#only to wait centuries to meet her again

[snail-noodle]

testing testing...

imagine accidentally traveling to the past and falling in love with virtue of knowledge.

a mortal and a god falling in love?

what are the chances...

art by @//bonsiii-art

[januaryembrs]

SWEET AND RIGHT AND MERCIFUL | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

request: my DARLING @avis-writeshq says: OMGGGG EM CONGRATS ON 3K !!! soooo deserved and i’m so so happy for you!!! please may i request tea for sunshine!reader 🥹🩷 maybe the moment when she realises just how much she likes him (perhaps she was in heavy denial beforehand)? I LOVE YOU SO MUCH THANK YOUUUUU 🩷🩷🩷

description: The Sunshine rookie Spencer had heard so much about is the first one to make him laugh since he got out of prison.

length: 4.1k

warnings: Lucky Strikes episode, talks of humans eating humans, cm gore, blood, violence etc. UnSub gets creepy with reader. sex jokes, spitting water.

author's note: dedicated to @avis-writeshq because she is my GIRL when it comes to Spencer Reid x Sunshine brain rot, and also because she requested a Drabble for them but I couldn't stop writing and here we are with a full ficlet.

It had been three weeks, three painfully long weeks since Spencer Reid had returned to the BAU, nearly ten years since she’d seen him lecturing at Pennsylvania. He looked different, but then Emily had said quite literally on her second day that their endgame was getting him out of prison for a crime he didn’t commit, and it seemed only natural that being a fed in a foreign jail would knock someone around. 

She’d been too nervous to speak to him on their first day working together, had stuck to Luke’s side like glue because he was closest in age to her and he didn’t seem to mind the way she could speak a hundred miles per hour. They had only really had any contact when she was chatting with Garcia in the kitchenette at lunch, when she was talking to the tech whizz about the crochet set she’d bought even though she couldn’t seem to wrap her head around the way everything bobbed and weaved and bobbed again, and how the woman on youtube seemed to make the tiny bumblebee seem so achievable while hers looked like a yellow turd. 

He’d come up behind the two of them, his footsteps deadly silent despite the fact he had sneakers on, and she wouldn’t have even known he was there had Penelope not lit up with glee at seeing Reid poking around their office again. 

“Coffee, honey?” Penelope asked, looking over the girl’s shoulder, and it was only when he murmured a ‘mhm’ that the rookie noticed he’d crept up behind her, leaning over to grab his mug from the cupboard, and she hopped to the side immediately. 

“S-sorry, just shove me out the way next time, my mom says I have zero spacial awareness.” She said with a nervous laugh, and he didn’t seem to care as he granted her a small glance, pushing the button on the coffee machine and clunking his mug beneath the tap. 

“Have you met our newbie, Spence?” Penelope asked, friendly as ever even though the women caught the way his jaw seemed to feather with clenched muscle, like he was holding himself back from snapping, and his eyes were tired as he looked over at Garcia, barely flicking his gaze to the new face despite her prompt, “This is Y/N, she’s joined us from cold cases,” 

“Hi,” The woman chirped with a quick wave, despite the fact he was stood only a foot away from her, “It’s nice to meet you after everyone’s spoken so highly about you, Penny said you like invented the term genius,”

Spencer pursed his lips, trying not to make a backhanded comment about how dumb that sounded because of course he didn’t invent it, of course it was coined in the mid seventeenth century from the latin gignere to mean ‘exceptional natural ability’, and the last time he checked he wasn’t even born then. But he stopped himself, because she was just being nice, and it wasn’t her fault that he hadn’t been sleeping or that he couldn’t eat dinner without waiting to hear a buzzer go off to let him know when it was meal time, and it certainly wasn’t her fault that she was just a few decibels too loud with her cheerful tone and smile that he could hear in every syllable. 

So he just gave her an awkward smile, and an acknowledging nod, the whir of effort from the coffee machine slowing down as his drink finished pouring, and he grabbed his mug, not even caring that the ceramic scolded his fingertips because he’d felt so much worse before and gotten through it. 

“I’ll catch up with you later,” He said coldly, not returning the sentiment, and he’d turned before he could see the way her smile dropped, her brows creasing in worry as she watched him head back towards his desk.

“Did I say something wrong?” She asked with a small voice, and Penelope wrapped an arm around her shoulder giving her a kind squeeze and a sad smile. 

“It’s not you, sweetie, he’s just-” Garcia swallowed, her own pout growing over her red painted lips, “He’s not like the Reid we used to know, he’s struggling,” 

And so she nodded, chewing at the inside of her cheek with a frown. It felt silly to have her feelings hurt, except she’d been thinking about the day two agents from the BAU came to give her sociology class a talk on geographical and societal factors compelling crime, how she’d headed straight to her tutor that evening to swap her major to criminology. Because she’d hung on every word Agent Hotchner and Agent Reid had said, which definitely had nothing to do with the fact the younger of the two was so dreamy in his glasses and tweed jacket. 

She’d been excited to meet him again after nearly ten years, maybe even thank him for changing the trajectory of her entire life. He was still handsome, and despite the fact she’d grown up since then, had only thought about him as that hot guy who gave a lecture in her class that one time, she still had felt that silly fluttering feeling in her chest the second she saw him talking with Emily in her office the morning he got back. 

And he’d look at her like she was a girl scout selling cookies; a passing face, a summer temp, no one worth getting to know.

She pretended like she wasn’t the slightest bit disappointed, he’d been to prison for god sake. The guy had bigger problems than a little nobody girl from another department.

Things weren’t much better the day they got the case.

“You might want to cover your eyes for this bit, my little sugar plum,” Penelope said, looking at the rookie with soft eyes, and Emily smiled at her gently, knowing the girl had a bit of an innocent streak, not completely unlike Penny when she’d started the job. 

“Why? I’m sure it’s nothing-” She cut herself off when Penelope clicked onto the next page, and the image of a woman who could only be described as utterly butchered flicked onto the screen in full size, “Oh,” 

“Oh, indeed, rookie,” Rossi said with a wince, looking at the mulch of blood and muscle where her legs had been removed, and her fingers severed clean off as if with a carving knife. 

Luke looked up at the girl, where she’d gone a little peaky, and he patted her back gently, sliding his bottle of water over to her without a word. 

“All the telltale signs are here,” JJ said on a sighed breath, images of the rest of the crime scene flicking up on the screen.

“Pentagram, legs and fingers gone,” Rossi agreed, Luke and Matt looking between the team with a questioning glance, as she downed a sip of the water. 

“There’s even one neat aspect right here,” Emily said, the tip of her finger pointing to one of the pictures of the floor outside the bathroom stall where the body was found, “Her earrings and jewellery are laid out equidistant on the floor,”

“Sure as hell looks like him,” Rossi said, and she cleared her throat, looking to the older man on her left. 

“Like who?” She asked, her eyes snapping to Spencer who opened his mouth to speak, which seemed to be the only time he ever did bother making conversation; when there was a body on their hands.

“Floyd Feylnn Ferrell,” He said, as if the original case had only been wrapped up last week, but then with his memory she wasn’t exactly surprised, “A psychotic cannibal who’d been killing under the radar for years,”

“He killed ten prostitutes and then moved up to low risk victims,” Prentiss added, the rookie’s eyes wide. It wasn’t anything she’d never heard of, but it never made it easier knowing something even worse was coming after the murders. 

“He kept slipping through the cracks and avoiding justice so people referred to him as ‘Lucky’” JJ said, her eyes darting over the crime scene photos that seemed to take her back ten years to when they’d seen almost an identical set of photos, like Hotch was about to call ‘Wheels up in twenty’ any minute now.

Rossi sighed, looking at the younger girl who watched him wide eyed, “Have you eaten today, rookie?”

She shook her head dumbly, “Why?”

“Because the worst of it was he owned a barbeque joint,” Her face dropped even more, if that was even possible, “And he fed one of the victims to the search party,”

Her hand flew to her mouth, blinking at the seasoned agent in terror, because that was something she hadn’t ever thought would enter someone’s mind until she heard it. As simple as it sounded, for someone who had seen cases going back twenty, thirty years, some particularly heinous in nature, there were new lengths she didn’t realise a human could ever go to, let alone would.

Penelope stopped, shutting her laptop lid and glancing at JJ in a plea for help, as the thought of what had happened after the Ferrell case rushed to the front of her mind, when the guy she’d thought wanted to take her out on a date shot her. 

“I have a computer…” The blonde trailed off, heading for the door to the office room with a dazed look in her eyes, and the rookie watched her leave, her neck and palms clammy as she thought about what Rossi had just said. 

“I think I have a computer too-” She rushed, and she bolted from her seat before she could think of anything else, dashing after the technical analyst because she feared she was going to throw up if she didn’t get a breath of fresh air. 

Spencer watched her hair swish as she scurried out the room, and he wondered how long she would last if she couldn’t stomach just a few photos. He had struggled with the gore at first, sure, but he’d never ran. Maybe he was being cruel, but he couldn’t say that a girl like her exactly fit the part of an FBI agent, she seemed… pure, like driven snow, and if anything he’d hate for the bloodied parts of their job to stain a girl so squeaky clean.

Emily nudged his shoulder, nodding towards her retreating figure when he looked up at her questioningly, “You keep an eye on her in this case. She’s still learning,” 

And Spencer grit his teeth, because he hated the idea of babysitting when he had a dozen of his own problems, but he nodded indignantly. 

He just hoped she didn’t make things too hard for him. 

–

The door swung open behind Ferrell, the UnSub’s sister, the midday Florida heat boring down on her back, Spencer bristling at her right as Luke pocketed his badge. 

And then there he was. The guy from the photo, his thick, wiry glasses exact matches to the ones he’d been wearing the day he got caught, though she supposed a mental facility didn’t exactly have funds for replacements. 

“It’s no problem, Lori, I’ll speak with them,” His voice was a strong southern twang, and almost chillingly calm. His sister looked over her shoulder at him, the woman fretful as she glanced between the four agents, ten years of troubles on her shoulders. She sighed, running a hand over her neck nervously and headed back inside to be with her son, leaving them alone with their suspect on the doorstep, “You’ll have to wait, I’m on my way to church. It’s right around the corner so I’m within the thousand permitted yards from the monitoring station,”

He quickly glanced at where Matt and Luke stood behind her, the former with his arms crossed over his chest as he eyed up the thin, twiggly guy who looked like the type to live in his mother’s basement until he died, not the type to cannibalise and murder. 

His eyes darted over to where Reid towered over him, familiarity flicking in his face as he looked at the agent, and he smiled slowly, like something out of a horror, the uncanny valley of a face so normal when she knew he was so sick somewhat terrifying to her. He fed one of the victims to the search party. She heard it rattling around her skull as she saw the whites of his teeth, and she imagined him ripping into her then and there, her hands shaking.  

“Hey, I remember you. Where’s your friend, Agent Morgan?” Floyd said, and she felt Spencer tense up beside her, which she guessed meant it was a sore subject as she jumped into the conversation, her lips moving before she could think better of it. She’d always had a habit of talking too much when she was nervous, or to fill gaps, or when she could tell someone was uncomfortable, she’d always been told it was one of her more irksome traits. 

“You wouldn’t mind if we took a look around, would you? Just while you’re gone?” She asked politely yet, for once, she regretted ever opening her mouth the second he turned his attention on her.

She felt something cold and dreadful run down her spine as he looked straight at her, his sepia eyes trailing down over her neck, running over her body and down to her hands that fidgeted at her sides.

They waited on baited breath, her stomach flipping with sickness as that manic smile drew even wider, trained solely on her, a thought privy only to himself somewhat amusing to him. She felt herself lean away without even meaning to, incidentally feeling Spencer’s arm bump into hers as she did, and the three men seemed to tense up as they watched Ferrell smell the air, savouring every second of it, his eyes blown wide with something unreadable. Lustful yet starved, like he was on a four day fast standing next to an open roast. 

“You’re awful pretty for an agent,” Floyd said, that drawling accent of his turning her stomach, and his eyes trailed down over her calves, and she cursed herself for wearing a midi skirt. But she hated jeans on her thighs, hated the way Florida air clung humidly to her skin when she didn’t let it breathe, but she thought she might just hate the way his mouth filled with saliva more, “Do you like running, agent?”

“Sometimes,” She whispered, shrinking in on herself even more as he took a step out of the home. 

And Spencer felt his chest drop at the sound of it. She sounded petrified. But then, he would be too if someone his size looked at him like he was a five-course banquet. And he regretted ever thinking of her as babysitting, as defective, because she was clearly trying her best, and this was where it had gotten her. Right on the UnSub’s menu.

“I bet you do a lot of running, chasing after bad guys, huh?” Floyd pushed, leering towards her with another smell of her perfume, and she could have sworn his smile only widened into something cheshire cat-esque. She nodded with a worried gulp, her breath picking up when his hand began moving up to where a rogue stray hair fell out of her bun, running over her collar bone, her heart beating so wild and heavy beneath it. 

And it was enough for Spencer to act, because within the blink of an eye, he’d side stepped in front of the rookie who seemed frozen in her spot, and Floyd’s arm was shoved away where it hit Spencer’s bicep. Ferrell was forced to stop looking over her clammy skin with heavy swallows like he was imagining just how she would cut and marinate, and instead was confronted with a frown that could send any man scarpering, Spencer’s lips pressed into something furious, his shoulders seeming only more broad than they usually did when he purposely blocked Ferrell’s view from her. 

“You’d better get going, Floyd,” Spencer said, his voice a deadly sort of calm, and his arm stuck out behind him to keep her where she was as he spoke, “You’re going to be late for church,” 

And Floyd listened, despite his smarmy smile as he dared a look at her when he passed by, despite the fact his eyes trailed back down to her jugular like he was ready to sever it there and then to string her up and cure. 

Spencer’s hand fished around his pocket, glaring at the back of Floyd’s head as he strolled down the street, tossing the keys to Alvez, “Take her back to the car, don’t let her out of your sight,” 

And the two of them listened while he and Matt swept the house, because anyone would be insane not to when Spencer looked so angry he could have put a hole through Ferrell’s head without blinking an eye.

–

“Eating people, who eats people, what on earth is that all about,” She muttered, the four of them in the SUV heading back to the station. She sat at the front with Spencer where he drove because Luke and Matt were gentlemen and had offered her the extra leg room, and Spencer had zero qualms because he was under strict instruction to keep an eye on her. 

She did that alot, he realised. Muttered when she was thinking about something. Where he went deadly silent when troubled, too focused on sorting through the mental files that seemed to be so resistant to organise these days, she was his entire opposite, always talking or humming a tune under her breath or playing an invisible set of piano notes on her knee, something to always keep the space filled. 

He’d hated it the first few days, the sound like a blaring alarm coming from over by her desk, cutting through his limited attention span, grating on his nerves and making him have to bite his tongue to stop himself from yelling at her to shut the fuck up. But then, it wasn’t exactly personal to her, even the sound of the coffee machine had been enough to pull at his hair in frustration. At twelve years old, it spluttered and whirred and kicked back at every drink it made, every second of it winding Spencer’s patience up like a jack in the box.

But he found himself listening in on her mumbles, glancing over at how her frown screwed up her doe eyes, her lip pulling between her teeth whenever there was a tiny pause in between her words, before she started again. He’d quickly realised it was the easiest cheat in the book to know when something was bothering her, that she was so much of an open book, not at all cold and guarded like him or so many other profilers he knew, that he wouldn’t need to bother deducing her like she was his next UnSub to know what was wrong. She would just tell him as it was, wear everything vulnerable on her face. 

“Something the matter?” He pressed, Luke also keeping a close watch on her from the back seat as she shook her head to herself, and her head snapped over to the driver’s side, her expression entirely caught even though she’d not exactly been subtle about her turmoil.

“M-me? “ She pointed to herself, and Spencer nodded, trying not to smile because sometimes she could be clueless, not the dumb kind but something sweet, naive, and he found himself somewhat jealous that she didn’t need to be the smartest person in the room to be worth something, she could just be herself, “Yeah, I guess I just,” She huffed, running her hands over her skirt, “I don’t get why anyone would want to eat someone else, it just-” She shivered, not in a theatrical or fake way but like a ghost had walked over her grave just thinking about Floyd smelling at her. 

“Some cultures used to cannibalise other members of their society as funerary practices as early as twenty-four thousand years ago,” Spencer said, and she stopped fidgeting to listen to him, “There’s evidence that the Magdelanians in North Europe used to turn their dead’s skulls into cups they would then drink out of,”

“That I can understand, those guys were probably starving and it’s not like they can just chow down on a damn sabertooth as an easy lunch or something,” She said, and he bit his lip from stopping her to explain that the two of them were about four thousand years apart from one another, “But like, when there’s a burger king or taco bell on every corner, why are you eating women. Who eats women for breakfast lunch and dinner, like raise your hands which one of you would ever eat a woman,” 

Luke sniggered, and Matt smirked at the innuendo of it, the double meaning of her words flying entirely over her head.

