#pls they’ve been dead for so long

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

60 Seconds

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~3.1k

Warnings: heavy angst, rape (explicit), being bound and gagged and blindfolded, kidnapping, heavy trauma

Request by anon: Would you write something with Spencer x reader (s7 ish doesn't really matter) where you're taken or kidnapped and when they find you, you keep yelling like 'no, no, don't hurt me' and shit like that cuz you don't realize it's them, and Spencer rushes to you and holds you but you're like trashing and hitting his chest until you break down in sobs pls that would be the cutest help. Also love me some team reactions to it happening skskdks OKAY BYE

Summary: One minute can change everything. A lot can happen in sixty seconds, and your entire world is turned upside down when you’re taken off the street in broad daylight. Spencer and the team fight to save you while you’re fighting to stay alive.

Square Filled: laid on a stretcher for @badthingshappenbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Everything can change in one minute.

That’s sixty seconds.

You pass by the bank you and Spencer have a joint account with. Three seconds. You see a woman and her child playing with bubbles across the street at the park. One second. You wait for the crosswalk light to turn green. Twenty seconds. You cross the street with a group of people. Ten seconds. You stop at a flower stand and buy two roses, one for Spencer and one for you. Twenty seconds. You turn the corner onto a desolate part of the sidewalk. Two seconds.

A van pulls up next to you and two men reach out and grab you. Six seconds.

One minute.

You’ve heard of stories where people are taken in plain sight and in daylight, but you never think it’ll happen to you. You’ve heard stories of victims being tortured, raped, and abused, but you never think it’ll happen to you. You’ve heard stories about victims needing a lifetime of therapy knowing it won’t fix them, but you never think it’ll happen to you.

Until it does.

Spencer moves about the office with you on his mind, excited to go on a lunch date with you. You’re not part of the BAU but you try to visit as much as you can. You have your own art business that you sell out of your apartment. You like to paint, make vases, and occasionally sew. Business has been booming for the last year so you’re not worried about not finding a “real” job any time soon.

Lunch time comes but you don’t show up, and Spencer thinks you might have gotten lost in a project. That tends to happen a lot, so he calls you to see if you’re going to be free any time soon. You don’t answer.

“Reid, JJ got something for us.”

Spencer puts his phone away and will call you later when he has a minute. Just like that, you’re pushed to the back of his mind. He has victims to save and bad guys to put away.

He just doesn’t realize that the victim this time is you.

The two men who took you were only the delivery boys. The men who have you are much worse. Spencer must be on a case if he hasn’t tried to contact you. Maybe he has. You’re not sure. You’re also not sure how many hours have passed or if it’s the next day. Time stops when all you can think about is pain.

They put a blindfold on you as soon as they stole you from the street so you’re not sure where you are in the world or what the room even looks like. All you know is that it stinks in here like dirt, sweat, and blood.

You’re hanging from the middle of the room by your wrists, your toes barely touching the ground. You’ve been suspended like this for so long that you’ve lost all feeling in your hands due to the rope biting into your wrists and cutting off circulation. If you’re lucky, they’ll fall off.

You’re stripped bare to just your panties. Those men love easy access where they can get it. Cuts adorn your once smooth skin and dried blood cake down your body. If you don’t give them what they want, they get violent. You’re surprised you’re not dead right now. They’ve beaten, raped, and abused your body multiple times in a single day.

You just hope that wherever you are, Spencer comes soon. You’re not sure how much of this you can take.

Spencer comes home after a grueling seven days in the field. All he wants to do is take a hot shower and snuggle in bed with you.

“Y/N? You home?” Spencer turns on the light but you’re not there to greet him like you normally are. “Y/N?”

He walks to the bedroom thinking you’re sleeping but frowns when he sees the bed is perfectly made as if no one has used it in a while. He checks the guest room but you’re not in there either. He takes out his phone and calls you but it goes straight to voicemail. He checks the Life 360 app only to see your phone is located in some ditch on the side of the road.

Now he starts to panic.

“Can’t get enough of this team? You just saw us for a week straight,” JJ jokes when she answers his call.

“Is Y/N with you?”

“No.”

“Have you seen her or talked to her all week?”

“No. What’s going on?”

“I think she’s missing,” he panics.

“Who, calm down, Spencer. Why do you think she’s missing?”

“She’s not home, she hasn’t been answering all week, her phone goes straight to voicemail, and I can see her location is in a ditch somewhere off the side of the road. You don’t think…”

“I don’t think what?”

“Do you think she was taken by the Daylight Killer?”

The Daylight Killer has been on the BAU’s radar for quite some time now. They take innocent women off the street in broad daylight only to return them back to their families after weeks. During those weeks, these women endure harsh psychological and physical torture. The BAU hasn’t been able to capture this man because they don’t think he’s working alone. If anything, it’s an organization that keeps him hidden from the authorities.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions, Spence.”

“JJ, she always answers her phone. Her biggest fear is me not picking up mine because of our job.”

“I’ll get the team together.”

Spencer immediately heads back to work and meets the team in the briefing room. They already have the victims of the Daylight Killer posted on the bulletin boards despite not having concrete evidence that you’ve been taken by him.

“What do we know?”

“I have already looked at the security cameras around your apartment, this building, and everything in between.” Penelope puts pictures of you on the screen for all to see. “She was last seen walking down Main Street when she stopped at a flower vendor on the corner of Main Street and Dobson Road. She turns the corner and continues to walk toward the BAU.” Penelope puts up three more pictures, one of you walking, another with a car parked right next to you, and the other with you gone. “This car stops next to her and she isn’t seen on any other cameras.”

“Did you get a plate?” Derek asks.

“Only a partial, but the system hasn’t come up with anything yet. You’ll be the first to know.”

“What if it is him? Do you know what he does to his victims?” Spencer asks with tears in his eyes.

“We need to speak to the survivors and see if they can remember their time with him.”

“You want to put them through that pain again?” Emily asks.

“What other choice do we have?” Rossi asks.

It’s safe to say that the victims of the Daylight Killer were less than thrilled to have to relive their experiences. Some of them are still in the hospital recovering from their injuries while others are locked away in their houses too afraid to go outside. There are only two girls who are brave enough to come forward. Confident that if they help the BAU, the men will get caught.

“If you need to stop at any time, please let us know,” JJ says gently.

“Okay,” Stacy, one of the victims, whispers.

“Close your eyes and focus on the sound of my voice.” Stacy does, and she wrings her fingers together nervously. “When you were taken, do you remember what you could feel?”

“You mean besides their hands on me?”

“I can only imagine this is hard for you but don’t focus on them.” Stacy nods and tries to relax. “Focus on the car ride. Was it bumpy? Smooth?”

“Smooth but then it became bumpy like they were driving on rocks or a dirt road.”

“How long were you on that road for?”

“It seemed like hours but probably ten minutes.”

“Then what?”

“They parked and took me out of the car. I was still blindfolded.”

“What was underneath your feet? Rocks? Dirt? Concrete?”

“Sticks. Dirt.”

“So, you were in the woods. What did you smell?”

“Dirt. Nature. It was musty.”

“What did you hear?”

“Insects. However, they stopped once we started walking.”

Spencer leaves the room after hearing enough from Stacy. So, they are keeping their victims in the woods. What woods, is the question.

The best part about you is Spencer. He brings out the best in you and pushes you to do your best in everything you do, especially with your art business. He never goes a day without telling you he loves you, and he shows it with the little things he does. He leaves out little notes for you on the kitchen counter before work, he buys you cookies and other sweets before he comes home, and he gets you flowers every single week.

Even in bed, he’s super loving. Sure, he’s been rough with you a few times but your favorite is how gentle he can be. He can spend hours in bed just worshiping you before giving you his sock. He fits so well inside of you like he was made for you. Even now, you can picture him bending you over and sliding his cock into your pussy. He touches your skin as if he’s mapping every inch of your body. He rarely leaves behind any marks because it reminds him that he can hurt you. He’s seen too much in the field to leave marks on you.

You’re pulled from your dream with Spencer when one of the men slaps your ass hard. His dick feels nothing like Spencer’s. He doesn’t care if he stretches you too much or if he doesn’t fit. He’s still slamming into you from behind and chasing his release. Your entire body aches from the pain but you refuse to give him and the other men the one thing they crave.

You refuse to cry.

You slip back into your dream and replace the man raping you with Spencer who loves you.

“According to the camera’s timestamp, she’s been missing for a week. Do you know what these men do to these women? What are they doing to her right now?” Spencer panics.

“I know it’s hard but you can’t think like that. We’re doing everything we can to try and find her. Right now, we have two women who remember being in the woods which means this unsub or unsubs need privacy. They can’t risk anyone finding them so they have to be isolated. That narrows down a lot of places,” Hotch says.

“They can’t be far either because Virginia PD is always on the scene whenever they release these women. They have to have a place close enough to where they can grab someone and release another in the span of hours.”

“Garcia, anything?”

Penelope pulls up a map of the area and circles the places where it’s likely the unsubs are located. All are in densely forested areas with nothing around them for miles.

“Based on the survivors’ accounts of being in the woods and the fact that they both said they weren't in the car for long once they got onto the dirt road, I estimate that the unsubs are located in one of five places. Every single victim has been released at a gas station before walking into town where there is reception.”

“That’s too many to go to. They could see us coming and leave. How are we going to narrow down this list?”

JJ comes marching into the room with a look of determination and worry on her face.

“We got another woman missing. Melissa Summers was out jogging when she was taken. This time, there were witnesses. They witnessed a ‘dirty white van’ and ‘two men grabbing Melissa off the streets’. They saw a partial plate which matches the one who took Y/N.”

Spencer goes rigid at the news because there are two reasons why they took someone early. They normally keep their victims for two or three weeks before releasing them and grabbing someone new. You’ve been gone for just over a week. Either they changed their minds and let you go early or you’re dead.

Spencer doesn’t have to say anything for everyone to know what he’s thinking.

“Reid, don’t go there,” Derek warns.

“Too late.”

Spencer leaves the room just before he bursts into tears. He can handle being by your side while you heal from their abuse but he can’t handle the thought of you being dead.

You wish that was the case. You wish they had killed you. After a week and a half of abusing your body for their pleasure, they leave you to rot on a dirty mattress with your hands tied behind you, duct tape over your mouth, and a blindfold over your eyes. The door opens but you don’t have enough energy to react. You’ve been saving your energy for when it matters the most.

“What should we do with her?”

They must have another girl if they’re already talking about disposing of you.

“We should just kill her, boss,” another man says. “She doesn’t make it fun. She doesn’t cry or beg like the others.”

“We should just leave her here and move on. She hasn’t seen our faces. She doesn’t look like she’ll talk.”

“Enough. Both of you. I’ll decide what to do with her when I’m done with her.”

The door closes and you’re back to lying in the darkness.

“Okay, so according to her parents, Melissa goes on a run on the same route every night. It’s on Mason Trail located next to a gas station. It’s one of the ones Penelope circled,” JJ says.

“We should go check it out,” Spencer suggests. “What harm will it do? The best case is we find the men responsible. Worst case is she’s not there and we try again. We have to do something.”

“I’m with Reid on this one,” Derek says.

“If we’re wrong and she’s not there, it could ruin everything,” Rossi says.

“You’re both right,” Hotch says. “Let’s go.”

The team, as quietly as they can, make their way to the house deep in the woods located near Mason Trail. It’s not quite night but Hotch keeps the headlights off to prevent anyone from seeing the sleek black cars. Virginia PD is right behind them because, despite the concern about this not being the location, Spencer has a feeling it is.

They park several hundred yards away from the house and finish the rest of the way on foot. If this is the house and someone is home, they won’t take kindly to Derek announcing that the FBI is at their door. Instead, he kicks down the door and just barges in.

There are four men sitting around the table playing poker who all jump up from shock. They reach for their guns but the FBI is quicker. Derek, Rossi, Hotch, and Emily take down the four men while the police search the house to clear the other rooms.

“Where is she?” Spencer asks once they are all in handcuffs.

“Dead.”

“There’s a door to the basement,” one of the officers announces.

Spencer refuses to believe you’re dead. Hotch leaves the unsubs in the care of Virginia PD and follows Spencer down to the basement. Light floods the room and Spencer pauses when he sees Melissa strung up wearing nothing but her panties, and you lying on a dirty mattress in the corner.

Emily and JJ immediately go to Melissa to help her down, and she starts to cry when she realizes she is being saved.

“You’re okay now. They’re not going to hurt you anymore,” JJ soothes.

Spencer runs over to you and unties the rope that binds your wrists. The second you’re free, you find the burst of energy you’ve been saving. You swing at the person who is above you thinking it’s one of the men.

Spencer grabs your wrists and tries to stabilize you but you’re thrashing too much for him to control. Derek comes over and helps Spencer hold you down, and Spencer removes the duct tape from your mouth.

“Y/N--”

“No, let me go!” you beg.

“You got her?”

“Yeah, I got her.”

Spencer lets go of you and Derek has to use his whole body to hold you still even though you’re still trying to get away. Spencer removes your blindfold and you blink rapidly to counteract the brightness of the dim lights. For someone who has had a blindfold on the entire time you’ve been here, the dim lighting it very bright to you. You look around and lock eyes with Derek who is the one who is holding you. You notice JJ and Emily caring for Melissa, and Spencer comes into view in front of you.

Almost immediately, you begin sobbing. You’re free. You’re safe now. You’re not going to hurt anymore. Every single tear you have been holding back is now coming out and there is nothing anyone can do to stop it. Derek lets you go knowing you’re not going to start swinging which allows Spencer to pull you into his arms.

“I’m so sorry, darling. You’re safe now. You’re okay now.”

You bury your face in Spencer’s chest and sob and wail as loud as you can. Spencer can’t stop his tears from falling, and he looks at the rest of the team. JJ and Emily are in tears, Derek is clenching his jaw tightly, Hotch has a stoic look on his face but is breaking down inside, and Rossi has to look away before he cries.

“We need a medic,” Hotch says into his mic.

By the time the ambulance arrives, your sobs have died down to quiet cries. The men are all arrested and put into separate cop cars, and you’re laid onto a stretcher. Melissa is taken to the hospital in another ambulance, and you’re put into the back of the first one.

“Spencer,” you whimper.

“I’m right here.” He climbs into the back and sits next to you. He grabs your hand and runs his thumb across the back of your hand. “I’m right here. You’re safe now.”

“Please don’t leave me,” you cry.

“I’m not. I’m right here. You’re not alone. They can’t hurt you anymore.”

The entire ride to the hospital is you crying over your innocence being destroyed and Spencer trying not to cry.

x

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[another-fantasy-world]

Turning Tables

→ student!agathario x professor!fem!reader

word count ~ 2.1k

summary: You built your reputation on cold stares, brutal grading, and a mind sharpened by trauma, spite and caffeine. But when Agatha Harkness and Rio Vidal, two academic legends cloaked in power and mystery, walk into your classroom as students, everything shifts. They watch you like a challenge. Like a hunt. And for the first time, you're not sure who's in control. What begins as a lecture in literature turns into a slow unraveling of self; tense, electric, and laced with something far more dangerous than desire. You were the one meant to teach. So why do you feel like prey?

authors note: my first agathario fic skfnfkjx panicking so much. i've longed to write for this fandom yet has been scared until I swallowed my fear and asked @saphiccarma for help. So, I dedicate this to her, and to all of the members of the lesbian army behind agathario. I hope y'all like it 😔🦶

content warning(s): minors do not interact pls, sexual tension in the classroom, unhealthy dynamics, older students agathario and younger professor reader, might be smut in future chapters, psychological unraveling, loss of control, shitty writing, non-canon compliance, shitty characterization

═════════════

If someone had told you you'd become your mother before hitting thirty, you'd have told them to shove a pipe cleaner up their ass sideways.

But here you are, burnt coffee in hand, fake smile plastered on, trapped in the sacred hellscape of the faculty lounge. Surrounded by crusty relics in crocheted cardigans who quote Plato like it's a kink.

The worst part? You're one of them now. A professor. A fucking academic.

The university, though? Disgustingly prestigious. The kind of place that gets whispered about in overpriced cafés and college admissions horror stories.

State-of-the-art everything. A three-story library that's still expanding. Gyms that smell like money and ambition. Dorms so cushy they might as well be hotel suites.

With that kind of setup, it’s no wonder people assume you slept your way into the position.

Would’ve been easier if that were true.

But no. You didn’t climb the ladder by seduction. You clawed your way up fueled by childhood trauma, hatred, and a PhD’s worth of spite.

Now you’ve got two jobs, more money than you know what to do with, and just enough friends to keep from being labeled a total psychopathic freak.

A poetic little fuck-you to your dead mother who said literature was a waste of time.

You’re on your third cup of disappointment, pretending that bitter caffeine will buffer you from the social agony of the faculty lounge. It doesn’t. The couch springs are older than you. The conversation stinks of tenure, arrogance and ego.

At least your office is far enough from these fossils. Shame they won’t let you bring your own coffee machine, something about “budget regulations” and “fire hazards,” as if anyone here had enough energy to spontaneously combust.

“Professor Sunshine!”

Your eye twitches.

The nickname is less about warmth and more about fallout. You burn too bright. Students flee like they’ve looked directly at you for too long, and sometimes, they have.

You don’t mind. You get paid whether they cry or not.

“It’s Doctor Sunshine to you, Mr. Maximoff,” you say flatly, turning to the walking sports drink in khakis.

Pietro Maximoff grins like a frat boy who never quite grew out of hazing rituals.

“I see the sun’s shining less today,” he quips, snatching your mug and taking a bold swig. He grimaces. Good.

“Let me treat you to something better.”

“I make more money than you,” you shoot back.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Then I’m a miracle.”

He snorts. “Okay, hot stuff. Heard you’ve got two world-class historians in your class.” He wiggles his eyebrows like a cheap sitcom extra.

“And?” You're used to having famous people in your class, you wonder why Pietro even mentioned such a thing.

“Nothing… Just betting five bucks you can’t make them drop.”

“What are you? A college frat boy?” You scoffed at him, raising an unimpressed brow

“He was,” a silken voice interrupts, light and amused.

Wanda Maximoff appears beside him, graceful as ever, red hair tucked behind one ear like she’s the muse in a painting no one’s allowed to touch. She taps Pietro’s head with her ring-heavy hand before turning her attention to you with that knowing smile she always wears; soft, maternal, quietly terrifying.

The siblings were opposites. Complete opposites.

Sokovian History professor. Faculty darling. Her evaluations read like love letters. Where Pietro was all sweat and chaos, Wanda moved like silk in a summer breeze; graceful, calm, but with an undeniable weight to her presence. She was the kind of woman who didn’t need to raise her voice to be heard. When she walked into a room, conversations hushed, not out of intimidation, but reverence. Her voice, laced with a gentle Sokovian lilt, wrapped around every word like a spell cast with scarlet gloves.

Students clung to her every word, enchanted by her quiet brilliance. She didn’t lecture; she wove narratives. In her class, history wasn’t a timeline, it was a living, breathing creature, resurrected by the soft cadence of her voice and the stories that lived in her gaze. She taught with the care of someone handling old wounds, her fingers gentle on the past, her eyes sharp enough to see through it.

And there was something ethereal about her, something in the way her rings caught the light as she gestured mid-thought, or the way she always seemed to know more than she let on. A mother to her students, yes, but a terrifyingly perceptive one. She noticed everything. Remembered everything.

Even now, she was looking at you as if she already knew where your story ends.

Meanwhile, Pietro teaches Sports Science and gets fan mail from student-athletes and wide-eyed girls auditing his class. Last year, he lost the “Hottest Male Professor” poll to Professor Rogers and sulked for weeks.

“Fifty bucks,” Pietro says, doubling down.

You flash him a predatory grin. “Deal.”

Wanda sighs, long-suffering and elegant. “One day, you two will outgrow your pissing contests.”

You doubt it.

You brush off Pietro’s smugness, but his words stick like a dare. You don’t believe in omens, but something about today feels off.

You were right.

And fuck Pietro. You're never taking another bet from him ever again.

You enter the lecture hall like always: bored, bitter, buzzing on burnt caffeine. The room smells like old textbooks and anticipation. You’ve locked the door behind you; your usual ritual of academic sadism. No latecomers. No mercy.

But something’s off.

There’s a weight in the air, heat, almost. Not temperature, exactly. Just the kind of heat that coils down your spine, instinctive and ancient. You feel it before you even meet their eyes.

When you scan the room, your gaze skips past the sleepy freshmen and hungover upperclassmen until it snaps, front row, dead center.

Two women.

They sit like they own the space. Not trying to. Knowing they do. Confidence was oozing out from them in beautiful waves, they seemed like the embodiment of professional arrogance. Their eyes, although different in color, stare at you the same way. It felt heavy, yet not suffocating. It felt strangely comforting, and that thought alone sent shivers down your spine.

The one on the left has dark eyes like bruised velvet and a mouth made for ruin. The other leans back with a legal pad and the posture of a queen at court; unbothered, unreadable, untouchable.

Their gazes land on you with perfect stillness. No blinking. No flinching. Just that weight again.

And in that exact moment, you know.

You��re fucked. Deeply. Profoundly. Existentially.

They don’t look like students. They don’t look like anything you’ve ever taught.

You grip the podium like it’ll anchor you to reality.

You cleared your throat, breaking eye contact like it burned.

“If you're here because you thought this class would be easy. Get the hell out.”

The words came out flat, practiced. You always open this way, your voice is steady. Cold. Scripted. It’s the same line you give every year. It usually works. The scared ones scatter. The cocky ones get humbled after the first exam.

But not them.

They don’t even blink.

The tension didn’t lift. It coiled.

Like they were waiting for something.

Like you were the one being tested.

“If you’re still sitting here in five minutes, you’re agreeing to read the blood and bones of every civilization that ever wrote a word. You’ll write essays that rewrite your brain. You’ll drown in dead languages and sleep with metaphors under your pillow.”

You click the remote. The first slide glows behind you.

No one moves.

Especially not them.

The woman with dark brown yet silver-streaked hair leans back in her seat, languid. Deliberate. Her fingers trace something into the spine of her notebook, though you’re too far to see what. Her gaze flickers to you—sharp, ancient. Not tired, but measured. Like you’re a puzzle she's already halfway through solving.

