to peek again, the drunk was clutching at his now bleeding and broken nose. Your savior on the other hand?

Barely broke a sweat. He headbutted him with the hardest part of his head, crunching bone and cartilage.

"Stay down, asshole." He growled. You spun on your heels to look at the door when two clothed officers came in, hands on their pepper spray.

"Everybody just calm down!" One of them shouted.

Ugh. Now you had a headache…

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

By the time the officers, the battered girl, and her boyfriend all left, it was just you and your knight in shining hoodie. Who looked way too much like Steven.

You sat him down at one of the reading nooks and shakily wring your hands out to calm down. "Uh… Yeah, so…" You try.

"My name's Marc. Marc Spector." He said. "You, uh… met my brother, already. Steven."

You gasp. "The heathen!"

He choked out a startled laugh. "What?"

"Oh! Uhhhhhh…" You clear your throat awkwardly trying to change the subject. "You and Steven have different last names!"

Marc huffed through his nose. "It's uh… a long story."

"What, were you guys separated at birth or something? He speaks with a typical Londoner accent, you're full-blown American." You smile.

"Or something." Marc murmured, unable to meet your eyes.

"God, and Steven and I joked about my life being a setup for a book." You giggle softly. "You guys sound like you're straight out of a Dickens novel!"

Marc kind of squirmed in his seat. "Yeah…"

"So, uh… what brings you here today? From what Steven told me, you don't exactly pick up books all the time like he does." You say to him, tilting his head.

Marc wiped at his face with a groan, "Ugh. Don't get me started on Steven's books! He has too goddamn many–"

"Ah!" You say, flicking a stray curl. You weren't sure why your brain told you that was okay to do. It just felt right. The look he gave you afterwards sent your heart leaping into your throat.

Raw confusion, maybe some surprise?

"Uh… No talking like that is allowed in my store, there, pal…" You stammer out. "So… why are you here?"

"Steven said you had coffee. Didn't feel like dealing with a lot of people today." He kind of mumbled.

"Oh, I get that." You sighed softly in sympathy. Already, Marc struck you as the kinda guy who didn't like dealing with people unless he had to.

And honestly, you kinda felt for the guy. Something about him made your heart twinge in a funny little way.

"Tell you what, as a thanks for helping take care of that asshat, coffee is on the house, and I'll even give you a cup of my personal blend instead of the stuff on the menu."

"Uh, you don't have to–"

"Ah!" You say, wagging a finger at him as you walk away. "None of that in my store!"

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

You sat and talked for a while. Hours, really. Whereas Steven loved to babble about things he knew, and was rather energetic about it, Marc was… reserved. Shy, almost. He was content to let you lead the conversations, piping in here or there on a subject.

He told you some about his time in the Marines, and how something happened to him mentally that got him discharged early. He was vague about what he did after that, but he mentioned moving to London after he and his wife ran into problems.

At first you almost asked a rather impertinent question, "Why did you guys split up?" But decided that was far too rude of a thing to ask. Even if you wondered why he married outside of a soulmate bond. Even if a marriage like that wasn't entirely uncommon…

"I'm sorry." You say softly, sitting across from him, your coffee long finished, the mug cold. "You've been through… a lot..."

"Yeah, you can certainly say that." Marc sighed, turning his mug in his hands for probably the hundredth time.

"So… Thanks again. For y'know. Helping me." You smile.

"No problem, easy enough to deal with a drunk." He shrugged. "And he looked like he was about to hurt you, so I had to do... something."

"Well I'm glad you did that something." You chuckle.

Marc cleared his throat and smiled back, a soft thing on his face, really. But it was nice to see.

He moved to stand, "I should, ah… go. Thanks for the coffee." He reached out to hand you a few notes from his wallet, and you declined, gathering the mugs to go wash them.

"Nope, I already said it was on the house." You tell him.

"But–"

"No buts!" You called out as you vanished into the expanse of bookshelves.

When you came back, you noticed that, stacked neatly on the counter, was a bundle of notes, your egg timer sitting neatly atop it, with a post-it note simply saying:

"Tell me your life story next time. Thanks. -Marc."

Chapter 4: Link

[aloneinthehellfire]

Chapter One: A New Friend, A New Enemy

The Pariahs That Saved The World (Masterlist)

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: mentions of death, canon descriptions (vecna's curse)

[A/N: Thank you to everyone who seems really excited about this! I am going to try and post for this one weekly, just so I have enough time between uni and work to write new chapters :) This one is a little long, but I needed to set up Reader's character a little more so enjoy!]

The Introduction <-

A New Friend, A New Enemy

“Y/n!”

You slip off your headphones and greet your grandmother with a smile, laughing when she squeezed you tight. It had been almost 8 months since you watched her wave her hand of farewell in the rear view mirror. You had missed her the most, you think. Her warm hugs, her calming perfume, the way she cared for you.

“Come on, I’ve made us some lunch.” She hurries you inside and you laugh again.

“I need to grab the rest of my things, first.” You shake your head in amusement, escaping her clutches and darting back to the taxi, thanking the man for pulling out your luggage.

Just as you hitch your duffel bag over your shoulder, your eyes catch something familiar a few houses down. A worn out and beaten Chevrolet sat abandoned outside of its former resident’s house, a white piece of paper resembling a ticket you had seen when the mechanics would return your property if not claimed. You could just make out the ‘for sale’ sign driven into the mud, your heart wrenching. You had hoped your return would be free from unwanted memories. That obviously didn’t exist in Hawkins.

“So, tell me everything. How’s Stanford?” Gran rushes through with excitement just as your feet are barely inside the door. “Oh, we are so proud of you, honey. Our little star, a Stanford journalist!”

“Gran, you know it’s only my first year, I haven’t even managed to write anything let alone publish it.” You say, following her with your bags. She was leading you up to the guest room. Well, technically, it was your room. You had never really accepted that.

“Oh, did you notice the Hargroves house is for sale?” She whispers out like an unspeakable secret, and you dump your bags on the floor.

“Yeah, I saw.” You try to remain emotionless, rolling your shoulder until the usual ache faded. You were used to it now, the muscles flaring up every now and then.

“Apparently- now, you didn’t hear it from me…” She starts to lean in and you suppress a smile. Your grandmother, the gossiper. “Apparently, the husband just took off.”

“What?” You suddenly gain interest, frowning.

“Oh, yeah. The end of last summer.” She nods knowingly. “Must have been hard for them after their son died. It was a tragedy. And that poor girl… Andrea down the road told me she and the mother were forced to move into the trailer park down by Kerley. Not fit for a child, if you ask me.”

“They obviously couldn’t afford anywhere else.” You say, mostly to yourself, and Gran simply hums in agreement.

“Oh, which reminds me, Melanie, the one with the bird nest hair, she…”

She begins rambling once again about the neighbourhood, obviously pleased to have her granddaughter back so she can share the gossip. You listened intently, nodding when you needed to, offering your own remarks when prompted. You loved your Gran. The thought of her being alone in this house affected you more than you realise.

The real reason you were back wasn’t because you had missed Hawkins. In fact, you were set on your Spring Break exploring Stanford and all it had to offer. But about two months ago, your grandad was omitted to the hospital and a week later, he was no longer with you. Your Gran had shared how his health had been deteriorating for a while now, that they had expected it sooner or later. So, in the end, it wasn’t a surprise. It didn’t make it any less sad.

“Should I be expecting guests for dinner?” She asks and you blink, frowning.

“Guests?”

“Your friends.” She reiterates, already busying her hands by pulling out your already folded clothes from your suitcase and refolding them how she liked it. “I assume everyone will be anxious to see you. It’s been eight months, hasn’t it?”

“Uh…” You purse your lips, shrugging. “I don’t know, I thought it could just be the two of us tonight.”

Gran gently places down a sweater and eyes you suspiciously. “So, you’ll be seeing them tomorrow?”

“Maybe.” You give off the first vague answer in your head, fiddling with the sleeves of your jacket and sitting down on the plush bedding behind you.

“Hm.” She sounds, sliding shut the first drawer before she silently walks around the bed and sits beside you. “You won’t be seeing them, will you?”

It wasn’t a question. You lift your eyes to meet hers and sigh.

“We aren’t as close as we were before, Gran. It’s… complicated.” You decide and she takes your hand in hers.

“You’ve known them since you were just a little sprout.” She ruffles your hair and you cringe, laughing and batting her hand away. “I’m sure whatever happened can’t be so complicated that you can’t… I don’t know, catch up over coffee? Or whatever you kids are doing these days.”

“I wish it was like that.” You say, and you meant it. After a moment, she seems to understand that you didn’t want to continue this particular conversation and she stands, brushing her outfit back into simple perfection.

“Well, sandwiches, anyone?” She offers and you grin, nodding.

The day before you left for Stanford, you were contemplating whether or not it was the right choice. Gran was right, you have known them since you were a kid. But last summer changed all of that. You weren’t sure you could see their faces ever again.

So, rather than try and find them, you decided to spend the next day unpacking. You’d be here for a month so it made sense to have everything neat and tidy. It was just until the funeral, and then you’d be back at college and studying away any memory of Hawkins being your home. Because it wasn’t. Not anymore.

You can hear the distant ring of the phone echoing up the stairs, continuing to pull out your books. You might as well be caught up with your classes if you were going to spend all your time inside.

“Y/n!” Gran calls up and you push away from the desk to lean over the banister.

“Yeah?” You ask as she stares up at you, the phone in her left hand while the right covered the receiver.

“It’s your friend.” She says with a small smile and your face drops into a frown. “She says it’s urgent.”

“Uh…” You shake your head. Who would be calling you? “Yeah, I’ll be down in a sec.”

Gran nods and relays the information, setting the phone on the side table and disappearing back into the kitchen.

Your footsteps were wary as you descend the staircase, eyes set on the white object beside one of your grandmother’s vases. There was a hauntingly familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through your body, one you hadn’t felt in a long time. Once you reach the table, you shift your focus to the photo frame. It was small, a collected memory from a few years ago now. You were stood there smiling, the camera capturing you in pleasant surprise when a brunette girl behind you had jumped onto your back. It made your eyes sting, and you knew you had to make the decision to answer the call.

Hesitantly picking up the phone, you hold it to your ear and close your eyes.

“Hello?”

“Y/n?” Nancy’s voice blares through and your eyes snap back open.

Barrels of apologies and excuses spewed from her lips and you stand in silent shock, clutching the receiver a little too tight. She could only be calling for one reason. You had known it before you had even answered the phone.

Something was happening in Hawkins. Again. And if Nancy was calling for help, then she truly needed it.

And you’d never let her down.

“Have we met before?” You ask, studying the girl stood next to you.

The walls of the archive were surprisingly bright, shining an iridescent hue on her dark blonde locks. Her blue eyes were blinking back at you, pink lips stuck in a soft pucker of indecision. She was pretty. Really pretty. And at the same time she looked effortlessly cool, a jacket you wished you own. Something about her felt familiar to you, drawing you in.

Then a pang of guilt hits you and you force your concentration on waiting for her answer.

Robin felt weak. Who were you? It was taking everything in her to open her mouth and speak which, as literally everyone knew, was incredibly unlike her.

“I don’t think so.” Robin finally breathes out. There was softness in the way you spoke to her too, calming her nerves. Those strange waves of anxiety were being taken with the tide like you were her lighthouse in the stormy sea of her mind.

“Oh.” You scrunch your face with a smile. “Well, it’s nice to meet you.”

She was surprised to see you put out your hand but she willingly shakes it anyway, smiling back.

When you pull away, Robin seems a little more comfortable, coming closer to peer down at your old project folder, reading along with Nancy. You tried not to stare, busying your eyes with your own work in Nancy’s hands.

“Anything… juicy over there?” Robin asks Nancy and the girl throws her a tight lipped smile.

“Nothing new yet.” She responds and you notice the strain in her voice. She adopted it any time she was struggling to enjoy somebody’s presence.

“Victor seemed like a normal guy. Dead family, missing eyes, took a plea deal, sent to Pennhurst. Blah, blah, blah, blah.” Robin utters as she skims over the page below, slowly raising her head to look at Nancy. “What are we looking for exactly?”

Nancy doesn’t respond and continues flicking through the pages, making Robin’s eyes widen.

“Nance?” She tries again and you frown.

“She’s focused.” You offer, smiling. “She zones in so much that she zones out sometimes.”

“Right.” She nods slowly, still staring at her. “Um, so are we, uh… looking for any mentions of dark wizards or alternate dimensions? Things in that vein?”

You remember something and open your mouth to speak before Nancy interrupts with a huff.

“I don’t know, okay?” She sighs loudly, leaning against the desk and meeting Robin’s eyes. “It’s starting to seem like this was just a big waste of time. And you’re obviously bored so why don’t you just call Steve? I’m sure he’ll come pick you up. And I mean, I’m not really in danger here, so…”

With that, she walks away from the table and grabs another folder you had brought, furiously flipping through as she travels down a different staircase to the filing room. Your eyebrows raise.

“Woah.” You simply say, noticing Robin’s frown. “She’s, uh… hell, I don’t even know. Nance gets ultra focused when she thinks she has a lead on something and, well… she doesn’t like to get it wrong. Which is understandable.”

“So, she acts like this with other people?” She asks and you tighten your lips.

“Um…”

“Okay, that’s a no.” Robin groans, dragging her hands down her face. “I’m trying, I really am, I just struggle with whatever the hell bonding is meant to be, I mean me and Steve literally only bonded because we were both getting tortured and thought we would die. Which, no, not an ideal way to start a friendship but you know what, it’s better than whatever the hell this is.”

“You were at Starcourt?” You frown and she looks back at you, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought that up-”

“No, no, it’s okay.” She waves her hands, “I, um… no one really mentions it anymore. Unless it’s the news and they’re pretending like it was a-”

“Fire, yeah. I heard.” You say, staring at the stairs Nancy descended. “How did all of this start?”

“Excuse me?” She blinks and you turn your attention back to her.

“This… Vecna, was it? How did it start?” You repeat, shaking your head. “Nancy could only tell me so much over the phone so I’m a little behind.”

“A girl was found dead in the trailer park.” Robin relays, gulping. “Chrissy Cunningham? She’s a cheerleader. Was. They found her with all her bones snapped and her eyes were… gone. They think Eddie Munson did it-”

“Eddie?” You gasp, and Robin looks surprised. “No, Eddie wouldn’t do that-”

“We know. Trust me.” She says hurriedly, “He told us everything that happened. Apparently she was floating in the air and her bones were snapping- it’s a really gruesome story but the same thing, like, just happened to Fred and we need to figure out who this Vecna is before someone else gets hurt.”

“Okay.” You breathe and she raises her brow.

