#so she's aware of stuff that's more likely to happen to me than to white people

[laisai]

yeah like i use chinese medicine for colds and milder illnesses, or sometimes things that aren't "illnesses" that can be defined exactly but can be somewhat mitigated with chinese medicine. acupuncture can probably help with certain issues too, like perhaps my chronic back pain, but it's not gonna like. suddenly fix my eczema.

i am not going to use chinese medicine to cure covid, cancer, or like. infertility or other wacky shit. western science has that sort of thing figured out/is better at figuring that stuff out. but chinese medicine has its uses in filling in the gaps until then.

I'm all for natural remedies and traditional medicine, but I think when your "natural remedy" is based on the idea that water can become medicinal by being in the presence of a teeny itty bit amount of something, then it's probably bullshit and you're getting scammed. Go buy some ibuprofen or see a doctor.

[mariasont]

hi hi hi!!! i know you’re working on the bau sleepover buttttt i was wondering if you could write a aaron hotchner x reader fic where like what happened to garcia, reader gets shot and she’s in hospital and they don’t know if she gonna be okay and stuff. her and hotch have this mutual pining for each other and when she gets shot he kinda spirals. after being released, hotch takes her to her apartment and stays with her until they catch him and stuff. i know this is really long, thank you!!!

Some Profiler You Are - A.H

a/n: hi hi hi thank you so so sooo much for requesting <3 i kind of took this a more fluffy route and focused more on the recovery so let me know if you like it :)

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

warnings: reader was shot, comfort, angst like a teensy bit, fluff, changing of bandages, kinda shitty ending per usual

wc: 2k

"Do you want to sit down?"

No, you really didn't. After spending the last six hours in a state of near-motionlessness, sprawled across various surfaces, the last thing you wanted was to do was sit down. Your legs had taken on the consistency of overcooked noodles, so you made the grave mistake of misreading the quiet of the house as Hotch's absence, a mistake punctuated by the garage door's sudden rumble.

You should have known better than to assume he would leave you alone for even a second. Now, you were face to face, his scrutinizing eyes boring into yours, arms crossed across his wide chest. He was in a casual zip-up--a rarity that you never imagined him wearing before practically moving in with him. But you really did enjoy this relaxed side of him, he wore it exceptionally well.

Taking work off was a concept you knew was foreign him, yet here he was, not at his desk, hovering over you like a concerned parent. The entire office, yourself included, gaped at him as if he had sprouted a different head when he told them. His next move was even crazier--he insisted you stay with him while you recovered.

You protested. A lot. Shocker. But he wouldn't take no for an answer. Again, Shocker.

You winced as you stepped forward, your hands automatically gravitating to the bandage that spanned around your thigh.

"You can't baby me forever, Hotch," you murmured, though your conviction wavered under the dull throb in your leg.

You braced yourself against the counter, trying to mask the discomfort you were sure was etched all over your face.

Filling the shoes of the communications liaison for the FBI post-JJ's shift to profiling, you signed up for a life of managing the media narrative, being the conduit between local and federal levels, and choosing the cases. You provided assistance in ways that aren't glaringly obvious.

What you didn't sign up for is getting shot.

The movies, the stories, even the firsthand accounts from coworkers--none of it could brace you for the raw, blistering pain of a gunshot wound. It fucking hurt. And the recovery? It was a different kind of torture, and you'd even argue that it was worse.

"It's not babying, it's common sense," Hotch countered.

He was frustrated. You had that effect. He stepped closer, his hand dragging down his face. "You took a bullet. It's still in your leg. It's perfectly rational for me to want to prevent any unnecessary strain on you."

"Feels dramatic," you shrugged, but he was right, like always.

Your grip on the counter tightened, knuckles growing white as you struggled to keep the pain under wraps. His brows lifted in response.

"I'm fine, really, Hotch. I hate this. You're probably dying to get back to work--don't let me be the reason you don't. Despite popular belief, I'm quite capable of fending for myself."

"I'm aware," he said, his attention briefly shifting to your bandaged leg. You were wearing shorts, a choice that felt less than appropriate, but practicality trumped formality under these circumstances. "Work will survive without me. I'm not sure I can say the same about you."