Beside her, the one with a jaw like carved stone and a stare like a held knife to your throat doesn’t even try to pretend she’s paying attention to the slides. She only watches you as she nibbles on her pencil in a playful and annoyingly seductive way.

Then it hits you, like a brick that fell from 15 stories high.

You do know who they are. Everyone on campus does.

You mentally kick yourself for not realizing it sooner.

Dr. Agatha Harkness, expert in ancient texts, dead languages, and cryptic footnotes that even seasoned scholars refuse to touch.

Dr. Rio Vidal, historian of legal theory and the laws no longer written. To make it easier, she's a historian of law, but not the kind written in dusty textbooks. The kind etched in blood, carved in stone, whispered across centuries.

They’re legends in academia. The kind of people who give guest lectures that make other professors take notes. The kind of names that carry weight, and bite. Both with credentials that make your curriculum vitae look like a high school résumé.

They’ve taken classes before. Rumor has it that they're working on a PhD that you're pretty sure they already have. Wanda, in particular, had thoughts. She blabbered for an hour straight in your apartment once, her voice shifting from frustration to reverence and back again like she couldn’t decide whether to curse them or canonize them. You’d laughed at her, teasing her for being so dramatic.

Stress, admiration, annoyance, arousal, she cycled through all of it in a single paragraph.

You remember thinking she was overreacting.

Now, standing in front of them, you’re not so sure.

You didn’t look at your roster. You never do on the first day.

And maybe that was a mistake.

Because you didn’t know they’d be here.

You didn’t know they’d be like this.

You didn’t expect the air to shift with their gaze. You didn’t expect to feel watched. Studied. Hunted.

You turn back to the projector screen like it’s armor. Like it can block the way their eyes follow your every movement.

You speak. Words about Gilgamesh and Sumerian cuneiform fill the room. You’ve said them a hundred times before.

But your voice feels foreign in your mouth. Your pacing is off. You almost trip over a quote from an Epic because-

You can feel them.

Not in the way students usually feel. Not in the twitchy, distracted, too-online way. They’re quiet. Still. Intent.

Like they’re dissecting you. Or worse, understanding you.

Your pulse skips a beat. You’re hyper-aware of your throat. Your instincts whisper one word: run.

You clear your throat again. You’re not nervous. You’ve taught this class for years. You've spoken at conferences with stricter crowds and colder rooms.

You’re not nervous.

Your hand tightens around the remote. It was an attempt to keep composure, to stay strong.

“Attendance is irrelevant,” you say, voice clipped. You make yourself sound bored. Detached. Like you’re above this.

“This class will not cater to your schedules, your feelings, or your GPAs. You’ll pass if you earn it. You’ll fail if you don’t. I don’t do second chances.”

It comes out clean. Sharp. You're good at this.

You move through the next slide, keeping your eyes away from them. You’re aware of their presence like you’re aware of gravity; constant, invisible, undeniable.

“This is not a course in reading comprehension. We’ll be dissecting context, subtext, and cultural memory. We’ll read what was said, what wasn’t said, and what was forbidden to say.” You continue

You hear the faintest sound, a slight rustle of fabric followed by the soft creaking of university issued plastic chairs, and maybe a breath caught at the wrong moment. It’s quiet, but your brain latches onto it like a warning.

Still, you push forward. You have to.

So you did. Despite the magnetic pull they seem to both have, you managed to keep yourself together until the end of your orientation and the short discussion of your syllabus. You might be cruel, but you're not a monster to immediately begin a lesson on the first day.

The class ends like any other. You dismiss them. They rise.

And yet they don’t rush. In fact, they stay behind, the last students to ever walk out your doors.

Agatha meets your gaze for a breath too long. She doesn’t smile, not really. But her mouth moves like she might.

Rio tilts her head slightly, like she’s filing you away in a mental drawer.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, Professor,” one of them murmurs.

You don’t remember which.

You stay frozen long after they’re gone. Only whispers of their presence remain.

You’re used to narrating the room like a well-worn novel; predictable, underlined, annotated. But now, the chapters are being rewritten without your consent, and for the first time, you don’t know if you’re the author… or just a footnote in someone else’s story

You're definitely losing that bet.

[jamespotterismydaddy]

The Prince Regent

aemond x sister smut

A/N: I haven't given yall smut in so long :( pls forgive me

WARNINGS: smut!, incest, murder (bye bye aegon)

WORD COUNT: 1,475 words

You feel ill when your brothers come back from battle. Your husband, Aegon is a step away from death and Aemond is… different. It all unnerves you.

You spend hours visiting your husband on his sickbed but there’s only so much you can take before you have to retire to your own chambers. You hated Aegon sometimes but you truly never wanted such a thing to befall him. You miss when he was healthy.

“Sister.” You don’t think you even heard Aemond knock before he’s in your room.

Your eyes well with tears when you see him, knowing it’s okay to break a little when in the presence of your dearest brother. “Aemond…” you let out in a whimper.

His face softens as he immediately makes his way over to you, pulling you into his strong arms. “It’s just all so awful.” You say.

“Oh my poor, dōna riña.” He murmurs into your hair, rubbing circles on your back. You’re such a fragile little thing. Aegon was terrible to you. Your twin can hardly understand why you’re so upset that he’s bedridden.

“I just… don’t want my children to grow up without their father. They’ve already lost their brother. They don’t understand why he won’t come to play with them anymore. There’s no way for me to explain it to them… I don’t know how to help them.”

“Aegon was a shit father anyhow.” He comments.

“Aemond.” You give him a scolding look through your tears.

“You can’t say I’m being untruthful. Besides, I can care for and love your children better than he ever could.”

“You are so careful with them. I am appreciative of it of course.” You murmur, feeling comforted by your brother’s gentle touch. “But you shouldn’t speak so unkindly of our King while he lies on what might be his deathbed.”

“If it is his deathbed, then I am the king.” Aemond responds.

“Would it not be Jaehaera as queen?” You question. Should it not be your daughter who would rule next?

“It would be difficult to have a girl heading our cause when Rhaenyra is also a woman. Besides, i’ve been named Prince Regent. I’m the king in all but name… and all kings need a queen.” He gives you a look that you can’t quite place.

“I am sure the Baratheon girl will be ever so pleased when she is informed of her rise in status.” You murmur.

“I won’t have dark haired, Baratheon mutts as my heirs.”

“Then who shall you marry? One of Vaemond’s granddaughters perhaps? I don’t think a Velaryon is worth breaking such a beneficial betrothal.” You don’t see it yet. You haven’t caught on to what his words mean, his treasonous words.

“I shan't break my engagement for some woman I care not for... I’ll break it for you.”

Your jaw drops. “Aemond, that is absurd.”

“I will quell their anger by arranging a match with Daeron. A third son is as good as a second.”

“You know that isn’t what i’m shocked by.”

“Are you truly shocked?” He tilts your chin up so you have no choice but to look him in the eyes. “I know it is I that you desire, not Aegon.”

“Aegon is my husband.” You protest.

“Aegon is a useless cunt who will be dead soon.” Aemond says firmly. “And when he’s dead, i’ll be king.”

“He might yet live and if he does, i’ll still be his wife. I won’t be an adulterer.” You push away from your brother, creating an appropriate distance. 

“I would never make such a woman of you. All I ask is that you answer my one question. If Aegon were dead, would you choose to marry me?”

There’s a long pause as you think about your answer. It would be treasonous to respond truthfully… but it is Aemond asking the question. You can’t lie to your beloved brother.

“I would.”

There’s a certain glint in his eye when you give him your answer. He leaves the room without saying anything else.

Over the next few hours, you try your hardest not to overthink. The way Aemond phrased the question, the way he looked at you after you answered, it was unnerving. You know your brother wants nothing more than to take care of you but he could never harm Aegon, could he?

Your question was answered by morning. Aegon is dead.

It wasn’t Aemond. You tell yourself, repeating it for a week. You only left your room when it was time for the funeral. You don’t speak to anyone, especially not him. Tonight, you don’t sleep, trying to distract yourself with what most would call silly feminine interests.

“Sister?” You look up from your needlework to see him standing there, stoically in the middle of your room.

“The hour is late, Aemond.” You say, confused by his presence and more than nervous by it.

“I know. You should be sleeping. I thought you would be sleeping.”

“I couldn’t find my rest.” You whisper.

“Why?” 

He knows why.

“It was by your hand, was it not?”

“I hardly know of what you speak.” He brushes you off.

“I am no fool.”

“I know you aren’t. That is why you’ll never say it aloud.”

“Is that a threat?” You ask and there's a visible pang of hurt shown on his visage.

“I would never do anything to harm you.” He states firmly, getting closer and taking the needlework out of your hands so he may hold them instead.

“But you would covet your brother’s wife as he lies on his deathbed. He has been cold for but a week; have you already come to claim me?”

“You desire to be claimed by me.” He states, irritated by your current disdain for him.

“I desire a good man by my side.”

“Then why do you think of me when Aegon fucks you?” Aemond grabs your wrists, pulling you closer to him. You gasp. He’s never spoken to you like this before.

“Aemond…” You breathe out, appalled. 

“You toil with this decision so i’ll make it for you.” His right hand slides down to your waist and he pulls you flush against him. “We will consummate tonight.”

He kisses you with rough passion, stealing your breath from your lips. Your brother has waited too long for this and will not wait a second longer. He pushes you back until you reach the bed, the two of you falling atop it.

“I will have you now, my wife… my beautiful bride.” 

“This is… we can’t.”

“The King can do as he pleases.”

He wastes no time, reaching his hand up your skirts until he finds your small clothes. He rubs gently through the fabric, smirking as he feels the wetness before he pulls the garment down.

“Be gentle, Aemond.” It was never a request you would make of Aegon. Such a sentiment would do you no good with a man who takes pleasure in pain.

“Of course, my dōna riña but by the end of the night, my babe will be in your belly.”

You gaze up at him as he unbuckles his trousers, such a sweet nymphet was wasted on a bastard like Aegon.

You wince as his cock splits your tight cunt and he marvels at the grimace. He must be much more well endowed than the dead king to warrant such a response.

“Shh, I'm sorry. I know it hurts. Poor sweet angel.” He lets you adjust to him, wanting you to enjoy the times you will lie together just as he does.

When he no longer sees pain strewn across your face, he begins to thrust. A little choked gasp leaves your throat as he does; you never expected to enjoy such a feeling.

“Hmm, you like that?” He taunts, beginning to pick up to a pace that you can’t handle.

“Oh, it’s too fast.” You whimper, but he doesn’t slow. Your big brother knows what you can take. Besides, there’s a bit of sadism in every Targaryen man.

He begins to pound into you, relishing each moan his baby sister makes. It’s sick, but nothing brings him more pleasure than knowing he will be a better husband than Aegon in every way possible.

Aemond hooks one of your legs over his shoulder and the new angle lets him get even deeper inside you.

“Gods, you’re just sucking me in.” He wanted so desperately to last longer as he begins to furiously rub your pearl but the way you squeeze around him makes it hard.

His hips stutter but he knows you’re close too as you begin to spasm around him. He digs himself into you with one final thrust before painting your walls white with his seed.

“We will have the wedding this week, my darling. I’ll wait no longer for you.”

comment to be added to the taglist

[sophenelisse]

⋆˙⟡ — plot ideas !!

hey y'all!! i'm back at it again — meaning i'm bored, it's a dreary autumn, and i'm finding myself retreating back to cutsey fantasylands in my mind 🥰 listed below are a few plot ideas i've had in my notesapp for a while — as always, send an ask or a private message if you'd be interested in any of these up !! happy writing !!

childhood sweethearts (on the rocks)

a plot where muse a and muse b have been friends since childhood — here and there, they would have a one night stand, but never really allowed themselves to progress into anything more than just friends. now, as adults who are figuring out the dating scene isn’t as easy as their parents made it seem, muse a and muse b are seeing each other more and more frequently. eventually, muse a starts seeing someone new, and has less and less time for muse b. i’m talking jealousy, tension!!! muse b realizing maybe they’ve had feelings for muse a the whole time, muse a having to make tough decisions — either continue dating this new person or hurt muse b!!! i liiiiive for drama pls

childhood sweethearts (with a twist)

okay but a plot where close childhood friends reunite — except muse a was in love with muse b growing up, and muse b became muse a’s best friend’s high school sweetheart. muse a concealed their feelings for muse b all throughout their friendship, in high school & college, although both muses definitely had feelings & felt sparks for one another long before muse b started dating muse a’s best friend. despite the connection they’d felt, neither wanted to jeopardize any of the friendships between the three, and ultimately, muse b ended up married to muse a’s bff… except now, years later, muse a and muse b reunite at muse a’s best friend’s funeral. imagine the hurt of losing a loved one but having the comfort of yet another loved one?? blurred lines, tension, second-guesses…….

let me take care of you (southern charm)

okay so i’ve been kicking around a ranch hand plot where muse a is looking for help around the ranch they’ve just inherited due to a death in the family, and seeing as they’re just one person with lots of land, and virtually no knowledge on how to take care of it, it’s impossible to go it all on their own… enter muse b. muse b, a man who not only knows how to work the land but can take care of the ranch with ease, finds it impossible to not take care of muse a, while he's at it. just give me texan sunsets and lovers with low static music crooning in the background from some vinyl record please & ty

friends with benefits (with feelings)

a friends with benefits plot where muse a is dead-set, hellbent on not having a relationship and not getting too intimately involved with muse b; muse b has been in love with muse a for years, and muse a knows this, but still can’t bring themselves to get emotionally attached. i need tensionnnn and like, a lil toxicity ykwim??? for the angst omg 

will you come find me (after the after party?)

so hear me out — a plot where muse a and muse b met at a friend of a friend’s party & instantly hit it off. muse a is immediately infatuated with muse b — they laugh, talk, drink; they even make an incredible beer pong team. at some point during the night, muse a decides to put the moves on muse b. however, after leaving to get them some drinks, muse a comes back to find muse b kissing someone else… and to make it worse? it’s their boyfriend/girlfriend. tbh this plot could have the potential of a shakespearean comedy if we did it right akdjgh ok i'm talking messssssssyyyy 

you feel like home (but i’ve got a different address)

okay so i need a tense plot where muse a and muse b are soulmates, beyond the shadow of a doubt — but muse a is married to a nightmare of a spouse. little by little, they spend more time together one on one, but it’s getting increasingly harder for muse b to see muse a with their spouse, especially knowing how that spouse treats muse a. idk this is a rough plot/work in progress plot but i feel like it has potential to go somewhere!!!

— as always, send an ask or a private message if you'd be interested in any of these up!! happy writing 🥰🥰

[sixosix]

SOMETHING HAPPENS | XIAO

summary verr goldet and huai'an playing matchmaker, basically

warnings wc 1.7k, this fic is xiao pretty much watching over reader in his very xiao way so if you’re not into stalking elements pls don’t read LMFAO + xiao having a crushhh

You’ve felt the looming presence of someone watching you ever since you’ve set foot in Liyue.

It wasn’t anything sudden—in fact, no ordinary human being would have noticed it. But you’ve been trained to deal with all sorts of animals, from wild Rishboland Tigers down to slippery Red-Tailed Lizards. You could sense the tiniest snap of twigs and freshly fallen leaves that could have only occurred from an interference.

And having dealt with animals for so long, you can safely conclude that whatever has been following you for the past ten days is definitely not an animal. If it were, it would’ve been some skilled predator that somehow disappears into thin air when you steal a glimpse. The only possible trace you could find is the barely discernible mark on the dirt.

It also helped your Vision gave you the blessing of being attuned to the wind and the shift of air from a heavy presence.

You thought you’d be dead by the fifth day of your stay—murdered by this newly-acquired stalker of yours, but nothing happened. You asked (politely, with a please) this person to reveal themselves and save you both the trouble, but nothing happened.

You even went as far as to throw yourself into the first hilichurl camp you saw to see if anything happened, yet while you were defending yourself against one, all of them fell to the ground limp once you turned back to them. You search for more camps nearby, but they’ve all been cleared—and all of them were freshly beaten as if your stalker made quick work once they figured out what you were up to.

“It’s hard to tell if you’re out to protect me instead of murdering me if you don’t show yourself,” you say to the empty field, hoping for at least one answer, but nothing happens.

You suppose all that matters is that it’s hard to feel lonely with the constant presence.

“You been hanging around Wangshu Inn lately?” asks the man you went up to. It is in case you weren’t alone in what seemed to be the beginning plot of a horror movie. At your reluctant nod, he snorts, “Well, aren’t you a lucky one? Or perhaps it’s the complete opposite if you’ve been up to no good and disrespected an Adeptus.”

You don't understand what this man’s point is. You’ve briefly heard of the term ‘Adepti’ floating around Liyue, but you’re not quite sure if it’s one person or something else entirely. Have you done something to offend any deities in Liyue? All you’ve really been up to is researching the wildlife and tracking down the stalker. 

“What does Wangshu Inn have to do with this?”

“Why don’t you ask and find out yourself?”

You frown. “It would save me hours if you just tell me now.”

“I already told you what I know, kid,” says the man to you, a full-grown adult. “But I suppose I can let you in on one secret: you’ve piqued the interest of someone.”

This man is crazy.

You sigh. You’ve only been hanging around Wangshu Inn for shelter, but the sun is setting a little too fast, and the warm lights and delicious aroma of their food are starting to speak to you—you suppose there is no other way.

Making your way up to an inn has never been more interesting.

While walking, you belatedly realize that you feel the presence of the stranger again. It’s stronger than before, says the winds, and they never lie with what they touch as they fly by.

You also take it upon yourself to ask the merchants and customers alike, calling yourself new and curious as to what they know about the Adeptus lingering around Wangshu Inn.

“An Adeptus? All I know is that this inn is hiding a mysterious secret, but none of us have really gotten to a point where we found more about it.”

A secret.

You’d really prefer if the man you met before weren’t lying, as you would want your stalker to at least be some sort of god than an ordinary human being who has been watching you for no other reason.

You mull this information in your head as you climb up the inn. And then your limbs lock in place once you hear a voice. It speaks to you, for some unknown reason—as if the winds have quieted down to make you listen. You’re not sure if it’s the rasp or the absolute command his voice demands that gets to you, but—

“The next person to come here will ask about me. You will say you know nothing about my whereabouts.”

Then, a new, feminine voice speaks up. It breaks the brief trance you’ve been under. “…Is this the same person you’ve been watching over for the past two weeks, Adeptus Xiao?”

Adeptus Xiao. Watching over…?

Yet when you pick up pace and hurry to the counter, it’s just a woman alone, wide-eyed as she looks at you as if you were the one acting stranger.

“Sorry,” you blurt. “I’m, ah… I thought…”

Were you really just imagining that? No. That’s impossible.

The lady smiles. “I’ve seen you around the Inn recently. My name is Verr Goldet, the boss here at Wangshu Inn.”

“Oh, yes, nice to meet you.” Embarrassed, you choose to stare at the cat resting on the edge of her desk. You wonder if that cat can sense your distress; it’s blinking up at you innocently, surely the eyes of someone who has witnessed what you’ve missed. “My name’s Y/N, and I wanted to book a room…”

Verr Goldet brightens, but you suppose anyone receiving a customer would be, too. “I see. Have you considered the room on our highest floor?”

“Not…really?”

She hums, then smiles like she's letting you in on a little secret. “You should. If not, then at least consider climbing up the stairs and see the view for yourself. Most of my customers book rooms solely for that reason.”

That does sound appealing, and you have time to spare. “I will; thank you for the suggestion.”

Pleased, Verr Goldet turns to her desk to assumably book you a room. In the silence, you find your voice, “Hey, boss.”

You look up, and Verr Goldet’s eyes are sparkling. “Hm, yes? Oh, your expression looks terrified.” She laughs, sliding a key across the desk and urging you to take it. “I’m just used to correcting people who call me ‘boss lady’. What was your question?”

“Well, I’m pretty new, and—I’ve heard something interesting about this place.”

“There are a lot of rumors about this place. You’d have to be more specific.”

She might either kick you out from where you’re standing or understand what you’re about to say. “Well, ever since I arrived here at Wangshu Inn I always felt like I was being watched over… and then a man I met outside from here told me that there’s an Adeptus nearby?”

“I see. So you’ve met my husband,” she smiles knowingly. “You’re not from Liyue, aren’t you?” You shake your head. “Usually, no one knows about this, but my husband must’ve caught it, too. You’re looking for Adeptus Xiao, and I have noticed that he’s been lingering a lot more recently. More so than usual—I’ve concluded it’s ever since you arrived.”

“Should I be scared?” Because you’re not. Your heart is pounding. It’s a little messed up, but the thought of someone so highly esteemed having noticed you sends a thrill down your spine.

“Of course not. Xiao is the slayer of demons—he keeps Liyue and, most notably, this Inn safe from harm. Of course, I can’t blame your curiosity: no one else has seen Xiao with their own eyes.”

“Am I correct in assuming my stalker could be this Adeptus?”

Verr Goldet laughs. “Why don’t you head up and find out?”

Breathtaking is the first thought that crosses your mind as you finally reach the terrace. You can’t hold back your elated gasp seeing the place from this height—the lanterns, the people, the scenery.

And then you say, “Adeptus Xiao, are you here? Verr Goldet told me you’d be.” She didn’t say it directly, but the implications were there.

The wind shifts as a presence materializes behind you. It’s an all-too-familiar feeling. Goosebumps arise in your arms, and it’s not from the breeze. You turn, and come face-to-face with the most beautiful man you’ve ever met.

Xiao clicks his tongue, his pale skin tinted red. “I did not ask for them to resort to matchmaking.”

“You heard that? So you’re not denying that you’re the one who’s been stalking me ever so creepily?”

“Do not disrespect the Adepti with your accusations,” Xiao quickly retorts, like it’s second nature.

But you now know that one of the Adepti has a little crush on you, so you hardly care less about that at this point. “I’d say that invading my privacy is more disrespectful.”

Xiao’s silence embodies a scolded puppy.

You grin, stepping closer. It widens as Xiao stares at you warily, yet doesn’t disappear. The moonlight brings out the color on his face. He’s beautiful and acting unbelievably adorable. “It’s nice to meet you, Adeptus Xiao. Thank you for protecting me during my stay in Liyue.”