“Okay? I just unloaded a dump of hell onto you, and it’s okay?” She sounded intrigued and you shrug.

“The last few years have been… weird. To the point where weird sounds normal now.” You say, a soft frown on your features.

Robin wasn’t entirely sure where you fit into all of this. Sure, you had information they needed, you’ve been a part of their group for some time, you made sense. What she was struggling to understand is why you were here now. And why you weren’t here before.

“How’d you meet everyone?” You ask before she can. Any thought she had of questioning your arrival was cleverly misplaced. For the moment.

“I worked with Steve at Scoops Ahoy last year.” Robin nods and you frown.

“But I never…” You start before your eyes widen, mouth curling into a smile. “Oh my god, yes! I do remember you!”

“You do?” Robin tries to comb back through her memories.

“Yeah, Max dragged me there maybe… a week after it opened? She was telling me about Steve’s little sailor outfit and of course, I didn’t believe her, so she had to show me proof.” You giggle to yourself, meeting her eyes. “I remember you were taking a break outside, Max introduced us. Well, kind of. She never got to my name before Steve arrived with that stupid frown on his face.”

“I don’t remember that.” She frowns and you bite your lip, shoving your hands into your jacket pockets. “Sorry, I don’t mean that in like, a mean girl way. I mean, my memory is apparently broken because I’m very sure I would have remembered you. Not in a weird way, either, like- I just think you make an impression on people- a good one. Not a bad one.”

“It’s okay.” You laugh and she shakes her head enough to make her bangs sway in her embarrassment. “I looked a lot different then. And I was, like, super shy. I was probably hiding my face or something.”

“Hold on.” She blinks with a smirk. “You’re the girl? Like, the girl?”

“Am I meant to know what that means?” You squint your eyes.

Robin simply laughs to herself until she clocks your confusion. “No, I… Max did bring someone in for, like, one of our first ever shifts together. I remember because when they left, Steve looked like some kicked puppy and I couldn’t work with him and that stupid frown so I made him tell me what was bothering him. Apparently, the girl that left was the girl he couldn’t get in high school and it ‘haunts’ him. It’s so stupid.”

You go quiet and her eyes widen.

“Oh god.” She covers her mouth. “Did I talk too much again? God, I’m sorry- I literally can’t control my mouth.”

“No, you’re right.” You say, shaking your head. “Steve… he and I don’t really get along. Opposite ends of the high school popularity pool until I won this debate contest and suddenly everyone wanted to be my friend. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal, but suddenly I was on Steve’s radar and, well, you know the rest.”

“You can do better.” She simply nods and you raise your eyebrow at her remark. “What? Oh, he’s amazing now. Like, a genuine gentleman kind of guy, but King Steve? Whew, that boy needed a leash or something.”

“You guys are pretty close, huh?” You ask and she smiles.

“Yeah, he’s my best…” She begins before her face drops. Oh.

“What?” You ask when she starts walking away.

“I know why!” She exclaims before turning her heel and marching down those steps to Nancy, finding her sorting through the filing cabinet.

If Nancy heard her, she didn’t acknowledge it. Robin felt so stupid. It had been a while since she’d been a part of ‘girl world’ or, more specifically, ‘girl-code world’. The thought of there being any tension hadn’t even crossed her mind before.

“You do know that Steve and I are, like, totally not a thing, right?” Robin asks breathlessly, leaning against the wooden banister.

“What?” Nancy frowns, shaking her head and turning to look over her shoulder.

“So I figure that you and Jonathan are still going strong ‘cause you guys are going to college together, and you’re like one of those unstoppable power couples, but I… I just… I wanted to make sure that you knew that Steve and I are just friends. Like, platonic with a capital P.”

Nancy’s response in underwhelming at best, a tight lipped smile and Robin almost groans in frustration. She can hear your sneakers steadily descend the stairs and she turns back.

“Just in case that’s adding any tension between us.” She expresses to Nancy and you frown at the interaction.

“It wasn’t.” Nancy replies and Robin sighs.

“Uh…” You start to say, both pairs of eyes immediately looking at you. “Sorry to, um, interrupt. I have stuff I need to do…”

“Right.” Nancy blinks apologetically, looking back at the folder in her hands. “I’m so sorry, I really thought I was going to find something. I… I didn’t want to drag you into this, really, it’s just-”

“Hawkins.” You finish her sentence, stepping off the final stair and leaning against the banister. “Yeah, I know.”

“Holy shit.” Robin gasps, suddenly grabbing the folder out of Nancy’s hands despite her silent protest. “Is that from The Weekly Watcher?”

She points to a specific part of one of the tabs and you move to peer over her shoulder, nodding.

“Don’t they write about, like, Bigfoot and UFOs?” Nancy scoffs, already dismissing the idea.

“First of all, UFOs are absolutely real. Bigfoot I’m still on the fence about.” She comments and you hum agreement. “But may I remind you we are looking for information on dark wizards? If someone’s gonna write about that, it’s gonna be these weirdos.”

“She’s not wrong.” You add and Nancy’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Yeah, there’s a whole article about Victor Creel. He claimed that a vengeful demon killed his family. Obviously I only added a reference for context, I never actually believed it. You know, before…”

You vaguely gesture the space around you and Robin flips the page over.

“According to several insiders, Victor believed his house was haunted by an ancient demon.” Robin read aloud, and you could feel the goosebumps prickle along your skin. “Victor allegedly hired a priest to exorcise the demon from his home- pretty novel for the 50s, Exorcistwasn’t even out yet.”

“Keep- keep going.” Nancy insisted and Robin frowns.

“That’s all that’s here.” She says and Nancy looks at you.

“He claimed that the exorcism failed.” You recall, staring at the cut out photo of the Creel Family. “He said it angered the demon. It murdered his family, removing their eyes.”

“Did it say why he wasn’t killed?” Robin questions.

“Victor believed he was spared as a punishment.” You say with a twist in your stomach. His whole family died. He was all alone.

“Yeah, that’s pretty convenient for Victor.” Nancy mumbles and Robin frowns.

“Yeah, or super inconvenient.” She challenges, her eyes looking at yours for support. You simply nod, feeling sick. “Victor was declared legally insane by the court, right? Well, what if this is why? I mean, it sounds pretty insane, it just didn’t go public because-”

“The plea bargain.” Nancy jumps in, and you can see her trying to slot all the pieces together, “The records were sealed.”

“What if a demon did invade Victor’s home.” Robin glances between you both. “It’s just, this demon wasn’t any old demon.”

“It was Vecna.” Nancy finishes, and you immediately start shaking your head.

“Okay, you guys got everything you need?” You quickly rush out, sorting the folder around so it would shut. “Actually, you know what, you guys can just keep that, I need to-”

“You’re leaving?” Nancy frowns, following you as you jog back up the stairs and to where you had dumped your bag before. Robin hurriedly grabbed your folder and followed suit.

“Yeah, I told you, I have stuff to do.” You mutter an excuse, slipping your bag over your shoulder.

“But what about-”

“No, Nance.” You suddenly say, much stricter than you intended it to be. You pause your steps, taking a deep breath to look her in the eye. “I hate that there’s something new terrorising Hawkins. And I’m sorry you have to deal with it. I am. But that’s your choice. I can’t do this again.”

Robin stood there, clutching your folder to her chest. Nancy was struggling with her words, and you didn’t look like you were going to stick around long enough to hear them.

“We need you.” Robin blurts and you look at her, frowning. “I’m sorry, but we do. You know more about this case than any of us, you dedicated, what, a whole month? Maybe more? To learn about the Creel House, about the murders. You have information we can’t possible find because Hawkins doesn’t like to keep around its records of murder, and- and Nancy said you were great at this detective stuff which basically means you know what we need to do next.”

Rather than respond, you start weighing your options. The best decision you ever made was leaving all of this behind. Stanford had everything you wanted; hope. Anytime you decided to help them, it was always your life you were risking. That they were risking. Why would this time be any different?

“I really hope you win this.” You finally say, offering half a smile before you push through those doors and don’t look back, disappearing into the darkening shadows outside.

“Damn it.” Nancy curses, resting a hand on her hip and the other on a table.

“What happened between you guys?” Robin asks into the silence and Nancy looks up.

“What do you-”

“I don’t want a vague answer.” She says, still clutching onto the folder pressed against her chest. “She looked terrified. Which, yeah, it makes a lot of sense under normal circumstances. But this was more like PTSD kind of terrified. What the hell happened last year that no one’s telling me?”

The silence left Robin in the dark, Nancy’s features pouring over in restrained emotion.

By the time you had dug out your keys with trembling hands, you could feel the prickling of tears threaten to spill at any moment. They had no right to ask that of you. Especially not Nancy. She was there last year, she knows why you left. And yet again, none of them were listening to you.

You sat in your grandad’s old armchair for about an hour, a book resting on your lap but it remained untouched. It would just be another distraction, another reason to pretend like nothing was wrong. To stop yourself from remembering, feeling.

It’s why you went to Stanford, really. You didn’t care about journalism like you used to. But the work load was almost unbearable, which meant that every waking moment would need to be dedicated to studying. If you didn’t occupy your mind, you’d have to relive last year.

“Hi, sweetie.” Gran says as she enters the room, a shopping bag in one hand. You hadn’t even heard her key in the door. “Did you see your friends?”

“Yeah.” You clear your throat, setting aside the book and leaning forward.

“What did you kids get up to?” She asks before quickly disappearing into the kitchen to set down her groceries. When she returns, you have your head in your hands.

You can feel her fingers gently pry away your hands as she takes the chair opposite you, smiling like she already knew what was going through your head. Looking at her, the way her eyes were glazing over, you felt so selfish. You had left to escape everything that happened last year, and you had left her for months to deal with it all alone. Here you were, wallowing in self pity because your friends hadn’t been there for you when you needed them, and it turns out you’re doing the exact same thing to her.

“I’m so sorry.” You say, wiping away the tear that trickles down your cheek. “I should have stayed with you and Grandad.”

“What?” She frowns lightly, shaking her head. “Darling, no. All we ever wanted for you was to get out into the world, find something that made you happy.”

“But I’m not happy.” You express, catching a sob that threatened to escape. “I just wanted to get away, get out of Hawkins. I wasn’t even thinking about it, I- I just couldn’t…”

Her hand suddenly finds your own, squeezing it tight.

“It’s okay.” She says and you lift your head up. She continued smiling, but it was much sadder now. “No one can expect you to move on from what happened last year as quick as that.”

“And what if I never move on?”

“It’s not about moving on.” She smiles. “It’s about acceptance. It’s about holding onto the memory because you cherish it, not because you are haunted by it.”

The clock in the distance could be heard counting the seconds as you sit there in silence. She was right, as per usual. You weren’t letting yourself feel. You should be embracing the fact that you still had her. Even with all Hawkins has been through, you still had her.

Your heart pangs with panic. She was still here.

“I should be getting to bed-”

“Come with me.” You offer suddenly and she raises her eyebrows.

“To Stanford?” She says as if it were absurd.

“I’m serious. Let’s move away, start fresh. We’ll find somewhere new, Gran. Please.” You beg and she offers a smile, capturing your hand by placing another on top.

“Hawkins is my home. It always has been. I was born here, I met the love of my life here. I watched my little one grow up and, when he had little ones of their own, I watched them grow up too. This is where my family is. I… I can’t leave.”

“No, don’t worry, I’ll get it.” You say, smiling. “You should get some rest.”

Your heart wrenches. If only she knew what you did. About what really happens in Hawkins, what lurks there in the dark. She can’t stay here, not when you know it isn’t safe. Not when she’s all you have left.

Three knocks echo out from the front door, and Gran shifts in her seat, quickly glancing at the clock. Who would be here at this hour?

“Thank you.” She stands with you, squeezing your hand as she dropped it. “Try and get some rest.”

You wait until she’s heading up the stairs and out of earshot before you rush to the door, gently brushing aside the small curtain and frowning at the silhouette. It wasn’t who you had expected.

The door is open barely four inches before she starts talking at you, ring-donned hands clasped together.

“Look, I know we’ve literally just met. And I probably- no, I definitely don’t have the right to ask you to stay with us, but we’re basically alone right now. Half of us are in California, we don’t have any connections in the sheriff’s department anymore. Everyone who would know what to do is gone, and you’re kinda the only person left who can help us. I get so much happened to you last year and I- I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but if there’s even a tiny part of you that wants to do this, then please listen to it. Please.”

Robin didn’t know what she was expecting when she left the school. Her feet had taken her further than her mind was planning, but she knew she had to find you. Max was in trouble, and they were all way in over their heads to not have help. Nancy refused to bother you any further, and she understood, she really did, but this wasn’t a normal circumstance. This was bigger than all of them, bigger than everyone.

“Robin?” You say, brows scrunched together in surprise. She thins her lips.

“Sorry to just blurt that all out, but I didn’t know if you were just gonna slam the door on me- or maybe I’d forget what I wanted to say.” She explained, feeling the embarrassment creeping up her cheeks. She didn’t want to say the wrong thing to you. “Max is in trouble.”

“What?” You sobered at the thought, leaning closer to her. Then, in a moment of split decision, you glance back up the stairs before stepping outside and closing the door behind you. “What happened?”

“We found a connection between all the victims.” Robin tries to explain, and you noticed how expressive she was with her hands. “Basically, Max has the same symptoms as the rest of them, and she’s, like, 100% sure she’s next of Vecna’s kill list.”

“Is she okay?” You ask, and Robin can see the desperation behind your eyes.

“Yeah. Shaken up, but she’s fine. For now.” She clears her throat, a pleading look as she stares at you. “We need to find Vecna as fast as we possibly can before he can get to her. I… I know about what happened last year. About your dad.”

You seem taken aback by her knowledge, eyes darting down to your shoes.

“I don’t blame you for wanting to leave all of this behind.” She sympathises, and she let herself be much calmer than she felt. “But I’m asking you if you’ll help us.”

Your heart was aching as you wipe your sweaty palms against your jeans, barely even feeling the cold rush of wind hitting your bare arms. You had meant what you said earlier; you couldn’t do this again. It took everything in you to move out of Hawkins, go to college and live a life the person you loved the most couldn’t do anymore.

But you were currently stood in front of a door. And behind that door, was the last person you had left, and she wasn’t planning on leaving her home any time soon. As it turned out, fleeing wasn’t an option for everyone else.

“I’ll do it.”

Robin blinks, studying you for any ounce of uncertainty. You looked deadly serious.

Maybe, just maybe, with you by their side, they were taking down Vecna after all.

taglist: @kryztalglear @officerrrfriendly @a-simpfortessa-lesbriean @spacedoutdaydreamer @em16cor @endurexxsurvive

[if you see your name highlighted in pink, it means that tumblr wouldn't let me tag you! i am trying to figure out the reasons behind this but it could be as simple as visibility settings so please check that <3]

[thedarkone121]

I have a question about the Anne-Marie fic

Does she know that hyde and jekyll are the same person aka does she know that hyde is also her father?