“I dunno, Alvez, do you like eating women?” Simmons asked, a smug grin in his words as the boys cackled childishly, and Spencer rolled his eyes with amusement. 

“Pretty partial to it actually,” Luke chimed in, and she whirled in her seat to look behind her of scepticism, “How about you, Reid?”

“You guys are so weird,” She murmured, and Spencer took a quick glance off the road to see her looking entirely baffled, her feathers ruffled at the fact she was left out of the joke. 

“They’re talking about oral sex,” He explained, because he remembered when that had been him for the longest time, and how it had made him feel like the butt of every punchline to not understand why everyone would smile at him knowingly, yet he found himself doing the exact same to her, his lips twitching at their corners.

Spencer watched her scoff, looking back at the two grown children in the back, “I take it back, you guys aren’t weird, your gross. Why can’t you be mature like Spencer?” She huffed, sitting back in her seat and fixing her skirt, “See if you were grownups like Agent Reid and I, you’d know the term isn’t eating a woman, it’s called focalratio,” 

Matt pulled a face of confusion, flicking his eyes to her, “Isn’t that to do with a camera lens?” 

“Do you mean fellatio?” Spencer asked, trying his hardest not to smirk because he didn’t want to make her feel stupid, except she just waved a hand at him.

“That’s what I said. I see why they call you Doctor Read and not Doctor Listen,” She giggled at her own words, watching the trees go by her passenger window, almost entirely oblivious to the way Spencer’s face cracked into a grin, something easy and charmed in his chest. 

And for a moment, he saw exactly what Penelope had been talking about when she wouldn’t stop talking about how likeable she was and how it was harder to hate her than it was to love her. 

Luke took a sip of his water, the bottle nearing the end as the Florida sun warmed it up, and he figured he might as well finish it before it became stagnant and undrinkable. 

“Actually the term fellatio describes only male genitalia, the female equivalent would be cunnilingus-” Spencer explained, and he knew she was listening because he felt her eyes on the side of his face as he spoke, except he was cut off by the sound of her screaming so loud he nearly slammed on the breaks then and there. 

“LUKE!” She yelled, and when Spencer looked, she had water dripping down the back of her hair, soaking her shirt to her skin, her black bra straps suddenly clear as day as they pressed against her dove white top. Alvez looked mortified, and he found himself apologising between coughs, water dribbling down his chin where he’d been so shocked to hear that word coming from Spencer’s mouth that he’d completely forgone swallowing and simply spat the whole thing out right through the gap between the headrest and the seat. 

And Spencer laughed; it was quiet and foreign and nothing on the roaring cacophony coming from Matt in the back, as her and Luke descended into a squabble, her proclaiming him as a disgusting alpaca man as she tried to dry herself off with his jacket. But she caught it, the small chuckle coming from her left, and she looked at him, the sodden shirt almost forgotten when she saw him laugh. 

She thought then that she wanted to make him laugh like that a million more times. And she knew she had it bad for Spencer Reid all over again.

[lilacgaby]

‧₊˚see you again.₊˚⊹

SUKUNA'S LOVE FOR YOU surpassed time itself. he'd waited centuries for this moment, the moment you'd reunite with him. the moment he'd see you again.

-✩pair. heianera!sukuna x wife!reader. tags. violence, killing, major character death, morally gray reader, pet names, kissing, fluff, crying, minor angst, happy ending. wc.2k

-✩note. heavily based off the song!

saying he missed you was an understatement.

you were his queen, his everything. time meant nothing to the immortal king, but with you by his side he felt that his forever wasn't enough.

you came into his life swiftly, an offering from a village who was begging for sukuna’s grace. you were bound up and pliant, an angry look on your eyes. one that interested him, his hand moving to support his head as a smirk overcame his face.

a lack of tears from you fascinated him. he was met by furrowed brows rather than an expression of fear. a look of defiance as an ordered servant peeled the gag off your lips.

you said nothing, he was almost upset at how you ignored him, choosing to spend your first words in his presence to curse out the leaders of your village.

“silence.” with the point of his finger you still kept your expression, though shutting up. “she is right though,” he stood, walking over to where the three of you sat. one of the leaders shoving your neck to the floor to bow.

“uh, uh, uh.” sukuna waved his finger, “you should know i don't like my prizes to be touched.” your eyes widened out of reflex, the blood of the woman beside you now splattered on your skin. your mouth agape as you saw her head roll.

the lady next to you, her wife in crime, ran out screaming. “i don't remember giving you permission to run.” her body met a similar fate to her wife’s, body sliced diagonally in half. or so you think, you could only hear the sick tumbling of her body off the temple entrance.

he looked down at you, expecting you to scream or cry, to have to silence your sobbing self by a slit of the throat. though.. he was met with none of that.

a small smile, hidden by your bow that you hadn't moved from. relief in your eyes, relaxation in your stature.

“well isn't that interesting?” sukuna sauntered over to you. “raise your head.” you did so, wiping your smile off of your face. “why aren't you screaming sweet girl? your elders were just murdered in front of you.”

with a tilt of your head, as if the answer was so obvious, so simple, you began to explain. “it's not like i liked them or anything,” you wiped the blood off your face using the dead woman’s sleeve, “so why would i be sad?”

he found himself at a loss for words in the first time for a while. the woman’s hand made a hard thunk as it hid the floor again. he scoffed, another large smirk overtook his face. he picked you up off the floor, bending down and meeting you face to face. “i might just keep you.”

the understatement of the century.

it was gradual, yes, but you became more than his favorite. he found himself thinking of you when you weren't gone, moving you into a room connected to his personal chambers so he could speak to you more frequently. he asked your opinions on things, something he never thought he'd find himself doing. you'd sit next to him by throne, helping him pass judgment on those who'd ask for a moment of his time on the daily.

the sobbing that wrecked their bodies, snot slobbering over their faces, their heads kissing the floor as they begged to him. offerings piled up on the floor, many splattered with blood that would need to be cleaned off later.

he liked how you barely emoted, expecting the slash of his finger onto their necks. he liked how the flinches of your body faded away, a cold expression adorning your face now. as if you were above them, and to him you really were.

his quarters became yours too, he grew to adore the sight of you waiting in bed for him. the new silken robes he'd got custom for you, actually your entire wardrobe was put to shame at the staple pieces he'd chose for you.

you didn't get to sit on his throne, no. you sat above it. you sat on him, not even glancing away from him as one arm held you by the waist, passing judgment onto people for the day.

you weren't all a terror though. the concubines and harem he'd harbored over the years were all let go. any one who questioned him was stricken down.

you were gifted a lady in waiting, who'd grown fond of you. though equally scared of your cruel nature that rivaled the king of curses himself.

in life you were a sight to behold. as you awoke, showering with affection, tracing the markings of his skin, kissing the spots around his neck.

many months he spent with you. each rampage he'd gone on was cheered on by you, the taste of victory on his tongue as he gifted you items every time. jewelry, new robes, a garden outside.

though it all paired in comparison to your wedding ring. a stone, specially forged for you of your favorite color. it glistened in the light, though it had an undertone of black.

he adorned a similar band on his hand, lying not on his ring finger, but the pointer finger he used to massacre. so you'd always be with him.

after a particularly brutal one, leaving him with his body completely bloodied not with his own blood, he entered your quarters.

you ran your hand along his body, eyes squinting as you pulled his main hand to your face. “you need to be more careful ryo,” you brought it up to his face, “what if the blood stains your band? replacing it won't be easy.”

he chuckled, placing a hand on your head, making you squirm away from his bloody grasp. “don't worry, i'll take care of it.”

the same scenario played out for years, the years that you'd spent together with him. you'd tell him to be more careful, tell him to be more considerate of your bond symbolized by that ring, and he'd assure you. he remembered it like it was yesterday, the slices of life you'd had alongside him all embedded in his memory.

he wished you'd have taken your own advice. he wished he had hammered it into your head to be careful, to not venture off too far without him. but he didn't.

you left his life just as swiftly as you entered it. your lady in waiting ran into his room without warning, something that'd get her head cut off if it wasn't for the blood on her otherwise white robes. he stood up quickly, rushing his way out the door on instinct as he heed her words.

“the– the queen she’s–”

he silenced her, raising a hand before she could finish her sentence. he smelled it before he could see it, slowing down and walking over to where you said you'd stay out by the garden he'd made just for you.

the white roses were stained red, dripping with your blood as you laid in the flower bed. your face was at peace, eyes closed as if you were just in a short slumber.

though the hole in your stomach that ripped through even the fabric of your clothing let him know it was too late.

“k-king-” your lady in waiting started, hands shaking before he cut her off.

“you're relieved of your duty.”

“w-what?”

“i advise you to stay in our– my temple, i will not be kind these next few days. you may go.”

she bowed quickly, running off with tears brimming at her eyes.

it's what you want-- would've wanted.

your skin was whitened and pale, there was no heaving of your chest anymore. you were gone. and he was alone.

your body was buried in the gardens, your memory was becoming lost to time.

it was seen in the alignment of his throne now that you weren't leaving up against its side, the absence of your shoes by the door, the harem and concubines that littered his halls.

he'd murdered one of them the other day. for touching your clothes, for wearing them. his heart lurched in his chest at the sight of the now hundreds year old robe on the woman. no matter what time would tell, you never faded from his mind. the memory of beating the man who'd been the cause of your death into the ground just as fresh.

even while he was sealed, a day was never lost without the thought of you on his mind. he only saw your face when he closed his eyes. he yearned for you, he wanted to feel you once more. he hoped you'd go north, be reborn and start anew. he hoped for you to find him.

but after hundreds of years waiting, and tiring, he took it upon himself to bring you back. the second he had an opportunity, he did.

a new woman, one he'd not dare compare to you in any regard, was bound by fear in front of him. oh, and a couple chains.

she was screaming, her voice growing hoarse. his temple had been empty for some years, no one would hear her pleas as she struggled aimlessly.

he laughed at the irony, imagining how you'd act in her stead, remembering how you acted when you were bound and laid out in front of him.

he pulled something out of his pocket, a finger with the very same ring of devotion he'd gifted to you. he discarded the paper sealing your very own cursed energy.

he clutched in his hand, closing his eyes as he was determined for this to be the last time he felt your body without a pulse. the last time he'd only feel the softness of your energy and not your plush skin.

he choked the woman in front of him. just before she passed out he let go.

not letting her rest, he pried open her mouth and shoved your finger in, making her breath it in.

he let go, the effects not taking over immediately. she wrapped her hands around her neck and breathed, horrified eyes peering into him until they rolled back, only the white of her eyes showing as she fell to the floor.

the internal torment of souls was happening before his very eyes. evident in the vigorous twitching of the body.

you won though. it was obvious. the glint of your skin began to peek through the head, the body itself reforming to the shape when you died. your hair grew back in its texture and color, the warmth in your skin was a sight for sore eyes.

your eyes opened, revealing the slightly glossy hue of your eyes. you felt as though you'd taken a long nap, rubbing your eyes as they locked into sukuna’s form.

“ryo? what time is it?” you asked sleepily, yawning as he helped you up once more.

“it is a new era, my queen.”

your eyes widened. your hands were in his though you looked around at the changes surrounding you. the trees were larger, thicker than you remember. your garden had a pit in the middle of it, roses growing around it. your heart dropped at the realization, the memories flowing back into you. “i..

i died, didn't i?”

he nodded, looking at where your corpse would lay. “you did.”

“i'm sorry.”

“i shouldn't have let it happen.” he tightened his grip on your hands. “there is not point in reminiscing about it now. you're here, next to me. that's all that matters”

you nodded, still feeling guilt in your chest. “you're not leaving my side.” he ordered.

“of course not.” you moved closer to him, wrapping your hands around his arm.

“can i have a kiss?” you asked, making him raise his eyebrows incredulously.

“woman, i revived you after centuries and you'd still ask?”

you took that as a yes, standing on your toes to kiss him. he picked you up, deepening it.

you had been running through his daydreams for years, plaguing his memories through his actions even while you were alive.

while the wait for you was sickening, the feeling of your skin against his once more convinced him.

convinced him that a millennia of waiting was worth these small moments with you.

taglist: @k0z3me @darhinadadragon

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[dovveri]

high fashion fashion

synopsis: you’re meeting with the top fashion designer in the country to get your measurements taken for haute couture: an exclusive, annual fashion magazine you had the luck to be chosen for

warnings: reader receiving, cunnilingus, fingering, strap-ons, swearing

w/c: 4.4k

a/n: momo part 2 here!

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

"miss minatozaki! the model is here to see you as requested!"

you shuffle around a little awkwardly as you stand behind the agent that had led you to the infamous fashion designer's lair. you were still a new name in the modelling industry so it came as a surprise when you booked one of the biggest fashion magazines in the country. naturally, that meant working with the best of the best, and minatozaki sana was the best of the best.

"come in!" a voice drifts out, it's high-pitched and honeyed, the kind of voice that lures people in and gets them to do whatever the speaker asks of them. you were cautious though, sana's reputation preceded her. tales of her perfectionism were not sparse, she was a difficult woman to please, and had been known to ruin careers with the shake of a head or the slight frown in her eyebrows.

the agent rushes you in, whispering about making sure you did whatever sana wanted you to do, and then taking their leave just as quick, terrified to be in the same room as the fashion designer of the century.

you wring your hands nervously, stepping forward and taking in your surroundings. it wasn't unlike any other studio you've been in. messy fabrics and half-completed outfits strewn over pages of designs and measurements, mannequins standing half-dressed and lifeless, and in the centre of it all, the mastermind of the methodical chaos you stood in, was minatozaki sana herself.

she tuts, making a note on the design she was currently working on, not having acknowledged your presence yet, so you stand there awkwardly, waiting for her to instruct you.

your eyes can't help but trace over her features while she works. it was only natural, you were a model, you learnt to have a sharp eye for the physical body, to be critical of yourself and others whether you were on the clock or not.

her face was perfect. she was wearing specs that perched neatly on a nose other models would pay for. her lips, although currently downturned in a frown as she perused her work, were set in a natural pout that accentuated her features, her eyes sharp and calculating behind the soft, round frame of her glasses. you could mistake her for the model for a big-brand eyewear company. your eyes glide down to her shoulder where her top slid down revealing pearly soft skin, and a sharp 90 degree angle, her collarbones protruding and proud. you're almost in disbelief at her beauty, how someone like her could've slipped under your radar, under everyone's radar. people knew her for the beauty she created, not the beauty she possessed.

you're so caught up in her you don't notice she's finally taken notice of you; quick, assertive eyes running over your own body, calculations and images of clothing pieces already forming in her head.

"y/n right?"

your eyes flick up to hers, blushing slightly at having been caught. you clear your throat, nodding, not trusting your voice to speak.

she puts down her pencil and steps out from the desk she was working behind, taking slow steps towards you. you were used to this, people staring at you, studying you. but under sana's gaze you felt like a baby deer again, like the first time you were scouted for your modelling agency. she circles you, humming here and there as she takes you in.

"i can see why mina chose you."

you cough awkwardly, "excuse me?"

"the editor. she handpicks the models for the annual haute couture magazine every year."

your eyes widen, she meant myoui mina. chief editor of the haute couture magazine. a limited fashion piece that only came out once a year and was revered by critics all across the country. the one you had the opportune luck to be selected for.

"r-right."

sana scoffs, "pretty face but can't speak. lucky you didn't go into acting."

you're a little taken aback at that, but you remind yourself this was characteristic of sana. this was in line with what you had heard. you would just have to grit your teeth and bear it, you could not afford to lose this opportunity.

"hmm. yes you'll do." she walks back to her work counter, heels clicking as she waves a hand dismissively.

"strip. everything. i'll take your measurements now and we can both get back to work."

you stutter, following after her, "d-don't you already have my measurements?"

she turns suddenly, raising an eyebrow as you almost crash into her. you realise she's a little shorter than you, though her presence made it seem she towered over you. "is there a problem?"

you blush, trying to create some distance between the two of you, "n-no ma'am! i just thought-"

"i like to take my own measurements. i don't trust the ones they sent me. after all..." she raises a hand, a manicured nail coming to trace your throat, from the middle of your neck to the tip of your chin. you hold your breath. "the notes didn't mention how devastatingly exquisite you are. i'll need to see if the rest of the... hardware matches that pretty face of yours." there's a dangerous glint in her eye, her lips curling up into a smirk as she watches your breath catch, then she's turning away and striding towards another work desk, leaving you tripping after yourself to follow her.

she quickly makes space on the counter, pushing aside sheets of drawings and pulling out a fresh new page devoid of any markings.