It must’ve been the sincerity in your voice that has him clearing his throat, scrambling for some sense of control again. “It’s—It’s my duty.”

“To watch over one person in particular?”

Xiao glares weakly, caught red-handed. “Do not get so presumptuous.” He says, yet he hasn’t disappeared into thin air while talking to you, unlike what Verr Goldet says usually happens. That alone says a lot.

“It’s hard not to when you look at me like that.”

Xiao visibly startles, losing his calm composure by blinking. “How do I look at y—“

“I think I’ll be staying in Wangshu Inn for a little while longer,” you voice aloud, the grin on your lips never once faltering. “I’ll be in your care, Xiao.”

Xiao cannot, in fact, handle this, as his entire face goes up in flames, and he disappears into wisps of teal and black. You’re not too worried. You can still feel his presence, the way you’re already getting used to.

A/N OH MY GOD. A XIAO FIC. FINALLY. FROM SIXOSIX. SELF-PROCLAIMED XIAO MAIN... im shaking as i post this like im so nervous. and i hate this. but out of all the xiao fics i tried to write this one has been the one i actually completed without throwing out halfway through

[areyouwell]

Memento Mori

Ch.1

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: Violence, slight body horror

Word Count: 8.1K

A/N: Took me long enough. New long-fic comin' in from the left! i know i teased this around three weeks ago (ish) but here's chapter one. not sure this is gonna be as long as Phobophobia but i'm really excited about this one. it's a little darker (yeah i know) but i already love this MC. if anyone wants tagging in this pls lmk, i don't wanna assume everyone who i tagged in Phobophobia wants to be tagged again so i'll start a new list <3

Dividers by @/sweetmelodygraphics

“So, as detailed here, there have been a string of these… murders, I suppose.”

Logan sighed heavily. When he woke up this morning, the one thing he didn’t expect was to be called into Charles Xavier’s office so soon after having breakfast, let alone be greeted with grainy photographs of some of the most horrific murder scenes he’d ever had the displeasure of looking at. Entrails, bones, flesh, eyes. None of it was where it should be, which most of the time, seemed scattered around the floor rather than attached to whichever poor, unfortunate soul who’d had the shitty luck of running into their silent assassin. Charles pointed the telescopic stick towards the mangled jacket of one of the equally mangled victims. Logan couldn’t even tell what gender they were, their face nothing but a bloody pulp.

Almost as if it had been exploded from the inside out. 

“This symbol here is the only string that connects the murders, and after doing a little digging,” he nodded thankfully to Ororo, her white hair bobbing with her dip of acknowledgement. “We found they all belonged to the same company, here.” With a click of the remote in his hands, the projection flipped to the next slide, a map of San Fransisco, a large red circle drawn around a location Logan was only somewhat familiar with, only because he’d walked past it a few times. 

“It’s a warehouse,” he offered, several heads turning to look at him. “I’ve walked ‘round there couple times. Nothin’ special, s’always buzzin’ with life.” He shrugged thoughtfully, tugging a cigar from his jacket pocket and flicking the Zippo lighter open and shut with his other hand. Charles gave him a slightly irritated look, but he pretended not to notice.”So… What? Our killer’s just popping caps in the head’s underpaid workers? Doesn’t make much sense.” 

“That’s what we thought too,” Ororo continued, placing down a few pieces of paper and spreading them about the table. “Until we started to notice a pattern. They’ve been picking off specific shift workers, mainly those on the late shift. But it’s never new members of staff either. Always those who’ve worked there for at least two years. Lately, their security has increased, but once they leave work, they’re basically on their own.” Storm took the remote from Charles and clicked to the next slide, a list of names and hours flaring onto the screen, the names of victims having been crossed out, though their hours were still visible on the row of the rota.

“Ya don’t think this has anything to do with that orphanage incident, do you?” Kitty piped up, cupping her mug of tea in both hands, either for comfort or for warmth, Logan couldn’t tell. She had a good point. It must have been around a month ago now. A fire had started downtown in the dead of night. Officials had said it was a discarded cigarette from one of the employees, but that didn’t explain why all the windows and doors had been locked.

Everyone within burned. Children included. 

“It’s certainly a theory…” Scott mused, rubbing his hand against his jaw in thought. “A terrible accident sounded far too much like a cover story. Think this killer had something to do with it?”

Charles sighed heavily. “Ordinarily, yes, I’d have some kind of suspicion, if it wasn’t for the fact our killer was elsewhere at the time.” He nodded to Ororo, who clicked the remote once again. “This was taken not an hour beforehand, on the other side of the city. Unless the killer can teleport, there’s no way they could have made it across town in such a short amount of time, let alone take all the precautions and set alight to the building. Though I do not believe it was merely a terrible accident, I don’t believe they had anything to do with it.” Charles finished before Ororo leant over the pages she’d spread on the table, spinning one to face the rest of the team.

“Though we do have this. A pattern of all the attacks and locations,” Logan stood up to skirt around the table, standing between Kitty and Marie as he inspected the red pen. With every X, the attacks almost formed an exact circle around the warehouse, almost as if the killer could predict which ways those victims would take home. Especially after the first attack. “We think the next one will happen here,” Ororo pointed to a side street far between the locations either side. “The most recent one being here, it’s logical to think they’d take the opposite side. At least, that’s what we’re hoping…” She trailed off, and Logan returned to his seat, having an idea as to what this meeting was actually about.

“You want us to lay a trap, right? Trail several employees home and jump in before Killer McGee can get their hands on ‘em.” He clarified, and Charles nodded a little too darkly for his liking. 

“Exactly. Which is why I won’t be asking you all on this mission. We need to avoid detection and sending all of us would be too much of a risk. Whoever this is, we must assume they’re a mutant. These attacks happen quickly and viciously, and to cause such damage in such a short amount of time, we must assume they possess some sort of ability.

“Scott, Ororo and Logan, I trust you can handle this task? I will be in Cerebro with Jean on hand, and the rest I want you on standby in the Blackbird in case backup is required.”

“Wait, we’re doing this tonight?” Marie squeaked, casting a wary glance to Kitty who returned her expression. Logan was relieved neither of them would be actively on the mission, he’d come to care for them both deeply, and whilst that didn’t mean he didn’t care for either Ororo or, though he’d never admit it, Scott, he was glad the two girls would be on standby rather than active duty.

“The attacks seem random, as if they flipped a coin to see if they would head out each night, but when you look closer, they’re only on the days the older members of staff are on shift. We think they’re looking for something, or someone, specific.” Ororo explained, pointing back to the projection on the screen. “These three here have been working at this specific warehouse for three, four and seven years respectably,” she clicked the remote again for each of their work ID cards to flash onto the screen. “Scott, you’re tailing Alec,” she gestured to the string bean of a man, blonde hair styled into several spikes atop his head, two silver snakebite piercings adorned his lower lip.  

“Logan, you’ve got Manuel, he’s been there for four years,” Logan didn’t think they could have found such a different-looking guy to the previous one if they fucking tried. Manuel was built like a brick shit house, a buzzcut of dark hair dusted the top of his otherwise bald head, ears like fucking cauliflowers. Of course, that’s who he’d be tailing, probably because a punch from this guy would send anyone else across the damn room. 

“And I’ll be tailing Henry, he works in the office upstairs but is still very much a likely target. We’re hoping to locate and pin down the killer before their shifts even finish, but in the eventuality The Professor can’t get a lock on them, this is the backup plan. Got it?”

Both Logan and Scott nodded in unison. It didn’t seem too much of a problem mission if this killer was cowardly enough to be picking these guys off one by one, he didn’t think they had much in terms of fighting prowess. Taking an enemy by surprise was the coward’s way out, in his opinion, though he supposed not everybody could heal the way he could. 

And taking this killer by surprise was exactly the plan…

Maybe he should rethink his principles. 

“Be suited up and ready to head out at ten. Gives us at least an hour to locate and set up.” Ororo gathered the papers on the table, tapping the small stack against the surface before tucking them beneath her arm. “Right, I’ve got a class to teach, pretty sure you do too, Professor.” She turned to Charles who simply smiled and nodded, ending the meeting just like that. With a huff and a stretch, Logan stood from his seat, instantly reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulling out a thick cigar, earning himself a sharp look of disapproval from Xavier, the Professor glancing pointedly to the chilly air beyond the window. Logan knew what he was saying, and usually, he’d tell him to go fuck himself and smoke indoors. But he needed a breath of fresh air after that stuffy, slightly nauseating meeting, and if he could kill two birds with one stone, why wouldn’t he?

With an acquiescing shrug, he shoved his hands in his pockets, turning on his heel to stalk from the boardroom, shoving the door open with his shoulder and almost walking chest first into Jean. His heart skipped a beat or three, lips pulling up into a small smirk to hide the fact he was borderline giddy to be running into her outside the meeting. She’d been the object of his affection ever since he was brought to the mansion and she checked his vitals. He couldn’t help it. There was just something about her he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something that drew him to her the instant he was in her presence. He didn’t find himself thinking of her much outside their interactions, but when they were in the same room, all he could think about was her. It would be frustrating if he cared about anything said in those meetings. 

“Watin’ f’me now are ya?” He teased lowly, savouring the way her lips pursed to stop herself from smiling. There were times Logan thought she felt the same magnetic pull toward him that he felt toward her, times like this, where she didn’t look away from his gaze, and entertained his relentless teasing. 

“You know Scott’s still in there. We have plans,” she responded, feigning an attempt to look past him and back into the room where Scott was discussing various strategies with the Professor. Logan raised a brow as he followed her wavering line of sight, keeping that brow raised as he looked back at her. 

“Plans? Hope you don’t mean dinner, doesn’t look like he’ll be out anytime soon.” If she could just see how terrible Scott was for her. If he could just make her see how he would be so much better. Would suit her better. Would take care of her better. He wasn’t willing to change for many people, but if Jean asked, he would do it in a heartbeat. He’d change himself for her.

“Yes, Logan, dinner plans before the mission. And you know this is a tradition because you comment on it every time.” She huffed, her hair bobbing slightly with every emphatic move of her head. Logan chuckled lightly, his eyes briefly glancing from her gaze to her lips, how perfect they looked, and how perfect they would look wrapped around his–

“Then we both have our little traditions, don’t we? C’mon, doll. Why don’t we stop this dance?” His fingers curled through a strand of her hair, feeling it between his thumb and forefinger. “Haven’t I shown ya I can be the good guy?”

Jean sighed, and Logan half expected her to move away, but instead, she just closed her eyes, shaking her head softly. Was she mournful? Disappointed? It was hard to tell. 

“Logan, I don’t–”

“The fuck you think you’re doing?” Scott’s voice slashed through the charged atmosphere between them, and Logan found his hand falling away from Jean’s hair almost instantly. 

“We were jus’ talkin’, Scotty.” Logan shot back, trying to keep the defence from his voice. There was no need to let Scott know just how irritated the interruption made him feel.

“Yeah, like hell you were. Back off, Logan. I don’t wanna have to tell you again.” Placing his arm around Jean’s shoulders, Logan couldn’t help but notice the way she shrank slightly, looking almost humiliated. He tensed his jaw. If she hated Scott’s attention this much, she knew what he had to do. Logan didn’t know how much more obvious he could make his interest in her. All she needed to do was take the leap. “Yeah yeah, ‘stay away from my girl’, I know.” He mocked, sending Jean a wink before continuing on his path to the courtyard. Now he really fucking needed that cigar.

The city was so pretty in the twilight. Silhouetted buildings scattered with twinkling lights against a deep blue sky, it almost made up for the lack of stars. And there was nothing like watching the city skyline descend into darkness that had you more prepared than ever for your latest chosen victim. You hadn’t learned nearly as much as you should have by now, nobody you’d tortured knew anything about what you were looking for and it was starting to piss you off. But you didn’t bury those feelings. Instead, you harnessed them. Used your frustration to your advantage and honed yourself like a forged weapon. Every burn of urgent irritation sharpened your slices, focused your fileting, and pinpointed your precision. 

For the greater good, you reminded yourself as your watch beeped ten, and you spun the small knife in your palm before sheathing it in your boot. Your specific target of the night finished early every other week on Thursdays, hence your change in schedule today. In fact, a good few of them did. You assumed it had something to do with specific shipments on the warehouse floor but you didn’t bother yourself with the details. You knew his schedule now. You’d been watching for weeks. And you had every single detail of his various ways home. He was a bus-taker. Though, to avoid you, he’d been taking different numbered busses to other parts of town, before heading home. But the moron used the same three in rotation. There was no cause to wonder why he worked in a warehouse…

Although you had a good feeling about this one. You’d already scored one victim of the night, who was currently unconscious in your chosen location. You were one hundred per cent sure he knew what you were looking for, and you had a fantastic feeling about this one too.

Standing from where you’d been lounging against a rooftop balcony, you stretched your arms high above your head, listening to your bones and joints crack slightly before securing the steel mask over your features, cursing the phantoms of your past for providing you with such memorable makeup, and, shrugging the hood of your short-sleeved jacket over your head. Your hands dipped into the various sheathed across your waist, double checking the various blades in your belt. You were thankful you never needed to go through any kind of metal detector, because it would likely take you the rest of the night to remove every weapon dotted about your body, from the little holsters on your biceps to the sheathes in your boots, to the retractable blades in the bracers on your wrists. A wise woman once said you can never have too many knives.

A phrase you really should copyright before anyone else claims it. 

Five past ten. Go time. Taking a few steps back, you broke into a sprightly run, leaping like a dexterous cat across the rooftops, every step measured in surety. You’d done this too many times to start second-guessing yourself now, and it wasn’t like you were a stranger to the city’s rooftops and sketchy alleyways before you started doing this. With little effort, you crossed blocks in a matter of moments, skipping over crowds and traffic like it was child’s play before you landed with a deft roll above the side street tonight’s victim would take in a matter of five minutes. 

Like you said. Child’s play

You crouched low, removing the serrated knife from your belt, and flicking it in your palm over and over. It was a habit you’d developed when waiting in anticipation for something. It kept your hands occupied whilst your mind focused on the events to come, picturing exactly how you wanted things to play out. It was difficult. Capturing and torturing these assholes was like shooting fish in a barrel. 

“Fourth clear, no signs of our guy.”

You ducked low on the rooftop, an unpredicted obstacle walking into view wearing some shitty leather getup, fingers delicately perched at the side of his horizontal glasses. Though they weren’t exactly glasses. How would you describe it? Eye-guard? Some weird single glass as opposed to glasses? Whatever the fuck they were, you didn’t exactly want to find out what they did. He was holding them as if they were some kind of weapon. 

Shit, this really wasn’t good. If he didn’t move on now, you’d have to take him out and risk alerting your victim to your presence. Fuck, fuck and fuck again. And just as luck would have it, Alec appeared at the other end of the alleyway, nervously looking about before entering hurriedly. People didn’t watch enough movies. Did they really not know that entering dark alleyways with a killer on the loose was practically the same as signing your own death certificate? In any case, this actually worked in your favour. With Mr Visor patrolling the other end, you sliced open your hand, your blood humming as you pulled it from your veins to wrap around the metal drainage pipe before you swung off the rooftop, the crimson rope twisting and writhing as if it were alive as you descended, landing quietly a few paces behind him.

Now, if he wasn’t on such high alert, he would have most likely chalked the slight thud of your landing to the sound of a street cat, or perhaps a fox. But the way Alec jumped with a yelp, staggering as he turned to face you, didn’t exactly scream discreet. You held your hand up in front of you, contorting your fingers as your mutation felt for his pulse, slowing down the blood flow in his veins as quickly as you could. Not fast enough, a strangled yell flew from his now pale lips, and you swore viciously as your latest obstacle jogged back into view between the alleyway’s walls. 

“Shit, HE’S HERE!” He called to nobody you could see, and you barely had time to duck before a searing red beam of pure energy shot above your head, illuminating the dingy street in the crimson glow. You thought it slightly ironic, as your knife slashed through the palm of your hand, the colour of his mutation and who he was up against. Curving your arm in a wide arc, you manipulated your own blood cells into a wide blade, propelling it forward whilst you took a few steps toward your now collapsed victim. With Glasses now distracted by what you assumed was him discovering your own mutation, you felt around his veins for his heartbeat, tracing the blood flow back until you found the source, and you poured all your energy into slowing that one too. 

“He can manip… manipulate bl… blood.” Once again he spoke aloud to nobody you could sense, his knees giving out before he crashed to the floor. You huffed out a breath, fishing a small bandage from the pouch on your belt before wrapping up your hand and pulling the tie tight with your teeth. The one thing you found frustrating about your mutation was your inability to heal. How fucking helpful that would be, if every time you had to slash yourself open, you could just reseal the wound? Instead of running the risk of bleeding out. But you guessed everything had its drawbacks. Even blood manipulation. 

You bent to pick up Alec’s ankles, dragging him a few feet back the way he came, before you stopped, and looked back to the unconscious mutant at the alley’s mouth. You should kill him. Things would be easier if you did. And so, dropping your victim’s feet without much care, you strode over, finding a small gap in the wrappings around your palm, you extended a small spear from your flesh with the intention of jabbing it through his head and silencing what he saw here forever. 

But there were little voices calling out from a small earpiece nestled in his ear canal. You tilted your head, plucking the bud from the side of his head and holding it up to your own ear.

“Scott? Scott can you hear us?!”

“We’re tracking your location, hang tight!”

“I’m en route, stay alive asshole.”

A kaleidoscope of voices blended together, though the last one had you dropping the earpiece and crushing it with the heel of your boot. Someone was coming. A big someone. Someone whose voice you really hoped didn’t match his body. 

You should kill him. You really should kill this Scott guy, but something about the concern and fierce loyalty of those in the earpiece stopped you. This man was loved. He was cared for. Most of your victims didn’t have anyone. No family, very little friends, and all with some kind of penchant for criminal activity. Alec, for example, was finding himself becoming a little too familiar with the gates of a primary school. The more you watched him, the more you found yourself utterly repulsed by the way he would try and get the attention of those kids. Those children. 

But Scott had people who would care if he died. And so you let him be, pulling and pushing him upright against the wall before jogging back over to your actual victim and resuming your strained attempts to drag him off to your chosen location for the night. 

An ancient, local church, ironically enough. 

Logan raced through the streets, across busy roads and through closed parks, leaping over fences and gates effortlessly. He knew Scott’s location, Jean begging him over coms to do what he could. He was still alive, The Professor could sense it, but how the mission had immediately gone south, he had no idea. But at least Scott was still alive. At least, he was for now. 

“SCOTT!” He called, slowing his steps as he closed in on his location, his claws sliding from his knuckles. The metallic scent of blood flooded his senses, but it wasn’t Scott’s. He knew what Scott’s blood smelled like, having punched him in the nose a few times for the scent to be memorable. No, this blood was new, unfamiliar, and reeked of mutation. Which he supposed made sense.

Blood manipulator. That was the last thing Scott had said before he fell silent and before his channel died completely. And stalking up to the mouth of the alleyway, he could see why. Scott’s earpiece lay crushed on the concrete, little pieces scattered across the floor. Peering into the alleyway, Logan’s heart raced as his eyes cut through the darkness to find Scott himself lying slumped against the wall, his head hanging low. Logan bent to one knee, placing two fingers against the side of his neck to feel his slow yet strong pulse. The same pulse that would be associated with someone unconscious. But there was no head wound. Nothing to indicate he’d been completely knocked out. 

“Is he–” 

Logan looked back to see Ororo landing behind him, her hair slightly wild from the wind. She must have flown her way over, avoiding the nightlife altogether. 

“He’s alive. Unconscious, but alive. You heard what he said, right? Blood manipulator. I think our guy must have slowed his heartbeat or somethin’. There’s no wound anywhere…” Logan gently moved Scott’s head in search of any kind of blunt force trauma but found none. Not that he was expecting to find anything, since the only blood he could smell was unfamiliar. And it lead right down the alley and out the other side. “Gonna need ya t’stay here, Storm. Make sure Scott’s alright.” He kept his eyes focused on the darkness ahead, and the small sliver of light beyond. 

“And where’re you going?” Ororo asked, crouching beside him as if to physically demonstrate she’d stay with Scott. Logan sniffed the air again, almost able to see the blood trail the scent was so damn strong. 

“Followin’ our man. We don’t know if he bagged his victim, but if he was here with Scott, then he was after Alec, and I don’t see him anywhere, do you?” He asked, raising a brow to the woman by his side, who shook her head. 

“No. And I didn’t see him from above either. Alright, you go. But be careful, Logan. He’s unpredictable and now we have an idea as to how dangerous. If he can knock Scott out cold like this, he shouldn’t be taken lightly,” Ororo implored, watching as he rose from his crouch. Logan huffed an irritated sigh, having to restrain himself before he rolled his eyes. 

“I’ll be fine. Look after Cyclops.” Was all he said, before taking off down the alleyway at a light jog, following his nose and turning left at the end. 

“Logan, this isn’t a good idea. You can’t charge into the unknown with no information other than blood-manipulator.” Jean’s voice echoed in his ear, and he once again felt his lips pull up into a small smirk. 

“Why, you worried about me?” He provoked, chuckling when he heard her deep sigh, pinching the earpiece between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll send up a flare if I need ya.”

“Logan don’t–” 

Whatever Jean was about to say was lost when he tossed the coms unit onto the ground, leaving it and all methods of communication behind as he continued on toward his target. He couldn’t believe his eyes when his nose led him to a looming church, stained windows dark from the inside, spires towering high into the night. This couldn’t be right. Either his nose had failed him, which was unheard of, or the killer had a wicked sense of humour. It must have been the latter, the stench of blood increasing tenfold as he crossed the neatly mowed lawn outside, taking the stone steps two at a time and up to the wooden double doors. 

His ears twitched as he caught distant screams from inside, deep enough that anyone passing by would be completely oblivious to any goings on within. Once again, he released the hold he had on his claws, razors slicing through his muscles and flesh as they slid from his knuckles. He took a breath, bracing a hand on the centre of one of the doors before he pushed slightly, the hinges’ echoing screech causing him to freeze, letting the sound settle before he moved. The screams continued, and as sick and twisted as it was, he used that to gauge whether or not he’d been heard. So far, remarkably, so good. 