Cus it's been bugging me for ages and I just couldn't figure it out :3

Ah, someone has finally asked the question I’ve been dying to answer. Sorry if I’m about to ramble-dump on here 🤣

Long story short, yes. She knows Hyde and Jekyll are the same person. Well, I say she knows it’s more of a she figured it out 2 months before Jasper came into the picture.

The longer version is this; Anne-Marie — once she got over her shock of suddenly seeing a man she never met in her home — pretty quickly clocked onto the fact that Hyde looked familiar. This was before she lost her sight, by the way. Like she noticed he looked similar to her father. Hyde, realizing that she could easily figure out the connection between him and Jekyll, immediately began to avoid her after that. For that first year, Hyde was able to avoid her like he avoided Lanyon and Anne-Marie was left to stew with the fact her father’s new assistant looked similar to him.

Then the Chemical Accident came around and Hyde, out of concern and guilt, decided to check on Anne-Marie while she was recovering.

Now, for a long time, Anne-Marie didn’t think much of Hyde. To her, he was her father’s awfully brash assistant who kept getting her angry by calling her Annie, something only her father was allowed to do. In fact, a lot of the early days of Hyde-Hunting was Anne-Marie genuinely being angry at him for calling her Annie.

But as the days went on, Anne-Marie began to notice things.

Like how Hyde would always place her back in her room once she’s tired out from chasing him. How he would sometimes slip into a Scottish accent if she surprised hit him. Or how when he does call her Annie, it’s more of him not thinking twice about it and not actually to antagonize her.

For a good while, Anne-Marie thought Hyde was like a long-lost relative of her father’s because of her memory him closely resembling her father. It’s why she was super against the rumors of the two sleeping together, even though Hyde tries to play it off like that. But then she started to notice other things…

Stuff like how Hyde would talk to himself, like he’s talking to her father when he’s not in the room. How her father would do the same even though Hyde is also not in the room. How at one point, when Anne-Marie slammed a piano lid onto Hyde’s hand and injuring him, her father had the same injury when she touched his bandaged hand.

But the biggest thing that confirmed it for her? It was when she took her glasses off with him the room.

Hyde had a meltdown. He begged, pleaded, screamed at her to put her glasses back on. Anne-Marie, not used to hearing Hyde like that, immediately put her glasses back on. Hyde took a few minutes to calm down. Then he moved on like nothing had happened.

But Anne-Marie didn’t move on. She realized that Hyde didn’t want to see her scars. Even when she commented on this, Hyde’s careless words finally hit her.

“Well, it’s not my fault you stood close to a sizzling potion made by sham of a scientist who didn’t sleep properly that day.”

How did Hyde knew that? The story she told everyone was that she was alone in her father’s lab, how she became curious with his things and started to mess around. That’s what cause the explosion, according to Anne-Marie.

How did Hyde knew the truth? There was no way her father would tell someone like his bad-mouthed assistant.

Then, it clicked for her. Hyde was her father, in some way. Hadn’t her father talked about splitting souls at some point? And looking back on it now, of course Hyde’s very bad impression of a theater villain would be her father’s idea of evil.

Anne-Marie figured it out. But she never told Jekyll and Hyde that she figured it out. Since the two kept the secret, then Anne-Marie figured she could keep it as well.

Anne-Marie knew. But Jekyll and Hyde don’t realize that she knows.

[starlordsandrockets]

Snowed In

pairing: college!Peter Parker x Reader: 18+

Word Count: 4.4k

summary: Your plans to return home for the holidays were ruined by a snow storm. Now, you found yourself spending Christmas with Peter, the neighbor you had a crush on.

a/n: Many apologizes for the wait, I started this fic months ago to ‘get ahead’ but here we are lol... I’ve been super sick as of recent so if some of my writing doesn’t make sense, I apologize and will proofread it after a nap, lol.

Peter watched the snow fall outside his apartment window as he heard the sound of heavy boots climbing back up the stairs. Your groan hummed through the building’s thin walls. Slowly, he made his way to his apartment’s door. Placing his hand on the handle, he swung the door open, eyes shut. Opening his eyes, he took in the sight of you.

You pulled your gloves off of your hands awkwardly from where they were tucked into your large, black coat. You were laughing under your breath, however, your laugh stemmed from frustration.

“You… okay?” Peter finally questioned, announcing his presence. He watched you jump before slowly turning your head.

“P-Peter,” You stuttered, feeling your face heat up out of embarrassment. Your handsome neighbor now leaned against the doorframe of his apartment. A, clearly thrifted, sweater sat over a black shirt that peaked out from the neckline, “Yeah- Yeah I’m fine,” You dug into your purse, attempting to find your keys, “I just planned to head to my parent’s tonight- you know, for Christmas,” You watched him nod, taking in the luggage that sat at your feet, “But I’m snowed in and alone,”

Peter took in a deep breath, holding it. He knew you had no idea about what he went through and that your claim was harmless, however, it still hurt, “Yeah… me too,”

“You were going to your parents?” You questioned, not knowing anything about your neighbor, besides the fact that you had the biggest crush on him.

As soon as you heard that you had someone living across the hall, you just had to sneak a peek. You had your hopes up for a friend, or at least anyone besides an old man. To your surprise, it was Peter, and you found yourself hopelessly falling for him in a heartbeat.

“I, I actually don’t have parents,” Peter spoke, “I mean, I did- obviously,” He rambled, “They died and I lived with my Aunt but a year ago, she…” He still could not bear to finish that sentence.

“I-I’m sorry-” You turned back towards your door, “I should leave you alone now,” You laughed, “I didn’t mean to…” You stuck your retrieved keys into your door, “Have a nice night,” You shut the door behind yourself, leaving your luggage in the hall, far too embarrassed to retrieve it. Not until he left the hallway.

You stood there, back pressed against the door, sweating in your winter coat. You were an idiot- a bitch even. Why the hell did you ask him that? I mean, it was not like you knew. But on Christmas Eve, that was a new low for you. There was no way Peter could ever like you now.

Peter wanted to hit his head against the old, landlord painted door frame. Why did he say that to you? You were already upset that you could not see your family, so why did he make it about him? You did not even bother to grab your luggage, you would rather just get away from him. Peter debated turning around and just escaping into the cold night to get his mind off of you, however, he was afraid your things would get stolen from the hallway. 

That is when he heard your door creak open. He watched your head poke out from behind the white door, “Jesus Chri-” You gasped. Peter wondered just how long he had been standing there thinking about you.

“Sorry,” Peter spoke, “I just didn’t want someone walking off with your things,”

“Thanks,” You replied, your voice quiet. Reaching out, you watched as Peter stepped closer to you.

“Here-” Peter picked up your bags effortlessly, “I can get them- I didn’t mean to just dump all that on you before- About my family,”

“No- No! I’m the one who brought it up,” You stuttered, “It’s my fault and it’s almost Christmas and I was being an asshole-”

“Did you want to spend the night with me?” Peter questioned, interrupting your sentence, “I mean- Christmas- Christmas Eve and Christmas! Not like spend the night like-”

“Yes,” You replied, “I mean- Yeah, sure,”

”Cool cool,” Peter spoke through his nerves, “But uh- could we actually stay in your apartment?”

”M-Mine?” You questioned, staring back at your handsome neighbor.

”Yeah mines…” Peter trailed off. He really did not want you to find his suit, or his web shooters, or his scrap fabric from his suit, “I don’t really have much furniture, or food, or- well really anything,”

“Sure,” You nodded, “Yeah- yeah no problem,” You held your door open, allowing him to slip by with your luggage in hand, “Sorry if it’s kind of messy, I haven’t really been up to doing anything once I get home from work,” You were rambling nervously.

Peter took in your small apartment. It was much more decorated than his and it made him feel at home. He had always wondered what your apartment looked like every time he passed by you in the lobby or hallway, “It’s nice,”

“Yeah?” You laughed nervously.

”Yeah,” He spoke, “You have a couch and a bed,” He emphasized, watching you laugh. Your smile turned his stomach. He always thought you were pretty, beautiful even, and he never thought he would ever be in your apartment; Peter was surprised he even worked up the courage to talk to you.

“I’m sure you’re apartment isn’t that bad,” You responded.

“I don’t know, I’m kind of broke,” Peter shrugged, setting your bags down at the end of your bed. He studied the few stuffed animals that sat on your bed. A quilt was tossed on top of your bedsheets in an artfully messy way.

The old building’s poor insulation allowed a chill to hang in the room each time the wind blew outside. Peter’s head turned towards your window, “I was planning on taking a nice train ride home on the Amtrak,” You began to strip yourself of your warm outer layers, leaving yourself in a new sweater that you had bought recently. Part of you was glad you had no way out of Queens because now you were spending Christmas with the neighbor who you had a crush on since the day you moved in. And that is when you fully processed that Peter Parker was spending the night in your apartment, “I need a drink,” You spoke aloud to yourself.

Peter laughed at you quiet claim, watching you turn to look at him, “Sorry,”

”No, no-“ You stuttered, “Do, Do you want some? Spiked eggnog? Spiked coffee?” He watched you moved into the kitchen, watching as you began to make yourself a cup of coffee.

“Coffee’s good,” Peter answered, “Whatever you’re having is fine,”

“Right,” You spoke, “Sure,” You gave him a weak smile as you felt your cheeks heat up due to your nervousness. Peter now moved towards you, entering the kitchen.

Peter studied you as your back faced him. He felt his heart race slightly as he wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, “Need help?” He questioned, watching you jump slightly, “Sorry,” Without a thought, he reached out, placing his hand on the small of your back. You froze in his grasp, the sound of the coffee machine brewing filled the kitchen.

Your heart was beating in your ears as Peter’s hand lingered a bit longer. The coffee maker began to spit hot coffee into your mug, allowing you a few more moments to collect yourself. As soon as the humming stopped you spoke, “Fine- It’s fine,” Peter’s hand fell back to his side. He watched as you reached up towards a tall cabinet. Your fingertips pressed against the glass of the large bottle of vodka.

“Here,” Peter spoke, reaching out. The front of his body pressed against your arm, making you jump. He watched as the bottle tipped, your fingers leaving the bottle’s surface. Instantly he caught it before it could fall towards you, “Careful,”

“Sorry,” You spoke, “Thanks,” You watched as he set the bottle on your small countertop. You studied his hands, his fingers were long and slender. The sight made your stomach flutter slightly as you longed for them to fall against your skin once again. Unscrewing the cap of the bottle, you poured the liquor into the black coffee, “Uh-“ You cleared your throat silently at the sound of your own awkward voice, “Sugar’s on the counter and the creamer’s in the fridge,” You pushed the mug towards your smiling neighbor, “I have peppermint mocha and hazelnut I think,”

“Coool,” Peter’s lips drew out, he moved towards the refrigerator although his eyes stayed on you. He watched you prepare another cup of coffee, your hands fumbling while completing the task. Finally grabbing a creamer, Peter studied it in his hand before closing the fridge. Pouring the cream into the black coffee, he watched the colors swirl as he grew lost in thoughts of you.

You turned your head, watching Peter stare into his cup. That is when you realized you forgot to tell him where the utensils were, “Sorry-“ You spoke, heading towards the drawer of utensils. Grabbing a spoon you held it out, in his line of sight, “Sorry,”

“What?” He questioned, snapping out of his thoughts his eyes fell to you.

“Here, to stir your coffee,” You informed him.

“Right,” Peter took the metal from your hands, watching you give him a weak smile before you grabbed the other cup that had finished brewing. You weaved around him in the small kitchen and it made his heart flutter slightly. Something about it felt comforting and it made him feel complete.

You returned to Peter’s side with creamer in hand, “What kind did you put in?” You questioned, watching Peter stir his coffee. Your eyes caught the shining metal as he brought it to his lips. His lips parted, as he placed the warm metal against his tongue, catching some dripping coffee.

“Hmm?” He hummed around the spoon, “Oh,” Peter muttered, the word freeing his once occupied mouth, “Hazelnut,” He answered. Without a thought, Peter placed the spoon into your mug. He watched you stiffen for a moment, unsure as to why, “Thanks for the coffee,”

“Y-Yeah,” Your eyes left the spoon’s handle and met Peter’s eyes. His warm brown eyes mimicked the swirling coffee that sat between the two of you, “You… want to watch something?” He nodded, lips around the ceramic mug, “The remotes on the coffee table. If you want to look for something to watch,”

“Sure,” Peter smiled, leaving the small kitchen and heading towards your couch.

You waited, hearing his cushioned footsteps cross onto the carpet of your living room. With your back facing him, you stirred your coffee slowly before taking out the warm spoon. You stared at the metal, your distorted reflection staring back at you as you recalled Peter’s lips around the handle. Then, you brought the same spoon towards your lips. The metal passed your lips, caressing your tongue as it did Peter’s moments before.

Did that make you a freak? You would take the indirect kiss in a heartbeat. You could only hope that Peter did not see your desperate action.

Replacing the spoon with the edge of your cup, you took a large sip of the hot coffee, “It’s A Wonderful Life?” You heard Peter question from the couch.

“Hmm?” You hummed, being pulled out of your thoughts of him. Turning your head, you studied the tv, “Oh- No, too sad,” You watched Peter’s head turn away from your gaze, “If we’re drinking, I’ll cry. Plus that movie is so long,”

“We have all night,” Peter reminded you, “Unless you’re trying to kick me out,” He laughed, hoping you still wanted to spend the night with him.

“No- No, I’m not,” You walked to the couch, taking a seat next to him, “I just, I really don’t want to cry in front of you. Please,” You laughed into your coffee.

“Fine,” Peter continued to scroll on your tv, “Elf?”

“A classic,” You responded, “Sure,” Staring into the cup, you drank the rest of the spiked drink, “Do you want more?” You asked, looking at Peter’s, half empty cup.

“I’m good,” Peter smiled up at you as you rose to your feet.

“Cooool,” You drew out, “I’ll be back then,” Turning, you visibly cringed at yourself. The movie began to play. Taking the bottle, you eyeballed a shot of vodka and poured it into your empty cup. Bringing it to your lips, you swallowed it, wincing slightly before you prepared yourself another spiked cup.

“I don’t remember the credits being so lonnnng,” Peter called out to you over the movie.

“I do,” You smiled to yourself, “That’s why I’m making another cup now,” Your gaze locked onto Peter as you saw him jump up from the couch, “What are you-“

“Do you have hot cocoa?” Peter questioned with a slight bounce in his step. He watched as a smile threatened to curl your lips, “What?”