"well? are you shy or something? no one is allowed in here without my permission. we're alone darling don't worry." you can hear the teasing lilt in her voice, she doesn't need to turn away from her work for you to picture the smirk on her face.

you quickly rid yourself of your clothing, shivering a little in the air-conditioned workshop, reminding yourself that this was nothing out of the ordinary, you had been laid bare in front of beautiful women and men before, sana shouldn't be any different.

you hesitate when you reach your bra, but sana could smell your uncertainty.

"i said everything."

you gulped, undoing the clasp and sliding the straps off your shoulders, nipples hardening under the cool air of the room. you bend down to slide off your panties, stepping out of them carefully before coming back up, suddenly face to face with sana who's eyeing you with a hunger akin to the one of lioness. you turn to place your underwear with all your other clothes, but knowing sana was watching your every step lit a little fire in your lower stomach.

your toes clench on the cool tile of the workshop, you force yourself to take a breath before turning back to sana, and then letting her circle you again like her prey.

you almost jump when you feel her fingertip on your naked back, holding back sounds your mouth certainly shouldn't be making at work.

her finger slowly, slowly traces downwards, sana admires the smooth planes of your back, the sharp bones that jut out at your wingspan, the curve of your spine before pushing back out to your ass.

you don't even realise you're holding your breath until she pushes down slightly at the small of your back and you gasp.

then sana giggles. "cute."

her hand never leaves your body, she walks back around to face you, fingers tracing your arms, then your sides, squeezing teasingly at your hips.

"hmm... yes i can definitely work with this." her voice is lower, and you can't help but think she may be a little affected by you too.

she steps away again, grabbing a measuring tape, "you wouldn't mind doing a couple poses for me would you darling? i need to see which fabric would work best when you move around and sit or get into whatever other absurd positions momo might get you in when you take the photos."

you shake your head, irritated at the blush that was now definitely apparent on your cheeks. you were better than this, you took lessons on how to school your expression and bodily reactions for when you were forced into uncomfortable clothes and outfits.

sana nods towards a stool nearby, "just take a seat there, sit however's comfortable for now."

you follow her instructions almost robotically, wincing a little at the chill of the metal stool against the skin of your ass. you cross your legs, willing the arousal that was leisurely dripping out of you to stop before sana found out and fired you for being unprofessional.

she watches you wriggle around on the stool, trying to get comfortable with a smirk, treading forward when you're finally still. you try to look straight ahead, avoiding her gaze, but she cups your cheek lightly, forcing you to look up at her. she tilts your head from side to side, hums, then grabs the measuring tape and steps behind you, measuring your shoulder span.

"relax sweetheart, i can feel the tension in your muscles."

you let out a shaky breath, still refusing to speak.

"nervous?"

you shrug.

"you've done this before haven't you?"

you nod.

"are you not speaking because of the comment i made earlier? i didn't mean it y'know. it's not the first time i've rendered someone speechless before."

you gulp, unsure of the implications of her words, "r-right."

she giggles again, "almost thought i'd have to make you scream for me."

"w-what?!"

she hums, moving backwards again and ignoring your question, "lie down over there would you? on your front. if i know momo i know she loves her horizontal shots."

you shakily get up, moving to the mattress on the floor and laying down cautiously, feeling sana right on your heels.

it would be harder to hide your slick in this position, but you clenched your thighs together and did your best. the cool material of the sheets on the mattress brush across your already sensitive nipples in this state, and you fight the urge to let go and just go wild under sana's watchful gaze.

she hovers above you, noting down every twitch of your body, every arch, curve, bend. there's some rustling behind you but you keep focused on resisting your dirtier thoughts. that is until sana sits on top of your thighs.

you gasp at the feeling of her weight on top of you, right below your ass, "u-um-"

"i said to relax darling. i need to see how you'll feel when you're in this position." her excuses were getting sloppier.

"y-you do?"

"are you questioning me?"

"n-no! i'm sorry- please- um- please continue."

"good girl."

you feel your ears burning now as well, the blush having travelled across your cheeks and up. even you knew there was something other than fashion fitting going on here with that comment. but you still let her hands run over your back, even as they tease dangerously lower, down to your hips.

sana coughs, shuffling around, but her shuffling around was really her pushing her body up against your ass, essentially riding the back of your thighs. you can't help but release a choked-out moan, fingers digging into the skin of your forearms where you're resting your head, breaths coming in and out heavier.

she stops, smirking, then does it again, rocking forwards, eyes twinkling when you give her the exact same reaction, unable to control yourself.

"miss m-minatozaki-"

"just sana for you darling."

"... s-sana-"

"hmm?" she leans down, rocking forwards again, delighting in the moan you release, humming right next to your ear, her body laid almost completely on top of you.

"is this- is this still- are you still taking my measurements?"

she chuckles lowly, "what do you think?"

you whine, completely unsure what this devil of a woman wanted from you, "y-yes?"

"then why are you asking?" she giggles, finally letting you go, standing back up. "now, the couch please."

you inhale greedily, pushing yourself back up and wobbling over to the couch. your legs almost give out when you sit down, sinking into the material, and looking at anywhere but sana.

you're about to cross your legs again when she tuts, "ah ah. spread them."

your eyes widen, "b-but-!"

"but what? you already showed me a pose with your legs crossed, now i'll need to see one spread. surely you've seen it's a very classic pose? one of the outfits i'll have to design include pants and momo will definitely make you do this pose in them."

with nothing else to retort, you shyly spread your legs, the urge to cover yourself is overbearing. you wait for sana to say something, anything, prepared for your career to end here and now. you were so close to the big leagues too.

"run a hand through that pretty hair will you darling? elbow up."

you blink, doing as she says, dumbfounded as she steps closer, completely disregarding the obvious signs of lust at your core.

those hands come out again, one at your thigh, the other tracing down the tricep of the arm you have lifted above your head. with nowhere else to go, your arousal leaks outward, pussy drenched and needy as you hold your breath.

the hand that's at your thigh inches upwards, the one at your tricep downwards to cup your face again, thumb brushing over your lips that open just barely enough for her to fit her fingernail inside.

she can feel your shaky breaths on her thumb, can hear the whimper you let out when the hand at your thigh continues to trace up and down, closer and closer to your heat.

"s-sana..."

"yes darling?" her voice is husky, eyes lidded, lips open, whispering like she was sharing a secret even though no one else was around.

"i-i- i'm- i need-"

"what do you need?"

you gulp, fighting back against your better conscience, but the lust that's curling up inside your stomach wins out, "you. i need you."

she grins, "do you now?"

"yes please- sana please-"

"you're so cute when you beg darling. alright then. i'll entertain you." the hand that's at your thigh finally pushes forward, fingertips meeting drenched folds as you gasp in relief and desperation, hips pushing forward, trying to feel more of her.

"god you're so wet sweetheart. is this all for me?"

you're whimpering as she traces those practiced fingers of hers up and down your slit, just barely giving any pressure to your clit before dipping back down. "y-yes! all you all you-"

"well i have to be a good host and receive what you've given me don't i?"

she sinks down onto her knees, pulling your thighs towards her, taking off her specs and licking her lips devilishly as her eyes lock on her target.

your hands are about to move into her hair when she barks up at you, "no touching. you can touch yourself but you can't touch me."

you whine but obey, sliding your hands back up your stomach to grope at your chest needily, your nipples having been attention-starved since you took your bra off.

she grins, enjoying the view for a little before finally bringing her face closer. she blows on your puffy clit playfully, loving the way you squirm and whimper under her, before attaching her mouth to your pussy, sucking greedily.

"o-oh-!"

your hands grip your chest harder, wishing you could hold onto her head instead, but you have to settle for grinding down into her face, pushing against her grip at your hips while she eats you out, slurping loudly. the sounds are absurd, but your mind is too hazy to worry about being embarrassed anymore, not when your fingers are pinching and twisting your own nipples while you watch sana suck your clit into her mouth, her eyes locked on yours while she eats.

"g-god sana so good- so fucking good mmf- you- you- you're driving me insane god-"

sana flicks her tongue happily in response, one hand releasing your hip and coming down to play with your entrance. you clench around nothing, eager to take her in, and she obliges, pushing a finger in with your clit still in her mouth, curling it to hit the spot that only served to bring you closer to the edge.

"r-right there fuck- right there- i'm gonna- you're doing so good fuck-"

she starts pumping her finger in and out of you, the squelching sounds of your sex only become louder, an accompaniment to her suckling. you're flicking your fingers over your nipples, again and again, matching her pace, each stroke getting you closer and closer. then she adds in another finger, curling upwards, hooking into you, and you cry out, back arching, hips pushing into her face, shaking and trembling as you feel yourself fall over the edge.

sana continues to lick and nose at you while you come down, hands rubbing soothing motions into your hips and thighs. eventually, she slides back up, hand replacing yours over your chest and copping a feel for herself.

she's kissing your neck, chest, ears, all while you try and gain sense of yourself again. you turn your head with a pout, urging her to look at you. she smiles, knowing what you wanted without even asking, leaning in to kiss your pout away, your lips moving against one another as you hum at the taste of yourself on her lips,

she continues fondling your chest, rolling her fingers over nipples as you start to wriggle under her again, easily aroused.

she breaks away from your mouth with a smirk, "you're pretty when you cum."

you whine, burying your head in her neck.

"maybe i should tell mina and momo that. i think they'd get the best shots if you were mid orgasm."

"w-what?" your voice is shaky, still squiriming under her touch.

"hmm... you want another don't you? i've been working on something... special. how would you like to try it out for me?"

she doesn't wait for an answer, detaching herself from you and walking to one of her work desks. you can only watch after her, still spread open and tingly all over as she rummages through a drawer. your eyes widen when she pulls out a dildo, mind and vision suddenly clearer as she smirks, tugging out a corresponding harness and slipping the dildo into it.

then she starts to strip.

she leaves her top on, only removing her bottoms before stepping into the harness, the patchwork dildo hanging from her hips, looking strangely like it belonged on her.

she giggles when she notices you staring, doing a little spin, the fake dick swinging around ridiculously. "you like? i was going for... cutesy and demure." she plops down next to you, tapping her thighs.

you swallow nervously, pushing yourself up and straddling her.

"you can touch now."

your hands that were awkwardly swinging by your side finally come up to rest on her shoulders.

"answer the question."

"y-yeah- i- um- it's cute."

she giggles again, "that's good. need to make sure something as cute as you gets filled up with something just as cute hmm? then you can make all those cute sounds for me too."

her hands are relentless, tugging you down into her lap, brushing your hair over your shoulder, running fingers down over sides. she's always got to have her hands on you.

you huff when she teases the strap along your slit, feeling yourself dripping already. you try and catch her eye, pouting again.

she rolls her eyes, "just ask me if you want to kiss."

"can you kiss me?"

"see that was so cute! that's a good girl." then she's pulling you into her, latching onto your lips.

the makeout session that proceeds has you grinding down into her without even realising, and you take a hint of pleasure at her returning the movement, her own hips starting to rut up into yours. she sucks your bottom lip into her mouth, swiping her tongue across it before letting it go, invading your mouth still with the faint taste of yourself. when you break away to gasp for air, she moves straight to your cheek, then down to your jaw, neck, collarbones, sucking marks along her way, hands coming up to play with your chest again.

she pushes your breasts upwards so her mouth can reach skin easier, sucking and kissing, careful not to leave marks on you, knowing your body was your instrument in this line of work.

you moan when you feel her lips wrap around a nipple, the warm cavern of her mouth sucking the little nub, her tongue lapping over it with glee.

you're unabashedly rocking against her now, loving the tingle that went up your spine with every pass of the strap on your clit, her mouth still attached to your chest while you held the back of her head, keeping her against you while you moaned and whined into her.

she switches nipples, cool air hitting the wet, exposed nub. you shiver under her despite her actions only heating your body up past a temperature you didn't know was possible.

"s-sana-"

she hums around your nipple, always so focused on her work, the vibrations go straight to your core.

"need you- n-now- please-"

your nipple pops free from her mouth, "i'm not stopping you." then she's back at your chest, sucking and kissing, addicted.

you groan, looking down between you and shakily aligning your entrance with her strap. it takes a few tries and you're almost crying in frustration and sana's not helping at all, completely preoccupied with your chest, before you finally sink down, moaning low and heavy as you feel her fill you up.

"fuuck-"

sana sucks at the patch of skin on your left breast just a little harder in response.

you push yourself back up using her shoulders, then drop back down, cursing as your core tingles at the sensation.

you repeat the process, eyes locked on the way she enters and exits you, her strap coated in your essence, the squelching sounds mix with your whines and groans.

"fuck- fuck- fuck-" you start riding her, swearing each time she fills you up, setting up a rhythm that has you dizzy with need. sana finally decides to break away to watch her masterpiece bounce in front of her. fading bite marks and patches of red skin sway as she moves her hands down to your hips, pushing you down harder with each entrance, bucking her own hips up to get the strap that much deeper.

"fuck!" your hands on her shoulders tighten, feeling her everywhere inside you, around you.

"review it for me sweetheart." she husks out, "if you saw it in a magazine would you buy it?"

"y-yes- fuck- w-wait no i don't- i don't know-"

"no?"

"you don't come with it- fuck-"

she chuckles, hands moving again to grip your ass, squeezing the flesh between her fingers, "let's say i do. then what?"

"y-yes- yes yes fuck- yes i would-"

"mhmm? i want a more detailed review than that darling. i need to know how to make improvements."

"f-fuck sana- it's so- you're fucking me so- so good- it's good it's good-"

"other than good?"

"g-god you're so- it's um- fuck- it's cute and- i like the colours- a-and shit jesus christ- it fills me up just right- and i'm gonna- fuck- i can't- it's gonna make me cum-!"

"why don't i give it a helping hand then hm?"

"yes! yes- please- please- god- fuck yes-"

she pushes herself up, pulling you back down, surprising you with the amount of strength she had hidden, then she's thrusting up into you roughly.

"uh- uh- fuck- uh-" you're moans are cut up with every thrust, she's experienced, like she is in everything she does, panting with effort while her hips work, her arms pulling you down with every thrust up, you can't even keep track of where she's entering you, moving so fast it was a blur. or maybe those were the tears building up as it gets almost too much, your desperation to cum for her, to cum all over her.

"f-fuck!" you scream out, clenching down around her, hips moving of their own accord, shaking and moaning, almost blacking out from pleasure.

your breaths are heavy as you come back down, still with sana's strap lodged inside you, sweaty hands unwrapping themselves from around her neck, slumping down and resting your entire weight on the fashion designer.

sana hums, brushing through your hair and your back, letting you catch your breath.

when you finally gain enough of your bearings, you grunt as you sit up, sliding the dildo out of yourself, cringing at the mess you've made between the two of you.

sana only giggles, bringing a finger down to trace the length of the dildo and then bringing it to her own mouth, sucking it and humming around the taste.

your stomach twinges again in arousal, but you whine, too sensitive to go again, knocking your forehead against sana's shoulder as you avoid looking at her.

she lets you rest there for a while, but eventually stands up, carrying the dildo off with her to clean off. when she comes back, she has your clothes and a damp towel for you to clean yourself up with.

"i have another appointment now. feel free to stay as long as you'd like, just don't touch any of the designs. i'll send the completed outfits for you to try once they're done." she's all business again, but before you let her turn on her heel and leave, you croak out.

"w-what about you?"

"what about me?" she raises an eyebrow.

you blush, covering yourself now that you have enough shame to be embarrassed. she pays you no mind, following your eyeline and looking down at herself. then she realises what you're asking.

she laughs brightly, "no sweetheart you don't need to take care of me. but if i ever need another... trial customer... i'll be sure to ask for you." she winks, and then she's off, heels clicking in the workshop and door closing behind her.

you sink down into the couch, still processing exactly what happened. all you knew was that everyone was right to be terrified of minatozaki sana. though your fear came with a side of thrill you're sure no one else could've warned you about.

[kawaiijohn]

Help a queer family of disabled nerds

Hey my name is Dante, I live in the Midwest with three of my best friends. We have four cats, one of which is my babyman whom I love very dearly.

His name is Latke Library Card Mango (LLCM). He's very orange and he's the light of my boyfriend, Kris, and I's life.

Cat pics are great right? Have a few.

A few months ago, latkes chronic bladder stones condition acted up which resulted in two emergency vet visits and a week long stay with his actual vet to get the stone removed.

It was the size of a chickpea.

Here's a photo of his post surgery when he had a nakie tummy. He was very very happy to see us.

He's since recovered, but the cost of this put us back around 1300 dollars in total. He's now on a special diet with rather pricey food to prevent this from happening but it might still act up eventually.

We've paid down some of his debt, but the interest is making it become more and more as we try to pay it down.

On top of this, our pipes backed up into our basement and refused to work suddenly a few weeks ago. We live in a house that is over a century old, and the clay pipes keep getting roots growing into them that causes them to not drain.

The roto had to come out and high pressure the roots out to clear them (which required expensive equipment), This put us back another grand.