Stealth wasn’t his strong suit. Never was, but he cursed every heavy footstep that bounced off the wooden beams and stone walls, even the stained glass seemed to be mocking him, some ridiculous depiction of a halo-wearing baby with the proportions completely incorrect, being carried by an equally disproportionate-looking woman who seemed to be bathed in holy light. Once upon a time, he may have found comfort in the frieze. Now he simply thought it ridiculous. How could there be a god when mutants like him walk the earth? When mutants like this killer were allowed to wander around completely free? 

He shook his head of the thoughts. Now was not the time to contemplate divinity. If he wanted to discuss religion, he’d have a conversation with Kurt. He followed his senses, down the aisle between the pews and up to the lectern, his head snapping to the right and through the door to the sacristy. Once again measuring his steps, Logan crossed the altar and into the shadows behind the pillars, that same coppery scent of blood lingering on the slightly crimson-stained doorknob, the faint smokey smell of mutation told him this was the killer’s blood. Had the victim fought back somehow? He assumed he’d done the same thing to them as he had to Scott, knocked them out before dragging them away. 

Shoving the door open, Logan took a moment to look around. Nothing much, other than a large closet, a chest of drawers and a small bathroom sink with a mirror. A rug covered a large portion of the floor, the patterns almost psychedelic in nature, but this was where the scent was strongest so far. Here, in this room. Then where the hell was all the screaming coming from? He could still hear it, in the distance, beyond several walls of stone, or deep beneath–

Logan paused, his eyes flickering from the bare walls to the rug on the floor, one corner ever so slightly raised from the ground. With determined curiosity, he tugged on the fabric, pulling it back from the ground before tossing it completely into a corner. There, now revealed, a wooden trap door. He couldn’t help but think it was a little cliché, to have a trap door leading down to some kind of torture chamber, but if the chosen location told him anything, it was that the killer had a flair for the dramatic. 

To hell with stealth at this point. Logan crouched, gripping the large brass handle and throwing up the door so it clattered loudly against the floor. He was glad he had excellent vision, as the darkness beyond would be enough to turn away even the bravest of souls. And yet, here he was, taking step after step down into the pitch black, his eyes reflecting what little light there was. Perhaps the setting was more fitting than he originally thought because it truly felt like he was descending into the pits of hell with each careful step. The scent of blood now fused with the acrid scent of urine, and the musk of sweat. It was enough to have him almost gag, but he kept on going, led by the sounds of broken screams. 

Until those broken screams were cut viciously short. 

Logan stopped in his tracks, bracing a hand against the damp wall, a crippling sense of failure weighing heavy on his shoulders. He hadn’t been fast enough, and now Alec was likely dead. He couldn’t think of another reason why the killer would just cut off his screams like that. But what unnerved Logan further, was that now one voice had been silenced, another was rising up the dark, dank tunnel. There were two. The motherfucker had managed to grab two victims in one night. What the fuck was he using them for? Why torture them? What was he looking for?

A pinprick of flickering light teased him from the distance, the literal light at the end of the tunnel winking in the distance. How far down had he gone for the exit to only now be visible? Had this guy really dragged two bodies down these stairs already today? A picture was forming in Logan’s mind. He had to have some kind of muscle on him to be able to carry weights such as these. But he couldn’t let himself get comfortable in his predictions. That would only lead to chaos. So he kept his mind open, the only thing he was fairly sure about was the fact this killer was a man. 

Not that a woman couldn’t be capable of this kind of thing, but he’d seen the size of some of the victims. Either she was some kind of bodybuilder or a man. One seemed more likely than the other. 

He felt like he’d been in this stupid fucking tunnel for years by the time his eyes needed to adjust to the flickering torchlight, the steps levelling out to a long, claustrophobic stone hallway, the low arch of the ceiling barely high enough for him to stand up completely straight, the tips of his brushed up hair lightly brushing the damp brickwork. He continued creeping forward, a cone of more flickering torchlight illuminating a doorway ahead of him and to the right. 

The secondary voice gurgled another agonised scream, and Logan felt a decent amount of urgency fuel his steps, half jogging the remaining feet up to the archway, peering around the stone.

His stomach clenched, eyes widening. Well, that would show him not to make assumptions. The killer wasn’t a man. 

You were a woman. 

The two victims were strapped to chairs, back to back, a knife in the mouth of one, the other’s head– Alec’s head, hung limp. In the lap of the other, you held a map, blood dripping from both your palms.

“Point.” You spat, delivering a harsh slap to the side of his face. “And so help you, your answers better match up.” 

With shaky movements, your captive craned his neck down, pointing the quivering tip of the knife against a random point on the map you’d lay in his lap, tears flowing down his face as he whimpered in utter terror. Logan watched as you raised your hand over Alec’s head, contorting your fingers as he groggily returned to consciousness. He couldn’t see his face before, and Logan would spend a long time wishing he could return to that ignorance. Two dark, bloodied holes replaced the sockets where his eyes should be, tears of sanguine had rolled down his cheeks, staining his flesh until it bled into the exposed muscle of his cheek. 

“Finally, we’re getting somewhere.” You took a step back, snatching the map from your second victim and drawing a circle with the bloodied tip of your finger. After so many deaths, the cacophony of screams that kept you awake at night, finally you had a lead. “And what is it exactly th–”

You stopped, your nerves alight with alert. 

Logan whipped back behind the archway, pressing his spine against the wall and keeping his breathing steady. He didn’t hold out hope you hadn’t seen him, and he was incredibly thankful for that, clenching his fists when your voice echoed in the expanses of the chamber. 

“I can feel it. The mutation in your blood. Scott’s friend, I assume?”

With a long sigh, Logan stepped out from behind the archway and into the light. 

“Friend is a strong term. Associate.” He responded, his eyes flickering to each of your palms as crystals of crimson extended from the two wounds in your flesh, taking the form of jagged blades. Your head tilted to the side, hood shifting slightly for the light to catch your eyes. 

“Scott’s associate…” you mused lowly, striking out with surgical precision to the two captives, keeping your wince locked away as your two blades crunched through their skulls with a sickening squelch. 

Logan clenched his jaw, keeping his chin held high. “No explosions this time? Entrails seem far too organised for you.” 

“A fan of my work? Sorry, I don’t tend to do meet-and-greets. Although I’d be willing to sign your corpse for you.” You held your blood blades tight in your palms as you bent your knees. You wouldn’t be getting out of here without a fight. And whilst you could feel the mutation in his blood, you had no idea what it was exactly that he could do. The claws were an obvious giveaway, but was that it? You’d come to learn to put all assumptions to the side and be prepared for anything. 

Years on the streets had taught you that.

“Why?” Logan asked, taking a steadying breath.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why?” He repeated with just as much conviction. “Why do this? What’re you looking for? Why’re you doing this?” He watched you falter slightly as if genuinely taken aback that he was interested enough to ask. “You coulda killed Scott, but you didn’t. Y’not afraid of causing pain, but you left him unharmed. Why?”

Too many thoughts were running through your head. Truthfully, you didn’t want to admit that you couldn’t. He had nothing to do with this, and whilst yes he got in your way, he was innocent. None of these people were. None of your victims were. Least of all, you. 

“Why ask? Did you want me to? Yikes, that’s some rivalry you got there.” You deflected, twirling one of your blades in your hand. “Tell ya what, I’ll finish the job for you, free of charge.” You grinned behind your mask, taking a step toward him, dragging the tips of your crystalised blood blades along the ground, leaving little crimson trails as you walked. 

“Got a lotta lip, ya know that?” He growled, watching you like a hawk as you slowly stalked forward, step by careful step. 

“If only you knew the trouble my mouth gets me into…” You paused for a moment, crouching low. Anticipation crackled in the air, sparks of adrenaline igniting the room before you launched forward, keeping low to the ground. 

Logan tracked your movements, bending his knees and bracing his claws in front of his body before your blades cracked against his, literal sparks flying from the contact point as you stay low, your other hand braced against the floor, leaving bloodstains on the stone. Your leg swept toward his, and he wrenched his claws from where they’d tangled with your blades, taking a quick step back to avoid your jab.

Using your momentum, you pushed off from the ground, spinning upright just in time to parry a slice from his claws, your blood thrumming with the impact. He was strong. Really fucking strong. Annoyingly strong, in fact. You hated having to manipulate the vessels and cells within your body, but the moment his fists arced down toward you, you had no choice but to increase the blood flow to your biceps, wincing slightly as they shuddered and flexed in response, but it was just enough to catch him off guard, your two blades crossed between his six claws. 

You didn’t let the moment linger, delivering a harsh kick to the centre of his stomach and using the almost rock-like surface to send yourself a few steps back, sweat already trailing down the inside of your mask. 

Logan bent double, grunting in discomfort before lowering into a similar crouch to your own, watching closely as your blades dragged along the ground once again, leaving little slices of crimson. You raised your head in challenge, the flickering torchlight catching two sparks of sanguine red eyes, pulsing slightly as your mutation shimmered from your hands, veins bulging up your wrists. Something tugged at his chest, and he stilled for a moment. It looked almost… painful. The way he could see every pulse of your heart thumping within those bloodborne blades. 

His head tilted to the side, and you felt discomfort crawl over your skin. Was he… studying you? In the middle of a fucking fight? And not the ‘I’m studying you to see your next attack’ kind of way. You grit your teeth, irritation flaring in your gut as you launch forward, anger and frustration now fuelling your movements. How dare he. How dare he try to read you like this. He didn’t even fucking know you. But the way his features slackened slightly, the ever so small tilt of his head. You wanted to tear him to ribbons. 

Logan shook himself from his thoughts as you surged forward, once again bracing himself for the flurry of swipes he could sense was coming his way. Only–

You ducked to the side.

Your blades retracting back into your palms as you slid past him, grazing the centre of your hand against the floor in a wide arc. What the hell were you doing? What the fuck was with all the acrobatics. You’d done nothing but flip and spin around him, barely going in for any hits. He whirled around, claws still held before him in closed fists, but you looked… done. 

Like you’d already won. 

“Well, this has been a pleasure. But I’m afraid I’m a very busy woman,” you paused, placing a hand on your hip as if you were having a casual conversation in a shopping centre. “And you’re wasting my time.”

Logan barely had time to think before the bloodstains on the ground shifted, and in every place you’d dragged your palm across the stone, a sharp spear shot from the marks towards him, impaling through his suit and into his chest, his legs, back, and shoulders with a sick, wet crunch.

Through agonising pain, he finally understood what you were doing. Setting up a fucking trap. Any attempt to move resulted in tearing fire through his body, a rough cry of pain flying from behind his gritted teeth, before it became too much as he sank to his knees. Your sigh almost sounded disappointed, and he watched through hazy vision as you brought out a bandage from your belt and started to wrap up one of your palms with a slight hissed wince. 

You’d expected him to be dead by now, and yet somehow he was still clinging to life like a tenacious limpet. An irritated huff warmed the interior of your mask as you flicked your unbound hand, another jagged spear of ruby sailing from your palm and through the centre of his stomach, wrenching another agonised cry from his throat. 

“Fucking hell… still here? Most would be dead by now.” You folded your arms across your chest, wandering over to where he was still bent double on his knees, heaving rasped breaths. 

“Most of ‘em can die.” He snarled back, his strength slowly returning as his regeneration worked overtime to remove the whipping spears from his body. You watched as they shifted in response to the resistance, fascination curling like smoke in your head. What the hell was this guy?

“And you can’t, I presume?”

“Nope. Not yet, at least.”

“Huh,” you shrugged, your eyes flaring as you wormed those tendrils back through his flesh, something twinging in your chest as you did so. “That’s… unfortunate,” you crouched in front of him, running your fingers along one of the tendrils of blood holding him still, your eyes falling to the little X symbol on his leather collar, recognition striking you like lightning. “Wait… I know you. You’re one of Xavier’s, right? Never thought he’d meddle in simple human murders,” you thought for a moment, regarding him. “Doesn’t it bother you? Being nothing but a weapon to him? Just a gun to point at the enemy whilst he’s the one who claims the victory?” You provoked, finally garnering a response as he all but growled at you, bloodied teeth bared. You had half a mind to use his own blood to sew his mouth shut, but you were curious about him. A mutant who couldn’t die, running around playing soldier for someone who would never walk the battlefield himself. 

Sure he should be the one pulling the strings. 

Logan knew you were trying to get under his skin. Metaphorically, of course. Physically, you’d already achieved that, the sharp bolts of agony with every slight movement told him that much. But he needed to get under yours. 

“I know what these people did,” he breathed, chest searing with each fiery inhale.  “The ones you choose. I know why you kill them, but why torture them?” He continued through gritted teeth, tugging against the lashing spears through his body.

“You think that’s what this is? Me cleaning up after this world’s scum? I should add myself to that lengthy list.” You growled back, gesturing wildly to the walls around you. “These people know something. The fact they’re all child predators is simply luck. But don’t you think it’s strange? An orphanage burns down and none of the bodies are found?” 

Logan stopped his struggle. “What…? How d’you–”

“Nothing. Not even skeletons. Doesn’t that make you wonder where the hell those kids went? The disappearances throughout the city, all kids. All mutant kids.” You could see the cogs turning in his head as he processed what you were saying, and what it meant. 

“Y– you’re looking for information…” He muttered with understanding, and you nodded.

“The men at that warehouse… they’re always hanging around schools and –before it burnt down– the orphanage,” your eyes flickered to stairs beyond the archway, and the distant shouts echoing down the hall. “It’s a slave trade. A mutant slave trade.”

“How d’you know?”

“I… I can’t tell you that.” Something twisted in your gut as his expression shifted to something softer, despite the obvious pain he was in. You didn’t want to hurt him. It was a sudden realisation that you’d acted too hastily. Assumed he was here to eliminate you after the series of events you’d caused. But you should have known the moment he started asking questions. Sure, he was probably here to put a stop to what appeared on the surface to be a sequence of grizzly murders, but he’d asked. He wanted to know why. Not many others had done that. And there was something else flickering in his strikingly haze eyes. 

He didn’t want to kill you. Not now he knew. 

Your head whipped back to the archway, where those distant shouts had increased in volume and, terrifyingly enough, proximity. You could clearly catch the repeated calls of a name. His name. 

Logan. 

“Look, if you want to help, there’s a gala happening at Thornbury Hall, west of the city. Saturday the 18th. Meet me there or don’t, it’s your choice. But you come alone. I’ll know if you don’t.” You hissed hurriedly, flicking your fingers to withdraw the countless spears from his body, and he screwed his eyes shut as his wounds immediately began to knit back together, muscle and tissue reforming with an unbearable itch, the crystalised blood liquifying once again, staining the stone red. 

“Logan?!”

Your breath quickened as you looked back to the archway, and Logan could just see the fear reflecting in your barely visible eyes as you took a few steps back. He wanted to stop you. Wanted to tell you that you didn’t have to take this on alone. They could help. He could help. And there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he wasn’t going to take the olive branch you’d just extended. 

“How’ll I know it’s you?” He asked as he stood to his feet, eyes narrowing in suspicion despite himself. He hadn’t seen your face. Just two scarlet eyes behind a rather unnerving, featureless mask. Your head flipped between looking at him and looking past him to the archway skittishly, hurried footsteps growing louder as his other associates honed in on your location. 

“When you get there, look for a man with a runic tattoo on his neck and ask for Alecto.” You explained, continuing backing up into what looked like just a regular wall. But the greatest thing about ancient buildings such as this was the secret little entrances and exits installed for servants, refugees. Criminals.

“Alecto?” You couldn’t help but huff a small laugh at the slight smirk on his face, the amusement lacing his tone despite your efforts to try and kill him not moments ago.

“Look it up.” Was all you said, before slipping through one of the cracks in the wall the moment he turned around as two other mutants rushed through the archway. You barely caught sight of Scott and the other before you were gone. 

“Logan! What the hell? You can’t just go dead like that, what happened to your coms?” Storm ranted before falling silent, panic entered her eyes as she registered the state he was in. “What… what happened to you?”

Logan looked back to where he’d last seen you, finding an odd kernel of relief to see you’d completely vanished into seemingly thin air. “I found our gal. Put up a good fight. Slipped out when she heard ya comin’ and I was immobilised.” He shrugged nonchalantly as if he hadn’t just let the very same killer they’d come here to hunt slip away.

“She– wait, she?” Scott asked, clearly having recovered from whatever Alecto had done to him. 

“Yeah, she,” he nodded, before sighing heavily. “Look, no point in standin’ round here ‘n chattin’ about it. Charles is gonna wanna know what I know.” 

“And what is it exactly that you know?” Scott asked, suspicion lacing his tone, his arms folding across his chest almost in accusation. Logan rolled his eyes.

“A helluva lot more than you, Slim. Let’s go.”

[centuryberry]

lowkwy Highkey need to analyse those visions of the future and past Yue had like

You have no one else to blame but yourself! You did this! You’re the reason why she’s gone-!”

First of all I have so many guesses on who this could be I'm tweaking

“We shall leave it to the Four Guardian Beasts to ensure that balance is kept in the world. This is the only way to keep everyone safe. From them.”

Like those guardian animals guarding Nuwa's stones in LMK season 5?

From who????

Is this a celestial or is it not a celestial? Maybe Buddha or Guanyin? Or Nuwa? Maybe the Empress Mother

“Erase it. Erase every trace of her until the world forgets her name. I don’t care how you do it! Just erase it all!”

Jade Emperor dur

“Not my son! Please! Have mercy on my son! He has done nothing to offend you! Why are you doing this? And you! How can you call yourself a father when you’re standing aside and letting them–?”

Are they talking about Red Son here or someone else?

Sons: Nezha, Redson, MK, Ao something, one of the twins (but I doubt it)

“Look at what they’ve done to him! A pale shade of what he was! This isn’t justice, this is about control! My love, this is not the time to be careful. This is the time to –”

PIF is that you??

“Uncle! You have gone too far with this! They are just–!”

Nezha what happened?

Is he a thrall pls say nah

“I am sorry, my child. I have failed you.”

This is so vague 😭

Deadass could be anyone with a child and I'm too tired to write that my top 5 though: Nuwa, PIF, Empress Mother, Ao Lie, or literally any other parent.

“ – stay dormant through generations as long as the rings are secure and hidden. And before you say anything, this was because of your mistake. This wouldn’t be happening if you hadn’t intervened! This is the best outcome considering the circumstances. For the good of–”

Whos mistake?

Also who or what's staying dormant? The Samadhi Fire?

Honestly the Samadhi fire prolly most likely gonna play a big ass role in this ice zombie apocalypse lmao they're literally White Walkers like the ones from Game of Thrones

“...seal…under the mountain…”

The Bull fam or Wukong

“ –spreading uncontrollably! It can’t be contained! At this rate, this will reach–!”

The infection

now for the futureee wtfd wjqkwbkqkq

"We remember. Even when Heaven wants us to forget you, we will always remember. Even after all the temples were destroyed, we still lit a candle for you.”

We know that was Ma about our girl

“...banished some, executed the others, and subdued the rest. We didn’t understand everything that was happening since we were so young, but we knew that much. So much suffering…”

The twins most likely

😭 give them their talkkkk

“...Island…Lantern…Moon…Scroll…find them all and release…from his shackles...”

Island - Wukong? Similar to the LMK series where flower fruit moment is

Lantern - Macaque oof he is probably been stuck their for centuries imagine waking up and your family's gone to shit most are dead or basically dead, your kids are grown up without you yikes.

I mean it's the same for the rest of them too yikes but damn the guilt from the parents is gonna be real

I thought this wasn't gonna be another major angst fic 😭

Curse you! There better NOT be major character death if any of my hoe's die PERMANENTLY like in "With a Little Soul That Could" imma find where you live 😭 and force you to rewrite that shit now

“Foolish child! This is greater than your petty grudges and old wrongs!”

Damn who we talking to?

“Learn your place, you filthy animals.”

I got nothing a celestial maybe?

“...even…fall…nothing lasts forever…never forgave…”

I feel like I should know but I don't

“Because I love you so much, I’ll give you a hint. What’s the lucky number? C’mon, babe, this is easy stuff! You’re the one who taught me, remember? What’s the lucky number?”

🤯😱

Xiaotian Fragment that you?!!!!

Or is it like those Tony stark pre death hologram videos

One of his clones?

Is it Xiaotian or am I tripping?

“...this world isn’t worth saving…”

Huh.

Lowkey highkey very ominous

Isn't that what Yue and LBD were thinking?

Can Yue hear thoughts or did someone say this aloud?

“Godkiller.”

Our Queen Yue 🎉

I cannot believe I am following another fic of yours 😭 I love it though incredibel writing and the foreshadowing is actually insane

You can't stOP mE frOm makinG My TheORies

Oh my god, "Little Soul" mention on a Tuesday morning???? I can't believe you followed me from the Undertale fandom to the LMK fandom.

Well, as a veteran of my older works, I'll briefly step away from my "no spoiler" stance to reveal this: Queen of the Mountain will have a happy ending. None of that bittersweet tragedy. It will have a happy ending. I will not kill off anyone important to Yue. The Monkey Fam will be together again. (Honestly, I wrote myself into a corner when writing "Little Soul" so I had to pick between forcing a happy ending or keeping the integral message even if the ending was tragic. That won't happen again. I've written so, so many fluffy AUs as an apology for that ending.)

Now, onto the commentary about your theories: These are super detailed! I love the thought you put into your guesses and your comments! We'll see how many of these theories come true in the coming chapters!

[carpkoinobori]

[✮] the politics of dancing — wendy x reader

[𖤐] 1/1 [please be aware this is all fiction! none of this is real and idols behavior is not accurately represented.]

song(s): enjoy the silence - depeche mode | the politics of dancing - the reflex | cities in dust - siouxsie and the banshees | there is a light that never goes out - the smiths | love is a battlefield - pat benatar

summary: you’re told to find the man who killed your partner— husband, to you, but your superiors had no idea. You’re told to collect information on all KGB agents, and while you will, you’re far more focused on killing the man who took away the man you loved. and yet, there’s this woman you keep seeing. who the hell is she?

pairing: cia!reader x csis!wendy

tags: set in 1989 cold war era berlin, they’re spies, angst, it was the cold war ok, angst with a happy ending

wc: 6k

cw: blood, weapons (guns, etc), smoking, violence, death, sexual themes

ex: reader has a dead husband, pls listen to the songs in order.. PLEASEEEE.. they’re so good. c/n stands for code name, it’s not a code name like badger but more like a fake full name. Like Nicole Elizabeth Mintz. just think of a fake name lol

a/n: this is inspired by atomic blonde

September in Berlin was cold. Not horribly so, but enough to need a coat due to the weather. It was roughly 48 degrees, and your breath could be seen in the air, the vapor made even more noticeable by the streetlights. The cigarette between your fingers helped to fight off the chill, as you took a drag and exhaled. The warmth settled in your stomach, as you gazed up from where you were previously looking.

it was imperative to stay alert, to stay vigilant. Especially now.