“Nothing,” You tried to play off.

“Tell me,” Peter groaned, placing his cup on the counter that sat in front of you, “Y/N,” Your name left his voice in a whining tone. He leaned on the counter next to you, his body heat radiating against your skin.

“You- You say hot cocoa,” You spoke, giving in due to his close proximity.

“And what do you say?” His eyes studied the side of your face as you refused to meet his eyes.

You felt as the shot began to affect you, making you mentally curse. You waited for the coffee maker to begin brewing, however it was taking far too long, allowing an awkward silence to fall between the two of you, “Hot chocolate,” You informed, looking at Peter out of the corner of your eyes.

Peter stood next to you with a stupid grin on his stupidly handsome face and it made you want to scream. You thought that the alcohol would help you survive the night with him, but now you were second guessing yourself.

“Hot chocolate,” Peter spoke, imitating your voice, “Do you have hot chocolate?”

“Nope,” You answered, moving past Peter and towards the fridge, “Sorry,” You listened to him groan. He headed towards the couch, pausing the movie, “What are you?”

“I’m going to get some cocoa from the corner store,” Peter spoke, heading towards your apartment’s door.

“But the snow,”

“I…” Peter dug through his head for an excuse, “I’ll be super quick, don’t worry- I use the fire escape,”

“The fire escape?” You questioned, a laugh lacing your tone, “You’re insane. No, I’ll just go with you,”

“No- No trust me,” Peter spoke, “Stay here and… get some blankets for the movie,” He watched you stare back at him, “Do you need anything? From the store?”

“Just ‘hot cocoa’,” You somewhat mocked, watching Peter throw you a playful look.

“Yeah, you’re not coming with me,” Peter smiled before heading through the door.

You watched as he closed the door behind him, listening to the sound of his door unlocking from the hallway. A deep breath passed through your nose and into your lungs, feeling your shoulders relax.

Your fingers fell against the fabric of your sweater as you looked at the paused movie on your tv screen. Remembering Peter’s words, you headed towards a closet that you kept your spare blankets in. Pulling out a large blanket, you paused, realizing you would probably die from shock if you shared a blanket with him. Throwing the large blanket onto the couch, you retrieved a second, smaller one.

You turned on the lights of your small tree that was tucked into a corner of the room. More sets of string lights lit up that lined a few surfaces of your apartment. Staring out at the city through your window, you studied the heavy snow that fell, wondering how Peter’s trip was to the corner store. Dimming the lights, you allowed the string lights and street lights to provide a calmer ambiance.

Walking past a mirror, you studied your reflection. You should probably touch up your makeup and change into something more comfortable.

Gathering some loungewear, you entered your small bathroom to change. Setting the plush fabric on the closed toilet, you removed your sweater and jeans. Staring at your reflection, you slipped a pair of fuzzy brown pants over your black underwear. The alcohol that ran through your system convinced you to slip the matching cardigan over your bralette, showing a little skin under your cozy loungewear.

Leaning in closer to the mirror, you studied your light makeup a little closer. However, you were unable to reach for your makeup bag, hearing someone coming through your front door.

Opening the bathroom door, you peered through the opening. You hoped it was Peter and not a total stranger walking through the unlocked door. Your gaze looked onto Peter as he carried two small bags with him, “That was fast,”

“I told you,” He smiled, closing the door behind him with his foot, “Super quick,”

“Yeah,” Your voice was skeptical as you exited the bathroom, “I’m surprised you even made it out the front door,”

“What do you mean?” Peter questioned, walking towards your kitchen. He set down the bags and began to dig through them.

“I couldn’t get out to catch the train,” You laughed, “Not that it would have mattered since they canceled it anyway,” You studied him as you made your way to the kitchen. Not a single inch of him was wet from the snow.

“They must have shoveled or something,” Peter shrugged next to you. He searched his head for the next possible excuse he would have to use. It was not like he could tell you that Spider-Man swung by the corner store just to get the ‘super cute girl that lives across the hall’ some hot cocoa, or hot chocolate.

“Our landlord? Shoveling?” You stopped a laugh from bubbling past your lips, “You’re funny. Did you slip on some ice on your way back? Hit your head?”

“Nope, just swung by the corner store,” Peter spoke, holding back a sly smile.

Somewhere between the banter, a pot of water was heating up on the stove as the two of you emptied the packets into your empty mugs. The alcohol that was once warming your system began to fade as you felt yourself grossing more nervous by the second.

“Did you… did you want to play a drinking game?” You questioned carefully. You watched as Peter met your eyes, a smile playing on his lips, “What? We don’t have to- if you don’t want to that’s fine I just thought-”

“Sounds fun,” Peter laughed. However, he felt a bit guilty, knowing the alcohol would not affect his heightened system. 

“Cool,” You smiled to yourself, yet Peter could still study your face.

Before the tea pot could whistle, Peter took it off of its hot surface. His action earned your gaze as he poured the steaming water into your cups, “So are these the chasers or are you still spiking these?” He questioned with a smile that made your knees weak.

You were going to need all the help you could get, “Hand me the bottle,” You spoke, watching his smiling eyes close.

***

The two of you tipped back another shot, wincing, “You picked the worst possible things to drink to,” Before you could put the cup down on your coffee table, another keyword was spoken through the screen.

“It-It was the first one I googled,” You slurred slightly, feeling the alcohol’s effects, “You- Why are you complaining? You seem fine,”

“Do I?” Peter questioned from next to you on the couch. Stretching out his arm, he placed it along the couch’s back as he looked at you.

The two of you heard another ‘Santa’ come from the tv and regrettably reached for your cups, “You-” You winced as the vodka burned your chest, “Yeah. You seem fine,” You scooted a bit closer to him, your movements obscured by the alcohol in your system. The room moved slowly around you as you attempted to study Peter.

Embarrassed at your close proximity, Peter found the large blanket you had thrown on the couch, tossing it over your head, “Trust me, I’m feeling it,” He lied. However, his feelings for you were having a full effect on him.

Taking the end of the blanket, you tossed it over him, capturing him underneath with you, “I don’t beli-eve youu,” You slurred slightly, trying to locate him under the dark blanket.

“Y/N,” Peter spoke, hands beginning to sweat. He wanted to kiss you.

“Hmm?” You hummed, finding him after your eyes adjusted.

“How do you feel?” He questioned, watching you shift in front of him.

“How do I feel?” You laughed, the movie’s audio a deafened hum, “Wh-What is that supposed to mean?”

“Are you drunk?” Peter questioned. He did not want to make moves on you if you were not capable of saying no.

You shook your head, eyes falling to his lips, “No,” You vocalized, “just… more confident,”

“Mhm,” Peter hummed, lips pressed in a straight line as he nodded. He removed the blanket from both your heads, not realizing just how hot and heavy the air had been.

You studied your neighbor, a subtle blush sat on his skin, but maybe it was from the heated covers, “We missed a bunch of shots you know,” You spoke.

“Yeah?” Peter laughed, “Why don’t we just have some hot chocolate,” He emphasized the word, watching a smile curl your lips.

“Mm, yeah, hot cocoa,” You reached out towards the mug. It was positioned closer to Peter on the table, making you move a little closer to him on the couch.

Bringing the warm drink to your lips, it calmed your nerves. But that soon ended as you felt Peter adjust the blanket over the two of you. You stared blankly at the movie, watching it come to an end. You prayed for the movie to continue, not wanting to have to interact with Peter once again.

The credits began to roll. Your heartbeat began to race as you watched Peter reach for the remote, “I don’t think we would make it through another drinking game,” He almost laughed. However, he was just doing you a favor.

“Yeah,” You spoke, “Right,” Shifting under the blanket you felt your breathing grow irregular as you attempted to calm yourself.

“You okay?” Peter asked, hearing your heartbeat and staggered breaths from his spot on the couch.

“What? Yeah- yeah,” You lied through your teeth, staring at the paused screen.

“Your heart’s beating super fast,” Peter leaned closer to you. Taking a breath, he tested the water, “What d’you have a crush on me or something?”

“You-You’re funny,” You spoke, taking a sip of the remaining hot chocolate. You winced, the once hot drink was now cold. The thought of Peter knowing about your crush overshadowed the fact that he could sense your heartbeat.

“Why don’t we play a game?” Peter turned to face you, watching you nod from behind your mug, “like Never Have I Ever,”

“Mmm,” You hummed around the rim. Setting the cup down, your heart dropped with it, “Sounds suupper fun,”

“Come on,” Peter groaned, “It is fun,” He watched as you threw him an unconvinced glance, “You can even go first,”

“Fine. Never have I ever invited myself into my neighbor’s apartment to spend the night,” You spoke, waiting for Peter to put down a finger.

“Fine,” Peter gave you a forced smile, putting down a finger. “Never have I ever called hot cocoa, hot chocolate,”

You put a finger down, “Never have I ever gone out in a blizzard just for hot cocoa,” You watched as Peter shifted under the blanket. A smile crossed your lips as you watched him put a finger down.

“Why don’t we start playing fair,” Peter spoke, watching you physically groan.

“Finnneee,” You agreed, head rolling on your shoulders, “But I’ll need a shot so I answer,” Peter’s eyes narrowed at your comment, “I’m fine and you want me to play fair and me playing fair would be me, buzzed enough to admit whatever you’re going to start asking me,”

“Fine,” Peter crossed a leg over his knee as he watched you stand from your spot next to him, “Never have I ever drank because I’m too nervous to sit next to my neighbor,”

You fell silent, hoping Peter would just drop the claim. A shot found its way into your hand as you brought the small glass to your lips.

“Is your finger down?” Peter smiled from his spot on the couch.

You could hear the amusement in his voice and at that, you took another shot.

Peter watched as you returned to the couch slowly, as if you were regretting each step, “We don’t have to play,”

“No- No,” You sat back down next to him, but not nearly as close as before, “I took my shots just- let’s get it over with,”

“Good,” Peter threw the shared blanket back over your legs, “Your turn,”

“Right,” You looked at the two fingers you had already put down, “Umm,” You searched your head for a fair turn. Staring at the ceiling, you only heard Peter shifting closer to you on the couch, “Never have I ever…” Your eyes slowly fell to Peter as he stared back at you, “You’re making this harder than it should be,”

Peter placed his elbow on the back of the couch, his fist holding up his head as a smug smile crossed his handsome face, “Why’s that?”

“Because you’re staring at me,” You spoke, “and I can’t concentrate,”

“I’m just looking at you,” Peter spoke, leaning in a bit, “Do I make you nervous?” He watched as your gaze fell to the floor, “Mm,” He hummed in a confirming tone.

“No- no,” You spoke, looking into his brown eyes, “Peter- No! No-” Your words fell short as Peter extended his arm towards you, it now resting on the back of the couch.

“Okay, just wondering,” He toyed, watching you almost crumble before him, “Never have I ever, what?” He studied your wide eyes that stared back at him. God, he wanted to kiss you.

You took hold on the blanket, bunching the fabric in your hands as you searched for any words to pass through your parted lips. You watched as Peter’s eyes fell to your lips, where they lingered for what felt like an eternity, “wanted to kiss your neighbor,” The words were barely audible, spoken under your breath.

Peter attempted to hold back the smile that threatened to curl his lips, “How many shots did you have?”

“I don’t know why I said that?” You felt as if you wanted to curl up and die. You wanted to pull the blanket over you to shelter yourself from Peter’s eyes.

So that is exactly what you did. Pulling the blanket towards you, it covered your head, allowing you to sink down on the couch, “Y/N,” Peter almost laughed, his tone almost laced with pity. You were silent under the fabric, “...Did you put your finger down?” Peter asked, hearing you almost immediately whine.

Throwing the blanket over his head, he crawled towards you under the fabric, “Peter… please,” You raised your hands, rubbing your temples. The embarrassment ate away at you and you wished you had not taken those shots that made the claim roll off of your tongue.

“How else am I supposed to see if you put your finger down?” He watched as you shot him an unamused look from under your furrowed brows, “Fine,” Peter raised his hand that had two fingers down. He watched as you stared at his hand in the dim lit space the two of you shared, “If you didn’t put your finger down, you’re winning,” Peter spoke as he put down a third finger.

Your gaze left his hand and moved to his eyes. Parting your lips, you searched for the words while your eyes fell to his lips, “I…What neighbor?” You were not sure if you were just playing dumb, or if you had convinced yourself that there was no way Peter could ever like you.

“We’re like the only ones on this side of the stairs,” He laughed.

“Right,” Was all you could reply with as Peter inched, somehow, closer to you.

“Are you putting a finger down?” He questioned. You stared back at him and he studied every inch of your face. Your gaze had fallen, unable to look him in the eyes as you raised your hand. Peter almost held his breath as he watched your finger fall, giving him permission to make the first move.

So he did.

Before you could say a word, Peter’s lips found yours. His lips pressed against your own forcefully and hungrily as he waited for you to reciprocate.

Parting your lips, you let him in. The kiss deepened as Peter brought his hands to your face. His fingers trailed into your y/h/c locks before pulling on them slightly. Pulling you away from him, he stared at you, “I just wanted to make sure, before I kissed you,”

You nodded in his hold, “Yeah- Yeah… thanks,”

“Mhm,” Peter hummed, before bringing his lips to your neck. You jumped at the contact, a small gasp from your lips filled the stale air.

The space you shared under the blanket was dark and stuffy, the air feeling hot and heavy as Peter took the opportunity to explore the bare skin that peeked from under your open cardigan. You almost felt as if you were suffocating, Peter smothering you in affection.

Pulling the blanket off from over the two of you, you took in a generous breath of fresh air, “…Peter,”

At the sound of his name, he bit down on your skin, making you whimper, “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” You responded almost immediately.

“Then what do you want me to do?” Peter questioned.

You did not have the courage to vocalize all the things you have dreamt of, “Whatever you want,” Whenever you found your mind wandering it was bringing you to Peter having his way with you.

“Be careful who you say that to,” Peter smiled against your skin, “You don’t know all the things I want to do to you,”

Peter’s claim made your knees weak, “L-Like w-hat?” You managed to push out.

Above you, Peter was pouring adoration. It was almost as if it fell, blanketing you in lust, “You want me to tell you?” He questioned, “or… I could show you,” Peter stared down at you, waiting for any sort of response but you would not meet his gaze. You crumbled beneath him, folding into yourself. You wanted to disappear and hide from the lustful thoughts that filled your mind, “Yeah?”

You nodded, face buried into your own shoulder.

“I need to hear you say it,” Peter spoke. He brought his fingers to the soft fabric of your pants, playing with the elastic band.

“Say what?” You managed to ask, looking at Peter out of the corner of your eyes.

“Tell me you want me to touch you,” Peter spoke, watching your eyes widen for a moment, “or kiss you, or anything else,”

“Peter,” You spoke, far too embarrassed to speak those words.