To add to everything, our 700+ auto insurance bill is due in November, which is the worst time for this bill to need due, but both myself and Kris drive over ten miles to work during different shifts on opposite ends of town- neither of our jobs have public transit anywhere near them.

We are currently barely making ends meet-

I am a lunch lady at a public high school. I love my job. I feed kids who possibly don't even eat at home some days. I do work I am proud of.

However, I can only work around 25 hours a week without risking losing my insurance as a disabled person. My job does not have longer hour positions available, and I am too disabled to work more than this without ruining my body like I have done in the past.

I have been going without buying groceries out of fear that what little money I have in my account will be needed in an emergency. I will be out of work for a week this month, around Thanksgiving, and during Xmas break- unpaid due to me working in a school. Me being out also means no guaranteed meal every day.

Kris works in a factory. He is currently working 55+ hours a week to make what we can to pay off the bills and keep our house. He only has one and a half knees that hurt all the damn time and is barely eating either just to afford everything. His factory keeps calling for sudden shutdown weeks with little notice at the worst times, and he's the main breadwinner in the house for us.

The other two in our household, one is severely disabled and can barely work 10 hr/week (he is waiting on hearing back to receive SSI) on top of having multiple medical appointments a week to figure out what is wrong with his body and why it keeps failing. The other is a freelance artist who is working her butt off to make money while carting the previous to appointments nearly every day. She is full up on commissions at the moment, but when she opens them I'll reblog her posts.

I really didn't want to make this post. I hate asking for help. But we are drowning and there's no sign of land. None of us can afford to live on our own, nor can we move back in with our parents for various reasons.

All I'm asking for is some help. I don't care how much. Five dollars is five dollars. Five dollars is half an hour less we have to kill ourselves to make ends meet.

Even if we don't make the full amount, every dollar will help us get a bit closer to paying this stuff down so we can afford gas and regular grocery trips again instead of having to save up to go once a month like we are currently doing.

Our goal is 2000 dollars.

Yes, this is the high amount. I do not believe we will ever reach it. I can hope we can raise this much at some point.

But for now that's the dream number.

It's the number that is looming over our heads, telling us to pay up or lose our home.

It's not something we need this very moment, but just what we need in the next few months to be able to afford living without destroying our body or working three jobs/ridiculous hours.

We thank anyone who can spare a few bucks to help us, and if you can't afford it just pass this post along to someone who might be able to.

Please send as friend/family if you can, PayPal is threatening to withhold money sent as transactions now if you receive over a certain amount.

This includes sending things through my ko-fi account- so here's the preferred methods:

Progress:

388.74/2,000

Thank you for reading. I love you.

[hypnos333]

Helloooo! I saw that your requests were open for Hazbin- how about a reader who's a seraphim? Kind of Lucifer's protégé/child way before the creation of Eden, Adam, and Lilith.

And he just kind of left them up there alone and neglected because of her association/kind of Dad!Lucifer. So, it's kind of angsty seeing as how Lucifer was a better Dad to Charlie and the reader grew with envy and fell into that ring along with her brother (I've been seeing hc/rumor a lot) Cain.

What would happen their first meeting again? If this is too much I don't really mind so no worries! Have a nice day and thanks for reading!!

A/N: I’m sorry but I go by biblical too so this might be different but same concept and storyish

Like father like daughter

Lucifer x daughter Reader

Synopsis: Your dad left you young now you left him

How it started

You are my Sunshine My only sunshine

You make me happy When skies are grey

Little you giggles at your father’s little song for you and only you. You were an angel whose mother was long gone leaving just you and your father. You made grabby hands towards him making his heart melt before lift you up.

“Boop” you cutely said as you boop his nose making him chuckle. “Boop” he said back making you giggle this time.

“Okay baby it’s time for me to go to work so Uncle Castiel is gonna watch you okay baby?” He asked you making you nod happily before rushing to your uncles arms.

You never knew that was the last time you would see him and with that you cried and cried for your dad until Sera and the other Angels showed you he forgot about you, he had a wife and daughter….

You watched as he singed the same lyrics he sang to you to her. You were only 5 and parentless watching your father abandon you but staying for another that his. That’s when you grew up odd with another angel. You were evil or as they say a bad apple.

You were Cain’s secret friend encouraging him to kill his brother Abel. That when you were sent down in hell where your dad is but you never cared to look for him finding some friends of your own.

You were older and more mature then her but she was the youngest, and you were the oldest. Does that mean you had to made the sacrifice to be left?

Even so it hurts and your growing hate towards your father and sister grew stronger by the centuries.

With Lucifer though he was trying everywhere to find you, You were no where to seen in heaven and no where on earth so you must be in hell. But even then he couldn’t find you.

You grew close to Cain when he came to hell after being full of pride and thinking he could live without God and with his punishment. You saw him as a brother the only family you considered. You were never gonna be ready to let your other family in your life and you meant that.

When you were both getting ice cream You heard something. “___!” you turned around to see lucifer huffing and puffing finally catching up to you.

“My Sunshine! Woah have you grown into a-” you punched him in the face. You the eldest of Lucifer punched him in the face and my god it felt great to do. Your unbelievable smile widen as you saw his pain. Call it fucked up as you will but you almost laugh on how pathetic he was and to believe you looked up you him.

“Don’t… Don’t call me that. I thought we both grew out of that nickname a long time ago” You mumbled before turning away from him having nothing else to say.

“___ I was trying to protect you! Don’t you understand I was going to come back for you. I-“COME BACK TO ME? NOW THATS BULLSHIT “DAD” BECAUSE SPENDING TIME WITH YOUR OTHER BORN WAS NOT LOOKING FOR ME” You interrupted him turning into your full demon form Lucifer looked at you in shocked and stunned.

“I was 5 waiting for my own father to come home” You stated calmly as Lucifer looked at you with tears in his eyes.

“Please give me another chance, I love you too much to let you go” He pleaded taking you hand but you yanked it straight away.

“You gonna know how it feels to let go of the person you” You growled before walking away from him.

“You’ll never know dear, how much I love you. Please…. Don’t take my sunshine away” He prayed as tears slipped down his eyes reaching out to you knowing your already far from him. knowing he lost his firstborn hurt

“Daddy! teach me how to dance!” A little you say as Lucifer looked up as a little you held your hand towards him he tried to reached but then you just faded. That little girl was long gone the moment he didn’t take you with him.

[knoxic]

How to be a High Lady?

Eris Vanserra x Mate!Reader (f)

Summary: Reader's first meeting as a HL, Rhysand makes some comments and reader chews him out, then smut🤭

wc: 2,8k

warnings: oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v, Rhysand slander, might be some ??shit there sorry I wrote this instead of sleeping

part 2

How they met

Her expectations for her first meeting as High Lady weren't very high, obviously there would be judgment and doubt given who her High Lord is, surely there would be some snarky remarks.

༄

Eris had spent the last couple of day trying to remind her that she deserved the title, that she was already proving herself to be a good High Lady, that their court could already see it. Perhaps him being her mate had dulled the effect his words would have on her had it been someone's.

As soon as she accepted the mating bond Eris had took it upon himself to spoil her, never wanting to see her as low as she was when they first met, it was his personal mission to make sure she knew were she belonged, and that was right beside him, sitting in her throne wearing a golden crown made specially for her. He'd never let her doubt herself ever again, for he knew what she was capable of.

"That's a little questionable, coming from you," she ran her fingers through his hair, tucking a few strands behind his pointy ear, "But thank you, you always know what to say." She had received a pout and what seemed to be the best try at puppy eyes his fierce ones could manage.

༄

The rational part of her brain knew that being High Lady wouldn't be an easy feat, never mind being one in Autumn Court, but there'd been some noticeable change already. Bakers in the village she had visited days before greeting her with smiles and free pastries, farmers thanking her for being the reason Beron was dead and now they could receive a decent salary. Somehow, they respected her.

Almost a century ago, when Eris first brought up the idea of making her High Lady, she had laughed at how absurd if was, imagine, a High Lady in Autumn? Yeah, right. But he was serious, so serious he spent the whole night stressing on it, by the time the sun had risen she had decided to at least know more about what it took to rule a court. After days of researching in any library she could find in Autum, she realized a good part of what she'd "learned" were things she already knew but hadn't really thought about, others were hard concepts that she supposed would go to Eris when they became High Lord and Lady of Autumn.

She doesn't remember how nor when she agreed, but she did.

༄

As soon as they stepped foot in Day, their hands entwined, she felt some glances being thrown her way, whispers catching her ears when she sat beside Eris. His hand squeezing hers made her lock eyes with him, those amber eyes comforting any doubts she might had been feeling before.

"Hi! I don't think we've been introduced before, I'm Viviane." She had heard things about the female, how she took care of Winter when Kallias was stuck Under the Mountain, that surely wasn't easy, if someone deserved being High Lady it was her.

Viviane sat beside her, after pleasantries were exchanged conversations just flowed, their mates watching their interaction silently. It appeared that, as usual, the Night Court would be making their dramatic appearance being late to the meeting, and as everyone waited for them, the rest of the High Lords were simply talking between themselves or watching the others interact.

"It'll be nice to have another female here, there's too many males here." Viviane giggled.

"Meetings with Autumn's advisors already give me headaches, I can only imagine your suffering." They laughed a little before the room fell utterly silent. Night Court had arrived.

"We should do this again some time soon, just us." Viviane whispered and gave her a wink before straightening up in her chair and taking Kallias hand between hers.

Now it starts. She felt Eris tense beside her but didn't say anything, knew the image he still sell, instead, she watched Rhysand and Feyre marching towards their chairs, their hands clasped together, the Shadowsinger and the Lord of Bloodshed right behind them, and in the midst of them was... Morrigan.

As Rhysand sat, his eyes locked onto mine, a smirk dancing in his lips, glancing between Eris and me I could see the thoughts running in his head.

"Oh, Eris... Is that, the precious mate of yours?" His voice in a sickly tone of amusement, "I thought you'd hide her forever." He knew the game he was playing, his words were a simple attempt to test Eris, to paint an image that he'd lock me up like Beron did to his mother.

"Whatch your tongue, Rhysand, before I burn it to ash." Eris didn't falter, his tone still cocky as ever. He took great pleasure in showing her off. "But to answer your question, yes, she is my precious mate."

She could see that Rhysand had a bitter comment on the tip of his tongue but was cut off by Helion, who asked something she did not pay attention to, violet eyes still challenging her to look away first, perhaps he was trying to test her or for him it was simply fun to intimidate others. His mate made him break the staring, Eris' hand squeezed mine as soon as he did, I looked at him and the different between his and Rhysand's eyes was outstanding. Eris looked at her as if saying 'say the word and we'll leave' as he did everytime they were in public.

The rest of the meeting went by in a blur, so far she hadn't heard anything that required her to say something, so she was quiet, until Autumn was brought into conversation and Eris let out that she was now High Lady. Rhysand had laughed, laughed as if Eris had told him a joke.

"Really, a High Lady? In Autumn?" His right eyebrow lifted, "What are you playing, Eris? Do you think your court would like you more if you pretend she's in command? Come on..."

"Why did you make Feyre a High Lady?" Eris bit back but his voice remained cocky.

"Do not bring my mate into this."

"You bring mine, I bring yours." Eris tilted his head as if taunting him. "It's a fair question, she's a child–"

"Watch your next words, Eris," Azriel spoke for the first time, "One of them might get stuck in your throat."

"Why do you care, Rhysand? Why does it matter for you if I'm High Lady or not?" Her voice was low and calculated, if she raised it then the Shadowsinger would turn to her and Eris would lose his temper.

"It doesn't matter to me. Though I must say, only a fool would believe he made you High Lady for pure reasons–"

"Don't you think I'm a High Lady because I can be a High Lady?"

"Perhaps not. What do you have of so special you think you can be one?"

"My mate is a High Lord, according to you that should be enough," she continued before he could say anything, "But unlike Feyre I didn't turn High Lady overnight. Maybe I don't have anything special, I just spent decades learning what it takes to be a High Lord, studying the behavior of one and I must say yours is controversial, as was Beron but that's another history."

"What do you mean?" Rhysand had risen from his chair by now, the Illyrians behind him seething.

"Being a High Lord– or High Lady, means you take care or your court, therefore you take care of your people. Velaris is known for being a beautiful place but what of the rest of your court? Hewn City has been in shambles for centuries and you've been High Lord for almost 500 years, what have you done in that time to help them? Rhetorical question, nothing, at least nothing that matters anyway. About the Illyrian camps, the females now are able to learn how to fight but is it even worth it if you don't even have a safe home to go? So many things are begging for help but instead of helping, you just brag about your powers."

"What do you know about my court?" She could swear the room had turned a tad darker.

"Enough to know that, in spite of your judgement, we are doing a far better job at ruling than you are."

"You dare talk about my court and now you criticize the way I rule my own court?" The room was definitely darker, and colder, her left hand felt warmer than the rest of her body, courtesy of Eris. "Who do you think you are?"

"A High Lady."

The room fell silent for a moment, maybe her choice of words was too much for someone so new at this meetings. Rhysand still glared at her with those violet eyes promising death, two other pair of eyes shined behind him, calling for her to look, she didn't look away from Rhysand until a voice spoke up.

"She has a point. A great point of view, proves you're apt for ruling and wants what's best for Autumn, it'll be nice to see such a beautiful place grow." Helion voice was soft, albeit hesitant, and he seemed honest when his lips turned into a gentle smile, which she reciprocated easily. Mornings spent trying new pastries with Eris mother had them talking about her mysterious past lover who she'd then come to learn was Day's High Lord, perhaps that was why he looked forward to seeing Autumn grow, he was looking forward to the day she'd feel free. "I also believe the meeting is over, we should all get some rest for tomorrow, you're all welcome to stay here."

Eris stood up still holding her hand, a sign for her to follow, as they started walking towards the door his hand found place in her lower back, a small demonstration of protectiveness. She'd have to reward him later for being so patient today, not letting his temper get the best of him, at least for her first meeting.

༄

"You did so good today, my love." Eris told her as soon as they walked into their bedroom, his arms finding their way around her waist, holding her from the back, his straight nose nuzzled her neck the way he knew she loved.

"You think? Maybe I said too much..."

"Why, think they'll find out? Listen," he pulled back so she could turn in his arms but still held her waist, "Let them, you'll gain their respect a way or another, Helion already likes you, he'd be delighted to have a witch as smart as you to talk to about spells, the rest will follow suit."

"You know what I meant."

"I know, you did nothing wrong, your power gave you the knowledge for a reason, you used it to tell Rhysand how he's failing his own court, if anyone should apologize is him to his own people, not you." To make a point he gave her nose a small kiss, "But... I don't think he'll do anything at all."

"Yeah... He had many chances and time to change things, and he hasn't." She leaned her body against his, his hands moved behind her back and she felt her dress loosen up, "Thank you for behaving today, I guess you deserve a reward." She pulled back to smile at him, trying to appear innocent.

"Stop that," he laughed, "I wouldn't be opposed to that, but, I think I'd rather reward you. For standing up for yourself and your court, for not being intimidated so easily, you held you own and I'm proud of you."

Eris started pressing gentle kisses on her cheek and all the way down her neck while his hands slipped to her shoulders, pulling the fabric from her body and letting if fall to the floor. Her hands made quick work to unbutton his vest, wanting to have less clothing separating them.

His hands squeezed her bottom before slipping down her thighs and pulling her up, walking towards the bed while still kissing and nipping at her neck. One of her hands found place at the back of his head while the other found his cheek, a sign for him to kiss her lips.

As he kneeled on the bed and laid her down, he leaned back to pull off his vest and linen shirt, her undergarments following right after. Their kissed turned more more heated, his hands roamed through her whole body, gripping her tightly. When they pulled back to breath, his cheeks were a bright shade of red, as they always were around her.

Instead of going back to her lips, his mouth went to her stomach, kissing and licking, going up to her breasts and down her hipbone, his hands pulling her thighs up to rest on his shoulders while his mouth made delicate work of kissing her cunt. Pressing kisses and gentle kitten licks on her clit down to her entrance, teasing it with his tongue and going back to her clit, sucking harshly and soothing it with kitten licks again. When he deemed her wet enough, his fingers joined, middle and ring finger, clad with his wedding band, thrusting slowly and curving upwards while his mouth resumed licking and sucking her clit.

His unoccupied hand, which previously remained clasped tightly around the flesh of her tight, now brushed his fingers around her stomach, lightly running his fingernails through her skin making her erupt with goosebumps, his fingers thrusting into her quickening, her walls were squeezing him and he knew she wouldn't last long. Sucking specially hard on her clit and curving his fingers how he knew she liked, she came with a whimper, thighs shaking around his shoulders, he stills his fingers as to not overwhelm her but his tongue still licked her cunt, precisely avoiding her clit.

When she calmed down he pulled his fingers back and licked her clean of her cum, careful to not go so fast, when he was done he pulled back and leaned her body on hers so they could kiss, making her taste herself on his lips. Her hands roamed the expanse of his scarred back, up to the back of his neck and down to the waistband of his trousers, which she pushed as low as she could reach, a sign he took to get rid of them.