You had a job to do. You were here to collect a list full of formation on KGB members— their names, what they’ve done, how long they’ve been working— it’s essential for the CIA.

but you want to find someone, specifically. The man responsible for killing your previous partner.

it was complicated, to be frank. There was a man— you had been told his name was Pyotr. His last name, at this moment, was unknown.

He was believed to be hiding out in West Berlin, passing along information to his comrades in East Berlin. There was the issue of the wall, of course, but you were sure you’d figure it out.

you had to.

for him.

September 14th, 1989

“He’s dead,” was the very blank, monotone way you were informed that your husband, your partner— was dead. You had only been working at the CIA for about seven months, at that point. You were told this news by your superior, and it was almost like he wasn’t surprised.

Death haunted this building. Dead agents, dead enemies, dead civilians— morality was no where to be seen, too. You can’t claim to be the good guys and stoop to the same level as everyone else.

but all you can think at that moment is— dead? he can’t be dead. He’s coming home, in a few days. We were going to go, together, our next job— but he’s dead. your superior, everybody calls him Badger— he’s an older southern man, gives you a barely sympathetic look. He’s not a monster, you know. He just can’t afford to feel for every death. It’d kill him.

“He was a good man, y/n,” is what he offers.

“I know,” is the only thing you can manage. There’s not much else to say.

September 15th, 1989

You were deployed to Berlin three days later.

the first thing you notice is that it’s cold. It’s not unbearable— not like Moscow, or any of the rest of Eastern Europe, but cold enough. You didn’t love the cold, truth be told.

The plane ride had been long. You were given a new name, which was only natural— c/n. A new hair color, a new passport— and you took completely new clothes in your suitcase. Getting off the plane, and out of the airport— you see your contact.

Your handler was another man— god, it was like you never saw a woman in these places— he says his name is Perceval.

outside the car there are is another man. He helps you put your bag in the back.

as you sit next to him, you know something is off. There’s an odd feeling about the car, and it’s making your hands fidget. This job was rumored to give you paranoia, but christ, it couldn’t be—

he adjusted his coat, and you see it. Sleek, black metal. Amazing, you think, sarcastically.

You’re starting to regret not carrying a knife on you, or some other weapon, when you remember you’re wearing stilettos.

Thank God.

you reach down as you turn into a dark tunnel, and repeatedly stab the man next to you. He doesn’t die, of course, but you manage to take his gun, and despite the way he twists your hand, you manage to shoot him in the chest. You’ve barely been in Berlin twenty minutes.

The driver is next. You begin struggling as he still tries to steer the car. You’re swerving, and he’s wrestling the gun out of your hands, yet, you manage to shoot him in the side of the head. You’re grateful that the gun was fully loaded.

taking control of the car is a different story— there’s two dead bodies inside the vehicle, and you don’t want to be caught by the Stasi— well, you’re in West Berlin, but it’s still plausible they’re there. KGB would be slightly more possible. Either way, you want to remain discreet.

a car pulls up, slowly.

your actual contact.

Perceval, he says.

“Where the fuck were you?” You spat, anger and panic already rising in you.

“Oh, don’t be so upset. Nothing’s happened, you’re alright,”

“I’ve been made, you idiot!” You exclaimed, already feeling increasingly aggravated. You couldn’t afford this, you had to stay calm.

you took a deep breath while Perceval attempted to placate her. “Christ, woman, you have to calm down,” he groans. “We’ll be fine, it’ll be figured out,” Your contact has a slight British accent. If he’s part of the MI6, you’re unaware, but it’s a possibility.

“Just take me to my hotel,” you sigh, finally, just needing to get away from the scene.

“As you wish,”

Packing yourselves into the car, you discard the bodies somewhere Perceval claims they won’t be found, and you’re finally taken to your hotel.

this job is going to be hell. You can feel it.

September 16th, 1989

The hotel isn’t bad, but you can’t exactly stay there long. You don’t love having to sleep, anyway— it’s necessary, you know, but the dreams that plague you are unbearable.

you always see him. You couldn’t save him, you couldn’t, but does he blame you? Would he still love you?

you don’t want answers, and you don’t want to think about it, so you throw yourself into your work.

You know there’s an apartment in Berlin that housed a list of all active KGB members. You know the man who had the list— your husband— is dead. You just need to find who killed him.

You flag down a cab.

The apartment itself? Already ransacked. There’s papers and files everywhere, and all you do is tear the place up further.

there’s nothing left of him. No pictures, no writing— some files, some other things, but nothing worthwhile. You know it’s been too long since he died for there to be anything. Half of Berlin has probably already been inside the place, but it was worth a try.

but, you find something.

there’s an earring. It looks like there was a struggle in one of the rooms. It’s silver, and you know a woman must have left it. What man wears earrings? Not many you know. Especially not KGB officers.

that’s who has the list.

It’s not like you can’t do two jobs at once, right? The woman who had the list is probably who killed your husband.

you’re sure you’ll find some intel on the way.

Talking to Perceval, he reveals there’s a man named Sergey. He’s important to the KGB, and he has money. He’s currently in West Berlin, allegedly. Perceval isn’t a bad contact. He does have some information, even if he’s insufferable and drinking half the time. He’s a complete wreck, and you’re a little offended that he’s your contact.

he frequents a bar that Perceval’s fond of, as well. You’re sure if you can find Sergey, you’re bound to find some information, as well. It’s very possible.

you get dressed up nicely— lingerie, with a wire hidden by your clothing. You need to record, of course. The wire is covered up by a simple outfit— a long black dress, and a coat.

once you enter the bar, you remove the coat. Your hair has been done quite nicely, framing your face, while the dress is meant to distract. A low cut, a bit loose, revealing your back, shoulders, the side of your chest— and of course, you’re wearing a bit of makeup.

you light up a cigarette, and wait.

after a few minutes, you spot him by the bar. There’s a woman speaking to him. She has short hair, down to the nape of her neck. It’s brown, a darker color in the light. You notice her immediately. She’s wearing a black dress, as you are, with a very low cut. It has straps, and covers most of her back, aside from the diamond shaped cut out that reveals smooth skin. You take a drag, and then she’s gone.

Sergey approaches you. He’s propositioning you, obviously, but you feel off.

there’s something about the woman. There’s something off about her. She didn’t seem like just a patron of the bar.

maybe you should ask Perceval.

September 17th, 1989

You’ve been following a specific man for about an hour. He’s yet to notice you. For a KGB agent, he’s quite dull. His name, Alexander, wasn’t hard to find. His friends are easy to pin down, as well— Nikolai, and Dimitri. All this information has been written down. You’re here to collect information on who’s apart of it, and what they’re doing— but you’re still not able to hear, yet.

Getting close is hard. You don’t want to be seen.

and when you’re about to leave, to go back to your hotel, you catch a glimpse of the woman. The one you saw at the bar.

she’s getting into a cab, sunglasses obscuring her face, and a long coat on.

you tell yourself it’s just a coincidence, and move on.

you get a tip from Perceval, later in the day.

he gives you a watch. This watch, he says, holds a new contact you should meet in the East.

another new passport. More dyed hair. An outfit yet unworn.

getting through the border isn’t the most difficult.

it’s what comes after.

You step into a theater, of some sorts.

you’re already being followed. By who? You’re unaware. Most likely some members of the KGB.

when you’re sitting, you see the woman— with the short, brown hair.

There’s that feeling again, that sense that something is wrong. Why do you keep seeing her?

you slip out the viewing area and move into some storage area, hidden in the theater. You trip the fire alarm, you take some keys out of a coat pocket— those were the keys you needed to meet your contact.

unfortunately, there are some KGB members waiting for you.

Fuck.

the first man is disarmed quickly. A well-placed kick sends him to the ground, and you’re free to focus on the second man.

you get to stab him with the key, and you fight. It’s violent, and the man is very bloody, but he’s managed to get several good kicks and punches in. The pain is clouding your mind, but you’re nothing but a good agent.

You manage to steal a coat off a rack, and slip out of the back unnoticed. An abandoned building is where you’d been told your contact would be.

you unlock the door, and deadbolt it when you get inside the building. The contact is in the roof.

“There’s a lot of unrest in the youth,” He informs. “I’m sure if you found the right motivation, well..”

“Keep talking,”

September 19th, 1989

You made it out of the east relatively unscathed. You took a day to patch up your wounds, to reconvene with Perceval—

there should be someone with information at this club, from what you’ve heard. Perceval encourages you to go.

The club is loud and filled with people. There are colored lights flashing— purple, blue, red— all against the black walls of the club. you’re wearing a black dress, again. It’s tight, sitting at your mid-thigh, exposing your shoulders and some of your back.

you’re at the bar, again, sipping vodka on the rocks when that woman appeared at the bar. She was wearing a skirt, which is a nice navy blue, along with some kind of matching tank top. Over it was a black leather jacket, and her hair was down. You had half a mind to run up to her and ask just what the hell she was doing.

Luckily for you, she walked over to you, ordering a drink. She turned to you, with her drink in hand. She smiled— it was oddly disarming.

“Hey,” she began, taking a sip. “What’s a girl like you doing at a place like this?” Her voice had an accent— it was a bit hard to decipher, though.

“I’m.. just looking for something to do,” you answered, vaguely.

“Oh?” She tilted her head, slightly. “I’m Wendy,” she introduced herself, and extended her hand. You shook it. “C/n,” you muttered, in reply. “It’s nice to meet you,”

She didn’t respond, just moved a little closer. The club was loud.

“What do you do, Wendy?” You asked, wary. You know she had been following you.

“I’m a translator. What do you do?” She asked back, a playful smirk on her face.

“It’s unimportant,” you shrugged, shifting slightly.

“There’s something I really want to ask you,” she smiled, still, leaning closer. “Let’s go somewhere quieter,”

she leads you to a secluded part of the club, a small room covered in graffiti and lit by red lights. The flashing outside was still seen in the room.

it’s immediate, the spark between you two. The tension breaks, and you’re kissing her. This random woman, that could possibly be trying to kill you— she’s up against the wall, and tastes like alcohol. Your ears are still ringing from the noise outside, and as you feel up her body— you feel something cold and hard tucked into her skirt.

you manage to get it out, and point the gun to her head.

“Why do you have a gun, Wendy?” You question, lowly, and she only looks shock for a second. She sucks her teeth, before visibly giving up.

“I’m working for Canadian intelligence,” she murmured. “They sent me out here a few months ago. Things have gotten really bad, lately, and they wanted me to go help some Americans on a job,” she explained, leaning against the wall. She looked so much more confident, before, but now she’s curling in on herself, her arms crossed and a leg up against the wall.

There’s not much you can say for comfort. It’s true. There’s been rumors of the wall going down, and tensions in Berlin are rising. Sometimes, you just want to forget, too.

“I’m guessing c/n isn’t your real name,” she adds, quietly.

“It’s not,” you agree.

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” she offered.

“Y/n,” you reply, even if you know you really shouldn’t. There’s something about her that makes you want to trust her.

“Son Seungwan. Wendy is my name, but I thought I’d give you something extra,” she smiles, now, even if it’s weak. You remove the gun from her head, and she lets out a soft laugh, looking down, and it just sounds a bit like she’s trying not to cry.

“Things are so, so bad lately,” she mutters to herself.

you don’t have a response. You know they are. You can tell she’s not used to this kind of job. She wasn’t meant for the field.

you lean in, again, and your hands are on her again. You hold her face in your hands, alcohol heavy on your tongue, and the both of you are pressed so close together you might as well be one person.

at one point, the hard wall of the secluded area grows uncomfortable, and you manage to get out of the bar and into a cab, then your hotel room.

your hands are on her again when you enter the hotel room, and there’s just something so warm about her you’re not used to. Maybe it’s because she’s new to this world, and hasn’t hardened around the edges yet, but you like it. You really, really like it.

she’s ripping your clothes off, and you’re doing the same. Her skin is warm, and despite the seedy place you were just in, her hair smells good. It’s soft. You tangle your hands in it, and the both of you fall onto the bed.

You get to forget everything, for a while. That makes it all the more worth it.

September 20th, 1989

and you don’t dream, for once. You’re sure there’s echoes in your mind, but as of right now, you slept soundly the first time in a while.

you would’ve slept through the whole night, if not for Wendy bolting upright in the middle of the night, clutching at her chest and panting.

you’ve always been a light sleeper. There’s no other way to be when you’re in this profession. You blink quickly, the sudden movement shocking your system awake.

“Wendy?” You call, tentatively. You sit up a bit more, your hand hesitantly brushing her side. “Seungwan?” Is what you resort to when she doesn’t respond.

the brunette next to you takes a shuddering breath, but nods. “I’m alright,” she assures, weakly. you don’t want to pry, and the reason for this sudden awakening is quite obvious.

“Go back to sleep,” you instruct, coaxing her to lay back down. Her head is on your chest, now, and it feels strange to be comforting her, but you do anyway. You stay silent, but rub her back gently. You run a hand through her hair, and when you hear her breath even out, you close your eyes again.

it’s strangely intimate, given it’s the first time you’ve officially met, but you don’t mind.

Wendy is warm, and you hate the cold.

When you actually wake up— early, in the morning— it’s even colder. Luckily, Wendy was still there. It looked like she was a slight sleeper, too, but was too tired to do anything but continue to lay there. You sat up.

Wendy looked unguarded when she slept. There was always something off about her when you saw her in public, a sort of forced ease and practiced facade about her, but as of now, she was simply quiet, and relaxed.

You were slightly unsure what to do.

“Wendy?” You called, peering down at her. She stirred immediately, rubbing her eyes as she sat up. Usually, she would’ve jolted up, but as of right now, she was finally feeling well-rested.

“c/n,” is how she greets you. She would’ve said your name— she quite likes it, after all— but your room could be bugged. Everybody knew that.

In any other scenario, you would have left before she woke. She would have done the same. But you’re both aware there’s a certain kind of suspicion surrounding you two— what if she stole something? You couldn’t leave her unsupervised.

you both don’t talk. She gets dressed, and you light up a cigarette.

she wrinkles her nose at the smell, and you pay her no mind.

it’s cold in Berlin, today.

September 25th, 1989

you keep seeing Wendy everywhere you go. You’re aware she’s trailing you, but that’s kind of her job description, so you ignore it. It’s just that every night, she’s in your hotel, without fail. Much like right now.

“Wendy,” you groan, fingers tangled in her soft hair. “How many times-” your breath hitches, and you look down at her. “-are we going to do this?”

she looks back up, and her eyes are dark and hazy. “Well,” she murmurs back, voice low. “I think the better question is how many times can we do this?”

Wendy’s voice is like honey, and it pulls you in. It’s slightly rough. You forget about your objective, again, as you’re with Wendy.

she bites at your lip, tugging it, and you reciprocate.

and when you wake up, it’s before her. You watch her leave in silence again. You would much rather not seeing her in the morning, you would rather just leave— but you don’t trust her alone in your hotel room.

there’s still some rules you’ve made sure to keep.

September 26th, 1989

you are instructed to meet your superior. There have been small reports back to the CIA that you’re distracted, not completing your work— it’s not true, but it’d be hard to argue.

“C/n,” he greets, casually.

“Badger,” you return the greeting, eyeing him cautiously.

“You’ve managed to get me sent over here,” he informs. “I wonder, c/n, what is it that’s been distracting you?”

“I’m not distracted,” you protest. “I’ve just been collecting information while I plan what to do with it,”

“Right, then. I’d hate for your friend.. Wendy, is it? I wouldn’t want anything to happen to her,”

“What are you implying, sir?” You gritted out, your jaw clenched.

“Don’t be dull,” he murmured back, dangerously. “Finish the job, y/n. Or someone will finish it for you,”

September 29th, 1989

You had been working nonstop, now. You had successfully orchestrated a meeting with a man you only knew as Yuri— Perceval had assured he’d have information.

it was a rather simple affair.

“Yuri,” you greeted, as you sat down.

“C/n, it’s a pleasure to see you,” he smiled, although it was practiced.

“I’ve been told you know who has the list— I’ve also been told you know some of the contents of the list,” you began, slowly. “In exchange for my promise to help you out of East Berlin, I’d like to know what, exactly, is in the list, and who is in possession of it,”

“I can’t tell you who exactly has it, but I can tell you where they are. As for what’s in the list, well— it’s all current KGB informers, and a few other bits of information covering them. It’ll tell you where they’re stationed, for how long, the things they’ve passed along.. quite a useful list, wouldn’t you say?”

“Quite,” you murmur, in agreement.

you aren’t quite ready for the sense of betrayal when you find out, though. You aren’t ready at all

you’re at some dingy apartment, one that looks barely cleaned. You’re inspecting the drawers of a dresser when—

“Wendy?” You blinked, surprised at seeing the other woman.

“C/n? What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I’m..” you see her ear, now. There’s a silver earring, it looks oddly familiar, and— her other ear is missing an earring. A sense of dread washes over you in waves, and you feel the shock begin to creep in. Its a cold chill that runs up along your spine. You berate yourself. You’re a CIA agent, for Christ’s sakes, you should react like this to a little betrayal. It’s what you expected.

“Wendy,” you murmur, slowly. “Where’s the list?”

“What?”

“Where’s the list, Wendy?” You press again, slowly taking your gum out of your coat.

“Y/n, come on, I-”

“Where’s the fucking list, Wendy? I need that list!” You press, growing frantic. The first thing you’re taught is to keep your cool, but for some reason, you just feel off-kilter. You point the gun at her.

“I can’t give you the list,” she murmurs, turning her gaze away from you.

“Wendy, just tell me where-” and in that split second, she’s sprung up in front of you, her hand turning your arm, the gun now on the floor. You barely register what’s happening until she elbows you in the stomach— hard. Your breath is stolen away, and you struggle to take in a gasp of air. You lunge at her, the both of you falling to the floor. It’s a struggle, but you manage to get a few good hits in. It all comes to a head when you grasp a shard of glass, and impale her hand. She lets out a shriek, and you scramble onto your feet. You rush towards the bookshelf, where you’re sure the list is, but she grabs your ankle. She tugs you down, and you fall into the hardwood floor while she stands to her feet. She kicks your side, moving you out of the way with her foot, and takes the list from behind one of the novels. She rushes out of the door, and you try to get up despite your disorientation.

you’re chasing her now, and she’s fleeing into the streets, hailing a cab. You do the same, of course, but she’s already being lost in the crowd. Fuck.

November 7th, 1989

it’s a strange feeling, really.

you’ve only known Wendy for about three weeks, but the betrayal stings. She has the list— she knows who killed your husband. She knows you, and yet she’s nowhere to be found.

It’s just hard to understand. Did she know? Was she working with Pyotr? She had said she was working with Canadian intelligence, but it could be a lie. You should’ve known better than to trust some random woman that you met.

but your time is running out. You need the list by the ninth of November. You only have two days.

you have to talk to Perceval.

“There’s a warehouse in East Berlin,” he begins, twirling a cigarette between his fingers, as you stand in his messy, cluttered apartment. “There’s an exchange going on for the list. Pyotr wants it to cover some things up, and he’s planning on auctioning it off to the highest bidder. The thing is, he has to be given the list. By Wendy.

“And when is this happening?” You inquire.

“The ninth,” he replies. “There’s going to be a protest, a huge one. It’s the perfect cover,”

“Right, then,” you nod. “I’ll need a fake passport, again,” you remind.

“Of course,” he grins, in that sleazy way of his. “It’ll be done by tomorrow morning,”

November 9th, 1989

“Here’s my passport,” you say, as you hand it to the man in the booth. He checks the passport, giving you a strange look, but you’re allowed inside.

the deal is allegedly being made later, when the sun begins to set.

you wait, and it gives you some time to think. You’re in some dingy abandoned building, and it reminds you of your first assignment with him.

sometimes, you feel guilty for moving on like this. His death hurt, of course, and you’re doing this assignment for him, primarily, but— after, what’s left? You’re alone. Your only friends are your coworkers, you’ve never been able to know anybody, and everyone you love ends up dead. You hate this job. You really do. And Wendy- it’s stupid, you know it is, but you felt.. good, with her. She was witty, and intelligent, and you can’t believe you let your guard down.

everyone that you’ve ever loved, ever trusted, is either dead, or has betrayed you. Well, no. To be fair, most of your coworkers haven’t, but that’s not for you— that’s for the good of the country.

you begin preparing your weapons, your supplies, and your plan.

you have to put these feelings behind you. They make you volatile.

The protesting outside could be heard from your spot in the corner of the dusty old building, and you took that as your cue. You slipped out through a back door, into the throngs of marching youth. Finding the warehouse wasn’t that hard, honestly. You entered slowly, and tried to peer inside as you went, looking for a wall or something to cover you. You leaned against some kind of corrugated metal sheet, one that obscured you. Your gun was heavy and cold in your hands.

“Pyotr, I have the list,” You hear, and it stops you in your tracks. It sounds a lot like Wendy. It probably was, if you were honest.

“Good, good. Give it, now,” he instructs, presumably holding out a hand. You can’t see them.

there’s the sound of rustling paper, which you find odd, now that you think about it— why would such a confidential list be written on paper? Why wouldn’t it be hidden somewhere, in a watch, or painting, even?

“I’d better get going then,” You heard her turn, footsteps making their way to the door where you were standing near. You held your breath.