“Or I can stop,”

“No,” Shaking your head, you felt your face heat up from embarrassment.

“Right,” Peter smiled, “Then?” His touch trailed, dipping under the fabric.

“...touch me,” You breathed out, “Peter- please,”

“There ‘ya go,” Peter smiled, “Anything for you,” Hand moving down, it traveled between your legs over the fabric of your underwear. The fabric was soft, almost silk-like against his rough fingertips.

“Mm,” You whimpered as Peter’s touch was gentle, stopping right over your clothed clit. After a quiet laugh, Peter applied some pressure, fingers moving. A small moan made its way past your lips.

“That feel good?” Peter questioned, watching you finally stare back at him. Something behind your eyes shifted, almost as if you were handing him the controls. Your lips were parted as he waited for you to respond.

“Mhm,” You moaned, feeling Peter press down harder. You wished the barrier was gone, wanting to feel Peter’s skin on your own, “P-Pete,”

“What?” Peter asked, “Use your words sweetheart,”

“T-Touch me,” You stuttered.

“I am,”

“For-for real,” Your words were simply, dumbed down under the building pressure of your embarrassment. Peter looked at you, a smug smile on his lips as you fell apart at his touch. You wanted more.

Without a word, Peter’s fingers retreated back up the fabric of your underwear. You were afraid that they would not return, however, you held your breath as his fingers stopped at the waistband of your underwear. Pushing past the fabric, Peter’s fingertips were now lightly grazing your skin, making a shiver travel through you, hardening your nipples.

Peter had no idea how he was being so bold. Maybe because he was acting on his feelings for you alone? He had wanted to do this since you moved in, months after he had found himself all alone and looking for a place to stay. Everyone that once knew him had now forgotten and you were the first person he could start fresh with and he found comfort in that, and in you.

Moving past your clit, Peter’s touch kept moving lower and lower until he reached your wet entrance, “You’re so wet,” Peter almost laughed.

“S-Shut up,”

“It’s like you wanted this for as long as I have,” He spoke, absentmindedly.

Before you could reply, he dipped a finger into you, making you moan.

“So you want me to just touch you?” Peter questioned. He met your gaze from under your lashes. With each thrust of his finger your lashes batted slightly. His middle finger was only knuckle deep but you forgot just how long and slender his fingers truly were, “Hm?”

“Fo-for now,” You replied, focusing on his finger that moved in and out of you.

“Okay,” Peter said, “How’s this?” He questioned, a second finger finding its way into you. The action made you squirm, feet kicking off of the couch’s surface as if you were attempting to run off, “Need you to tell me, Y/N,”

Your heart was racing, rattling inside you as all of your thoughts scrambled inside your head. Surely any words that passed through your lips would not be cohesive ones, “F-f-fine,”

“Just fine?” Peter questioned, taking that as a hint to pick up the pace. So he did and his fingers dipped in and out of you with ease. The rhythm and speed sent waves of bliss through your system, feeling as if Peter’s action could bring you to climax alone.

“N-No,” You whimper, earning a confused remark from Peter, “Your-You’re gonna make me cum,”

“Good,” Peter smiled, “Need me to go faster, baby?” He watched you shake your head in agreement, “Want you to cum for me, okay?” Using his strength to his advantage, he fingered you as fast as you could take it, your quiet moans now became louder and breathy.

“Pe-Peter-” His name left your lips as you felt yourself growing closer and closer to your climax.

“You gonna cum?” Peter questioned, face now lowered. He placed a wet kiss to your jawline as he felt you nod against him.

With each moan that escaped you, you felt your head feel lighter. Peter was making you see stars in more ways than one.

“S-slow- slow down,” You barely spoke, “I’m getting lightheaded,” However, Peter did not stop. He was determined that he could make you cum beforehand.

Leaning back, he brought his other hand to your face. Covering your mouth, he continued to stimulate you, “I’m not going to stop til you cum,”

Your brows furrowed, eyes squeezing shut. You focused on the building climax that you longed to reach, “Peter-“

“Come on baby,” His words were soft as they pushed you over the edge. A smile crossed his lips as your moans became stuttered, “Therrreee you go,” From his tone, you could tell he was pleased with himself. His fingers did not slow as he worked you through your climax, “I can feel you cumming all over my fingers,” He spoke, removing his hand before placing it on the couch next to your head. With his new found leverage, he leaned over you, listening to the moans that still escaped your parted lips.

“You- You gotta stop-“

“But you’re cumming so good for me,”” Peter spoke smoothly in your ear. He watched you physically react to his sensual claim, crumbling next to him.

“I’m going to pass out,” You somewhat laughed, never experiencing this much pleasure before, or at least from just being fingered.

With that claim, Peter slowed his fingers before stopping completely. Then, he realized his strength had completely left his mind, “Did I hurt you?” Peter questioned, studying your face.

“N-No,” You spoke while attempting to catch your breath, “I just- it’s been awhile. And I normally don’t… cum from that,”

“Hm,” Peter hummed, leaning in and placing a kiss on your skin.

“What?” You questioned.

“Nothing,” Peter smiled back at you, “I’m just glad I could make you cum,”

A blush heated your skin as Peter talked about the subject so openly.

“Do you want to stop?” Peter questioned.

“S-Stop?” You asked, wondering what else Peter was planning.

“Or did you want to keep going?” He sat back, thighs flexing under the fabric of his jeans. Seeing the puzzled look on your face, a smile crossed Peter’s lips, “C’mere,” Sitting back against the couch, he motioned you towards him.

Crawling towards him, Peter helped you onto his lap. You swung your legs, straddling his waist. A smile sat on Peter’s handsome face as you studied it shyly. Your eyes followed each freckle that subtly peppered his nose, darker freckles dotted his soft skin, guiding your gaze.

“What?” Peter questioned, watching you study him a bit more intently now.

“Nothing! Nothing,” You quickly replied, embarrassment flooding through you now. You watched Peter laugh as he placed his hands on your legs. His touch trailed up and down, massaging your thighs. The soft fabric of your pants made him forget the weight of his advance, “Peter-”

Leaning forward, he brought his lips to your chest, kissing the skin above your bralette. Removing his hands, he brought them to the button of his jeans. Raising his hips, you felt just how hard he was, as he pushed the fabric of his jeans down his thighs.

His hands fell to the band of your lounge pants, pushing them down slowly, “This okay?” Peter questioned, “If you want me to stop,”

You wanted to reply, tell him how badly you wanted him but your breath caught in your throat. So you kissed him.

The kiss was forced, hungry and out of practice. You moved above him, allowing Peter to remove your pants, “I want you,” You finally whispered, lips inches away from Peter’s.

“Yeah?” Peter questioned with a laugh, “‘Gonna make you feel good,” Pushing his boxers, you watched his dick leap past the fabric.

His heated skin felt relieved by the room’s air, “P-Peter,” Your voice spoke over a sigh that passed through Peter’s lips, “do you… have a condom,”

“Yeah- Yeah,” Peter nodded. Reaching down, he dug his hand into the pocket of his jeans. He pulled out a small box of condoms, the kind that you see at gas stations.

“Did… did you get that at the corner store?” You almost smiled, “With the hot chocolate,”

“Yeah,” Peter spoke as he rolled the condom down the length of himself, “Why?”

“What a purchase,” You almost teased, watching Peter’s gaze shift. His once soft and considerate gaze was now far more dominant, which sent a chill up your spine.

Peter hooked a finger around your underwear, pulling them aside. As Peter lined himself up with your entranced you closed your eyes, preparing yourself for the size of him.

Placing a firm grip on both of your forearms, Peter pulled you down the length of him. A loud moan bubbled from your lips, making your cheeks heat up out of embarrassment, “Therrre you go,” Peter spoke as you began to move above him, “Shit- yeah, just like that,” You bounced on his lap.

You would be lying if you said you felt confident in your actions. However, it had been awhile since you had done anything like this. While you were lost in thought, Peter’s hands wandered over your skin, exploring every inch of you.

“You’re so tight, baby- Gotta relax,” Peter assured. His gentle hands began to slip your cardigan down and off your arms, “You’re squeezing me,”

“Sorry it’s- it’s just been awhile,” You informed him. You watched Peter, he looked as if your claim went in one ear and out the other. Fingertips tickled the skin that sat underneath the band of your bralette, “Peter-“

“Hm?” He hummed, pushing the fabric up and over your breasts.

Your hands flew towards your chest, covering your newly exposed skin. However, you were not modest for long, feeling Peter grab your wrists. Pulling your arms firmly to your sides.

Peter felt you struggle in his hold, making him smile. He used his strength against you and it turned him on. Within the struggle, you stopped riding, warming his dick, “Let me see you,” Peter spoke before realizing your lack of movement, “Did I say you could stop?”

“W-What?” You stuttered at his dominance. Before you could wait for his reply, his hold tightened on your arms, raising you off of him. Your brows furrowed at the strength of Peter’s hold before he pulled you back down on him forcefully. The sound of your skin hitting Peter’s echoed through your small apartment.

Peter moved you, your arousal coating his dick and making him fuck you with ease. His eyes found your breasts, mesmerized as they bounced with each hard thrust that entered you, “Fuckkk,” Peter groaned, “so pretty”

Your dim lite apartment echoed with the sound of skin and your loud moans. The string lights almost illuminated your skin, a slight sweat covering your body as Peter tossed you around above him, “Peter- I’m gon-“ The words could barely vocalize between your moans. 

“Hold on, need you to wait for me-“ Peter spoke, teeth taking in the skin of his lip. Picking you up and off of him, he heard you whimper. Throwing you onto the couch, he bent you over the back of it.

“What are you-“ You questioned, watching Peter move behind you. He pulled his pants down, kicking them off his legs before his hands returned to your skin. Cupping your ass, he rubbed your soft skin. His gentle touch was soon gone as it fell into the fabric of your underwear, beginning to rip them off of you, “Peter!”

He brought a firm hand down onto your skin, spanking your ass. With no warning he entered you again, coaxing a loud moan from your throat, “Want you to cum when I tell you to,” Peter spoke, “Don’t cum until I say so,” His thrusts were equally hard as fast, sending you further over the couch’s back. Your hands reached out behind you, fingers finding the fabric of Peter’s sweater, holding on for dear life.

Peter’s strength was almost unbearable, but you could tell just how close he was so you physically held on until he reached his climax, “Are you going to cum?” You managed to question. Reaching out, your fingers left his sweater, holding yourself off the couch, battling against Peter’s strength, “Please-“

“Yeah- yeah, shittt,” His head fell back slightly as he focused on chasing his high. You almost melted around him, filling Peter’s mind with the dirtiest thoughts, “I’m going to cum, sweetheart. Need you to cum with me, okay?” He watched you nod before focusing on your own orgasm as well, “I’m close- fuck I’m going to cum,”

“Mm please cum,” You begged, arms weak. However, you could not hold yourself up, body falling against the couch’s hard back, “fuck,”

Peter’s swears mixed with your own as he came, filling the condom that was buried deep inside of you. His hands fell, resting on the couch’s back on either side of you. Peter’s head felt heavy as it hung, eyes studying your ass as he pulled out of you slowly.

You groaned below him, sore from how rough Peter had been moments before.

“Sorry,” Peter spoke quietly, “Was I too rough?” You were silent below him, “I was, wasn’t I?” Dipping down, he placed a kiss between your shoulder blades. His kiss traveled to your neck, peppering it in kisses, making a shiver travel through your warm body, “Sorry,” Peter apologized again with a small laugh.

“You’re fine,” You finally spoke, your throat hoarse from your loud moans, “I’m just… sore,” You laughed. Sitting next to you, he helped you get more comfortable on the couch, “Peter,” You spoke, meeting his eyes, “I have a bed, it’s literally right there,”

“…Right,” Peter spoke, eyes leaving yours and falling onto the bed that was literally steps away, “I just… I really needed you,” He looked back towards you, unable to meet your embarrassed gaze, “and you also said how bad you wanted me, sooo,”

“I’m- I’m just saying,” You stuttered.

Awkward silence hung in the air as the two of you sat there.

“I should probably…” Peter trailed off, acknowledging the filled condom that still sat around him.

“Yeah- yeah,” You replied. He stood before you, giving you a small, and kind of awkward, smile. He walked off, disappearing into your bathroom and leaving you to reflect on what exactly just happened.

“How was that?” Peter asked, catching you off guard and making you jump slightly, “sorry,”

“No no I was just-“ You turned your head, “I was thinking about it. Not in a weird way- But how I’d think about doing that and it actually happened-“ Your lips shut as your words played in your own ears. God you sounded like a freak.

“You thought about fucking me?” Peter questioned, finding his spot next to you after putting on his boxers. He watched you crumble, turning your body away from him, “Nooo, no. It’s cute- I thought about you too, but you already know that,” You must have forgotten just how exposed you were to him right now, so he reached out, pulling your bralette back down and over your breasts, “I’m glad I wasn’t the creepy neighbor who thought about fucking you almost every time I saw you,”

“Straight to that?” You questioned, teasing him slightly.

“I know what foreplay is,” He joked back, watching you laugh, “but no, I think about eating you out a lot,” With that claim, he watched your eyes widen, making him laugh, “Maybe I could wake you up that way? On Christmas,”

“Christmas,” You spoke, remembering that you were supposed to be on a late night train back home but instead, you fucked your neighbor.

Reaching out, you grabbed your phone that was on your coffee table. Checking it, the time read 1:02 AM.

“Merry Christmas,” You spoke, eyes leaving the bright screen and falling into Peter’s warm brown gaze, “I kind of wish I got you something… you know since we just did all that,”

“Would…” Peter searched for the words in his head, “How about a date?”

“What?” You questioned. You were worried that tonight was going to be a one night stand, so Peter’s question washed a wave of relief over you, “You want to go out with me? Or I mean- like- a date. You want to go out on a date? With me?” Peter laughed as you rambled before him.

“Yeah,” Peter smiled, “I mean, that’s why I asked. Because I like you,”

“Oh, yeah- Yeah,” You spoke, “Yeah I’d like that,”

“Okay,” Peter laughed, bringing a hand towards your face. Pulling you close, he met you halfway with a sweet kiss, “Merry Christmas,”

[noemilivv]

hi hi! i just saw that you were doing matchups for hazbin, and i wanted to send something in!! this is my first time sending in anything like this on tumblr, so hoping i’m doing this right!!

��� i’m genderfluid, and i’m generally more interested in men than i am women

✧ i’m ambiverted - i was raised in a way that made me a bit socially isolated, so i have issues with being social today. i don’t really know how to introduce myself to people, so i don’t speak to people unless they speak to me first. when it’s someone new, i usually let them lead the conversation, but when i’m comfortable with someone, i talk a lot more - i’ll tell them random stories i remember, and infodump about my current interest, run down the entire plot of the book i’m currently reading, all of that. my brain goes faster than my mouth a lot of the time, and i have trouble putting my thoughts and feelings into words.