Him standing up gave her a full view of his body, he was lean and yet full of muscles, scars here and there that didn't compare to the ones in his back. General Eris Vanserra was handsome, High Lord Eris was still handsome but he was also elegant and charming. The Eris she had when they were in the intimacy of their bedroom was beautiful, a beautiful male and even beautiful mate and husband, he was a broken male that managed to stitch himself back together and remain good and he was beautiful.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" He was kneeling back on the bed, his hands caressing her legs.

"Because I love you, and you deserve to be admired, Eris." She could swear his cheeks had turned a tad darker, even his ears were tinged pink.

Eris didn't say anything back, just leaned over to capture her lips, gentle this time, slowly parting them with his own and brushing his tongue with hers, licking and sucking on the tip of her tongue. When his hips touched hers she snuck a hand down their bodies to align his cock with her entrance, he gave a few small thrusts to tease her before fully thrusting himself inside her, when they did they moaned in unison. Together they were far from the people they were moments ago, together they didn't have titles or expectations to live up to, together they could just be and they didn't even have to say anything, their movements were unhurried and their sounds were quiet, all heavy breathing and small noises.

Eris' thrusts faltered every now and then, followed by a whimper of his own, one of his hands was tangled in her hair while the other held her face gently, stroking her cheek with his thumb while they kissed. Her legs kept to his sides, caressing him in any way she could, her kept changing between holding his arms and holding his shoulder or hair.

Their bodies had a thin layer of sweat, her cunt throbbing made Eris lose his rhythm, when he found he started thrusting faster, his hand is her hair tightened and they could barely focus on kissing, their mouths just hanging open with heavy breaths and the occasional stroking of tongues was they could manage. Their moans were getting louder, his hips meeting hers harder, their bodies slipping with sweat, his forehead met hers when they tipped over the edge, groans and whimpers mingling together through the bedroom. His seed hot inside her doing wonders to soothe her want for him.

When they calmed down enough to move, Eris rolled beside her and pulled to his sweaty chest, usually they'd bathe but they were both too spent to do anything else, at least for a while.

[earlysunshines]

like you used to

minatozaki sana x fem!reader ; angst

synopsis: it’s raining it’s pouring no old man is snoring and you've run into your ex-girlfriend (aka the love of your life) after a year.

warnings: reader used to have bad habits (smoking, alcohol) ; sana is a sweetheart ; reader is avoidant ; ex's to...? ; my attempt at angst, not my forte... ; anything else I didn't mention

a/n: hey! so all i do is lie (change my mind too often) anyways this one is short I just had a random burst of motivation :-p feeling edgy, don’t expect more this is spontaneous;-;

one thing about where you live is that there’s always unexpected surprises — in this case, the weather went from partly cloudy at 5pm to sudden thunder and lightning.

great.

no umbrella, a drenched shoulder bag, and soaked clothes cling to you as you dash for cover. when you finally find refuge at the bus stop, there’s another surprise waiting for you.

light brown hair dampened by the rain, a side profile more beautiful than flowers in bloom, and a soft smile that could captivate you for centuries: minatozaki sana.

“shit,” you mutter under your breath, running under the roof of the stop. 

patting down your blazer and pleated pants, sana turns and widens her eyes slightly. you meet her halfway, meeting her gaze and shrinking despite being a few centimeters taller. 

she gasps – almost. “y/n?”

“sana,” you tighten your jaw, feeling a knot in your stomach. “hi.”

“you’re drenched.” she points out the obvious, rushing to pull out a handkerchief in her purse. “come here.” she says, stepping closer. 

you flinch, stepping back a bit and sana frowns.

“it’s fine, it’s nothing.” you assure, feeling stiff in your place. “use it for yourself.”

“i’m not as soaked as you are.”

“it’s fine, sana.” you add firmly, clutching the strap of your bag and wiping water off your cheeks. 

even when you turn back to face the road, attempting to dry yourself with your wet blazer, sana continues to stare. you feel her eyes piercing through you, the same sweet eyes that would look at you like you were her world before you messed up. you want to shrivel up and disappear, every second beside her is grueling.

you make the mistake of glancing back at her again, she’s somehow prettier than two seconds ago – and after a year of avoiding her. 

sana’s wearing a white dress with a white cardigan on top; everything she has on is pretty damp, so you assume she got luckier and found cover quicker than you. she has on light makeup, nothing too crazy, but either way, she’d still have you staring. her hair – now slightly wet – is clipped up with a bow, making her look like some sort of princess. a small sigh leaves your lips as you break away from her.

“the rain won’t stop anytime soon, how will you get home?” she asks you, voice sweet and careful. 

“bus.”

“i heard they’re delayed for thirty minutes.”

“i can wait.” you reply, staring at the ground. “it’s nothing.”

she sighs, then steps closer to you and holds your wrist. she grabs your attention again, both your eyes meeting in eye contact that makes your heartache; she has that effect.

“y/n,” she stays sternly, “i called an uber ten minutes ago, you’re coming with me.”

“no i’m not sana.”

“yes you are.” her grip on your forearm tightens, making you gulp lightly. 

you stare at her through your overgrown, wet bangs that cling to your forehead, sighing softly. the handkerchief she had in her hand now draws closer to your face. she gently uses it to wipe away the water from your forehead, cheeks, and nose. her touch is tender, and her eyes focus intently on you, making your heart flutter in your chest.

surrender is your first option – your only option. 

“okay.”

–

sana’s apartment is as homey as you remember, the same couch you’d talk and makeout for hours on is still clean and fresh. 

she steps in first, kicking off her loafers and walking towards the kitchen island. 

“come.” she says, and you follow without a word, taking off your own shoes and hanging your bag up on the rack you used to.

you follow and sit down at the chair she’d used to sit at when you cooked for her, playing chef and cracking stupid jokes as you fixed her a simple pasta. her place used to be a haven from whatever you had going on, but now it’s dissolving you with every second passing by.

sana disappears for a moment, giving you a brief respite. you take this time to try and recompose yourself, staring at the marble counter in front of you. despite your efforts to push them down, memories you tried so hard to lock away from the light resurface, flooding your mind and making your heart ache with their intensity.

“here,” you jump at the soft sound of sana’s voice, looking up to see her handing you a towel – your towel.

“thank you.” grabbing it, you pat yourself down. sana hands you shorts and a t-shirt, also yours. 

“you never came back to get them.” she mumbles, sitting down next to you and searching for something in your eyes. “you know that?”

“i do.”

“mhm.” she looks even deeper, twisting you from the inside and out. “you should change.”

you nod.

–

by the time you finish changing, you find yourself staring at your reflection in the mirror for a moment too long, lost in a brief moment of reminiscing. shaking off the memories, you finally return to the kitchen, feeling all too much at once.

there’s a candle lit and hot ginger tea on the counter in sana’s favorite mug. she’s leaning against the counter near the stove, staring at her own cup.

you sit down and place both hands on either side of the mug. sana hums softly, “you should drink some, you’ll get sick.”

“it’s fine, i’ll get going soon anyway.”

“no you won’t.”

“and you’re the one who’s in charge of that?”

“stay the night, it’s not like you haven’t before y/n.” she sighs, looking at you with hurt in her features. “besides, i won’t let you go back. if you do, i know just seeing me will prompt you to drink and drink, maybe you’ll even light a cigarette or two if you’re sober enough to pull them out the pack.” she spits, sending a dagger through your chest.

you try to respond, but your throat dries up in the process. instead, you take a sip of the tea, not uttering a single word.

the air is weighed down with a palpable tension, like the elephant in the room sits on top of you two.

she sets her mug down, then walks over to lean against the counter in front of you, watching your head hang lower and hands run to the back of your neck.

“i’m sorry.”

“you should be.”

leaving with nothing but a note, a text, and then blocking her? sana deserves more than a sorry, but she’s grateful that you’re muttering it at all.

“i couldn’t face you.” you feel your throat closing in on itself again. “i don’t want you to be stuck on me.”

“y/n, i love you, nothing is ever going to change that even after you ghosted me.”

the whole reason you did all of that was simple: you’re an insecure, avoidant coward.

sana was and still is set up on a pedestal, one that would take lightyears to climb. she's beautiful, cunning, charming, and caring. you had never known anyone as loving as her. it was dangerous having a person so cozy and warm jump into your life when you've always been so cold and uneasy.

two years with sana were enough to create memories that would make you smile just thinking about them, but they could also send you into a spiral.

lingering in your mind were thoughts screaming for you to leave her, insisting you weren't enough and that she would be better off without you. it wasn’t jealousy of anyone else, you were too clouded with your flaws to care about that; it was the belief that you should dig yourself into a ditch so sana would realize she shouldn’t waste her time on someone like you.

she witnessed your moments of weakness. once a month, you'd drink until you couldn’t formulate a thought, and smoke to avoid confronting your problems and the personal hassles you hid from her. the monthly occurrence turned into a bimonthly thing, and then weekly nearing the end of your relationship. and still, sana would be by your side each time, making sure you were okay.

you were an asshole, and you had to pry yourself away from her somehow.

“just give up sana.”

“y/n,” you feel hands on your cheeks, cupping them and tilting your head up to meet her face sculpted by the angels above. “stop that.”

your brows upturn. “you stop that.”

“i’m not doing anything.”

“that’s the problem.”

sana rubs your cheeks like she used to, her long nail just barely grazing your skin in the process. you sink in your place, eyes avoiding hers.

“we don’t have to talk about it now, but stay. i want you safe, even if it’s just for tonight.”

“don’t do this to yourself, you’ll only hurt more.”

“there’s nothing that hurts more than knowing you’ll have a fever, it’s okay.”

without warning, she leans in, hugging you softly. sana’s warmth and softness envelop you, and you feel like you’ll freeze her, turning her rigid with your coldness.

sana feels your body go stiff, but when she rubs her back, you’re already sinking into her. she’s spent time to take care of herself, but nothing beats the way she cares for you, or just the feeling of being with you.

you had your flaws, but sana saw right past them and into your heart.

even if you didn’t think it, you were sana’s rock. sweet and caring, a sight for sore eyes, and the warmth she needed after a long day. she could talk to you about anything, and you’d be there to listen and soothe her worries, your smile easily easing the tension in her shoulders.

after countless tries (well, two, because sana couldn’t see anyone but you after that setup with momo’s friend on a whim), she had accepted that no one else could fill your spot in her life.

she feels tears soaking the material of her t-shirt, hearing you sniffle lightly into her.

sana pulls away, holding your face again. she looks at you with a mix of pity, regret, anger, and sorrow, maybe a little relief too. you’re back with her, she’s unsure of whether or not you’re still as vulnerable, but it doesn’t matter.

“it’s okay.”

“i’m an asshole.”

“you are,” she agrees, then wipes a tear from your eye. “but everyone has their reasons.”

she lets you stain her shirt with a few more tears before gently coaxing you to join her on the couch. it will take a long time to rebuild what you once had, but sana is willing to try, and you are too—especially when she holds you close, her hand rubbing your back comfortingly.

you’ve always thought you didn’t deserve her. 

but sana won’t let you let go so easily. she refuses to back down without a fight, and neither will you – not this time.

[prythianpages]

one shots

angst=  `♡´ fluff = ☁︎ smut= ☪︎

↠ I've Been Waiting For You ☁︎ `♡´ | After centuries of waiting, Azriel finally meets the one he's been longing for. His mate. (this is kinda inspired by Alice & Jasper from twilight.) | bonus part

↠ A Field Of Dandelions ☁︎ `♡´ | Your High Lady calls upon you. requesting a remedy that only you know how to make. It requires specific ingredients found between the courts of spring and autumn and you're in need of an escort. Unfortunately for you, she assigns her Shadowsinger to accompany you. The Shadowsinger who hates you...or so you thought.

↠ Be Safe ☁︎ | you are on your way to Day Court when Azriel stops you. After the two of you fall victim to Cassian's and Mor's teasing, Azriel realizes why he can't just let you go.

↠ Be Patient ☁︎ | After the mating bond snaps, Azriel follows you to the Day Court, spending seven agonizing days yearning to tell you about the bond.

↠ When I Kissed the Teacher ☁︎ | After crushing on Azriel for almost a year, Nesta dares you to kiss him during Valkyrie training.

↠ In My Eyes | Rhysand's Sister reader`♡´ | Azriel has lost you once and when unseen circumstances bring you back to life, he will not lose you again. Even if it means going against his family.

↠ 'Cause It Was Always You ☁︎ | After eavesdropping on multiple conversations, Azriel finally gathers the courage to confess his feelings to you, thinking he's on the verge of losing you.

↠ Goodnight ☁︎ | Azriel has a night time confession.

↠ Tonight, the Light of Love is in Your Eyes `♡´ | You find yourself in the middle of a political affair, where you seek refuge in a dance with Azriel. And in the spur of the moment, Azriel tells you he loves you for the first time.

↠ A Light That Never Goes Out `♡´ | The aftermath of Azriel kissing you in front of everyone in the Court of Nightmares. (Part two to the fic above.)

↠ Next to You `♡´ | The world is ending and Azriel does all he can to be next to you.

↠ Beautiful Stranger ☁︎ | Azriel gets injured while spying in Spring and meets someone he never thought he would. His mate.

↠ Hopelessly Devoted | You're hopelessly devoted to Azriel, suspecting he’s your true love. Meanwhile, Eris is hopelessly longing after you. aka Eris being your mate but you're too infatuated with Az to notice.

series

↠ Hopelessly Devoted to You | masterlist of interconnected one shots based off of the one-shot listed above.

↠ Fate, Up Against Your Will | Rhys’s sister OC

↠ Azriel x Green Witch | A series of imagines that is based from A Field of Dandelions.

↠ A Court of Shadows & Moonlight | Rhy’s sister oc |  Daughter of the Night Court’s High Lord. Half Illyrian. Half High Fae. Rhysand’s little sister. A Dreamer. Only few know her as Valeria and only one knows her truth. She is the moon, a lonely girl cratered by imperfections, and he is her night, the one who helps her shine bright.

↠ Give 'Em Hell | beron's daughter oc | Beron Vanserra is a man with many sinful secrets but there is one that desires to punish him. His daughter. His true firstborn and heir to the Autumn Court. *currently on hold*

[sunderwight]

SV AU where after Shen Qingqiu's self-destruction and apparent death, Luo Binghe decides to pursue a time travel option after several resurrection attempts come up short.

Said time travel option sadly isn't customizable. It's an unstable time vortex that can only take the traveler back a fixed 30 years into the past. In PIDW, by the time Bingge found it, he had already ruled his kingdom for centuries and it was only used as part of a wife acquisition plot. So going back thirty years didn't make much of a difference to him. In Bingmei's case, thirty years might be further than he'd choose to go, but it will get him back to a point in time when his Shizun is still alive. This is the most important thing.

He'll have to reintroduce himself, and carefully rebuild a relationship, but at this point that might even be for the best. This time he will successfully disguise his demon heritage. He'll greet Shen Qingqiu as an equal and potential friend and ally, fix all of his past mistakes, and make everything right! Though he realizes during the planning stages that he's still assuming at first that he'll meet Shen Qingqiu as Qing Jing Peak Lord because in Luo Binghe's head, his shizun must have been on Qing Jing Peak for a hundred years at least. Intellectually, though, he knows that the Qing generation of peak lords didn't ascend until like 20-ish years ago, which means he's more likely to be meeting Shen Qingqiu as a disciple.

Which is a mind trip! That's very bizarre for him to contemplate, actually! Shizun might even be younger than him! But it's still his best chance at getting his shizun back, so in the end it doesn't deter him.

The System, of course, isn't interested in losing its power source. So it goes along for the temporal journey, and drags along its users.

Shang Qinghua is very confused to wake up and find himself 30 years in the past, once again the Head Disciple of An Ding Peak instead of its lord, with a young Mobei Jun glowering at him for daring to pass out randomly in his presence.

Shen Yuan is very confused to wake up alive, back in the bamboo house, with Yue Qingyuan hovering at his bedside and telling him about a qi deviation -- wait, did he reset his entire transmigration somehow? But then, why does Yue Qingyuan look so young? Dressed like a disciple, no less! And why are they in the side room of the bamboo house instead of the main one...? Who dared redecorate Binghe's room?! Questions that will have to wait because a moment later, the disembodied voice of the original goods is screaming in his head, accusing him of being a demon who has snatched his body! What the heck is "system error: double occupancy" supposed to mean?!

Luo Binghe thinks he knows what to expect by the time he makes it to Cang Qiong mountain (after a brief detour to visit a certain washerwoman and gently trick her into eating a miraculous medicinal pill + taking a ton of money off of him).

But as with most things in his life, it doesn't go according to plan.