Your laughter was short-lived, swiftly turning into a stifled grimace as your footing slipped. Hotch's reflexes were quick, his hands steadying you--one against your ribs, the other just shy above the hem of your shorts.

"Point in case."

"Poking fun at a wounded woman? Shame on you, Hotch," you chided, your lower lip jutting out in a pout. His eyes darted to it momentarily.

He didn't move, his hands staying put, stirring a gentle, jelly-like feeling inside of you.

This was an odd sort of comfort, the kind you're not supposed to feel with your boss. You shouldn't be talking to him like this, shouldn't be in his kitchen, and certainly, his hands shouldn't be where they were. But the ache in your heart didn't seem to care about shoulds and shouldn'ts.

Hotch's presence was hard to ignore. He was reducing the space with every word.

"You're hardly acting like a wounded woman," he pointed out. "You should be in bed."

You tilted your head, sliding onto the barstool to carve some much-needed space between you. The scent of his cologne was intoxicating, and you needed distance to gather your wits before you did something that HR would definitely not look kindly upon.

The action was a mistake, a fact that became painfully clear as the feeling of something stabbing into your leg took hold. You tried to muster a smile, but you were sure it came across as a snarl. The last thing you wanted was to inflate Hotch's ego by showing that maybe, just maybe, he was right.

"Shit."

You followed his line of sight, landing on the fresh red seeping through the bandage and staining your shorts. Oh. That's not great. Don't think you can fool him with this one.

Hotch didn't hesitate, his response outpacing your own surge of panic, which was incredibly fast, because you were panicking and frankly not that great with blood. His hands were on your skin, easing the hem of your shorts upward to lay bare the wound you had stupidly  underestimated.

You're never going on a date again.

I mean, the only reason you even went was to get your boss of your mind. Since the first day, you'd been hopelessly drawn to him--how could you not be?

But there are a couple factors to consider.

Firstly, he was your boss, and the whole notion of a coercive relationship dynamic seemed problematic.

Secondly, there's the age difference; it had never been an issue for you--perhaps a reflection of your daddy issues--but you knew it would raise some eyebrows.

And thirdly, he didn't even like you back. That was, of course, the biggest issue. If not for this, the other concerns could definitely be overlooked. 

Before this whole incident, he barely acknowledged you beyond was professionally required of him. You knew you hadn't been part of the team long enough to bond--though you weren't sure Hotch did bond in the usual sense, but the point was made.

You were fairly sure you hadn't made much of an impression on him.

"Hold still." That was a tall order, considering it hurt more than a mother fucker.

You found yourself glaring at him--not that he was to blame, but you needed to anchor your frustration on something, or someone. Unknowingly, your grip had latched on the fabric of his zip-up, but he seemed unfazed. He grabbed a clean cloth from the drawer, pressing it against the wound, only furthering the colorful vocabulary going on in your head.

"Fuck, Hotch."

You didn't make a habit of cursing in front of your superior, but the sharp sting forced tears to the brink, your body going rigid as you snapped your eyes shut. 

His other hand found its way to your uninjured thigh, giving it a firm squeeze--a clear attempt to divert your attention. It worked for a second. "I'm sorry, just keep this pressed here, okay?"

He motioned toward the cloth, and you complied, too drained to consider otherwise. Your brows knitted, and you bit into your lip until you tasted something metallicy, your mind desperately racing trying to think of anything other than the blood flowing freely from your thigh.

"Where are you going?" You knew how panicked you sounded as he turned away, stepping towards a cabinet. 

He rummaged briefly before holding up a first aid kit. Catching the brief alarm in your face, he quickly returned to your side, his hand finding the crook of your neck as you instinctively clutched at his shirt once again.

"If you dare say I told you so, I swear, Hotch, fists will fly," you ground out through clenched teeth.

He laughed, and now that did distract you, your eyes zeroing in on his perfect teeth. It was a rare display, and it only served to aggravate you further. Of course he had perfect teeth.

"I didn't say anything."

"I could feel you thinking it," you said, your voice rough as you willed the moisture in your eyes not to fall. "Maybe I should be a profiler."

"Definitely."

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you." You were lying. Everything suited him. He stepped back, and you reluctantly peered at the wound, only to find a neatly sutured leg. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"In this job, you learn to be handy with more than just a gun.”