✧ my style is all over the place. the most common color in my wardrobe is black, because mixing and matching colors kinda stresses me out. not to mention what i wear in my day to day can change depending on where i feel on the gender spectrum at any given time. my default is combat boots and (faux) leather jacket + gold rings and earrings

✧ my main love languages are acts of service (receiving) and gift giving (giving) - making people stuff is a sort of hobby of mine. i crochet a lot, and i love love love making people plushies <3 a lot of the time i’ll even start a craft project that i don’t even really want to keep and put it away in a stash of stuff to give to other people when the opportunity arises

✧ i bounce hobbies a lot, but the main ones that have stuck with me over a long period of time are drawing/animating and reading

✧ i have obsessive-compulsive disorder. there are certain topics/words i absolutely cannot say due to my ocd labeling it as taboo, and it’s made me a very superstitious person

✧ i cycle through interests a lot lot lot, but animation (both itself and as an industry) have been my main one for a while now. currently, i’m also really into dinosaurs and jurassic park! (fun fact, the velociraptor in jurassic park ought to be closer to the size they depict the dilophosaurus, and the dilophosaurus ought to be closer to the size they depict the velociraptor!)

make sure you don’t burn yourself out with these, i’ve seen you answer a lot already, take your time!! thanks in advance!

haha dw you did everything it seems!! i’m already burning myself out a bit sadly, as i’ve seemed to get a lot of requests than i can chew haha, but i’m gonna make it work!! you seem like such a sweetie, so ty anon for requesting!! i match you with…

Lucifer !!

Luci is a bit socially isolated too haha, as he sits at home and makes ducks all day

Speaking of, you two have your fair share of grandma-grandpa hobbies that you do together (crochet, knitting, etc)

He loves trying new hobbies with you, it keeps you entertained since your hobbies bounce back a lot, and it gets him out of his comfort zone

Also, he loves reading to you, he will do a bunch of silly voice for all the characters XD

You both just tend to info dump about your favorite topics to eachother, which Lucifer loves, no one really listens to his odd rambles, so the fact that you do is very heartwarming💕

[thebardbullseye]

On the Purpose and Appreciation of Compelling Recaps: “Of the Reaching Green” (WWW Episode 10)

From the desk of TheBardBullseye

“Previously on “The Wizard, The Witch, and The Wild One.” Naram, spirit of the gentle sea, lies bound at the base of the Calabel Nautomantic Apparatus by Guild Mage Morrow of the Scepter’s Chorus. Our heroes stand divided. Having re-established contact with The Citadel, a castigated Suvi now has direct orders to do nothing until Steel arrives in Port Talon three days hence. Eursulon, having returned to the Ace of Wands alone, once again wields Wavebreaker, the sword that legend says belonged to Naram himself, with the power to break the spells and curses of his foes. And Ame, with just such a curse still clouding her mind and concealing crucial memories of Grandmother Wren and her most important lessons, now rushes forth to find her fox familiar, chasing him beyond the walls of Port Talon into the wasteland of witch fire and ash that stand between the city and the wrath of creeping kudzu beyond. We now return to Port Talon in the wee hours, as a tall and tipsy traveler ambles contentedly down a cobblestone street, a gleaming sword swinging at his side. [music swells] (0:00:18-0:01:30)”*

tl;dr below the fold- I’m captivated by the "Previously On" at the start of episode 10, and I wrote a whole damn essay discussing it. The recap is a brilliant piece of writing and a fascinating snapshot showcasing why this particular actual play podcast is So. Damn. Good. They didn’t have to go this hard!

// Spoilers (both direct and indirect) for Arc 1 // (but honestly I think if you don't already listen to this show, then hopefully this essay convinces you to.)

I’ve been relistening to “The Wizard, the Witch, and the Wild One” (WWW) from the beginning (starting with the Children’s Adventure). My work life has gotten super crazy in the last month (yay promotion!), and I’ve found the first arc (and firesides) to be a great boon during a stressful time. As I already know the story, I’m less concerned about missing something and will listen to it whenever I need to—note that when I listen to a new episode, I allocate free time to listen and do only that (and play solitaire so I don’t scroll social media). Anyways, when I got around to episode 10, I was reminded by how much I loved the “Previously On” recap at the start. I don’t know if it was written separately or improvised, and although I suspect the former, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the latter (1).

Before I get into it, y’all, this podcast is so fucking good. I’ve said it before, and I’ll keep saying it. There have been numerous moments, developments, episodes, etc. that have grabbed me by the shoulders and shouted in my face, “HEY! STUFF IS HAPPENNING! PAY ATTENTION TO THIS! MAKE THE HAPPY BRAIN CHEMICALS!” (in the Fox’s cadence and voice, of course). And sometimes, that voice compels me, perhaps as a Geas, to Do Something creatively (much like what you’re reading now). Early on, this was mostly a ramble to a friend, or word dump in a doc or group chat. Then, I wrote some music and some lyrics and some poetry, and then a full-length academic essay (…5k words long), and then designed a magazine cover, and on and on. (I don’t know why this podcast has my brain in a vice, but also, I sort of do, which is another essay in the drafts.) Regardless, the first instance of Creative Compulsion that manifested in a more structured manner was when episode 10 debuted and is in fact this very essay (that has since been rewritten and fleshed out). I didn’t have a Tumblr at that time, so my thoughts on this recap have just been collecting dust in my documents folder for more than a year. But, upon my relisten, I realized this episode introduction was significant and that there was more I wanted to say and praise, since I haven’t heard another one like it since.

When the episode first aired, I heard the first 90 seconds (2) of “Of the Reaching Green” and instantly replayed it three times before moving on to the rest of the episode because I was so captivated. After I finished the episode, I listened to it again. The episode had just come out, so the transcript was not yet available, and I wanted to see the recap as well as hear it. *Above, you will find my transcript of the recap, preserved as it was on that day, so my apologies for any unintentional spelling or grammar mistakes (3). Then, I stared at it and reread it, and started to piece together my thoughts on why the hell I’m so enamored by this. It’s 90 seconds of an hour and twenty-minute podcast, and not only that, it’s not even technically part of the diegetic episode, since it’s a recap! (What the hell, Brennan?!)

I promise I’ll get to those specific thoughts soon, but I think it’s important to alight briefly on the nature and necessity of recaps. In serialized storytelling mediums, most notably television shows, the audience often requires a recap of the previous events to refresh one’s memory since it’s been a week (or more) since the previous episode (TV Tropes). I think these may have fallen out of favor as of late, especially in the advent of prestige television, DVRs, and streaming—most producers probably assume that their audience is either binge-watching the show, has access to the previous episode, or can just look up a summary. Or if not done well, it may further confuse the viewer if too much or too little information is included (4). Further, recaps are NOT synopses of the previous episode—they serve to highlight the main points of the previous episode/storyline and specifically underscore what the audience needs to know for this episode. Additionally, these don’t necessarily show up before every episode; for some shows, these only happen for mid or end of season finales, when major storylines conclude. These are not just for returning viewers- in the bygone age of broadcast tv (I jest, kind of), people didn’t always catch every episode every week, so recaps also needed to be compelling. They needed give any random channel surfer the general gist so that they could watch the episode and convince them to not change the channel. Recaps don't need to execute on these all of these elements, nor do them perfectly, but a good recap communicates all of these things well in a very short time frame (usually around 1 minute). Essentially, "Previously On" segments say, 'pay attention to this.'

For actual play shows (a catch-all term for recorded or streamed TTRPG games), recaps serve this same purpose of reminding the audience of previous events, but these also do the additional duty of reminding the player characters themselves at time of recording of what is important in the story they’re telling and game they're playing. Often, the GM will recap the previous session so that everyone’s on the same page, and this is often improvised (as most things are). Needless to say these aren’t usually the most compelling part of the episode (though they don't have to be), and often devolve into synopses of the previous session (i.e., “Last time you guys did XYZ, Timmy fell down a well, ok let’s start…”). Or, if the GM does recap the most important points to know, it’s not usually that compelling to listen to—and honestly, why would one spend extra effort on something that insignificant anyway? Moreover, recaps in most actual plays serve the purpose of recapping for the players first and the audience second (5). The GM can remind, and players can ask questions, so the burden of this segment is lessened.

Ok, so back to our regularly scheduled essay about WWW. I mentioned earlier that I thought that the recap in episode 10 was not improvised at the start of the session and instead was written and recorded separately. While (to my knowledge) this hasn't been discussed publicly, there is some evidence in the structure, cadence, and delivery that lends credence to this assertion. On the whole, I don't think it particularly matters whether it was written or improvised; I merely mention it because the choice to script is significant when every other introduction is improvised (just look at much people love the "Fire" introduction for Calamity). This creative choice makes a lot of sense both in narrative and in production.

WWW first debuted in March 2023, releasing biweekly, so episode 10 aired in early July 2023. I would wager that most listeners don’t relisten to each episode in the intervening weeks, so most episodes start with an informal recap or general scene setting. However by this point, the story had just reached its major turning point at the end of episode 9—the recovery of Wavebreaker. This sword is the MacGuffin of the first arc, and each character is connected to it in some way—it breaks curses (one of which Ame is under), Eursulon was the last one with it but parted with it years ago in Port Talon (he also needs a weapon), and Suvi was the one that gave it to him in childhood. The previous episode also focused on Naram, a great spirit trapped in the harbor of Port Talon, who up until then seemed tangential to the protagonists—but then Ame discovered on her own that Wavebreaker originally belonged to Naram. This pivotal moment is what propels the story to the conclusion of the first arc, thus the need arose for a moment to remind the audience of the stakes and current landscape.

From a production standpoint, this podcast has a lot of love and care poured into it, especially with the marriage of masterful improv and immersive sound design. It’s clear (and has been explicitly stated) that this crew prioritizes the quality of the final episode through little details and extra effort. So, whereas with other APs, fewer resources would be allocated to a recap simply because it’s not necessary, Worlds Beyond Number finds the use-case where it becomes necessary to put a little extra mustard on it.

That said, it’s a really good recap, excellent even. It contains everything a good recap should have: it paints the big picture, snapshots the major players, flows perfectly into the opening scene of the episode, and above all, is compelling. To further support the theory that this was written and recorded separately, it also lacks the filler words, pauses, and direct address to the players (i.e., Suvi, you did X, and Ame, you did Y) that are typical of an improvised introduction and recap—and thus it has the tone akin to the opening crawl of Star Wars. It is eloquently written, with so much information communicated by inference in just seven sentences, so let’s analyze line by line:

“Previously on “The Wizard, The Witch, and The Wild One.” Naram, spirit of the gentle sea, lies bound at the base of the Calabel Nautomantic Apparatus by Guild Mage Morrow of the Scepter’s Chorus. Our heroes stand divided.”

Translation: It all starts with Naram. Naram is a gentle spirit held captive by another wizard and his fancy machine. “Our heroes stand divided”—they had an argument in the last episode about whether or not to free Naram (and how). Needless to say, the situation with Naram is more complicated, but those four words express that succinctly.

NB: Naram is alone.

In the context of the previous episode, the listener is reminded of this quandary—what to do about Naram. But, there is an ingenious double meaning here. That last line not only alludes to the philosophical division amongst the party, but a physical one as well.

“Having re-established contact with The Citadel, a castigated Suvi now has direct orders to do nothing until Steel arrives in Port Talon three days hence.”

Translation: Suvi has been reprimanded by Steel after unintentionally going AWOL (“re-established contact”) and now she has to keep the situation with Naram locked down until Steel arrives. The audience is reminded that Port Talon is remote from The Citadel since it will take three days to get there.

NB: Suvi is alone.

Steel, Suvi’s adoptive mother, is flying by airship because the travelling door is broken, but since this is extraneous information to the immediate situation, it is left unsaid. As Suvi is the party member with the least connection (relatively speaking) to Wavebreaker and Naram, I think it makes sense that Suvi is mentioned first and has the least airtime in the recap.

“Eursulon, having returned to the Ace of Wands alone, once again wields Wavebreaker, the sword that legend says belonged to Naram himself, with the power to break the spells and curses of his foes.”

Translation: Eursulon ran off to see Will Gallows (proprietor of the Ace of Wands) but got his sword back (“once again” wields Wavebreaker), and it is a legendary sword belonging to Naram that can break curses.

NB: Eursulon is alone.

This section is also brief but sets up the pattern for a clever sequence that subtly shows the movement of the sword over time. First, Naram (who owns the sword), Suvi (who gave Eursulon the sword), Eursulon (who got the sword back), and then finally Ame (who needs the sword). The last phrase, “with the power to break the spells and curse of his foes,” neatly sets up the next line.

“And Ame, with just such a curse still clouding her mind and concealing crucial memories of Grandmother Wren and her most important lessons, now rushes forth to find her fox familiar, chasing him beyond the walls of Port Talon into the wasteland of witch fire and ash that stand between the city and the wrath of creeping kudzu beyond.”

Translation: Ame is cursed and because of that, she is lacking crucial knowledge (but the sword can break the curse). Now, she has left Port Talon and is chasing after her fox into the dangerous wasteland choked with smoke and treacherous forest outside the city.

NB: Ame is alone (do you see the through-line?).

Now, with the major characters introduced and with the stakes increasing, the segment concludes as it introduces the present moment and establishes the opening scene:

“We now return to Port Talon in the wee hours, as a tall and tipsy traveler ambles contentedly down a cobblestone street, a gleaming sword swinging at his side.”

Translation: It’s the middle of the night and Eursulon is triumphantly (and drunkenly) wandering the streets of Port Talon.

It’s notable that Eursulon is not mentioned by name at the end but trusts the listener to have been paying attention, though the next spoken word as the recap fades is “Eursulon.” The opening scene transitions seamlessly to him arriving at the Chantry—now we've come full circle. (This is Morrow's HQ, who trapped Naram in the first place).

Thus, it’s clear that this recap is descriptive yet not needlessly verbose or rambling (unlike this essay), due to its well-formed sentences and syntax.

But beyond that, it’s pleasing to the ear. There is ample use of consonance throughout (e.g., “bound at the base,” “wields Wavebreaker,” “curse… clouding… concealing crucial,” “rushes forth to find her fox familiar,” "walls... wasteland... witch fire," "creeping kudzu," and “tall and tipsy traveler ambles contentedly down a cobblestone street, a sword swinging at his side”). There’s also an interesting alternating alliterative and rhythmic pattern of k and s sounds with “contact with the Citadel, a castigated Suvi”. There's just enough to be noticeable but not too much to become annoying, and the brevity certainly helps. It's poetic.