[drivestraight]

wildcard!!! I know that you are more focused on writing works centering max, lando and oscar. I wonder if there is any chance you will write about lestappen again in near future. I just love your lestappen works so much and I'm sorry if this question makes you feel uncomfortable 🥺🥺

from here

near future no, but here’s about 5k of my abandoned (little brother of the) prince of monaco charles x driver max wip ❤️ as a gift

The Guardian is first in the round of interviews. A woman named Marie sits across from the sofa, beside cameras, light panels, and mics.

“To start,” Marie says, donning a sympathetic smile. Max struggles to take her at face value. “I want to acknowledge that I’m sure this isn’t how either of you would have liked your relationship to come out. How are you two doing?”

Max tries his hardest to keep a neutral expression. He scowled his way through the hours of media prep yesterday and got scolded each time.

He shifts on the sofa. For a couch made for royalty, it is not very comfortable.

Of course, it comes much easier to Charles, who returns a warm smile. He keeps his eyes on Marie, but places a hand on Max’s thigh, to comfort him. God, everyone’s going to love this, aren’t they?

Horribly, the physicality does help. Max takes a deep breath.

“You’re right,” Charles responds. “It is not at all ideal, but we are thankful for all of the grace that has been extended to us these past few days.”

Max purses his mouth.

Marie glances at him, waiting for agreement. Instead, Max busies himself with studying the details of the room they’re in. The Salle Des Gardes: cobalt walls, beautiful flower bouquets, and centuries-old portraits framed with gold. It’s so beautiful it makes Max uncomfortable.

At his silence, Marie moves on, smiles, and says, “Well, it’s great to have you both here.”

“Yes,” Charles says, “it is. Right Max?” he probes, squeezing Max’s thigh.

Somehow, Max manages not to glare. He clears his throat and manages to hum in concurrence.

“So,” Marie says, “I guess we can start from the beginning. I’m sure everyone would like to know how you two met.”

Max is grateful at how quickly Charles jumps to respond, “I have been a big fan of F1 ever since I was a child,” he replies, “but I did not meet Max personally until the Monaco Grand Prix in 2021.”

“On the podium?”

It was collateral damage, really, Max’s champagne spray getting all over Charles during the celebration. Max hadn’t even known, until Charles told him many months later.

Charles nods. “Yes, on the podium. A little after the race, he was invited to dine with my family, as the winners always are, and we… liked each other. We got on very well that night.”

Yes, Max thinks. We talked, we ate, we drank, we got into a huge fight about Ferrari, we got kicked out of the venue hall, then we hooked up in the toilets upstairs.

Sure, they got on well that night.

“We started seeing each other quite a bit, after,” Charles finishes.

They saved each other’s numbers, and every now and then, between Max’s races and between Charles’ royal obligations, they’d meet up in Monaco.

“Who asked who out?”

Charles turns his head and looks at Max, expectantly.

Max glares, but Charles only lifts a brow, unwavering. “I did, I guess,” Max concedes, trying not to roll his eyes at the way Charles glows, dimples pressed deep into his cheeks.

In a way it’s true. Max had been the one to shove Charles up against a wall and kiss him, drunkenly and furiously.

For the next two years, it was easy, despite who they were, perhaps because of who they were. They were on the same page about what it was they had: purely an arrangement of convenience. Entirely physical, no-strings attached. They’d meet in Max’s flat, maybe have a drink and talk about the most recent race, and get to it. After, Max would let Charles use his shower, then Charles would leave. Not once would Charles ever sleep over.

Still, they were exclusive, in a way. Max found something good, something safe, something easy, with someone who was on the same page as him. They were physically compatible. They wanted the same things from each other. Max didn’t see a need to look elsewhere, and neither did Charles.

Max had no interest in making it any more than it was. Neither did Charles.

For two years, it was simple like that. Max bribed his doorman, and Charles swore his security detail to secrecy. Charles hadn’t told anyone about Max. Max hadn’t told anyone about Charles. No one needed to know. What was there to tell? The F1 world champion and the Prince of Monaco’s little brother were friends with benefits? They were barely friends.

“Yeah?” Marie asks, looking surprised. “What was it about Charles that interested you?”

Charles’ expression is rapt and curious, his focus singularly on Max now.

Well, Max thinks. If they want him to speak from his heart, that’s what he’ll do.

“Of course,” Max says, smiling for the first time since the news broke, “it was not his personality.”

Marie laughs, amused. Charles makes an unbecoming noise, his entire face scrunching up.

“Max!” he squawks, outraged.

“What?” Max asks innocently, tipping his head to the side. He is starting to have a little fun. He finds Charles’ hand on his thigh, lays his over his knuckles, his thumb brushing at his wrist. “I thought we were of course wanting to be honest today. Your personality is not the first thing people notice about you.”

Annoyed, Charles purses his lips. “And what is?”

Max hums in faux contemplation. “Your face, of course.”

Charles’ brows knit together. Max relishes in the fact that Charles is the one on his toes this time. “You only like me for my face?”

Rolling his eyes, Max says, “It is the only good part about you.”

Charles squints, licks his lips, and levels Max with a look. Max knows that look: he is thinking, planning. 

It is pin-drop silent for a short moment. Suddenly, the room feels very small.

Charles leans in closer, marginally, but enough that Max’s breath hitches, and slides his hand higher up, his fingers firm against the inside of Max’s thigh. “Really? None of the other parts you like?” 

Max lets his eyes wander: from the mole on Charles’ cheek to the one on his neck, from the dip of his Cupid’s bow to the stubble on his chin. It is distracting and it is unfair, how beautiful Charles is.

“Really,” Max says, gaze returning to Charles’ eyes. He will hold his ground, even if he doesn’t mean it. “None of it.”

/

Thirty minutes later, Marie and all the cameramen leave. They are given half an hour in private to rest before their next interview. Le Parisien this time. At least then, he thinks, they’ll be more significantly more interested in Charles than they will be for him.

Even though they’re technically free now, the palace made it clear that they are not to leave this room until they’ve finished the last interview.

Once the doors shut and they are alone, Charles turns and glares at him.

Since the news broke yesterday morning, this is the first time they’ve truly been alone.

“Your team will not be happy with that. You saying you like me only for my face.”

Of course that’s what Charles will take from the interview. After Marie asked all her questions about the genesis of their relationship, her questions pivoted to Max, about what it means for him to be the first openly gay Formula 1 driver in decades.

Each time he was asked a question, Charles squeezed his knee, running circles with his thumb. 

Max hadn’t met with his PR team beforehand—Monaco’s royalty took priority, monopolized him and all of yesterday. He had no idea what Red Bull wanted him to say, what the optics were, so he spoke from the heart.

His answers were simple: it means nothing to him. It means nothing to what he has achieved. He never wanted to be an inspiration. An icon. An idol. If he is, then he is, but that was never his intention, that was never his goal.

Nothing changes.

“Obviously, I was joking,” Max mumbles, standing up and pacing around in front of the sofa. There’s a whole table filled with refreshments, and Max is hungry—he’s always hungry—but the season is in full swing, and he needs to keep his weight down. He wishes they had Red Bull or something, but they only have tea and coffee. He settles for shoving his hands into the dress slacks he was forced into, pressing the tip of his Oxford shoe against the border of the carpet. “And I do not think your team will be very happy with you feeling me up on camera.”

Charles huffs. He crosses his arms over his chest, defensively. “I had to make it seem like we like each other, after what you said.”

Max scoffs and sits back down on the couch, toying with the seam of the green plush pillow beside him. “I think everyone is pretty convinced that we like each other,” he mutters, and then, mortifyingly, his stomach growls. Loudly. It’s the afternoon now, and he hasn’t eaten since breakfast.

And Charles stands all of a sudden. Max watches, confused, as Charles makes a beeline to the table of refreshments, shoes clacking against the hardwood until he reaches carpet. There is a way about how Charles moves, magnetic to the eyes. He grabs a small scone, then heads back to Max.

Closer and closer, until he’s settled between Max’s spread thighs, towering over him.

Bossily, he shoves the scone in front of Max’s face. “Eat. We have a long day.”

Max sighs. He’s explained this to Charles before, his diet. “Charles,” he says, hoping that’s enough, not wanting to give the whole spiel again.

“It is a royal order,” Charles says seriously. He presses the scone against Max’s mouth.

Max angles his head away. “I am Dutch, if you didn’t know.”

“You live in Monaco,” Charles insists, “and I am the Prince.”

Max snorts. “You are the little brother of the Prince.”

In lieu of a verbal response, Charles sighs and places his hand on Max’s cheek, leveling Max with a look, that same one from before. His palm is soft, smooth, but his thumb is firm where it presses against the seam of Max’s lips, coaxing his mouth open. The ball drops; the rally ends. At the end of the day, Max is starving. He cuts his losses and bites, gaze fixed on Charles as he chews on the stupid scone. Once he’s swallowed, he expects Charles to let up, but Charles raises a brow, pressing the scone against Max’s lips again. Max groans, understanding, and takes another bite, and another, and just as he’s about to finish the scone, Charles quickly pulls it back, and eats the last bite himself.

Max rolls his eyes. Of course. Charles giggles, and wipes off a crumb from the corner of Max’s lip. Even when Max’s face is clean, Charles keeps his hand on Max’s cheek, smoothing out his frown.

They linger like this for a few moments, and Max feels the anxiety leftover from the interview start to dissipate, his shoulders laxing.

“I know you did not want this,” Charles says quietly. “I did not want it either.” Max swallows, his chest feeling tight. “But it’s like this, and we have to do it together. If it is to work, we have to make it look real.”

“I know,” Max says, starting to feel bad. Charles got fucked over with all of this too. Today, Charles is more calm, more—present, than he was yesterday, a quiet wreck in the briefing. His mental resiliance really is something. He places a hand on Charles’ waist, pulling him in closer. “I was of course there in the briefings.”

Charles pokes harshly at Max’s cheek, like he is trying to sculpt an artificial dimple. “I do not think you were listening.”

Max closes his thighs around Charles’ legs. He is very warm, and they have half an hour before the next interview. Hm. They might as well spend it wisely.

“Can you read my mind now? Is that another one of Prince Charles’ royal powers?”

Before Charles can respond, Max tightens his grip on his waist, before sliding his hand lower, to grab at Charles’ ass. Charles’ eyes widen, his mouth parts in surprise, and he sucks in a gasp.

“Max,” he whispers, blushing a soft pink. His hand drops to Max’s shoulder to steady himself.

“We of course have time,” Max points out, bringing his other hand to Charles’ other cheek, tugging him closer through the fabric of his slacks. “And we have a long day.”

It’s been months since the last time they did this. Not since before winter testing.

Max only now realizes how much he’s missed it.

“Not here,” Charles mumbles shyly, looking around, as if there’s anyone else here. Despite his protests, he doesn’t make any effort to fight Max’s hold.

Maybe, Max thinks, Charles misses it too.

“Why not?” Max asks. “Do you not like being watched by the portraits? They are your ancestors, right? I don’t think they’d mind.”

Charles sighs, but Max catches a small smile on his face. Regardless, Charles shakes his head, stubborn. “It is not the portraits I am worried about. What if someone comes in?”

“It will be their fault for not knocking,” Max snorts. At Charles’ withering glare, he sighs and says, “No one’s going to come in. There are guards outside.”

“Still,” Charles argues, pink all the way up to his ears now. His eyes drop to Max’s lips, then back up to his eyes. “We will be… messy for our interview.”

“But it will seem like we really like each other a lot,” Max jokes, grinning.

Charles doesn’t take the joke well. He pouts and pinches Max’s ear with his fingernails. Max laughs and releases Charles’ ass. “Fine, fine,” he concedes. “At least come here?”

Charles pulls his mouth to the side. “Will you behave?”

Max shows Charles his palms, hands positioned before his chest. “I will behave,” he assures.

Charles shoots him one last look, before sighing and climbing up onto the sofa, knees on either side of Max’s lap, and sitting. Immediately, he buries his face in the side of Max’s neck, his hair tickling Max’s ear, and lets out a contented noise.

Max barely got any sleep last night, all wired up, and from how exhausted Charles looks—feels, melting into him, breathing softly, maybe the first moment of silence he’s had all day—he can tell it must have been the same for him.

For a few minutes, they stay like that. Max closes his eyes, stroking Charles’ back. There are too many layers between them. Max kind of wishes he took his suit jacket off, or at least his tie, before he asked Charles to sit on his lap. Too late now, Max thinks, nosing at the spot below Charles’ ear. He notices, in this time, that Charles must be wearing a new cologne. It is nice; he smells nice. Charles always smells nice.

Max presses a harmless kiss on the side of Charles’ neck. Then another and another, until no space is left unkissed. He moves to the center of Charles’ throat, and Charles lets it happen, lets Max pepper small kisses along the ridges, his mouth closing, softly, over his carotid, Charles’ heart pulsing like a rabbit between Max’s lips. Charles likes that: the little kisses. When Max reaches the cut of his jaw, he starts to be a bit more bold with it—licking and biting gently, Charles’ stubble rough against his tongue, tracing the contours of him.

Charles starts to let out little pants, his hips starting to roll ever-so-slightly. Max slides a hand between their chests, what little space is left between them, and finds Charles’ crotch, gently palming over the bulge. He’s half-hard already. Max hums, pleased.

Finally, he makes the move and makes it stick: firmly, he kisses Charles, right on the lips. It is a tender kiss, but deep and filled with intent. No more pretense.

Breathily, Charles mumbles against his mouth, “This is not behaving.” He sounds annoyed, but he keeps kissing Max back, keeps grinding his ass on top of Max’s crotch.

Max pulls away, laughing when Charles immediately chases his mouth and makes an unhappy, surprised noise, laughing when he opens his eyes and sees Charles’ eyes: dark, pupils wide and wanting.

“Okay,” he says, voice a little raspy, even to his own ears. “We can stop.”

Charles’ jaw drops. Outrage is a cute look on him. “Oh,” he says, brows furrowing, exhaling through his nose, “you are—”

He doesn’t finish. He only shakes his head, grabs Max’s face with both his hands, firmly, and kisses him, furiously.

Charles’ mouth is soft and plush, but his kiss has a fire to them, an intensity; this part has always been the easiest, with him. The physicality. Everything else, that’s the difficulty.

Their noses brush, and Max pivots away, only slightly, to kiss at the corner of Charles’ mouth, light and teasing. “Yeah? What am I?”

Charles finds his lips again, positions Max’s head right back where it was, and plants a kiss square on his mouth. “Horrible,” Charles says, and kisses Max again. “Annoying,” he says, and kisses Max again. “The worst,” he says, and kisses Max again.

“Don’t let anyone hear you say that, of course,” Max says, helping Charles take his suit jacket off. “We have to seem like we like each other.”

Charles doesn’t deign him with a response, merely rolls his eyes and tosses the jacket to the side. He is gorgeous like this: eyes blown and glossy, his mouth parted, wet, begging to be kissed.

So Max kisses him again, his hands rucking Charles’ button-up from his slacks, until he can slip his hands under the fabric, finding his waist. He uses this newfound leverage to flip their positions, to maneuver Charles so that he’s on his back and horizontal on the ugly, uncomfortable sofa. Charles yelps; his chest heaves, and his throat bobs. He is so pretty like this: in the painfully bright light of this room, it is even more vivid, and for the first time since the news broke yesterday, Max thinks, maybe this will be worth it.

Max takes the moment to burn the sight of him into his retinas: his mousy hair messy around his head like a halo, his kiss-swollen lips parted and wanting, his clothes, even, rumpled and wrinkled in a way that Max knows he hates, in a way that he never lets anyone see.

Half an hour. Half of that is probably gone by now, Max reckons. They’ll have to hurry. He can take his time, another time.

He forces himself to focus. He takes off his own jacket before he forgets, shoves Charles’ thighs apart so that one leg is splayed off the couch, then he drives his knee between them. He swoops down once again, and Charles sighs dreamily into his mouth. Max slides his hands down Charles’ chest until he’s found the buttons of Charles’ slacks, undoing them with deft fingers.

“This is—” Charles starts, lifting his hips, helping Max pull his bottoms to his thighs. Multi-tasking, Max kisses down his throat, skips down to his stomach, and kisses at the happy trail leading from below his belly-button. Distracted, Charles moans and writhes beneath him, throwing his forearm over his eyes. Cute.

“What was that?” Max asks, amused. He kisses Charles’ hip bone lightly, and wraps his fingers around the base of Charles’ length, adoring the way Charles’ hips buck at the touch. He traces a vein with his thumb, his precum making the slide easy, then spits into his hand—not like they need it—and starts to jerk him off. Brows knitted together, Charles squirms, so Max keeps his body steady with a hand on his stomach, feeling the flutter of muscle there. 

Charles tries again, propping himself up on his elbows so that he can meet Max’s eyes. His face is pink, and his breaths come squeaky. He scrunches his nose, prissy and aristocratic, and says, “This is a very old couch. And my suit is very expensive.”