“Wait,” Pyotr’s voice. “I can’t let you go before I read the list, Wendy,” He laughed, lowly, and it sounded threatening. “I need to make sure everything’s on it,”

You heard Wendy’s footsteps stop. She was frozen. Suddenly, you watched her bolt. She ran straight out of the door, most likely when Piotr looked down to read. Your eyes widened, and your first instinct was to chase after her.

it was hard to find her in the mess of protesters, but only she was running. You ran after her, contemplating on yelling her name. It was a few seconds later when you saw Pyotr, as well— he had just stepped out of the warehouse, and gave some directions to a man high up in a building via a hand signal. His face looked cold— angry.

suddenly, you noticed a man dressed in civilian clothing following Wendy, as well. He trailed a few paces behind, walking quickly to keep her in sight. You then realized something had to be wrong with the list. Wendy had given them the wrong thing.

you were rapidly approaching the wall— as you ran, something told you to look up and to your right. A tall, run-down looking building, boarded up, and—

that’s when you see the faintest glimmer, something reflecting the barely there ray of light obscured by the clouds. The tip of a sniper rifle.

The spike of fear is what causes you to shriek out, “Wendy!”

she turns her head, and stops for a second. You don’t know if you’ve just signed her death warrant or not, because you lunge at her, tackling her to the ground.

You feel a droplet of a warm, familiar liquid hit your hand. It’s crimson, it’s blood.

you look to Wendy. She’s staring up at you with wide eyes, panting. You’re panting, too, and the adrenaline doesn’t completely taper down the pain of the gunshot in your shoulder. You had moved her out of way enough to be unscathed. It was unfortunate the bullet hit you, but you were both alive.

Alive. You wouldn’t be for long if you just stood there. Wendy seemed to realize that too. She scrambled upright, dragging you up with her, and now the both of you were running.

“Wendy,” you panted, glancing over at her, and then your surroundings. “Why are you being chased? What’s going on? Where’s the list?” You bombarded her with questions, but they were necessary.

Wendy made a sharp turn, jumping into the front seat of an unlocked car. You quickly caught on, and threw yourself into the passenger seat.

“I gave them the wrong one,” she confessed, lowly, breaths shaky as you both ran closer and closer to the wall.

“What?” You blinked, heart pounding in your chest, blood still roaring in your ears. “Why.. what? I don’t-”

“I’m supposed to bring the list back to my superiors. That’s my assignment,” she confesses. “I just didn’t think.. I don’t know why they gave me such an important one, I don’t know if I can complete, I didn’t think he’d notice, and-”

Wendy’s started the car, and navigating the streets is another mission all on its own. Suddenly, you hear the sound of glass cracking, and your head whips around to see hundreds of fractures on the back window of the car. Your eyes widen, and you watch Wendy hit the gas. You pray that another car, a bus, a truck, a bullet— you pray it doesn’t hit you.

“…The wall is coming down... The sledgehammers in the hands of men not born when it went up tear into it... behind it, the East German soldiers tried to stop the tide. Water cannons were brought out, but the West Berliners were determined. One West Berliner sprayed champagne back. It is the moment Berliners have waited twenty-eight years for…”

Wendy is in your hotel room. She’s patching up your shoulder, and you’re panting. Pyotr isn’t dead, but you have the list. You let out a sharp hiss as Wendy presses a cotton ball, saturated with alcohol, straight to the wound.

“Sorry,” she mutters, and you bite the side of your lip to not make a sound.

“It’s fine,” you reply, stilted. It’s kind of awkward, all things considered. You still let her bandage you up, and there’s an uneasy, tentative silence.

When she’s done, you bandage up her hand. It’s only fair. She had already done so, but you redress the wound. You may not be the best agent, but you always have gauze.

and when you’re done, you stand. You wish you had a painkiller.

“Wendy,” you call, lowly. “I need you to tell me where Pyotr is— or where he’s going, I don’t care. Just tell me,”

she owes you this much, you figure.

“He.. he should have been giving this to some seller. I don’t know where, but now that he doesn’t have it, he’s.. well, I’d think he’s coming after me,” she reasoned.

“And where does he think you are?”

“My hotel room, probably,”

“That’s where we’ll go, then,”

Finding Pyotr isn’t hard. He’s currently tearing apart Wendy’s hotel room, two of his men standing outside the door. You signal to Wendy, and both of you walk closer, silently. You both stay close to the wall, and you only have one shot.

a bang. a second.

There lie two bodies, crumpled on the ground. You push past them, moving them aside with your boot, and opening the door to the hotel room. You stay pressed to the wall, of course, you can’t just barge in.

You take a chance, and glance inside. Pyotr immediately shoots at you— he misses.

you glance at Wendy.

you take a few blind shots inside. You hear a pained shriek, guttural and low, and turn to see directly inside. He’s on the floor. You make eye contact for a split second before pulling the trigger, again.

a third body, limp and bleeding out on the ground. You don’t feel satisfaction, though. Just a cold hollowness.

You stare at Pyotr’s body for a long time. Wendy puts a hand on your shoulder.

“Y/n,” she calls, softly. “Let’s go,”

November 25th, 1989

“Congratulations,” Badger takes the list from your hands. The real list was encoded in a watch. You and Wendy had to transcribe all of it onto this list and hand it back to your respective agencies. You were back on home soil, now.

“Thank you,” you bow your head, slightly. It feels strange to be congratulated for this. It was sloppy, and you barely got the job done. You wouldn’t have been able to complete it without Seungwan— or maybe she’s the reason it was such a mess. Either way, it was done.

“Y/n!” You turn your head to the sound of your name— your real name— It’s her.

“Seungwan?” You blink, a smile creeping onto your face. “What are you doing here?”

Badger has the sense to make himself scare, disappearing down one of the many hallways of the main building.

“Well, the CIA wanted a translator, and I volunteered,” she explained, a small smirk growing on her face. “I figured while I got situated you’d let me crash at yours?”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, replacing the action with an amused huff. “Right. I suppose I can agree to that,”

She has a small grin on her face, and leans forward. “You’ll show me around America, won’t you?” She presses. She’s so.. smug isn’t the word. Teasing, maybe? Something like that.

“Just like we toured around Berlin?”

“No,” she snorts, shaking her head. “I’d prefer it to be a bit more calm, if you wouldn’t mind,”

You sighed, theatrically, as she leaned in. She pressed a kiss to your lips, and a warm feeling blossomed inside you. Your eyes fluttered shut, hands snaking into her hair as you sighed into her mouth.

“Yeah,” you murmured against her mouth, reluctantly breaking apart. You still had public decency, obviously. “Yeah, I’ll show you around..”

A/N: IM SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT!! I know it’s not the best pacing and there’s not a lot a lot of interactions.. it’s mostly plot and I apologize. I don’t love how this came out, but I don’t think it’s bad either. Perfectly average and mediocre. kind of sad I wasted such good plot and setting on this but.. so is life. I promise to do wendy/rv justice in another work, but take this while I work on my sakura fic I SWEARRR I’ll try to get it out in a timely manner. as always, thank you for reading and please send asks!! they’re what inspires me to write, in a way.

p.s. the music for this fic is so good I highly recommend you listen to it as you read. songs are in order but you can play it out of order I guess. the most important part is the politics of dancing is meant for the club scene so if you just want to play it there ❤️THANK YOU!!

[fairyhaos]

. ˚ lost in this green (and in your eyes)

pairing: wood nymph!joshua x gn!reader

genre: fluff, magic realism, meet cute, besties!97z

word count: 2371

warnings: brief mentions of fainting

notes: i just. i just love wood nymph!shua a lot okay pls he'd fit the concept so devastatingly well

summary: you're lost in the forest, and it's terrible and terrifying and you're all alone but then... well, you meet someone, and suddenly you find yourself wondering if fairytales and myths really are just tales.

"Lee Seokmin, you are so dead."

You turn around in a circle, looking around for any recognisable objects around you, desperately trying to find a way out. When you see none that could possibly mark out this section of the forest as different to where you’ve been traipsing through earlier, you sigh, frustrated. 

This was all Seokmin's fault. Okay, maybe not entirely his fault, but it was all his stupid dare to get you to fetch him a squirrel from the woods (what sort of dare was that, anyway?) and now… Well, now you're lost. 

It had all started when Mingyu had abruptly announced that you should go on an outing for fun, and then Minghao, being Minghao, had insisted that all four of you take a trip into the countryside for the outing, smack-dab in the middle of nowhere for a 'healing day out' in a field surrounded by trees. It had been fun, for all of one hour before you'd devolved into a game of truth or dare that had ultimately led you to venture into the surrounding trees to go catch a squirrel for Lee Seokmin. 

Oh, that guy really is so dead if you manage to make it out.

"Seokmin? Mingyu? Can anyone hear me?"

The wind rustles the leaves in reply, almost mocking, and distantly there's the sound of some insect creaking. Everything around you is green and brown, and even when you look up, the blue sky and bright sun is covered by the dense foliage. This is a little bit terrible. 

Sighing, you continue on your trek through the woods. Not being the best with directions, you'd kind of lost where you were going about 5 minutes into the forest, and so you have no idea if you're heading back to the field or if you're going in an entirely different direction. You just hope you're not walking around in circles, because that would—

You pause in your tracks. For a moment, there’s only the sound of a pigeon cooing somewhere, but you listen harder, certain that it was a distinctive voice that you heard. And then, there it is again, louder, and you’re sure of it. There's a voice, calling for you, and it sounds a lot like Minghao. 

“Minghao!” Immediately, you’re scrambling towards the noise, running along the soft forest floor, accidentally kicking bushes and almost tripping over tree roots. “Minghao, oh my god, what took you guys so long?”

But abruptly, Minghao stops yelling for you, and the forest is silent again. The trees are tall, looming, now, and you kind of wish it was Mingyu’s stupid height looming over you rather than these dark, unresponsive trees. 

You wait, for several moments, straining to hear Minghao’s voice again. But when he calls, it’s in a completely different direction, so you curse to yourself and start running off again.

You’re deeper into the woods now, you’re sure of it, because the trees are denser and there’s less light and the sound of animals and insects have disappeared. The air is still as you run through the forest, still following the faint sound of Minghao’s voice, and when you stop, it’s as if the entire world is silent, with not even the trees making a breath of noise. 

Minghao’s voice disappears, yet again, and now you’re worried that your brain is playing tricks on you. The bushes you brush against are getting thornier, bigger, difficult to get past, and the trees look like they’ve enlarged and now seem to try and slap you across the face with their rough branches. 

You’re well and truly lost now. Minghao’s voice doesn’t sound again, and you turn around aimlessly in circles, hoping that somehow, you’ll magically find an exit. 

But then. In the eerie stillness of the forest, any sound and movement echoes through the trees, and you hear a branch snap to your left.

“Hello?” you call out, hoping it’s just Minghao or one of the others behind the bushes, waiting to jump out at you. “Who is it?”

There’s silence.

And then a bush rustles to your right.

You whip your head around. “Come on, stop playing. Just show yourself, I know you’re there.”

There’s a good chance, you know, that it’s just a woodland creature or something, but everything in this part of the woods seems so dead and dark that part of you is sure that it has to be a person rather than an animal.

Slowly, gingerly, you creep towards the bush. It rustles again, and you flinch, but then the distinct sound of Minghao’s giggles comes from the bush and you move forwards, and just as you’re peering over…

“Boo!”

A person jumps out at you, yelling in Minghao’s voice. His hair is long, his eyes are large, and he looks like he has little stars around his doe eyes and he’s smiling widely, wickedly, delighted.

You scream, and he laughs with Minghao’s laugh, and the last thing you see are his eyes suddenly widening in horror as the world fades to black and you fall to the floor.

All you can think is, ‘That wasn’t Minghao’.

————————————— 🌿

When you regain consciousness again, there’s a man leaning over you. His eyes are large and he has little stars around his doe eyes, too, and for a moment you’re sure that it was the person who had scared you who was now going to try and kidnap you.

You yelp, attempting to scramble away, but the man just shushes you, gently and firmly placing hands on your shoulders to keep you against the tree you’re propped up on.

“I’m sorry,” he says, chuckling a little. “Jeonghan is a bit of a menace, but he means well. He just loves imitating voices, and he didn’t intend to take the joke that far. He meant you no harm, truly.”

The man’s hands are now on your face, brushing your cheeks softly, making soft sounds to calm down your racing heart. Now that you’re properly looking at him, the man focused on dislodging a leaf that fell on your shoulder, you can see he’s not the same man as earlier. Not Jeonghan, or whatever this man had called him. But you stiffen up, still, unsure if you can trust him.

He looks up at you then, warm eyes meeting yours. His eyes are constantly turned up at the corners, you notice faintly. He looks like a baby deer.

“I won’t hurt you,” the man says. “I promise. No one here wants to hurt you.” He pauses. “At least, not intentionally.”

Well. That doesn’t exactly make you feel reassured.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” He smiles again, and you realise that even his mouth is constantly turned up at the corners. 

He’s so pretty.

“Let me try again. I’m Joshua,” pretty man says, and he sits back a little to hold out his hand. “And I noticed that you’re a little lost here. I was wondering if I could maybe help lead you out?”

You look down at the hand, surprised to find yourself endeared by the action as you reach out to shake it. His hand is warm, too, as warm as his eyes, rough and soft in yours at the same time. Your heart is still racing when you release his hand, but now it’s for an entirely different reason.

“Y/N,” you reply, deciding that, at this point, you’re not sure you have anything to lose by following this pretty man. At least, if you die, you’ll die by the hands of a gorgeous stranger. “And I think any help would be much appreciated.”

Joshua smiles again, and takes your hand to pull you upright, swiftly walking off, hand still clasped with yours.

The woods are still silent, but it no longer feels as if every sound has been suffocated—rather, it’s a peaceful silence, and maybe it’s brought on by the peace you feel with a warm hand firmly holding yours, and a presence beside you that’s quiet and gentle and relaxing.

He’s silent the entire way, walking with you through trees as if he’s following an invisible path, pushing away branches for you and gently guiding you to one side to avoid tripping on roots. You can’t help but glance at him, often, because he’s so pretty and so calm and, in turn, it makes you feel calm too.

There are flowers weaved into his hair and they wave gently in the wind that has managed to come to life again. The forest feels lighter now, less terrifying, and birds now seem to chirp cheerfully in the trees above you.

One bird comes and lands on Joshua’s shoulder as you walk and you startle in surprise, but the man doesn’t even bat an eye, smiling down at it in greeting.

“Well, hello there,” he says. “What do you want now, you little rascal?”

Joshua’s tone is fond, affectionate, and when the bird chirrups, he laughs. 

“Yes, this person is very pretty, isn’t it?” he chuckles, and it makes you blush slightly. Nevermind the fact that he’s talking to a bird. “But unfortunately, they’re not here to stay. We need to lead them out.”

The bird trills, but Joshua just laughs again, and then it flies off.

You watch it go, curiously, and then look at Joshua, who seems completely unfazed by what would have been, to any other normal person, an incredibly weird exchange.

The stars around his eyes glitter as he turns to look at you. They don’t look like stick-on gemstones or even glitter patches, but look as if they’re embedded in his skin. As if the stars are part of him.

“What brought you here to my humble forest?” he asks, and you blink a little at the strange phrasing of his sentence. 

“Oh. I was… trying to catch a squirrel. For my friend.” It sounds ridiculous, when you say it aloud, but it manages to make Joshua laugh, sweet and beautiful and melodic, and you can’t help but smile.

He tilts his head, amused, and now his eyes are sparkling too. “A squirrel? Well, I think you may have failed at that. Unfortunately.”

You shake your head. “This is all Seokmin’s fault. He knows I’m bad with directions, and yet he sent me off into the forest. Alone.”

Joshua’s hand tightens around yours, secure. “Don’t worry. You’re not alone anymore.” He nudges his shoulder against yours, and the sun is now peeking through the leaves, casting a dappled golden shine over his face. “I’m here now.”

That makes you duck your head, shyly, awed by his beauty.

It takes a few more minutes, but eventually, the trees thin and you can see a road ahead of you, a road that looks awfully like the one that Minghao had driven down hours ago to get you to the field.

“Ah, it seems that we’re here,” Joshua says, and he lets go of your hand. When you look back at him, confused, he smiles a little sadly. “This is as far as I can take you. It’s too polluted there for me, and I can’t leave my home.”

“Your home?” you repeat, but he’s stepping forward again, and then leans in to press the lightest kiss on your cheek. It makes heat rush into your face, blushing at the sudden action, but he’s already stepping away before you can react.

“Goodbye, Y/N, and I hope you manage to get home safely.” He grins, lips turning up at the corners a little mischievously. “Hopefully you manage to catch a squirrel someday.”

You blink, startled, because suddenly he’s leaving even though he’d been by your side for so long. “Wait,” you call out, “what are you?”

Joshua laughs, and he’s already begun to fade back into the trees, the stars sparkling around his eyes. “Wasn’t it obvious?” he says.

“I’m a nymph.”

And then he’s gone, melted back into the forest, and you’re standing there alone, straining to see where he went, wanting to know what he meant, wanting to know whether he really was a mystical nymph that you only read about in legends.

You stand there at the edge of the forest for a lot longer, and are about to walk back into the trees again when there’s the sound of a car driving down the road, and someone honks the car horn loudly, making you jump and turn around.

Mingyu has rolled down the window of the passenger seat, practically half falling out of the car.

“You!” he yells. “We’ve been looking for you for ages! Why weren’t you answering your phone?”

And instantly, the memories of before you’d found Joshua come flooding back, and you run towards the car, yelling at Mingyu.

“There’s no service in a forest, idiot!” You open the car door and get in, only to be tackled by Seokmin, who’s sitting in the back seat beside you.

He sobs dramatically, wrapping his arms tight around you. “Why did you disappear like that! We thought you were dead!”

“No, I wasn’t dead, why—hey.” You frown down at him from where he’s buried his head into your shoulder. “It was you. You sent me into the forest to get you a stupid squirrel!” 

Mingyu laughs at that, looking back at you as Minghao drives off again. “Yeah, Seokmin, you sent Y/N in there.”

Seokmin’s eyes go wide as you wrestle out of his arms to shake his shoulders. “I’m going to kill you! This is all your fault!”

“What—! Hey, we found you in the end, didn’t we? Minghao! Help!”

“Hey hey, no killing in my car,” Minghao interrupts sternly, and he sounds genuinely serious, so you settle down. Not before balling your fist and shaking it at Seokmin, though. This guy really is dead once you get out of the car.

Minghao looks at you in the rearview mirror, eyes glittering amusedly. “How did you even manage to get out? You have literally no sense of direction.”

You don't even register the teasing, eyes going distant as you recall stars around eyes and flowers weaved in hair. You smile, feeling your face warm up, leaning back against the headrest.

“I found a nymph.”

fics tags: @jeonginssa ,, @weird-bookworm ,, @minhui896 ,, @bunnyiix ,, @slytherinshua ,, @haowrld ,, @belladaises ,, @moonlitskiiies ,, @cinnamoroxie ,, @butiluvu ,, @wonranghaeee ,, @zozojella ,, @kawennote09 ,, @thedensworld ,, @a-wandering-stay ,, @abibliolife ,, @doublasting

[danikamariewrites]

more dark batboys x dark reader pls i’d literally give you my first born for more, maybe they sit together and do a debrief of all mysteries in velaris. like the boys have been trying to solve this one criminal that kidnaps primarily men sith bad reputation and reader joyfully says oh that’s me!! :)) and their jaw drop nv they’ve been investigating for over 20 years and now they’re in awe and want to know exactly how her brilliant mind did it🧎‍♀️

Cold Cases

Poly!batboys x reader

A/n: I think this has been one of my favorite ‘series’ to write for besides the ddlg stuff

Warnings: mentions of injuries, murder, torture, and mentions of abuse

Azriel had laid out all his unsolved cases from the past decade. All missing males or murdered. He stood, his hands behind his back, as he waited for you, Cassian, and Rhysand to come in.

Rhys pushes the door open giving Azriel a questioning look. He just nods at the table and Rhys just lets out an ‘Ahh’ before taking his seat. You have your arm entwined with Cassian’s as he leads you to your seat.

You plop down kissing Cassian’s hand in thanks and turn your attention to Azriel. “What’s all this Az?” You gesture at the files across the table. Azriel sits, pulling the closest one to him flipping it open. “These are all unsolved cases. All males either missing or murdered, so I wanted to go through them with you to see if you knew anything.”

“Ooohhhh a stroll down memory lane. Ok read ‘em.” You say excitedly. A deranged twinkle in your eye as Azriel reads out some of your greatest crimes. The first three cases were duds. You were almost offended he thought you did it.

Once Azriel read out the fourth case that devilish smirk that told them you knew something they didn’t spread across your lips. You let Azriel finish before you said anything. “Yeah that was me. He’s dead, I buried him in the Dark Forest. The asshole was beating his wife, so I stopped it.”

Cassian gave your shoulder a supportive squeeze as Azriel moved the file to his ‘solved’ pile. The next few were also you. Majority dead, all in different and very creative ways, as Rhys put it. This went on for two hours and over seventy percent of Azriel’s unsolved cases were you.

The last case was an interesting one. The male was missing and still alive. You wouldn’t say what he did, it was far too vile to repeat. The female that was his victim didn’t live in the long run. “I-I wanted him to live with the pain he caused her.” You seemed to be struggling to get your words out.

The boys knew this was clearly personal. But they wouldn’t push. You’d tell them the story on your own time. “I psychologically tortured him for years. His friends and family thought he’d gone crazy, magic really helped there. Once I got my hands on him I kept him tied up for days. I broke his mind to the point where he didn’t even know who he was.” You let out a shaky breath, laying your sweaty palms on the cool wood table.

“A few days after that I dropped him in a random Winter Court village. Gave him a whole new identity and a face fucked up beyond recognition. He’s confused, alone, and scared. And he will be for the rest of his life.” Your eyes had gone distant, like you were in that Winter village watching the male. A grave look had taken over your usual chipper demeanor.

Shaking your head a little, you snap back into yourself. That smirk coming back along with the glint in your eyes. “That all of them Azzy?” “Yeah,” he nods. “I’m very impressed darling. And not a single person suspected you.”

You shrugged, standing from your seat. “What can I say? It’s a talent.” As you left the room the boys shared a look that said they were impressed yet terrified of where you draw the line.