In the sound quality and design, there’s an air and cadence in Brennan’s voice of being read a bedtime story, and he speaks clearly and with purpose. Further, the musical motifs of the chorus signifying the spirit world at the start transitions to a carefree, plucky tune during the last line that embodies Eursulon’s mood and instills it in the listener. As it ends, this musical transition is reminiscent of waking up and slowly starting to hear the ambient noise around.

When analyzing any kind of creative choice in any medium, I tend to remind myself that the creator(s) could have simply chosen to not make that choice, for any number of reasons or limitations (6). The "Previously On" in episode 10 could have been unremarkable, rambling and verbose, it could have had no music or sound effects, it could have been written and structured in an entirely different way, or it could have simply not existed at all. But it does exist, so I look at what is there. Now, this analysis is not intended to be prescriptive for future recaps in WWW or other APs. As is evident, this recap is one-of-a-kind and serves a greater purpose overall in the first arc of the story. In writing this, I spot-checked a handful of other opening moments of WWW, and while those introductions were improvised, Brennan is so adept at it that I would not expect to hear another a written recap unless the narrative and production calls for it again.

These seven sentences are truly brilliant. There are plenty of moments that have stuck with me since WWW started in March 2023, but it speaks volumes that something this insignificant spawned a ~3000-word analytical essay (7). Damn.

Footnotes:

(1) I elaborate on this later in the essay, but I suspect it was written and recorded separately solely because of how concise it is, both in word choice and in delivery (the lack of filler words or pauses), as well as the difference in tenor/tone as it transitions to the opening scene. We’ve also heard plenty a recap from Brennan in WWW and other shows, and I have yet to hear one as crafted and, dare I say, perfect as this one. Not to knock other improvised (or otherwise) recaps of course, as those fulfill their purpose well and fine. I just appreciate the extra mustard on this one (no shit, I just wrote a whole damn essay with footnotes). I suppose I could submit a Fireside question and ask (lol) but I think that (sky)ship has sailed, since we're now on episode 35. (If for some godforsaken reason someone involved with WBN reads this... let me know if I'm right, I guess? If I'm wrong, I don't want to know /j)

(2) I refer to the recap as 90 seconds as shorthand throughout, but it technically just ends at 90 seconds. And I think that’s neat. It's also easier to just say 90 seconds—a nice, distinct chunk of time—than its true length, which is 72 seconds (due to the WBN theme).

(3) Formatting the quote in this way also neatly organizes my analysis of it later in the essay, which is not exactly reflected in the transcript (but that’s because it’s for readability).

(4) Complete tangent to the podcast discussed here is that I’ve seen DougDoug (internet streamer) do a blind reaction to just the “Previously On” recaps for "One Tree Hill" and "24" (without knowing the plot of either show) to hilarious and baffling results. It further demonstrates my point that recaps are not synopses, and you can’t fully grasp the plot of something through these. Because that’s not their purpose—which is to make clear to the audience what they need to know for that next episode-- not necessarily explain what happened in the last episode (and clips can be from earlier episodes as well).

(5) Something that I think is often discussed by WBN et al. (among others) is the distinction between an actual play and a home game. In a home game of D&D, the sole audience is the people playing the game. In actual play, the audience is BOTH the players and the viewer, and (good) actual play has to balance the two—you want to make sure the people playing are having a good time but also that it makes for a good viewing/listening experience. This tension between the two audiences can be balanced for- either in the moment of recording or in post-production, and I think WBN does an excellent job at this balance. However, I make the point that players come first and audience comes second specifically for recaps, because if your players don’t know what’s going on beforehand, then the whole shoot/recording could be in jeopardy, and it may simply not be worth the time, effort, or resources to craft an outstanding recap. So, there’s fundamentally going to be less effort put into the recap from viewer’s perspective in actual plays, and they just don’t matter that much, since players can just ask questions/GM can remind players of things.

(6) Might be a hot take, but I find it counterproductive and uninteresting to engage in editorializing player and DM choice in APs when it is presented as critique or literary analysis (i.e., "they should/could have done this instead" or "XYZ would have made for a more interesting story"). I've noticed this sentiment crop up in AP spaces/fandoms, but there isn't a writer's room to edit and revise the story being told (well there is one, and it's happening in the moment). To me, it's more interesting to look at the story that is being told and the choices made, and ask, why? Which is the point of this whole essay—to look at those seven sentences and go, "why is this here and what does it mean?"

(7) Or I'm just a nerd. Or both. Don't mind me, I'm just over here building my donut house. (I reblogged a post about fandom and donuts recently—it makes sense in context I promise.)

[diamondfroot9]

Words cannot possibly describe how beyond angry and upset I initially was when finding out that there was no storymode playlist this year in just dance. That’s the thing I was most excited for out of everything in jd2025. It’s one of the things I’ve been talking about endlessly for over a year. I have two full notebooks of theories and predictions I’ve been writing for almost a year. I wanted a real conclusion to the story, where the just dancers are freed and Jack gets the happy ending he rightfully deserves.

Jack as a character is extremely important to me, for very personal reasons. I’ve always had characters from all kinds of media that are important to me for different reasons. But he is legit one of my first real comfort characters. I’ve never wanted to hug a character more.

I always describe him as “my child” simply because I love his character and his story. Just the thought of him being stuck by himself without his friends is enough to bring me to tears. I just want him to be okay and be happy with the ones he cares about and loves.

So that’s why I drew the image up here of a cute lil danceverse version of myself giving Jack a fist bump because I can relate to him. Not entirely, but I’m telling him I do understand. The background is all blue because he’s surrounded by sadness right now but I’m still telling him things will be okay.

Even though I’m not actually there with him in the danceverse, I am with him. I did originally want to do a drawing of me giving him a hug from behind but I wasn’t sure how to do it.

I have no doubt that this story will continue, we just don’t know when. Not knowing when is still upsetting me but not as much as before.

I felt like “in your eyes” was put there as a reminder that they haven’t forgotten about this storyline. It could either be its own mid season event later on, or in jd2026. Which I am hoping is not the case. Waiting another full year for this conclusion will literally make me wanna scream. But I don’t doubt that Ubisoft cares about these characters, this story and connecting with the fans through it. They can’t just dump it aside cause of how much fans like me do love it, how much work they put into it, the just dancers being a big part of the marketing for the past 2 games, and as @specialcolorfulshabon would say, jerky has been pumping the guns for a while…

I’m sure there’s other reasons to ramble endlessly about how I wanna scream in peoples faces that there is a lot of proof that this story will indeed have a proper ending, but this post is long enough.

Thanks for listening to my TEDtalk. Jk lol

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Annapolis

Season Two Episode Nine

Dr. Spencer Reid x Reader (Aaron Hotchner’s Sister)

Words: 4574

Series Masterlist

Summary: Based on season four episode 24. Y/N breaks protocol when Spencer is infected with a deadly virus. 

Notes: Like usual, I’m going to be using some scenes from the episode (Amplification) and making some up for the story. I know that this definitely isn’t super realistic and that Y/N would definitely just be arrested or something, but it’s all *for the plot.* 

-

You focused on the twirl of your spoon in the mug while several expectant gazes wore you down from across the table. The spring morning filled the air with a slight breeze, but you felt heat rise in your face under the three agent’s stares. 

“What?” You asked innocently. 

Emily raised a brow, JJ gave you a knowing smile, and Penelope looked ready to burst. 

You took a sip of your coffee. “Have I mentioned how much I hate profilers?” 

“It’s not our fault that loverboy has a terrible poker face,” Emily said. 

Penelope beamed. “He’s been over the moon for weeks now and I can think of one specific reason that would make him act that way.” 

You blushed, shaking your head but couldn’t hide your smile. 

“So you are back together!” Penelope squealed, earning a few glances from other cafe patrons. 

“We’re still figuring things out,” you said. You held your coffee in your hands, letting the warmth meet your palms as you rolled it back and forth nervously. “It’s not as simple as it used to be.” 

“You love him. He loves you. That seems pretty simple to me,” she said. JJ and Emily gave her a look. “What? Don’t tell me you haven’t been heartbroken for them for the past six months.”

“Y/N’s right,” JJ said. “Things like this aren’t easy in a relationship. It takes time.” 

Emily nodded in agreement, though Penelope couldn’t stop grinning at you. You decided to throw her a little bit of a bone, so to speak. 

“We started reading again, which has been nice,” you started. You felt a little like a schoolgirl describing her first date, but maybe a little juvenile lightness was what you all needed. “Sherlock Holmes. I think it helps us sleep better.” 

“Does this mean you’re moving back in?” Emily wondered. 

“And miss out on sleeping on my brother’s air mattress? Why would I ever do that?” You snarked.

She chuckled. “Fair enough.”  

“That is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard,” Penelope gushed. “I love love.” 

“Speaking of which, enough about me,” you said. “What about you and Kevin?” 

While she went into an excited ramble about her boyfriend not moving across seas on a new job, the final member of your coffee date- and your sometimes roommate- walked up to the table. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Haley grimaced. “I had to take Jack to school and the parking lot there is a nightmare.” 

“Oh my god, that reminds me,” JJ said, turning to you. “How is Hotch? He went for a bit of a spin on our last case.”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s fine. Or at least that’s what he says every time I ask, which I wouldn’t have to do if he didn’t use his SVU as a battering ram.” 

“He does have a knack for head injuries, doesn’t he?” Haley laughed. 

“Good thing he has a thick skull,” Emily teased. 

“Har har.” You took another drink of coffee. “All I’m saying is that I would love to go one week without one of you guys doing something stupidly heroic and almost dying.” 

JJ laughed, shaking her head. “Good luck with that.” 

-

Whatever light mood was left from that morning quickly evaporated as the team stood around the table, a container of pills in each hand. They didn’t even know if the Cipro would be effective. A new strain, Dr. Kimura said. Men in military uniforms bustled around the bullpen. 

The weight of what was going on settled into everyone’s minds.

“This is really happening?” Prentiss uttered. 

Hotch nodded. “We knew this could happen,” he said gravely. “We’ve done our homework. We’ve prepared for this. This is it.” He dumped the pills into his mouth. 

Rossi held up his cup. 

“Jin dan,” he toasted. “May you live a hundred years.” 

The rest of the team took the medicine and tried not to imagine what would happen if it didn’t work. With their assignments in mind, everyone started to disperse, but Reid stayed toward the back. Dr. Kimura gave him a grim nod as she left with the others. He hid the fear that was clouding his mind. 

He pulled Hotch aside as they walked out. 

“Y/N has an interview with an inmate awaiting trial at JRDC,” he whispered. “That’s in Annapolis.” 

Hotch swallowed. “I know.”

“And you don’t think we should tell her not to go?” Reid exclaimed. 

“We can’t.”

“We have no idea where the unsub will strike next. What if she goes out for lunch in a crowded area and-”

“Reid.” Hotch stared at him intensely. “We can’t. The media blackout order means nobody can know. If this gets out, people will panic.”

He knew he was right. Reid wanted to remain detached and logical, but all he could think about was the image of the woman he loved choking on her own blood. 

“I’m just getting her back, Hotch,” he pleaded. “I can’t risk losing her again.” 

Hotch put a hand on his shoulder. “Then we focus on solving this as quickly as possible.” He hid his own terror behind a mask. Inside, he was just as worried as the younger agent and wanted nothing more than to tell Y/N not to leave the apartment. He wanted to call Haley and tell her to pick up Jack from school. He wanted to protect his team from the danger they were facing. But he couldn’t. “Now let’s get started.” 

While Hotch stayed at the office-turned-base of operations, Reid went with Dr. Kimura to speak with the surviving victims of the attack in the park. All the while, both had you in the back of their mind. 

Unaware of the situation, you drove into Annapolis with Sir Arthur Conan Doyal in your head. Spencer’s voice reading the words of the brilliant detective made you smile. The sun streamed into your windows and traffic couldn't even seem to bother you. It was a perfect morning. 

You were about to pull into the Jennifer Road Detention Center parking lot when your phone rang. It was Sonia. 

“Hey, I know you’ve already driven out, but I just got a call from the warden. Apparently, Sergio Marks got into a fight this morning and is in critical condition,” she explained. 

“You’re kidding,” you sighed. “And here I was looking forward to being stuck in a room with an accused wife killer.”

Despite your sarcasm, you were actually kind of bummed to miss out on the interview. With Marks’ court date coming up, you’d been hoping to compare his behavior before and during the trial. 

“I’ll head back then,” you said. “I’ve got some other cases I can look into today.”

“The other studies can wait,” Sonia said. “Why don’t you take the day off?” Before you could argue, she continued. “You’ve been working like a dog ever since you got back. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You don’t have to prove anything to me, sweetie. You could spend some time with that cute FBI boyfriend of yours.”

“I think they’re on a case,” you laughed. 

“Then take some time to just breathe, honey. I know Maryland isn’t exactly a vacation spot, but I’m sure you’ll find something there. I heard there’s a nice bookstore in town,” she said. “Your work will be here when you get back.” 

“I guess I can go shopping or something,” you shrugged. She was right. Annapolis wasn’t a big city, but you should be able to find something to entertain yourself. Besides, you’d probably just go home and worry about the BAU while they were on whatever case they had now. 

“I’ll sort things out with Marks. Have a nice time.” Sonia hung up, leaving you with the rest of the day to relax. 

-

Prentiss stood amongst the bustle of people, staring into the bookstore as the men in hazmat suits closed the blinds. If they found evidence of the virus, it was proof that the bookstore was the site of the unsub’s test run. 

The victims had died within three hours of being admitted to the hospital. 

Morgan hung up the phone with JJ. Prentiss looked at all of the civilians surrounding them. 

“Look at all these people just going about their lives,” she said. “If they only knew what we were doing here.”

Morgan scowled. “It’s better that they don’t.” He said something else, but Prentiss couldn’t hear him. Her scanning eyes settled on a familiar face across the street. 

“Oh my god,” she muttered. “Is that Y/N?” 

Morgan turned his head just as you noticed them. To both of their dread, you crossed the street, a beaming smile spread across your face. 

“Hey strangers,” you greeted, seeming more chipper than Derek had seen you in a while. “What are you guys doing here?” From their serious expressions, it only took you a moment to understand. “Oh.”

“Why are you here?” Derek asked. 

“I was going to look at some books, but the store owner apparently got really sick and died a few days ago…” You trailed off, making more connections in your mind. “Is that why the team is here?” 

The two exchanged a look. 

It didn’t take your degree in psychology to realize that they were scared. 

“Derek, talk to me.” 

They both seemed to receive a message through their earpieces. Derek pulled you aside, weary of the attention of bystanders picking up on the tension in your tone. 