Max sighs and rolls his eyes. 

“I’ll keep you clean,” he promises, and takes Charles into his mouth, hollows his cheeks, and sinks as far down as he can go.

/

Against all odds, they have some time to spare. They spend it fixing each other’s clothes and sex hair, making each other look at least somewhat presentable. Unfortunately, while Max had kept his promise and kept Charles clean, Charles hadn’t returned the favor; now there’s a probably irreparable stain on the antique couch. Oops, Max thinks, and he makes Charles sit on it for their next round of interviews.

It isn’t so bad.

Thankfully, F1 was the only one they’d been on video for. Charles, for the rest of the day, is hazy-eyed and loose-limbed. Max capitalizes on his distraction, teases Charles as much as he can and knows how to—Charles lets it all happen.

And he seems, almost, as if to enjoy it.

But maybe Max is projecting.

/

By dinnertime, Max is finally released. Charles is whisked away by his brother before Max even tries to get a word in, so he doesn’t try. He gets driven home, orders Brad-approved takeout, and calls his dad. Lets him know how the day went. After, he calls his mum, then his sister, and then Raymond. At 8 PM, Brad comes over for training. They talk about things that don’t matter. At 10 PM, Max showers, brushes his teeth, turns off the lights, and crawls into bed. He checks his messages. He frowns when he notices that Charles hasn’t texted. Max isn’t sure why he was expecting him to.

He checks his other texts. He sees that Gemma has texted him his media schedule for the weekend. He doesn’t bother reading it, leaves it for tomorrow. He puts his phone down on the table, closes his eyes, and thinks.

In all this time, the world hadn’t stopped spinning. Even now, it doesn’t stop spinning. Media day is in three days. Infinitely worse: it’s Monaco. Charles will be there; for all of it, he will be there. Normally, WAGs and—now, Max guesses—BAHs are off-limit topics, but there’s no guarantee his sexuality will be. They will want to prep him. Make sure he doesn’t say anything stupid. Charles will be there, and they will have to act in love. Max will have to dodge cameras and avoid journalists the entire weekend. He will have to make statements. He will have to respond. Charles will be there.

On Sunday, Charles will be on the podium.

On Sunday, Max wants to win.

Too much to think about. Too much to worry about.

One day at a time, Max thinks. One day at a time.

/

Voici got a hold of the story first. Apparently, evidence had been slowly building up for months—quotes from Max’s building neighbors and a now-fired member of Charles’ security detail.

The most incriminating evidence, however, were the pap photos taken of them kissing in Max’s car.

They’d been so careful—but maybe, over the last few months, they’d grown complacent.

The story broke the day of the cancelled race in Imola, first thing in the morning. Four hours later, Le Parisien got a hold of it, and that’s when shit started to really hit the fan.

Red Bull was blindsided.

So was the Crown.

/

Max had been blissfully unaware until around noon when he woke up. For many hours, quieted by Do Not Disturb, his phone had been blowing up with calls from Raymond, from Christian, from his father. Everyone important in his life. Before he got a chance to call any of them back, he spotted the ESPN notification at the top of his screen:

Max Verstappen: Formula 1’s reigning world champion and first gay driver in decades?

Below that, an Apple News notification:

Monaco’s Sweetheart breaks hearts worldwide? The inside scoop of Prince Charles of Monaco and Max Verstappen’s 2-year long affair.

In a way, nothing in any of the reports had exactly been false.

/

Max was driven to the palace, silently escorted to a meeting room, and he was seated next to Charles, who was quiet and playing with his hands in his lap and looked like he might throw up. In that moment, Charles looked—small. Charles looked—afraid. Max had never seen him like that before. Max wanted to say something, wanted to ask him if he was okay, but the meeting was in full swing; they hadn’t even paused for Max’s entrance. He settled with placing a hand on Charles’ thigh, his heart rabbiting in his chest. Charles laid his hand over Max’s. It was all Max could do. Max was afraid too.

Once he arrived, however, they switched to English, and explained the plan they came up with while he was sleeping: to confirm the status of their relationship, and run a full press tour. Immediately, without coordinating with Red Bull. That the Prince’s little brother was not only dating a man, but dating the F1 world champion, needed an immediate response, and Charles’ image takes priority over Max’s.

They needed to take control of the narrative, spin it in the right way: They’re in love.

Max didn’t understand. He interrupted halfway, “But we’re—” He glanced at Charles, silent beside him. “We’re not actually—”

Finally, Charles spoke up. He lifted his head, turned to Max, and said, “It does not matter.”

“But—”

“Max,” Charles said, with finality. His eyes were shaking. He looked more upset than Max had ever seen him. “It does not matter.”

And that was that.

/

Tuesday morning, Red Bull post official statements on all their social media platforms, and Max’s social media manager posts a statement from him that he didn’t write. He doesn’t see any of it himself. He stays offline.

That afternoon, he’s in a few virtual meetings with marketing, and they confirm with him the schedule Gemma sent, that they’ve canceled the shootings he had with Checo, and that they want him to focus on keeping a low profile.

He has done more than they needed him to, thanks to the insistence of the Crown.

The interview with Marie won’t be released until Thursday, but Red Bull had received an early preview from the Guardian. To his surprise, the team is satisfied with it. They of course aren’t exactly pleased with some of his responses, and they request that he answer differently and less abrasively next time, but Max is guessing that their expectations were so low that he managed to exceed them, somehow.

They hadn’t even wanted him to speak to any press in the first place. Neither had Max, obviously, but Charles—it would have been silly if Charles had done the interviews alone. Charles needed him there. So.

Wednesday, he streams on Twitch with RedLine. It wasn’t exactly news to them or anyone close to him, the gay thing, but the Charles thing, well—it was a surprise to everyone. Even Max. The boys ask him if he wants them to steer clear from making any jokes about it, and Max says he doesn’t care either way. The last thing Max wants is for his friends to walk on eggshells around him; the last thing Max wants is for things to change any more than they already have. So Crane jokes about it, Bennett jokes about it, and Max also jokes about it. They permaban anyone in chat who jokes about it.

 And that’s Wednesday.

/

Thursday isn’t the hell he was expecting it to be.

Red Bull managed to pull strings and get Max out of the press conference and TV pen appearances, and Checo’s been left to handle the fanzone all on his own, so Max stays inside the Red Bull Energy Station, keeps his head down as much as possible, ignoring the roars of reporters outside, only speaking with his engineers and mechanics.

Tomorrow, though, he won’t be able to get around media.

Don’t worry about the press, GP tells him in the paddock, clasping a hand on his shoulder. It’s all noise. Just focus on driving. Nothing changes, at least from our end.

Max tries his hardest to believe it.

[katerinadeannika]

Notes after watching the full Behind the Scenes of Agatha All Along posted on Nov 13th 2024:

There was no way they could have written an ending for Agatha that did not involve death.

I have been saying this to all the naysayers from the get-go, to all the people making posts about being done or fed up or angry about the ending, or how it makes no sense, or how they should have could have done something different and been fine story wise. The behind the scenes confirmed my point.

The main through line for the entire show was the theme of Death; of Agatha never being able to escape it. Where she both loves and hates death and Death, the concept and the woman. Where she's been running from Death for centuries, but Death came for her son and was always coming for her the second she slowed down.

Every completed trial meant someone would die. Billy created the road based off the rumors and witch lore. And the only rumors out in the witch world were that someone knew someone else's aunt/relative/friend who had undertaken the road and never returned. In reality, that was Agatha's doing. But to Billy, it meant that somehow, the Road took its toll on them. And when the coven traveled it, the Road exacted the same price that Billy expected it to. Death or near death at every trial.

The first trial killed Sharon. The second gave Alice her power back and then Billy almost died (and probably would have if Agatha hadn't pleaded with Rio on his behalf, if the coven hadn't worked together, and if Billy hadn't made the Road with his own powers. Some interesting combo of the all the above). The third trial killed Alice who was trying to save Agatha. And the fourth trial killed Lilia and the Salem Seven.

Jac said she intentionally wrote it where Death was a very real thing that everyone in the show had to come to terms with.

And for Jen Kale, her gift was already dead, and she was supposed to resurrect it and take her own power back. She escaped because after Agatha's trial, the fifth one, someone DID die.

And this time it was Agatha.

Agatha had avoided it every other time by either being saved, or having the rest of the coven as fodder for death.

But in the end, when she could have left once again, she must decide who has to pay the final price for her invention of the Road. The Road that she has used to kill and lure countless witches to their doom over the past few centuries.

She can save the boy she has come to love and mentor after the loss of her son. Or, she can leave once again. And so she makes the final moment of self sacrifice, and chooses the final victim of the Road: Herself

She has been running from Death for centuries.

For Agatha's story to have a thematic ending that wasn't cheap or manufactured, she had to stay true to that through-line. That's how writing works. You find your themes. You write about and explore them. And you have a final consequence that determines if it's a positive arc or a negative arc for your main character.

They chose for Agatha to have a positive arc. A moment of final growth. To end the show on her finally making the right decision, even at the cost of the life she's sustained through countless centuries and via countless deaths.

There was no way the show could have ended any other way.

PS: There is no excuse to hate on it. At all.

It doesn't meet any of the criteria for the 'Bury your gays' trope. It doesn't even end Agatha’s story. But it does provide expertly written, well thought out, thematically poignant endings for all the characters in a way that satisfies their personal journey—throughout the show and the centuries.

And I am so glad they made it, and that it ended how it did. I wouldn’t want it any other way. As a writer. As an editor. As a viewer. And as a lesbian.

Agatha All Along is a masterpiece in TV writing. And I can’t wait for more.

PSS: Watch the Behind the Scenes on youtube that Marvel just posted. It’s super good and includes all sorts of info to help with fic writing and just general understanding of the writing and show creation. Also lots of Kathryn Hahn and Aubrey Plaza in interviews!

TLDR: Quit complaining and griping about the ending. It was written beautifully. The reason you got so invested is because of all the heavy death elements throughout that made things mean something. Embrace it. Or find media where you were the target audience. Cause if you couldn’t handle something well written that ends like this, you weren’t the target audience. And that’s okay. But move on before you keep griping and causing issues with the community and the cast.

[leighsartworks216]

The Goddess of the Moon

Zayne x gn!Reader

I will never stop writing Zayne in domestic situations apparently. Infold said they're married and I said say less

Warnings: fluff, domestic fluff, literal sleeping together, established relationship, cuddling, kissing

Word Count: 926

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AO3

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Zayne is the most beautiful man you have ever seen, but he is never more beautiful than when he is sleeping.

Over the years you have known the doctor, it always seems like rest is a commodity not reserved for him. He’s always pushing through exhaustion. Even when he was a student, he’d barely rest, so focused on his goals and achieving them. So on the rare chance you do get to catch him sleeping, you learn to appreciate it.

The sun isn’t up yet. It won’t be for a while. His face is highlighted by the cool blue light of the moon. The cut of his cheekbone, the tip of his ear, the bump in his nose. It’s as though a goddess of the moon took centuries crafting him until he was just right, before releasing him off into the world, only to yearn to once more know the feeling of his face under her fingers.

You can’t blame her. Not when you get this chance to see the crease in his eyelids, the dip of his cupid’s bow, the soft round of his chin. Time and time again, like this moon goddess, you are tempted to touch him. To reach out and feel him, solid beneath your fingertips, just to confirm that he’s real and not merely an illusion. You felt quite bad about it early on in your relationship. Really, back then, figuring out the boundaries of physical affection was rough.

You can recall one day in particular. You took him to an ice cream shop. They’d just announced a new flavor you thought he’d enjoy, and he deserved a break after the week he had. You’d sat outside while you ate your frozen treats, chatting. Back then, there was still a gap of space between you. Unthinkable now. Anyway, a small smudge of the ice cream made its mark just below his lip. Without thinking, you’d reached out to wipe it away while he stared at you. You’d profusely apologized, rambling on to try explaining yourself, and handed him a napkin.

Later, after insisting on dropping you off at your then-apartment, he’d brushed a thumb along your cheek, thanking you quietly for the ice cream.

Your eyes trail to that spot just under his lip, where pink meets the cream of his skin. Emboldened by the light of the moon, you slip your hand from under the covers to wipe away an invisible smear of ice cream. His skin is soft and warm, with the telltale hint of fuzz starting to come in. You’d teased him before about keeping such a close shave. He’d teased you back about how much you seemed to enjoy helping him shave.

“You should be asleep.”

Sleepy hazel eyes watch you from under half-lids, flickering lazily across your face. You wonder what he sees. You wonder if the moonlight touches your face half as reverently as his. You wonder if he’s just as tempted to reach out and touch you as you are to touch him. Perhaps you get your answer when he slips his hand from the blankets to hold yours, eyes blinking slowly shut as he tilts his head on his pillow to kiss your fingers.

“What are you doing up?” His voice holds the quiet rasp of sleep. It is the embodiment of moonlight over freshly fallen snow.

“Admiring you.”

He opens his eyes again. His pretty lips quirk up in a smile. “There’s plenty of time for that in the morning,” he says, “after you’ve had a full night’s sleep.”

You sigh with playful annoyance. “What if I can’t wait that long?” You wriggle your hand from his grasp and cup his cheek. His eyes close immediately at the contact. He turns into your palm like it’s second nature to do so, sliding his hand to rest on the back of yours in much the same way. You brush your thumb over the moonbeam kissing his skin. “What if I just have to admire you right now?”

“Then I’ll have to turn you over to save you the temptation.”

Despite his threat, he instead reaches out to you, grabbing your waist and coaxing you into him. You gladly oblige, tucking yourself against his chest like a set of puzzle pieces. His bicep acts as your pillow as he tenderly rubs your back. You stubbornly refuse to hide your face in his neck just yet, though. Face to face and closer than ever, you rub your nose against his.

“You need to go to sleep,” he insists, but it’s a weak scolding at best. “We both do.”

You hum. “Then go to sleep. I’ll just stay up for a bit longer to really take you in.”

He chuckles quietly and pulls his face from yours. He cups your cheek and guides your face down into his neck, where he rests his head on top of yours. He rubs his cheek against you until he finds a comfortable spot. “In the morning.”

His thumb brushes lightly over your cheek. You sigh, hot breath fanning across his skin. “Fine,” you relent. Though, as you wrap your arms around his lean body and inhale the crisp scent of his body wash, you can feel sleep beginning to creep back into your mind, dulling your senses and sapping your energy. You kiss his neck in a chaste peck. “I love you.”

He kisses your head. “I love you, too.”

The goddess of the moon dances her fingers across you both, slowly retreating as the sun begins its ascent. 

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip

[dynamitegun]

I have this dumb mental image of an aged Liara, now in her Matriarch stage centuries after the end of the games leading a diplomatic mission into Krogan space. Upon arrival her staff are horrified by a band of Krogan soldiers that meet them at the landing zone led by a grizzled leader. His scales marked by a hundred battles and a demeanor to match, roaring out a 'request' to speak to "the one in charge."

The mood is tense. Krogan space is civilized but along its border bands of renegades, holdouts of the old ways of war aren't uncommon. The mission has a few Asari commandos providing security but they're outnumbered two to one. Should they turn back? Stall for time and try to plan an escape?

Instead, Matriarch T'Soni holds up a hand, calming her staff and without a word, walks down the ship's ramp towards the Krogan completely unarmed, in nothing but her gown, ignoring the cries behind her begging her to come back.

She reaches the band of Krogan warriors, looks the leader up and down and places her hands on her hips.

"Is this anyway to greet your mother, Grunt"?

A tumbleweed passing makes the only sound

The Krogan grins, and scoops Liara into his arms for a hug, lifting her off her feet and spinning her 'round.

"I missed you." He says softly. She pats his shoulder as he places her down again.

"It's good to see you again too Grunt. You've got quite the command here it seems." She feels a smile on her lips as she waves her hand at the Krogan milling about, all trying their best not to stare, just as stunned as the members of the Asari mission.

"Yep. I've got my own brigade now. Aralakh Brigade. Over 2'000 strong. All under my command." His voice rings with pride. Liara nods.

"She'd be proud if she were here you know. Of what you've become Grunt. Following in her footsteps."

Grunt laughs. "She would, wouldn't she"? He doesn't wait for an answer and Liara knows he doesn't need one. They both know the answer. Shepard had taken Grunt in, seen past the tank bred warrior exterior to the boy beneath and had taken him to her side.

When Liara learned of this upon meeting Grunt for the first time on Utukku (Learning her bond mate had an adopted son that she'd never seen fit to mention) she had been surprised, but surprises were something she had grown used to with Shepard.

"Kid just needs a bit of direction Liara. Give him a chance." She could still hear Shepard's voice in her memory reassuring her.

She had been right "on the money" as she was fond of saying.

Liara ran a hand down her front, straightening the folds of her dress as she put back on her 'matriarch face'. "Well then. We have a schedule to keep. A meeting with the planetary overseer. Would you escort us"? She asked aloud.