[rillils]

STEVE & BUCKY'S LOVE STORY, UNABRIDGED SOMEWHAT ABRIDGED, part 3/4 (here are part 1 and part 2)

i just want to preface this by saying: as much as they tried to make this movie all about tony, and as much as they tried to no-homo the steve/bucky situation, they still somehow ended up making CACW the gayest movie in the whole cap trilogy, and that's saying something *throws confetti*

now, picking up where we left off:

aided by his friends sam and natasha, steve spends the following two years or so chasing after bucky, looking for clues as to where he could be hiding, until he eventually finds him.

their reunion scene is like. i honestly don't know if i can convey the sheer, ridiculous, absolute beauty that is this scene.

the thing is, steve isn't the only one who discovered bucky's location: the bad guys did too, and they're coming. like they're coming RIGHT NOW, as sam keeps trying to warn steve. which means that he and bucky have about 20 seconds to do this, and that might sound like too short of a time, right? but honey, the amount of repressed emotions and homoerotic subtext these two manage to stuff into those 20 seconds, my god--

no because like, there's a whole-ass SWAT team outside, waiting to crash through their door and blow up the place, yeah? and instead of getting the fuck out of there PRONTO, steve, mr romeo fucking rogers, decides to spend those precious few seconds trying to get bucky to admit that he loves him, making this much yearned-for, long-awaited reunion the most high-stakes game of gay chicken in the whole of history. you might think i'm kidding, but i'm not!!!!

INTRODUCING:

in the red corner, we've got steve basically telling bucky: "i know that you remember me, i know that you saved me because you still love me, please will you just say it out loud babe"

and in the blue corner there's bucky, extremely conflicted because YES, of course he loves steve, but he also knows he's putting steve in danger just by standing in the same room as him, and steve shouldn't even be here in the first place, and anyways STEVE NOW'S NOT THE TIME PLS FUCK

so he's just (unsuccessfully) trying to deny everything, you know?? "fuck no i don't know you, just know your name from a museum, what do you mEAN i saved your ass because i love you more than life itself and that's literally the first thing i remembered when i got my memory back"

(a quick reenactment:)

but really, you'll see the love in bucky's eyes if you just look hard enough.

n- no, look harder

a bit harder?

see, i told you

so here they are, just about to slam each other into the nearest wall and make out like it's brokeback mountain and they're just two guys coming from a time where their love had to be kept a secret and they miss what little privacy they used to have in their own little bubble when they were younger and living together and then life tore them apart and they haven't seen each other in ages and they've been yearning all the while and now that they're finally standing before each other again the air feels electric between them and they just can't help but- wait. uh. that, uh. that sounds familiar. uh.

OKAY so they're totally about to snog the living daylights out of each other, but time is running out. the bad guys are here!! and- and also a bunch of other people! because apparently everybody wants bucky either dead or locked up for one reason or another!! MY BOY CAN'T CATCH A FUCKING BREAK!!

so bucky is apprehended. but before anyone can do much about it, this other guy - this movie's Official Antagonist™ - gets bucky alone and triggers bucky's brainwashed assassin persona into taking over.

no longer conscious of his own actions, bucky wreaks havoc in the building, knocking people down in his wake like a sexy buff steamroller, and tries to escape; but steve, desperate not to lose him again, goes after him and stops him.

by grabbing onto a fucking helicopter, as one does

one extremely romantic, freaking insane stunt later, steve manages to get bucky to safety. next thing you know, bucky's waking up and back to himself, and they finally have a bit longer than 20 seconds to talk. you think they're gonna be normal about this? you think they're gonna share a standard heart to heart conversation? oh hell no, babes. WHIP OUT THE BEDROOM EYES, TURN THAT SOFTNESS UP TO ELEVEN, WE'RE UNLOCKING A BRAND NEW LEVEL OF EMOTIONS HERE

seriously. you don't know what true tenderness is, until you've heard james buchanan barnes softly say, in his sweet, gruff, velvety drawl, barely holding back a smile, "your mom's name was sarah. you used to wear newspapers in your shoes."

also the two of them just. spend half the scene making INTENSE heart eyes at each other, gazing deeply and intimately in each other's eyes, just bypassing the flirting zone to move straight to eye-lovemaking lane, while sam is in the room, because they've got no chill whatsoever.

unfortunately, sam cockblocks reminds them that they don't have time for this shit (dammit, sam) as they kinda have more pressing matters at hand, being on the run from like every government in the world (and then some). also they must neutralize The Antagonist™ before he can act on his Evil Plan™, so, you know. put the eyesex on hold, guys!

(to be continued in part 4)

[archive-z]

a few months ago i was wracked with the Horrors (nightmares) & coped by sending @ghstbird deranged rashidposting takes from 3-6am

it’s been saved in my notes app for awhile, so as a midwinter treat pls enjoy 1k of comedic “what if ex-talamasca agent rashid needed a new job post-dubai & became daniel’s personal assistant/butler?”

Rashid’s cover is blown, which means his time as a Talamasca agent is over. It’s either desk duty for the rest of his life (a waste of his abilities) or quit and find something else he’s good at. Not surprisingly, all the skills you need as an undercover intelligence agent — on-the-fly problem-solving, fastidious attention to detail, implacability, reading people, blending into the background of any room you occupy — are the highly sought after traits of ultraluxury butlers/personal assistants.

Afterall, Daniel does kind of Owe Him One for helping him out in Dubai. The least he could do is offer some sense of stable employment, with fuckoff $ compensation that newly minted multimillionaire Daniel Molloy is now in the position of being able to provide. Fetching Daniel’s dry cleaning and handling his divorce paperwork is child’s play in comparison to navigating the volatile psychosexual energy of the Dubai penthouse.

The only problem is that it’s boring. Rashid is depositing hundreds of thousands of dollars into tax-havened bank accounts and doing very little to endanger his life in the process and he is bored. Naturally, his only course of action is to engage in Jeeves-levels of deep psychological warfare for sport.

(Daniel keeps buying white jeans, Rashid keeps burning them in the utility sink).

Daniel, quintessential Bertie Wooster that he is, is mostly unaware of this going on around him. He has not considered that the decision over whether or not he should wear a tie on his next tv appearance warrants the 5d chess. (Brat tamer Rashid is so good at brat taming that the brats aren’t even aware they’ve already been tamed in the first place). on the rare occasion Daniel does happen to notice the ironclad grip Rashid has on some minor aspect of Daniel’s life, he thinks its hot (something something giving up control & being put in his place).

As a matter of convenience, Daniel does drink from Rashid when he needs a snack, because hunting really cuts into his busy schedule of celebrity appearances and firing off expletives on twitter. Daniel was initially hoping it would be the like Louis-and-Fake-Rashid schtick in Dubai, but Rashid stays 100% dead eyed and implacable throughout le petit coup, which Daniel finds somehow even hotter. Occasionally, Daniel attempts to engage in the vampiric equivalent of edging Rashid during le petit coup, but when he reads Rashid’s mind to see if it has any effect, Rashid is doing to mental equivalent of a number station broadcast.

When Daniel is in his “why won’t my deadbeat maker fucking text me back era” he absolutely has Rashid roleplay as Armand. Rashid looks down on him with a mixture of disdain & pity and Daniel’s like “wow, you nailed that impression” and Rashid is like I’m not doing an impression, that’s just literally how I think of you 🫥

However Daniel is also out there lavishing Rashid with gifts of unfathomable $ bc he’s lonely & likes feeling like he can show off his own wealth & status thru like. wearing beat up converse himself but having Rashid decked out in the best of savile row. at one point Daniel has an extremely tired & long suffering Rashid tell dinner guests that he, Rashid, is “the devil’s minion, [and Daniel, the devil], grants his every wish”. everyone in the world is like wow Daniel midlife crisis much?

Rashid gets to blow off steam after a day of catering to Daniel’s most annoying whims by slipping into his Armand cosplay and being like “alright you pathetic worm, time to lick my savile row leather oxfords” to which Daniel is already like “put your cigarette out on me” levels of Into It

Real Rashid, smoking a cigarette: you were already divorced and won a pulitzer the year i was born, isn’t that interesting? Daniel: can yuo put that out on me?

Rashid’s personal feelings are deep down: 1) this isn’t actually the most Bullshit job he’s worked & the pay is actually commensurate with the predicted risk to his livelihood, unlike working for the Talamasca 2) he’s bored & getting to run a vampire’s life is the most fun a girl can have without putting his life at an untenable risk-reward ratio 3) Rashid thinks sex is pretty cosmically boring for the most part (beyond its function as stress relief), but knowing it pisses Armand off somewhere in the world adds a lil frisson to the arrangement that Rashid actually enjoys 🖤 he derives sexual enjoyment from being in danger & he knows Daniel’s freak behaviour will probably inspire Armand to rip Rashid’s spine out & slow cooker him in jealousy so he’s like “haha, neat :)”

Daniel is doing weirdo exhibitionist stuff like having guests to dinner and being like “okay, real rashid you sit in my lap and pretend to be fake rashid so i can drink from you” in the hopes that the psychic “wtf is going on” from his dinner guests is loud enough for Armand to catch the psychic wavelength and be pissed off about it. (it takes MUCH coordination to get their relative heights into a configuration that suits this).

Daniel gives Rashid a monogrammed locket of his blood to keep him safe from other vampires & Rashid openly rolls his eyes at the gift. (every vampire in a 100km radius has already clocked that Rashid is actually the one to Be Afraid of, not the coked up nepofledgling).

[will post part two later — will involve what happens when Armand gets wind of what’s going on]

[possessivedesires]

hello :) could you pls make a continuation to your villain deku story?

Yandere: Villain Izuku Midoriya

Reader: Hero in training

Summary: Izuku has decided enough was enough and that you weee no longer a fit for the hero course, he was ready to make the city and school burn. But he wasn’t about to do it without you by his side.

“He did… what?” Izuku asked dangerously as he could hear the person on the other end began to get nervous. This was Zero, feared in the villain world- especially when he had the support of AFO at his back. So anything he wanted, it always happened.

Just like this. Information on the league, what they’ve been doing, how they’ve been reacting since Dabi’s death. But now his source is telling him that Shigaraki sold your location to Overhaul, about accepting Overhaul if he had taken care of you. Using you and wanting to use Overhaul to take care of his little puppy?

No… That was not gonna happen. Izuku was not gonna be standing for this. His hand tightened on his hero case, phone by his ear as he could hear the voice of AFO on the other line. “Are you sure you want to do this Zero?”

“Shigaraki fucked up, he was warned and purposely crossed it. Don’t worry sir, I’ll take better care of the league than Shigaraki ever did.” He spoke; none of the nurses really paid attention to him and this point he didn’t care. Izuku was throwing his little hero mask, he was done with the class and had more than enough information of what he needed.

Light footsteps were behind Izuku, feeling himself smirk a bit at hearing that and mumbling a talk to you later to AFO. A pro hero was finally confronting him and this was probably the best thing that could happen to Izuku right, he was so ready to hurt someone at the moment. Needing to release some pent up anger.

Nurses were bustling through the hallway, seeming to avoid the two though. It was like they could sense something off was in the air, pretending to focus on their clipboards than even having to look at either of them. Green eyes glanced to a reflective surface, seeing Midnight standing behind him. And I even got the easy target, Aizawa would have been more fun but I’ll take what I can get. One less hero.

“Deku.” Midnight called out his hero name, Izuku letting the mask once more and letting that cheerful boy they knew out for one last final act. Izuku glanced back, noticing the papers in Midnight’s hand and recognizing them immediately. The forms he’d forged to get into UA. The were perfect, so it ticked him off they his work was being questioned. Narrowing his eyes, turning full to face Midnight. “You recognize these, right Deku?”

Midnight asked, noticing the hardened look in his eyes. Izuku’s hand tightened on the handle of his case, angered at the offended feeling he felt. He knew that the forms were perfect! It was his work! There was no way that those idiotic heroes could figure it out.

“Fatgum told us what happened on the mission. You killed that man Deku, which apparently isn’t the first villain you killed… According to Aizawa, you did the same with Dabi on our grounds.” Yes, Izuku had forced himself onto the mission with taking down Overhaul when he had gotten the news that Overhaul had taken you.

And he did kill a villain, well, more than one but the heroes only know about one since Fatgum had caught him. Izuku had blamed it at first for protecting Kirishima, since it was the villain that had been fighting. But he hadn’t realized because Izuku’s own mission was to burn down that place to make everyone pay for ever threatening you.

“What are you trying to say Midnight? That I’m a villain?” Izuku asked with such a tone that it took Midnight off guard. The mask fell, Izuku the sweet sunshine of 1A was dead. And it was satisfying to see the pro hero in shock, feeling himself begin to get annoyed with how long this was taken. He just walked to go see his pretty little puppy, was that so hard? “You-you…”

“Oh? Don’t tell me that I killed your thunder? Aren’t you a least bit curious that I was always there when the villains were continuously finding us? Just a little odd, ain’t it? I thought I would have to hide or sneak around or even at least try…” Izuku mocked Midnight, watching the way the papers crumbled in her grasp. The villain let out a bored sigh before lunging at Midnight before she defend herself, kicking the hero without holding back.

Midnight felt the pain, felt her rib breaking as she hit the wall harshly. Her body sliding down with a dazed look, Izuku felt relived. Finally he didn’t have to play nice anymore, he didn’t have to act this stupid school boy anymore, all he could do is take you away. “It was a shame, how easy it was.”

Izuku hide his chuckle, it was pathetic seeing how easy a pro hero went down. He enjoyed watching the way that she struggled to stay conscious with that concussion she gained; wanting to watch her continue to struggle. His hatred for them running deeper than any other emotions.

He moved his hand, pulling up the mask and hearing it click to two ear pieces. Midnight didn’t recognize this boy… She had remembered Izuku a stuttering mess, a boy who was always shy and fumbling around. She didn’t understand who this person was… It had to be a crazy nightmare, right?

“I got so close to everything. And you… You just let a villain pass through the halls each and everyday, saying hello while not knowing that I was planning on your downfall with each lesson you gave.” He laughed, a chill running down Midnight’s spin. She opened her mouth, Izuku’s narrowed with a harsh look. Don’t you fucking speak.

He thought venomously, Izuku quickly tightened his hand on the case and hit her upside the jaw with the steel case. It was a sickening sound that heard and he stood up, hearing the light buzz of his filter going on. His mask had some upgrades, especially knowing of Midnight’s quirk so it filter out the air for any quirks like that.

“VILLAIN!” The nurse cried out in fear, taking off running for her life. Izuku glanced in annoyance, holding out his hand and the black whip shot out. The quirk wrapped around her as he yanked his hand, watching the way she went through the window. I need to get my puppy and get out of here already.

“Murderer… Murderer! You- you killed him!” The young boy stared at the nurse as he was staring at the factuality, a dead doctor was on the ground. Blood pooling around his body as Izuku was holding the sharp object in his hand. He only tilted his head lightly, he didn’t care.

Izuku opened the door to your room, frowning at seeing it empty. You were supposed to be here… Could a nurse have fucked yo when you’re supposed to be recovering? How could they be so careless about his precious puppy?

“Izuku.” Out of all the heroes who could approach him next… It had to be this one. Someone that Izuku could see as a father figure, it annoyed Izuku. A lot.

Aizawa hated seeing the student that he started to care in a fatherly way. Izuku turned, staring at Aizawa and the pro hero’s heart hurt at seeing the darkened green eyes. It made him wonder how someone always look so bright every day… “Sorry old man.”

“So… you really…” He didn’t want to believe it, he didn’t want to accept it. Even if he had saw Midnight’s body… She was pushed into an emergency surgery to see if they save her, Izuku left deathly wounds from the impact. Everything internal. “Where are they?”

“I had a feeling you would have looked for them first… Izuku, are you sure you want to do this? You don’t have to. We can get you safe, you can be a hero-“ Izuku shook his head, he didn’t want anything to do with the heroes. Unless it was watching them all suffer in their death. Aizawa would be the only one that he would give a merciless death, for the respect he gained for that hero during his time undercover. “You never answered my question Aizawa.”

“Gone. They went to go help for the search and protection from the villain.” Aizawa admitted and Izuku clicked his tongue in annoyance. Of course your big heart would want to help everyone… Even with how adorable it is, it’s annoying right now. “Well then, there’s nothing of interest here.”

“Izuku, you know I can’t let you leave. Don’t make this harder kid.” Aizawa didn’t really want to hurt Izuku, sure he pushed him and always seemed like he didn’t care in class. But this was one of his students, this was his future son… He didn’t truly want to hurt him. “Then move out of my way, I have to finish my mission.”

“I can’t do that…” He hummed, Aizawa thinking that maybe he got through the student. But was taken off surprise when Izuku was sliding beside him, confused at seeing the smirk on his face but his eyes widened suddenly when he noticed the empty hospital bed getting thrown at him by the black whip quirk. “Shit!”

Aizawa yelled as he quickly dodged out the way, hearing the wall breaking from the impact and getting stuck in the door. The pro hero climbed over the hospital bed, noticing the stairs door was open. He sighed, moving to the radio that the teachers were wearing. “Midoriya… He’s in the stairs…”

“Midoriya? No way… You can’t be saying that he’s…” Aizawa didn’t want to answer Present Mic, running into the stairwell. Izuku was paused on the steps a few floors up, staring at the pro heroes coming in on different levels. It annoyed how quickly that news travelled… The thundering footsteps were getting louder, pissing off Izuku like a ticking clock to a bomb. His eyes glanced to the side, smirking at the idea he suddenly got.

Black whip wrapped around the railing as he jumped off, Aizawa’s fingers only brushed past him. Just barely missing on catching the student. Black whip tightened, letting Izuku sail to the level below and he felt the strength building before smashing against the wall. His quirk disappearing from the railing as he flipped in the air to summersault carefully on the lower roof.

There was a familiar yell, it made his heart flutter. He’s heard this yell so many times during training. Izuku looked back, easily moving out of the way but staying close to his love. “Villain! I won’t let you- Zuzu?”

You asked, seeing the way he smiled and suddenly… You felt terrified. Something was wrong, something was strange… This wasn’t your best friend. Your best never felt made you felt like you were in danger, never felt like you needed to run… “Zu… Where’s the villain?”

You asked nervously, feeling your stomach knot at when the unnerving smile stretched across his lips. There was so much instability in his eyes, it made you recoil from him. And that watching you move away… That broke him. “Don’t you ever move away from me!”

He snapped, your body instinctively flinching. Aizawa watched from the Izuku made hole on the way he was approaching you. You. Of course. You were the key, you were the way that they could get Izuku to calm down.

Izuku’s eyes widened when he saw Aizawa’s scarf wrap around your waist, quickly pulled away. He panicked, there was no way that he would lose you! You were everything to him! He didn’t hesitate to race after Aizawa, blinded by the obvious lure to keep his eyes on you instead.

“Midoriya… why?” He stopped at hearing your voice on the top roof, his eyes darkening. No… You weren’t supposed to call him that… He’s your Zu, your everything. Don’t talk to me like that… Don’t worry puppy, it’s their fault. It’s all their fault, they made you hate me. I am never your villain.

“I won’t let heroes take another thing from me.” Izuku spoke, feeling his anger beginning to boil that he felt numb. Oh how he couldn’t wait to tear the hero system down, it made him chuckle. “Kid… listen-“

“No! You fucking listen to me Aizawa!” Izuku snapped, completely unhinged at this point. His beloved puppy should never be withheld from him and that’s exactly what the hero he had respect for did. All respect for Aizawa… He lost. Aizawa would no longer have a merciful death. “The system is gonna be crushed and I will tear it apart! Heroes are pathetic, none of them are actual heroes. Just power hungry. Ain’t that right, Kachan?”

Izuku asked suddenly with a cold voice, turning quickly to grab the lunging blonde by his face to smash him into the rooftop. Aizawa’s eyes widened, wondering how he knew that Kachan was attacking him while Izuku was thankful for the danger sense he was given. “You’re beloved, top student. Oh so powerful, loved to tell me how pathetic I was. That I should take a swan dive off of the rooftop. Nothing heroic about that, hmm?” Katsuki gritted his teeth, wondering why he wasn’t moving to attack this nerd. Wondering where Izuku got this strong? Or was he always and refused to show his strength throughout the school year…? Did he think that he was too weak to actually take him head on?!

“I’ve seen heroes turn their back on children, because it wasn’t convenient for them or they wouldn’t get their fame out of it. Is that all you heroes care about, fame? How pathetic.” Izuku mused, Katsuki suddenly screaming from the burst of pain and sickening snap he heard in his arm. When he noticed All Might on the roof, Izuku felt himself grin. “All For One as been a better hero than you ever been.”

And that was the final nail in the coffin, watching the way that the ex number one hero seemed to lose his resolve. Izuku lunged from his spot, hand gripping onto your arm and kicking Aizawa onto one of the lower roofs. “I-Izuku…”

He ignored you, his puppy wouldn’t call him by his full name. You just needed some training and this was your first lesson. You remembered how Aizawa had rushed explain on how you would be the only one to get Izuku to calm down… “Zuzu…?”

Finally, they can learn. That’s my good puppy. He thought with a smile, looking down at you with a smile. It was confusing to see that smile… It didn’t look villainous… It looked like the Izuku that you knew. “We-we can still fix this… remember what you told me… you wanted to do good! We-well this is the time to do something good.”

“And I will puppy, by gutting the heroes.” He said with such a happy smile that it made you feel sick. Your eyes widened when he started to make a phone call, portal appearing for you as Izuku gave a sadistic grin to All Might before dragging you through the portal. And that was the last thing you saw…

:::::

How long were you asleep…? You didn’t really know… All you know was the fact that you woke up in one of Izuku’s tees, in a soft bed. A room with some of your favorite things, some things that only Izuku knew about…

You carefully got out of bed, bare feet pressing against the hard wood floor as you were quiet. Every nerve was on edge, your movements slow as you were nervous that something was going to pop out at any second…

“My pretty puppy finally awake?” Izuku asked as you had peeked into the large room, seeing Izuku sitting in a chair with Shigaraki dead at his feet. The rest of the league was dead along the bar, Kurogiri was alive but cautious. He knew that the master loved Izuku as a son, that he treasured the host of OFA. But to see Shigaraki die now… Kurogiri was weary of Izuku… “Come to your senses puppy, there’s no other escape for you.”

Izuku spoke, noticing the way that you were looking around the bar. You were trying to escape and it wasn’t gonna be happening any time soon, you were his. If the world must die for us, then the world shall die.

One lesson at a time, Izuku would train you. He would make you more perfect than you already were. Your eyes watched the way he stood up from the chair, making his way to the bar and mentioning you to sit down; giving his first order.