“Everything’s fine,” he said. “We just can’t talk about the case.”

The firmness in his tone and the tightness of his grip told you everything and nothing at the same time. 

“Okay,” you nodded. Your eyes went to the bookstore behind him and it’s closed blinds. Something was going on. “Be careful, okay?”

“Always am.” He faked his usual smirk, hoping to calm you down. 

“I guess I’ll see you back in D.C.” You smiled to convince him he had.

If you weren’t going to interview a murderer, then maybe you could figure out what the hell had two of the toughest people you knew terrified. 

Whatever it was, no one would answer their phone. Aaron was radio silence and you hadn’t heard from Spencer since earlier in the morning. You checked the news every couple of minutes to see if anything had leaked, but all you could find was something about a park being shut down for methane in the sewers. 

“That must be connected,” you muttered to yourself. You kept racking your brain for something that made sense. If it were a bomb threat, Derek and Emily wouldn't have just been standing around waiting for it to explode. A shooter, they probably wouldn’t have kept it under wraps as intensely as they were. 

The only thing that you could think of was chemical or biowarfare. If someone was going after people with some kind of poisonous gas or airborne antigen, it might explain why everything had to be kept such a secret. And the government could have called in the BAU to help them find who was responsible before they struck again. 

You tried your brother again, but there was still no answer. Something was definitely wrong. 

“If no one is going to help me,” you said, pulling up to the library, “then I am going to help myself.” 

-

Morgan and Reid observed the house with an uneasy air between them. It looked so normal, but inside more agents and scientists were tirelessly searching for traces of the disease or mediums to transport it. So far, they hadn’t turned up anything. 

“This guy just had people over for a charity event last month,” Morgan noted. Something about all of this felt off. Too simple. 

“We should probably take a look around anyway,” Reid said. 

The two agents started down the driveway to the other side of the house. So focused on the matter at hand, Reid caught his hand on a rose bush along the path. The thorn scratched the back of his hand, creating a gash he chose to ignore. 

“So Y/N’s in the area,” Morgan said grimly. “Prentiss and I saw her when we were checking out the bookstore.” He shook his head, eyebrow quirked in a mildly impressed expression. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she figures all this out even with the media blackout.” 

“She’s taught a course on bio-terrorism, so I’m sure she’ll pick up on something,” Reid shrugged. He’d been trying not to think about you and had been unsuccessful. Just knowing you could get caught up in all this made it hard to focus on anything else. But Hotch was right. The sooner this was solved, the sooner you’d be out of harm’s way. “But the higher-ups seem to have this pretty locked down. I’m sure she’s just going about her day like any other.” 

Morgan eyed him. “Right.” 

The older agent’s phone rang and he answered, listening as Prentiss told him what they’d figured out at the lab. 

Reid continued on through the garden, jumping as a sprinkler spouted to life. The sound of the water covered whatever Morgan was saying. The sliding door to the garden led into what he quickly recognized as Dr. Nichols’ office. From there, he saw two things and processed them in the same thought. 

The first was the body of Dr. Lawrence Nichols. A large head wound and a pool of drying blood signaled that the scientist had been dead for a while. 

The second was a broken vial spilling white powder onto the floor. 

“Reid?” Morgan called after him. 

He didn’t think of anything after that. He just rushed to the door and slid it closed just as Morgan caught up with him. 

“Morgan get back,” he exclaimed. “Get back!” 

“What are you doing?” 

“Get out of here. Believe me. Get back.” All he could think about was keeping Morgan away from the substance he was sure had already infected himself. 

“What’s wrong?” Morgan asked, panic rising in his tone. “Reid, open the door.” 

Reid just looked at him, locking the door with eyes that betrayed his distress. “I’m sorry.” His voice cracked with the toppling realization of what this really meant. 

He breathed in the substance. He contracted this new, terrifying strand of anthrax. 

He was going to die. 

No. Reid ran a shaking hand down his face. He could figure this out. There had to be a cure. He could do this.

“I’m calling Hotch,” Morgan said, pacing hurriedly in front of the glass. 

“I’ll be fine,” Reid lied. “I have all of Nichols’ notes. I can find the cure.”

“We’re getting you to the hospital.”

Reid shook his head. “You need to get away. I don’t know if any of the powder got into the air.” 

“I’m not going anywhere-”

“Morgan, now!” The firmness in the younger agent’s voice took Morgan by surprise. 

He moved out to the garden, making sure Reid was still in view, and made the call. 

By the time Hotch and the others arrived, Reid had made up his mind. And, despite Morgan’s protests, their unit chief agreed that the best thing for Reid to do was to work to find the cure somewhere in the lab. 

Until a car pulled up across the street, having followed the sirens after spending most of the afternoon researching locals in the library. 

You spotted the dark hair and neat suit as you came up the sidewalk. People in hazmat suits hurried in and out of the house your brother stood in front of. He bore a similar expression to what you’d seen on the other BAU members earlier, only now Morgan looked even worse standing beside him. 

“Ma’am, I’m sorry this is a restricted area.” A man in uniform stepped in front of you. 

“I know them,” you muttered, trying to look over his shoulder. 

He grabbed your arm. “If you won’t leave voluntarily, I’ll have to remove you.”

“What’s going on?” 

“Ma’am-”

“Aaron!”  

Your brother’s head whipped around at the sound of his name and his expression went from controlled worry to a furious glare in no time. 

“Okay so this is bad,” you said to yourself. 

“I’m going to have to take you back to your car,” the man in uniform sighed, starting to pull you away. 

“Get off of me.” You tried to yank away, but his grip was firm. “Aaron! See, I know them.” 

The man kept pulling you backward until another voice shouted at him.

“Hey, let her go!” Agent Morgan ordered, darting across the lawn over to you. 

Aaron walked slowly, but you could tell by the tension in his movements that he was anything but calm. 

“Y/N, what the hell are you doing here?” Derek snapped. 

“I knew something was wrong so I did some digging and then I followed the sirens,” you said, still trying to free your arm from the soldier. “What the hell is going on?”

“I told her she had to leave-” The soldier tried pulling again. 

Derek put a hand on his arm. “I said let her go.” 

The man hesitated, but eventually released you and went to join one of his superiors. 

“This clearly isn’t a normal case,” you said, crossing your arms. “What’s happening?” 

“If I could tell you, I would have, but you really can’t be here.” His jaw tensed and his eyes flicked down to the necklace you always wore. A locket in the shape of a book. The present you’d gotten from Spencer. 

A shock of icy fear rushed through you. “Derek, where’s Spence?” 

“You can’t be here.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s inside,” Aaron said. From the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice, you knew. 

“This is Dr. Lawrence Nichols’ house,” you said. 

“Yes.”

“He wrote studies on anthrax.”

Aaron sighed. “Yes.” 

“How did you know that?” Derek asked. 

“You're not the only ones who know how to investigate something,” you said. You pushed past them, following the trail of panicked people in hazmat suits around the house, just where you could see a glass door. 

Aaron caught you before you could get any closer. 

“I have to see him.” You fought against his arms as they locked around you. “Let me go, Aaron.��

“We don’t know if there are still traces of the substance outside of the lab. Even if it’s sealed we can’t-”

“I don’t care. I can’t just leave him in there. Do you know what this will do to his body? I’ve studied anthrax, Aaron. I can’t just… I can’t…” 

“The best thing you can do for Reid is let him work.” Your brother turned you around, keeping his hands on your arms so you couldn’t get away. “He’ll find the cure and he’ll be fine.” 

“If you believed that, you wouldn’t still be here, waiting for him to die,” you snapped. 

Aaron swallowed, closed his eyes, and didn’t say anything else. 

“Keep an eye on her,” he told Derek. “We still have to find the apprentice.” 

He stormed off and Derek gave you a look that said he’d stop you before you even thought of taking another step. 

Inside, Spencer held his cell phone with a trembling hand and coughed in between his words. 

On the other end, a saddened voice greeted him, lacking her usual pep.

“Hey, Reid.”

“Reid, wow,” he teased. “No witty Garcia greeting for me?” 

Garcia grimaced, trying to laugh for him. “I can’t be my sparkly self when you are where you are.” 

He took a deep breath. While part of his brain was scrambling to figure out where Nichols might have the cure that could save him, the other side was plaguing his thoughts of who he was leaving behind. 

What would happen to his mom? How many times would the nurses have to tell her that her only son was dead before her brain allowed her to realize it? And even if she did, how long before she would forget and have to go through the grief all over again? 

And then there was Y/N. 

Just when things started looking better…

“Garcia,” he said, holding back a fit of coughing, “do you think you could do something for me?” 

-

You didn’t know how long you sat there, waiting to hear whether or not the area had been cleared. Derek stayed with you and you explained how you figured out what was going on. 

“You scare me sometimes, you know that?” He teased. 

He was on and off the phone. You could tell it was with Spence by the way Derek’s eyes kept slipping over to you as he talked. But telling Spencer you were there before they figured anything out would only distract him. At least, that’s what Derek kept telling you. 

After a while, Dr. Kimura called Derek back and said he could talk to Spencer. Despite your protests, he told you to wait and so you stood back while he went inside. You could hear Spencer’s voice, but your brain wouldn’t focus on what they were saying. You just wished you could hold him again. 

His coughing may as well have been a flatline in your ears. 

“Go help Hotch,” he told Derek. 

Spencer stood with his arms at his side as he was sprayed down. His hair hung limply around his face and his purple shirt now clung to his chest. 

Morgan shook his head. “Hotch has plenty of people helping him.

“He needs you more than I do.” 

“Reid, I’m gonna see you off to the hospital.” Derek caught you in the corner of his eye, stepping closer to the doorway. 

“I’m about to get naked,” Spencer said, leveling an irritated stare on the other agent’s face. “So they can scrub me down. Is that something you really want to see?” 

Derek looked from you to Spencer to Dr. Kimura. He waved his hand, motioning for you to come in.

“Can she stay with him?” 

Spencer’s eyes widened. “Y/N? What are you doing here?”

“Who is this?” Kimura asked. “Is she another member of your team?”

Derek scoffed, giving you a small smirk. “She may as well be.” He nodded at the scientist. “Take care of him.”

He hurried off, patting your back as he went. 

Your eyes didn’t leave Spencer. In other circumstances, you might have laughed. He looked like a wet puppy with his dripping hair and soaked clothes. But another cough escaped his lips and his hazel stare burned into you.

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

“Would you believe me if I said I was in the neighborhood?” 

“This isn’t funny. You can’t be here,” he said. “Protocol aside, do you have any idea how dangerous this situation is?” His shoulders jerked with another cough. He unbuttoned his shirt and kicked off his shoes. 

“I don’t care how many rules I’m breaking, I’m not leaving you.” You held up a hand. “I’m safer here than out there waiting for this guy to strike again.” 

His frown deepened, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he shifted uncomfortably, hands reaching for his belt. 

“Can you…?” He trailed off.

“Oh,” you blinked. “Right. Yeah.” You turned away, listening to the water against his now bear skin. 

He felt ridiculous, being self-conscious now when you’d seen him without his clothes on plenty of times. But this felt different. He’d let himself fall into this problem and somehow, shielding you from seeing him this way, seeing him so weak, made it easier in his head. He could face it as long as you didn’t have to. 

Dr. Kimura allowed you to ride with them to the hospital as long as you stayed out of the way. But now, seeing him in the hospital shirt with sweat glistening on his forehead, you knew you couldn’t just sit there. 

“Is there anything I can do?” You begged.

“We’re going to test Nichols’ inhaler to see if he hid the cure there like Dr. Reid suggested,” Dr. Kimura explained. She put a stethoscope to Spencer’s chest as he continued coughing. You didn’t need to have a medical degree to know he was getting worse. “How are you feeling Dr. Reid?” 

“My throat’s a little dry.” He kept his eyes screwed shut, focusing on what he was saying. “But other than that I feel… fin. Feel fin.” He opened his eyes as nonsense fell from his lips. His brows furrowed in frustration while his irises widened with panic. 

Your eyes scanned his shaking form, bile rising in your throat. He reached up for you. On his hand, you spotted the cut. 

Not good. Definitely not good. 

When he coughed this time, a trickle of blood dripped out of his mouth. 

“Driver, faster,” Dr. Kimura ordered. 

“Re-,” Spencer stammered, gripping your hand as tight as his muscles allowed. “Ret.”

“I don’t understand.” 

“Reel. Rem. R-Read.” He used his other hand to point to his bag, left by Morgan when he took it out of the car. 

You reached into it and retrieved the leather-bound volume you’d spent the last week reading together. It made your breath catch in your throat. You opened to the page he’d left off on the night before. 

The Final Problem.

-

 With your eyes trained on the page in front of you, the scene of Sherlock Holmes’s death struck a little too close for comfort. 

What if this was it? What if you’d wasted all of the time you had left with him in these past few months? 

Your hands shook. You wanted a drink. 

Derek sat beside you, distracting himself with the hospital jello and a magazine. 

You reached the end of the story, but the words caught in your throat, drowned out by threatening cries. 

“...and if I have now been compelled to make a clear statement of his career it is due to those injudicious champions who have endeavored to clear his memory by attacks upon him whom I shall ever regard as the best and the wisest man whom I have ever known,” Spencer said groggily. His eyes peered open, landing on Morgan. “Are you eating Jell-O?” 

You let out a sob of relief and restrained yourself from throwing your arms around him. 

Derek smiled. “Hey doc, look who’s back,” he said to Dr. Kimura, who was speaking to another doctor in the doorway. 

“Is there any more Jell-O?” Spence asked, his thoughts still hazy from waking up. 

While Derek and the doctor informed Spencer of everything that had happened- including the recovery of the other victims thanks to him knowing where the cure was hidden- you just watched on with awe tightening in your chest, turning to regret. 

You’d taken so much for granted and it took almost losing him to see it. 

Spencer turned his head toward you, a small smile playing on his lips when he saw your face. 

“I could hear you,” he said. “Reading, I mean.” 

“You should have picked a happier story,” you teased through your tears. 

He chuckled weakly. “Sorry.” 

Derek ushered Dr. Kimura out, giving the two of you a little more privacy.

You leaned over, pressing your lips to Spencer’s forehead. “I’m sorry,” you cried. 

Spence lifted a hand, wiping away your tears with all the energy he could muster. 

“For what?” 

Setting the book aside, you took his hand in yours. 

“For not coming home sooner.”

-

The In-Betweens series: @amywright; shesoperfectt;  hereforsmutbcicantgetenough;  violetbossler;  hyper-half-blood;  i-bitch-you-bitch; xcastawayherosx; preciousbabypeter; @jori21; @sol-48;  @murdermornings ; @ staygoldsquatchling02; @ ara-a-bird