Grunt nodded, with a slight twinge in his own voice putting on his 'Commander' voice. "I'd be honored, Matriarch T'Soni." Turning he bellowed out to his troops. "Form up!"

Liara walks back to her staff, almost all with wide eyes at what's unfolded before them. She crosses her arms. "As I recall we have a schedule to keep, do we not?" Breaking the trance they rush to their duties. She turns her back to them, hiding a small smile and watches Grunt form up his troops. The way he orders them into formation reminds her of no one but Shepard, a small piece of her still alive all these years on.

She would be proud.

...

I'm of the option that Femshep is Grunt's adoptive mom, and realized that even if she won't be around forever with Grunt, a romanced Liara certainly would be.

[pyro-les]

Bad omen - Rio Vidal X Reader

2.7k words - Warnings: mentions of death

Taglist: @thesharkwhalewhoohooooo @thecavalrywife @hannah-0730 @believe-in-magic13 @jenniferjareauwife @wandasreallover

"Be careful around her, kid." The woman whispered to the curios teen.

"Who is she?" The boy asked

"A bad omen that's what she is." The lady responds in a hushed tone. When he looked up at her inquisitively she adds on "Anyone who gets near to her dies. You see Betsy across the street died in a freak accident just a few weeks after Y/N had told her something bad would happen to her. She's not the only one who that happened too either, dozens of people have died after meeting her since she moved to town just a few months ago."

Looking up at the woman shocked the teen gasps "That's so sad! What an awful coincidence."

Tutting at him she replies "Oh its no coincidence boy. You see she's a witch. Anyone who meets her is destined to die. It's truly awful, what a wicked woman."

It wasn't new to Y/N to hear people say these sort of things about her, for years people thought of her as a bad omen, a sign of only horrible things to come. But it still didn't hurt any less, hearing everyone speak of her so horrendously so publicly. It wasn't her fault she only saw how people would die, she couldn't control it she simply looked at someone and saw their end. It was as if as soon as the universe had decided when they would leave she was the first to know. Sometimes she could know someone for years before suddenly seeing their end only weeks before their deaths and sometimes she knew years in advance.

When it had first happened she didn't know what to do so she simply blurted it aloud, she was only a kid. The woman hadn't taken her seriously, a young child telling them they wouldn't get to meet their baby when they were only a few months from their due date didn't make much sense so dismissed it. Their husband however had not, so in a few months when his wife inevitably died during child birth he blamed Y/N. He told the whole town that she was an evil witch and had cursed his poor wife and should consequently been burnt at the stake.

She would've died then had it not been for her mother, defending her child until her very end, hastily untying the ropes that bound her as the flames trailed up her skirt. She had managed to save her child but not herself.

Ever since then she had been on the run, more than three centuries had passed and she could never stay anywhere for more than half a year before having to flee or being chased out with pitchforks and torches blazing. She could never rest nor let her guard down, all the while blaming herself for her mothers death. If only she hadn't dismissed the flames she saw engulf her mothers body the night before, if she hadn't put it down to just a bad thought, her fears taking over her sight as she got ready to go to bed. It was her fault for not being able to stop it, that's what she told herself.

"Aren't all people destined to die? That's kinda how being living works." The teen says snapping Y/N out of her spiral of thoughts taking her through some of her most tragic memories.

Tutting at the boy yet again the woman speaks "Not for her so it seems. Legend had it she's centuries old yet still seems to look like she's only in her 20s. The way these witches get to live so long when they do such horrible things is ridiculous. It's just like that Wanda woman, she seemed so nice working for the avengers and all but bam one day she takes a whole town hostage. And worst of all she'll probably end up out living us all too."

Having enough of hearing the conversation Y/N turns to leave the town market, what had started as a nice shopping trip having taken a turn for the worse yet again. Just once she'd like to have a normal day out without being reminded how much everyone hated her.

Seemingly having spotted Y/N's attempt to leave the boy jogged towards her, yelling at her to wait up. She turned towards him a stern questioning look on her face. "Hi, um I'm guessing you heard what she said right?" He started, earning an obvious look from Y/N, wordlessly answering his question. "Yeah, yeah I figured." He really seemed like he wad struggling for words. "Well, um, I just wanted to say she's wrong. About it being your fault. Everyone dies eventually that's just how it works. I'm sorry she was so mean to you."

Shrugging off his apology Y/N replied "It's fine kid, it's mot like it's your fault. It's not like it's anything I haven't heard before."

He looked at her empathetically, "that doesn't make it any better." He said solemnly.

"I don't get why people are so mean about witches, you guys seem really cool. I'd love to have powers like you." He added on excitedly.

It was sweet, she thought. It wasn't often people said things like that in any way over than malicious envy. He was a really nice boy, it was a shame he was destined to leave the world so soon. Seeing what she saw was never easy but this kid couldn't have been more than what, 13? She would've liked to have helped him, if he truly wanted to learn magic she could've even mentored him if he'd let her.

"You're a good kid. Make sure you take care okay, spend time with the people you love alright." It was all she could say. She couldn't tell a kid so young, so happy he would die in just a few short weeks, it wasn't fair. He would be better off not knowing.

The teen looked at her with a small smile, a curious glint behind his eyes yet he said nothing. If he had realised the reasoning behind her words he hadn't said anything, perhaps he realised it was better off not knowing. Most people didn't like to know when they were going to die, it meant they spent the last of their time living in fear, constantly on edge instead of actually enjoying life while they could.

And like that they parted ways, she knew it would be the last time she saw the boy. It wasn't likely she would be coming back to the town soon, if the woman's warnings to the kid about her was anything to go by she wouldn't be safe here much longer and even if she did stay it's not like he had lonhg left anyway.

It had definitely put a dampener on her mood, knowing someone with so much potential would never get to use it was always sad. But the way a man called out to her in the street saying she had killed his daughter really didn't help. She remembered his daughter too, she was young, just married to a man from the neighbouring town and had moved their with him not long after she had seen her. She told the woman not to go their, that something bad would happen in that place but she hadn't listened and now according to her father it was once again Y/N's fault.

It hurt, having so many people hate you. She knew it wasn't her fault, she knew deep down death was inescapable and her powers were not what was securing that fate. She knew it was something much more divine that made the decision, that she could simply see when it had been made. Yet some days it still got to her. All the hatred and blame being sent towards her had effected her. Somehow at times like these all logic and reason were thrown to the side as unwarranted guilt flooded her brain. As she stepped into her home she lost all composure. Everything that she had been putting away to the side for years suddenly weighing her down, a colossal weight being unmovable as she sunk to the floor of her home.

She had started to weep, she had no way of stopping it now as everything people had said to her had started to ring in her ears incessantly. It hurt, it hurt her so much as all she could think of was how she should've helped. How if she could think of a way to use her powers for the greater good maybe she could save just one life. Maybe she could save the kid she had seen earlier? But she couldn't. She tries countless times before. She had tried stopping people from going where they were doomed to die, from leaving somewhere they should've stayed or meeting the person who would bring their demise to them. But it never worked, even single time they still died at the exact same time. Once their course had been decided it was a must. No one could stop people from meeting their end, not even death herself.

And that's something she had had to deal with for years. Being the embodiment of death hadn't left her numb to all of the guilt. Just like this girl Rio had felt it all too. She had blamed herself time and time again, searching for a way to avoid the inevitable, to get out of doing her job. But there was always a pull, an inevitable force pulling her to the souls, giving her no choice bit to lead them to the other side. She didn't ask to do this job, she was chosen by who knows what or who. The world had a strange way of working, some unknown fates leading people to places they never would have expected, giving them something they must do with no way out or even a guide to help them cope with ehat job they had been given. She would've done anything to get out of this role just as Y/N would have done anything to escape seeing people's fates or at the very least help even just one person escape them.

She knew what the girl was going through, she had seen her go through it countless times before. She had always wanted to help hut not known how, always having the excuse to stay hidden even when she was somehow bound to the girl, always watching as she discovered who was next on Rio's list of souls to collect. It was as if they were destined to meet, to work together but Rio had been postponing it for years, centuries even. But she couldn't any longer, the part of her that longed to comfort the witch finally taking over as she watched her struggle with her inner turmoil, a battle she was tremendously loosing.

So she finally did it, finally stepped out of the shadows, taking slow, tentative steps out of the shadows towards the witch. She didn't know what to say, how to introduce herself or to explain her job. How would she even begin to tell her that she has been linked to the witch for centuries, that she knew how she felt but she had always been too afraid to reveal herself until now. What if she was mad? Rio was after all the source of all her problems. Without death she would've never had to blame herself, to hate herself for powers she had no control over.

As Rio's own thoughts had started to spiral into more of self doubt she heard Y/N's voice interrupt the silence. "Hello?" It sounded both calm and scared, like she didn't know who was there yet felt safe with them still. Her voice was a tad rough from crying and yet she still sounded as angelic as ever.

Rio didn't know what to reply, she had been imaging what it would be like to finally reveal herself to Y/N for years. She had planned out what to say a billion times and yet now she came up empty, at a loss for words as she stared deeply into Y/N's eyes. Her glance telling a billion words as her voice failed her, not yet able to muster even a sentence.

"I feel like I know you." Y/N started, she sounded curious, like she knew something but was unsure how.

"In a way you do." Rio finally responding, the first words she could speak since she had revealed herself.

Curiosity clear in her voice she spoke again "Who are you?" She really should've been more scared or confused that someone she didn't know was in her house but she wasn't, she knew her she just didn't know how. She needed to know.

Unsure on how to respond Rio just stood still for a moment longer watching as Y/N slowly walked towards her as if just getting closer she could work out who she was. Just as she was finally about to speak Y/N paused, her eyes widening as she stared blankly forward. Rio had seen this before, she had watched from the shadows as Y/N had her visions.

As she came back from her vision she slowly blinked before locking eyes with Rio once again. Her vision hadn't made sense, she hadn't seen her death, she had seen her take other people, people Y/N had met, had seen die. There was no way what she had seen was real but her visions had never been wrong before.

Seemingly sensing the question Y/N was going to ask Rio finally spoke up "I take souls, everyone you've ever sensed were going to die and so so many more." She was sure there was a better way to word it, hell she had written introductions for herself so many times, trying to make what she does seem nicer, attempting to sugar coat something that was so hard to swallow. Yet now that she was actually here, talking to the witch she had waited so long to meet she felt out of her depth.

What if she blamed Rio? After all death was the cause for all of her problems, shy wouldn't she blame the root of all her problems? It didn't make sense for her not to, it's why she had waited so long to introduce herself in the first place. And oh how she suddenly wished she had waited even longer.

"Is it hard?" Y/N asked earning a confused look from Rio. "Taking everyone to the other side? Knowing everything they could've been, everything they're missing"

"Sometimes." She replied, pausing a moment before continuing "It's just nature, everyone dies eventually. But yes, sometimes it hurts still and when it does its one of the worst feelings in the world." It was clear there was a story there, that she had taken someone she didn't want to. Y/N wanted to ask, to know what had happened but she didn't. It was clearly a harsh subject and she knew how much it hurt to reopen old wounds. So she wouldn't ask, no matter how much she wanted to. She just nodded, not sure how else to reply but Rio didn't mind, she knew she understood.

They stood there for a moment, tension lingering in the air, the result of the roller coaster of emotions that both had felt. Until finally Y/N asked "Do they blame you the way they blame me?"

Rio hadn't been expecting that question, she didn't know why, it was a logical question. "Alot of the time. Some people accept their fate quite easily but most fight it. They try to blame me, beg me to let them go back and argue it's not their time."

"But it is" Y/N replies, she understood how it felt to have everyone blame her. "They never understand it's not my fault either."

There was an understanding between them, that even if they had never met before they knew each other. They understood each other on such a deep level, no one else faced the guilt and blame they had at such a level. They were in such unique positions that the likeliness of someone understanding what it felt like was practically non-existent and yet here they were. Two sides of the same coin. It was like they were made for each other.

Authors note:

I'm debating making this a short series so let me know if you'd like a part 2 at all. I hope you guys all like it and if you're new to my blog go check out my other Agatha All Along fics on my master list.

[hiraethwrote]

sidelines

cw: f!reader, hurt/no comfort, reader gets injured, semi proofread wc: 1.1k

meeting you was a coincidence. falling in love with you was an accident. distancing from you was a choice.

satoru still remembered the flash of heartbreak that washed over your face when he had served you a lie; i think we’re better off as friends.

it would always be carved into his mind — the sharp breath you took to settle yourself, blinking away the shy tears before you had nodded along weakly. “oh, okay.” it had barely been a whisper, but your tone would forever haunt him.

he knew it was for the best, keeping you at arms length no matter how much he hated it.

some part of him had always suspected he might have to sacrifice the experience of true love, and therefore he had never pursued it. the target on his back was just too big to be worth the risk.

nonetheless, you had come into his life like the season’s first fall of snow — unexpected.

and whatever you had done, he had fallen completely in the matter of mere moments, because when you looked at him you had seen satoru… just satoru.

when he was with you, he didn’t need to be the strongest. he wasn’t the heir to the gojo clan. he wasn’t the first sorcerer in centuries born with the six eyes.

no, when he was with you, he was satoru, the guy who hummed quietly when your fingers brushed through his hair. he was satoru, the guy who caused you frustration when he yet again forgot to bring your favourite drink that you had requested, turning in the door as quickly as he has arrived to go get it. he was satoru, the guy who was finally starting to enjoy the quiet normalcy of everyday life.

how naive you had made him.

because he had slowly started to believe that he could take a moment to breath when it came to his responsibilities, simply wallow in the warmth of your natural compassion and affection. he could lean into the soft touch of your hand and for a second forget what rested on his shoulders.

how wrong he had been, when you had accidentally found yourself witness, and also collateral damage, to one of his encounters with curses.

it happened so quickly, he hadn’t even noticed the action itself until he saw your unmoving body on the ground. never had satoru been as scared as he was the moment his eyes landed on you, certain his own heart stopped at the sight.

he quickly exorcised the troubling curses before rushing over to you, kneeling beside your unconscious body. with utmost care, he had swooped you into his arms, holding his breath as he checked for a pulse, not trusting any of his abilities to tell him, needing to physically feel the faint pumping at the side of your neck.

it felt like an entire lifetime passed before he found the soft signs of life, instantly letting out a shaky breath when he could finally confirm with his own flesh that you were still breathing.

with a bruised and bloody hand, he carefully brushed your hair out of your face to reveal a rather severe gash across your forehead.

he breathed your name, waiting to see the reactive, light raise of your eyebrows that happened subconsciously whenever he spoke the sweet tune. but your face stayed completely still, not even a single twitch in your eyelids to indicate you were waking up.

next thing he knew, he was stood in front of shoko with you in his arms, begging her to help you.

“it’s not severe,” shoko tried to reassure him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder while he sat at your bedside. “you can even take her home.”

he’d only nodded in confirmation, not daring to take his eyes off of you. he wanted to be the first thing you saw when your eyes eventually fluttered open — he was not going to miss that moment for anything.

and while he waited, he was deep in thought. churning and chewing on how best to prevent you from ever getting hurt again.

he had been lucky this time, but there was no guarantee it would end as well as it did next time, and he would stop at nothing to ensure your safety. but every idea he came up with ended with the same heartbreaking conclusion.

because the incident had him realise you were his one and only weakness — that meant you would always be in danger.

it was only a matter of time before you would not be his secret anymore. eventually it was bound to be a common fact in the jujutsu world, that there was one way to have the strongest sorcerer at their mercy.

satoru would not be able to live with himself if that was the case.

the safest thing for you was to break your heart — tell you that it wasn’t working. he had just been caught up in the intensity of the honeymoon phase, swept up in the comfort you had provided. which was all true, the lie was saying those feelings had passed.

but he was the strongest — who better to protect you than him? so the earnest preposition of friendship had been his way of being able to keep an eye on you without directly exposing you to the dangers of his world.

now his future was destined to be nothing but torture.

he would eventually see the sparkle in your eye return when you finally got over him. and when that happened, which he knew it would, he waited in despair for the day you would fall in love again.

you would trail your fingers through the hair of a person that wasn’t him. your eyes would stare hearts at a face that wasn’t his. at night, when you were sound asleep, your breathing would move in unison with someone who was not him — but you would be safe, shied away from the world he was forever trapped to serve.

satoru would torture himself for eternity, be a helpless audience in the theatre of your life, watch you indulge in all the happiness life had to offer, if it meant he wouldn’t put you in danger.

after meeting you, satoru had learned he wasn’t really a person meant to love from a distance. the love he had for you was all over him, supposed to be loaded onto the one person it belonged to; you. his devotion for you was so big and all consuming, filling any void he found himself in.

but if it was from the sidelines he would get to see you live — it was in the sidelines he would stay.

a/n sorry

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