“Eat with me.”

[randomsprinkles]

hihihi pls ramble about monkey man I will read it with great interest 👀

Like your sister I usually prefer silly fun happy characters most of the time but there are some culprits I really like (Godot and Kristoph in particular) but Simeon is both silly and such a cool culprit. I love his design and personality and his motive and he's so interesting because he did get a good ending for himself. The people he was running away from have been dealt with and now he can have a home in jail with Kanis.

But I also like that he's not entirely sympathetic. He did a lot of bad things to people that werent related to SS-5, and he tries to justify it. Ringer and Kay and Shaun didn't deserve any of that. And Bronco was a misunderstanding.

So ya feel free to write anything about Simeon and I will read it and I will love it because it's so painful having to wait for my sibling to start and finish both Investigations games when I really wanna talk about how good monkey man is as a character

Spoilers under the cut

Hi omg thank you for this opportunity to talk about Simeon

Yeah everything that you said is basically why I like him too. It’s really hard to strike a balance between a villain who is sympathetic but who also is not necessarily a good person and is culpable for their actions so I was really blown away by his character’s writing

He hurt a lot of people who didn’t do anything wrong but I also sympathize with the fact that he was terrified and paranoid and there’s something so deeply sad about someone who thinks they’ve been backed into a corner and the only way out is to hurt other people and it’s also deeply sad that he won’t allow himself to trust anyone except Kanis because he believes everyone has ulterior motives even people who genuinely cared about him like Bronco

I really like his relationship with Kanis because of how it’s perceived from both sides. Simeon is someone who actively keeps people at an arms distance but I think he longs for his fathers love more than anything and Kanis for all of his flaws genuinely does love Simeon like a son and wants the best for him. The problem is Simeon perceives Kanis as someone strong because he is “cold” and because he doesn’t have connections with others and he thinks Kanis wants him to do the same but I don’t think Kanis ever wanted that life for him. I think Simeon thinks of Kanis as “teaching him to trust no one” and become the way he is today and he thinks that Kanis would be proud of him but I don’t think Kanis intended that at all.

Also Simeons relationship with his father is really interesting. One of the main themes of investigations 2 I would say is the bond between parent and child (whether positive like with Shaun and Verity or Judy and Sampson, or negative like with Eustace and Excelsius or Simeon and Carmelo) I think that’s one of the reasons why Simeon was so quick to believe that Artie Frost was his father and not Carmelo because if he’s dead that would give a reason to justify why he never came to rescue him when he was suffering at the orphanage. Simeon finds it difficult to grapple with the painful reality that his dad simply didn’t care about him and I think he’d do anything to maintain this illusion that he actually did care he just died, even if he has to shift blame onto Bronco for things he didn’t do. (Artie Frost or Paul Halique was also a terrible person btw but Simeon doesn’t know that). I wonder about Simeon and Bronco sometimes and about how their relationship probably could’ve been mended if they’d like…actually communicated at all. Because Bronco knew who his father was after he was given the ring but Simeon never asked about it not only because he was so convinced that he was right but also I think maybe deep down he was scared of figuring out the truth and he sent his best friend to his grave for it (but you don’t have to take this btw this is just my headcanons im just rambling here)

I’ve thought a lot about whether I think he can ever “get better” but honestly I don’t think he’s irredeemable and I think maybe prison where he can be with the one person he thought truly loves him will do him some good. I think deep deep down he regrets what he did (to Bronco specifically) it’s just covered in layers of justifications he clings to to protect himself from the guilt

I actually had a lot of metas planned to talk about him and I wanted to dabble in fanfiction but I’m literally not confident about my writing at all lol I’m just worried I won’t do him justice because like I said before it’s so hard to strike that balance between sympathetic but menacing yknow and even now I’m not even sure that I’m making sense lol I’m just so excited to talk about him

Thank you so much for sending this ask I was beginning to lose hope I would ever find someone to talk to

[gigglesandfreckles-hp]

One more time now, with feeling live reactions (i will force you to read these for every fic now I'm afraid)

Chapter 1:

Oh that opening scene was HOT

THEY'RE BOTH IN THE OFFICE?? WHAT A TWIST

-

“I am certain there will be many questions along the way, so I shall not endeavour to waste any time in, as the Muggles say, sugar-coating it.”

“Sir—”

“There’s a prophecy,” Dumbledore says. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees James go still in his chair. “A baby born at the end of July, with the power to defeat the Dark Lord.”

“A…baby?” James questions, confused.

“Yours, James,” Dumbledore says simply. “And Miss Evans’s.”

WHAAAAAT

NOOO WAY

is this a baby Harry fic?

I LOVE a baby Harry fic if so I really do love them. How did Dumbledore know that she's having Harry?? They JUST smashed

Chapter 2:

Oh a FAKE baby. Yet is it the real baby? Stay tuned to find out folks

..... MIA AND FLEAMONT ARE DEAD??? ORPHAN JAMES???? WHAT ANGST WILL YOU SUBJECT ME WITH WOMAN??

-James scoffs bitterly, eyes blazing. “And I’ll say no.”

Oh, James. Oh my lovely James let your lovely not wife lay your head in her lap and cry it all out.

Oh yeah no I would freak out if James said my name enunciating the syllables and looking at me you're stronger than me lily I wouldve pounced I'm afraid

But the order thing??? Dumbledore you genius skank. Let them see each other PLS

-James sighs beside her, voice flat and weary. “The Order has a spy.”

Oh, Peter. Fuck you.

SIRIUS!! I MISSED YOU!!!

He was

Going to

PROPOSE???? NN? SJWJIWOk)?? #) #(/$-2!

I didn't like that flashback. Didn't like it at all

Chapter 3:

NOT THE OLD MEMORIES IN GODRICS HOLLIW

I DON'T LIKE THESE FLASHABCKS, GIGGLE

I don't like Sirius being lied to here that's not nice

And I am the lamest lamo when it comes to any sort of negative tension so I will be reading all of this with a wince in my eye

Ouch. OUCH I DON'T LIKE THIS

I think my main problem here is that Sirius is mad. That shouldn't happen. Also James and lily need to kiss and make up PUHLEASE

Chapter 5 or 4 :

-“We’re not ever having that conversation, Evans.”

EAURGHHHHHH COMMUNICAT3E3

-“Well, Sirius isn’t here,” James snaps, his voice cracking with emotion, “because he knows I’m lying to him.”

And I LOVE you for putting that in because we know how much he means to them and I HATE you for putting that in because LET THEM BE HAPPYYYY

Chapter 6:

-

“Yes,” he says firmly, leaning back in his chair. “I have. It’s just…everything’s a lot lately. This whole situation. My parents. Sirius.”

His voice catches a little on that last word, and Lily's heart aches. She sets her fork down. They’ve tiptoed around each other for almost two weeks now—polite, brittle, careful—but he's asked about her work, Manchester, a few other inoffensive topics. He pulled her from eating on the floor of her bedroom. And she's a Gryffindor.

“Have you heard from him?” she asks.

James’s expression darkens. “No. I tried reaching out a couple of days ago, but…” His gaze drifts, unfocused. “I’ve never lied to him before.”

“Ever?”

His eyes flick back to hers. “Ever.”

I. LOVE. THEM. SIRIUS AND JAMES I LOVE THEM AND THEY SHOULDNT HAVE TO FACE THIS WAR FUCK OFF NO NOSE VOLDI OLDI MOLDI

KISS KISS FALL IN LOVE. the many lines about James changing made my heart ache thank you very much

I DON'T. LIKE THESE FLASHBACKS. I DON'T LIKE THEM.

Chapter 7:

SIRIUS. TELL HIM PLEASE PLEASE TELL HIM GODDDDD

I need to take a break from reading this

Just

PLEASE TELL ME THEY TELL HIM???

Spoiler: I didn't take a break

-He pushes off the wall and brushes past her, pausing just long enough to say, “You told me you loved James.”

Oh.

Right so I want to jump off a cliff. And the way Sirius knows he's being lied to even when he's NEVER BEEN LIED TO BY JAMES BEFORE ARGHHHHSHSHSHAJANANN

NO JUST TELL HIM YOU FAT FUCKS I DON'T CARE ABOUT DUMBLE DORE HE'S AN OLD HAG GOD DAMN IT

ok i took a 3 day break we are BACK BABY

chapter 8:

is this woman ACTUALLY PREGNANT?? ofcourse she fucking is. sirius congratufuckinglations because youve got a baby!! and james too, i suppose.

-

She stands fully, arms stretching overhead in a yawn that tugs her t-shirt dangerously high. And in the quiet pause that follows, she notices it—the strangled little sound James makes. A sharp inhale, caught in his throat.

HAHHAHAHAHAHA YOU JUST FUCKED HER MAN WHAT ARE YOU DOINGGGGGG

lily take the damn test>:[

-

She risks a glance at him—his head tilted back against the sofa, eyes half-closed, a lazy smile on his lips. He looks younger in the firelight. Softer. Like the boy she used to love.

i want him. lily, move over. better yet, lily, come along with me. bring sirius too.

HAPPY CHRISTMASSSS

that stomach bug has an awful lot of sass

chapter9??

sirius. i love you. no specific reason you just existed. and i love you for that

-

“You hurt me,” he says plainly. “I have…so much anger, Lily. I never wanted to feel this way about you. I don’t even know how to be angry with you, but it’s what I feel. All the time.”

no

nuh

uh

i reject this.

-

“When you ended it,” he says finally, voice raw and low, “you ended me, Evans.”

FUCKK THISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

-

“I can’t marry you.”

i dont like you. at all. i

hate you for this infact

AAAAAAUFDRHXW;JPJ'DXKL

-

“This your idea of a good Christmas, Evans?” James’s voice is low, close.

i would pounce on him i dont know whats stopping you here lily

-

Sirius Black stands on the threshold, hands up, breathless and wide-eyed.

MUAHA JUUMAUMUAHMUAH I LO E YU SO HAPPY YOURE HEREEE I MISEED YOUUUUU

-

There’s a pause, then Sirius, more sincere than James deserves after being such a prick, says, “Because the world is properly fucked if you two don’t live happily ever after.”

i wish death and destruction not upon you because i dont wish bad on anhyone may you and your famiky live a hapy lfe I HATE UYOU

chapter 11:

-

“I thought I’d worked it all out,” Sirius says, his tone softer now. “Yesterday, it just clicked. I don’t know how I missed it before—this whole mess reeks of Dumbledore. I don’t know what he's playing at, or why you two agreed to it, but it’s obvious. He wants people to think you’re together. Having a baby.”

hes so smart i love him

i love sirius sm omg i should not like him this much

chapter 12:

my cat is reading with me!!

sirius ily

-

“You’re not trying shit!” he fires back. “Why did you leave? The two of you were happy! You were bloody insufferable, the pair of you, and I made my peace with it, because he loved you and you loved him and I thought—fuck me, I thought maybe that meant something.”

PEACE WITH IT JKAQSHWBSJA

waitwaitwait, james was attacked after some quidditch game, lily didnt want to be in the order and thats why they broke up? isthere gonna be a more solid explanation of this later or am i dmb?

OHHHHH SHE DID IT TO PROTECT JAMES FROM THE PEDUJICE OF BEING WITHA QUOTE UNQUOTE MUDBLOODDD. shes so dumb

HHAHHAHAHAH NOT THE ANIMAGUS SHITTING HABITS

james is indeed fit

-

“You only say that because statistically speaking, I’m almost always thinking about you.”

“Or Sirius.”

He huffs a laugh. “Or Sirius.''

CAN I GET A J ! CAN I GET AN I! CAN I GET A LYPAD!!!1

....flea was the penpal. SJHEGYI9OUWPSLJJCD

dumbledore you bitch

JAMES :(((( IM CRYING GENUINEY HIM AND EUPHEMIA AND THE UNORGIVABLES AND EUPHEMIA IS UCKING DEAD

i

dont

love

whats going om

i love you for writing this

YOURS SINCEREST

-JP anon

JP anon!!!! i hope you know how much this message made me smile when i received it yesterday!!!! like so big!!!! full face scrunchies!!! xxx

[nburkhardt]

Somebody Loves You, You Got a Friend (part 5)

Other parts: one, two, three, four.

I know I said in the last part we’re meeting the CC boys, but I forgot about this. So we get a bit of what’s happening outside of Steddie’s bubble! (We’re fast forwarding a bit, Steve’s like five-six months along. Also if anything doesn’t seem accurate to real life, pls ignore that oh and the show timeline…don’t look too closely pls 🫡)

Being in a small town is still sometimes stupid, Steve will always say this. Because of how fucking true it is.

It wasn’t too long ago when all the town could talk about was “poor Joyce Byers, her youngest is dead” and then found alive it switched immediately to “poor Barbra Holland, just so young” and now? Now it’s his family.

Thankfully the rumors and gossip is about his father leaving suddenly and not about him being pregnant at sixteen.

Currently he’s hiding his tiny baby bump, because according to the doctors, he’s thirteen weeks along and the other day he noticed his stomach rounding out. So, he’s taken up to wearing a bit bigger shirts and sweaters. Since the doctors and his mom told him scent blockers can be harmful, he’s had to stop taking them.

Instead, he helps mask his scent with Eddie’s scent.

“How you feeling today?” Eddie whispers to him, as he subtly scents him.

He shrugs and notices Nancy and Jonathan staring at him, turning away, “the nausea is better today, I think. Right now I’m really wanting a cheese pizza oh, and a chocolate brownie”

Eddie laughs and pushes him just enough to start walking, “good thing it’s lunch, then?”

They make their way out of the school, Steve hearing multiple people whispering about them but ignoring it. It’s not new that he’s friends with Eddie, plus he isn’t really ‘King Steve’ anymore either. If anything, being popular was a huge disappointment.

As they reach his car, they hear someone shouting Steve’s name. Confused, and not finding anyone immediately, Steve’s a little surprised to see that Nancy and Jonathan followed them.

“Um, what’s up?”

Nancy looks between him and Eddie then narrows her eyes, like she’s trying to figure something out. “We wanted to talk to you about something”

Confused even more, he looks between the other couple before glancing at Eddie, who’s just as confused. “Ok? Can’t you say it in front of Eddie?”

Jonathan shook his head, “uh, we can’t- probably shouldn’t. It’s- it’s about my brother”

That’s when it clicks, it’s about the stupid Upside Down.

Again.

Shaking his head, he hopes they can’t tell his scent is spiking with anxiety. Eddie immediately picks up on it though, “Stevie, we should leave before our lunch break is over, yeah?”

Thank god for Eddie.

“He’s right and I really want some pizza, maybe another time?” He’s lying, there’s not going to be a next time for as long as he can ignore them. He can’t be involved with them anymore, especially with the tiny life growing inside of him. “Come on, Eds”

Eddie gives the other two a blinding manic smile before climbing inside the car and Steve just smiles and then they’re gone.

They drive to the closest diner that serves pizza and brownies.

They’re in the furthest corner of the whole place and hidden behind a wall, giving them the privacy they’ve been wanting. Steve’s not at all hiding the fact that he’s scenting Eddie and Eddie has a hand on his stomach underneath the sweatshirt.

“You know, I was told you can’t feel anything yet. There’s like a few more weeks, then apparently you’ll be able to feel them moving and kicking” he whispers against Eddie’s neck, “have I told you I love your scent?”

The alpha chuckled, “yeah? Your scent is better, it’s even sweeter now”

Shaking his head, he sits up and looks at Eddie, “it changed?”

Before Eddie can answer, the pizza is there. Along with two brownies, which Steve immediately grabs a slice. “Uh yep, I never realized how good this was” he nearly moans at the pizza, then he eyes the brownie and grabs a piece.

“You aren’t-“

Nodding, he puts part of the brownie on top of his pizza and takes a bite. An overly satisfied smile on his face, causing Eddie to laugh and shake his head. They eat mostly in silence, especially since the omega is happily eating the pizza with the brownie on top.

It’s only once they’re back in Steve’s car heading back, when he remembers. “Hey, you said my scent changed. What does it smell like now?”

Eddie lets out a hum, leaning over and taking in his scent before answering, “there’s a hint of I think cinnamon? It’s really faint, I only notice it when we’re scenting each other”

“I’ll ask my mom about it, this is still all outta my knowledge. I knew some of it but there’s things I didn’t know. Like, your scent is overly calming to me? It’s weird, I mean, before even back when you shoved me in my car at that party, I really liked it but it didn’t calm me down.” He explained as he parked but didn’t move to get out, instead turned to face Eddie, “I already knew the basics for pregnancy and all that. But apparently the baby will be able to hear both of us? It’s so weird. This is weird”

Eddie laughed, reaching over to grab his hand, “it’s metal as fuck, pretty boy. You’re growing a human, like right now. I know it’s not what we wanted but, I’ll be honest, I’m so damn lucky it’s you.”

Almost immediately, his eyes start to sting as tears well up, rubbing at his eyes, he laughs before shaking his head. “Please don’t make me cry, you sappy alpha.”

Eddie grins, “Your sappy alpha, princess.”

A Week Later

The Harrington house is quiet and all three people are currently asleep. It’s only eight in the morning on a Sunday anyway.

Steve has his face shoved by Eddie’s neck, arms wrapped around the alpha and their legs tangled together, peacefully sleeping. Eddie’s just as peaceful, with one arm holding Steve close and the other is thrown over his eyes.

Steve’s mom, Janet, is waking up only because of their annoying doorbell going off. She huffs, pulling on a robe and stopping by Steve’s room to see the boys still asleep.

The bell rings again and she sighs, pulling their door shut before making her way to the front door to be met with Nancy Wheeler.

“Hello, can I help you?” She never formally met Steve’s ex-girlfriend. She was too busy helping her ex-husband.

The teen is shocked to see her, clearly and she doesn’t know how to school her emotions yet, because the girl looks disappointed that she answered the door, “uh- yes, i’m here to talk to Steve?”

Frowning, “I’m sorry but Steve is asleep right now, is this important?”

She can tell Nancy’s an alpha that hasn’t figured out a way to control her emotions, because the girl is still disappointed and it seems frustrated, “I just need to talk to Steve, you’re his mom, right?”

“I am, and I won’t be waking him up just for a chat. You can come back later or wait until school tomorrow” she’s just as frustrated, if not more. This is the girl that called her son ‘bullshit’ and she doesn’t ever want to see that sadness and that self-doubt in Steve again.

She watches as Nancy clench’s her jaw before trying and failing to school her face and straighten up, “I’m sorry ma’am, but this is important enough to wake him up. It- it’s about Will Byers and-“

Janet shakes her head and gives a sharp smile, “My son isn’t the police or involved with what happened to Will Byers and I won’t be waking him up just to see his ex-girlfriend.” And promptly shuts the door before Nancy can say anything else.

If she listens closely, she can hear Nancy let out a frustrated huff and walking away.

Shaking her head she doesn’t bother going back to sleep, goes into the kitchen to start on breakfast since the night before Steve mentioned craving pancakes.

The smell of bacon and pancakes is what helps wake Steve up, the other thing is the light kiss on his forehead.

Blinking away the sleep from his eyes, his lips curl into a smile at Eddie, the alpha is smiling at him and he can suddenly feel a hand rubbing at his waist and stomach, “good morning, Stevie”

“Morning Eds” he sighs and leans into him for a few seconds and then he’s bolting out of the bed and into the bathroom, throwing up last night’s dinner. Groaning he feels a hand start to rub up and down his back, “Eddie, I swear I’m never going through this again”

The alpha laughs then helps him up. After brushing teeth and putting on decent clothes, they find his mom humming softly to the radio and busy flipping pancakes. Despite the fact that he was just nauseous and didn’t want food, he wants nothing more than the food his mom is making.

“Oh! Good morning boys” she smiles and turns the burner off before pulling him into a hug with a kiss to his forehead, “how are you feeling, sweetie?”

Shrugging, “just weird, I guess?”

“Yeah, that won’t be changing much” she smiles, “come on, I have enough pancakes and bacon. Would either of you like eggs?”

As they’re eating and having small talk, it isn’t until Steve’s finished his food that his mom looks at him with a pinched look, “mom?”

She sighs and looks at him, “Sweetie, before you woke up someone came over looking for you. She was pretty determined to talk, but I told her no. I just wanted to let you know incase she shows up again”

Confused, he sees Eddie equally confused and before he can open his mouth to ask who, his mom says it, “it was your ex, Nancy, I don’t know what was so important. She said it was about Joyce’s son, but you aren’t involved with them.”

For a quick moment he panics at the thought of Nancy pulling him back in, but he’s been better at standing up for himself other than just relying on others.

He doesn’t bother waiting, he’s determined to stay out of their mess. He has more important things in life.

Eddie’s waiting in the car while he’s standing on the Wheeler’s porch. He takes a quick moment to control his breathing and then knocks on the door.

It’s thrown open by Mike, who immediately glared at him, “what are you doing here?”

Rolling his eyes, “your sister wanted to talk to me and so I’m here”

Mike rolls his own eyes before turning and yelling for Nancy, then he just stands there waiting and honestly just glares at him. It doesn’t bother him, it makes sense. Then before he knows it, Mike’s being pulled away and there’s Nancy.

“You can’t keep avoiding this, Steve. You’re in this now” is the first thing out of her mouth, “are you going to help? The kids almost got hurt without any help and I thought-“

“I went over to that house just to apologize to Jonathan, Nancy. Not to throw my life away fighting monsters, did you forget we’re also kids? I’m sixteen. You’re sixteen!” He’s never been ashamed to fight dirty, “I thought that the supergirl closed that stupid gate, anyway?”

He watches as Nancy’s frustration grows, and he suddenly realizes how much they wouldn’t work at all. Ever.

“It doesn’t matter! We need help and you’re in!”

Shaking his head, he decides it’s not worth fighting and just says, “it does matter and I’m out. I’m not your boyfriend, I’m not even your friend. Leave me alone and I’ll stay out of your way”

And he simply walks away.

—

That’s it for now! I’m sorry for making Nancy into this pushy person but I mean…she kinda is that way in canon? She’s an older sister with younger siblings so of course she doesn’t see that she’s still only a kid too. She’s pretty much like this throughout the whole fic btw 🫣

NEXT TIME for sure the CC boys make an appearance 😌 (just a heads up, the unnamed member is named Grant in this) 

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