You’d love to know what else he’s handy with.

He pulled your leg up to rest on his as he took a seat on the opposite stool.

Your body was buzzing, from the closeness, from his hands on you, and also from the pain, but you were trying to ignore that. He grabs a new bandage from the counter, hands trailing up your thigh so slowly you thought you might pass out. He was so gentle. There was no other word for it.

"How's it feel?"

You paused. Eyes fully locked on his precise movements as he wrapped you up. You were closer than you realized, practically sharing the same breath.

"Fine."

"Yeah?"

You nodded, and he finished up his task, his hand lightly patting your thigh to show he was done. You didn't move your leg from his lap, and he didn't move his hand.

"I couldn't sleep for three days."

"What?" Your brows were furrowed, your focus sharpening on his face as the words left his lips.

"When I found out you had been shot." He cleared his throat, his thumb making gentle rotations on your calf. "I couldn't close my eyes without seeing red for days. I wanted to kill the son of a bitch who did that to you. I almost did."

You weren't sure how to process this information, or why he was telling you. "You and me both."

"I'm serious." And you could tell he was, his eyes narrowing slightly as his hand firmly encircled around your leg. You felt a lump in your throat form as heat rose from your neck to your ears. "Do you know what that was like? I felt like my heart stopped."

"Why?"

"Why?" It was more a scoff than a word. He blew out a breath, his fingers pinching into the space between his eyebrows. "Is it not obvious?"

Your heart was beating a lot faster. You wanted to say something, anything but your throat was dry and every time you opened your mouth you found it snapping shut.

Hotch's expression softened ever so slightly, his voice low and bouncing off the walls as he spoke. "Because I'm in love with you."

Your breath stalled, as if every ounce of oxygen had been vacuumed from your lungs. The air felt heavy, almost tangible.

You stared at him, heart skipping a beat.

"That's not funny," you said. It wasn't. You weren't in the mood for jokes, and your brain couldn't comprehend he might be telling the truth. "You...you don't even notice me."

He shook his head. "I notice everything about you." His thumb stilled on your calf. "I'm your boss," he said, as if that explained everything. "There are rules, protocols. I couldn't...I still shouldn't..."

The confession stripped the room of its warmth, leaving a raw aching silence in its wake. You searched his face.

"When you got shot," he continued, "I realized that if I lost you, I'd regret not telling you how I feel for the rest of my life."

"Hotch, I..."

He leaned closer, causing your words to catch in your throat. His hand moved from your leg to your face. You were speechless, the world narrowing down to the man in front of you, to his eyes, the warmth of his hands.

"Say something."

"Are you kidding me?" Your heart was pounding like it was trying to escape from your chest. "I've been in love with you since I started. How could you not see that?"

He looked taken aback, as if your words were the last thing he expected. "Well—,"

But you didn't let him finish. "Some profiler you are."

You were practically climbing into his lap, hands framing his face, pulling your lips to his.

He chuckled against your lips, the sound vibrating through you. "Easy," he murmured, "don't make me fix that bandage again."

You laugh, the sound muffled by his mouth. He tasted like cinnamon and coffee. "Shut up, Hotch."

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[softfem-dom]

random xmen hcs 'cause i'm bored <3

✰ Logan is a loud burper. like yknow those annoying kids that try to see who can burp louder/for longer? yeah, that's him.

✰ Hank was (and is still somewhat) obsessed with puzzles. I will not elaborate.

✰ Cyclops is the most dirty minded out of the team. Like somebody can be like "eww, it's wet" and he'll be there grinning like a fucking 11 y/o.

✰ Charles likes to talk in students' and teachers' minds and say some shit like "I know what u're doing" when he knows there's someone roaming the school after hours. ^he also used to do the shit of "I know what u are" when he was younger.

✰ Rogue and Kitty did that trend with the "run fast for your mother, run fast for your brother" (or smth like that) in which they do a handshake and then start running.

✰ Bobby does that 'styling my hair' thing when he's in the shower.

✰ Storm can and will turn the lights off when walking out of a room when there's still someone inside just to tease them.

✰ Logan never closes doors. Everyone is starting to suspect he does it just for the hell of annoying them.

✰ Kurt always has a bowl of cereal as a midnight snack. Eats it crouched over the counter too.

✰ Jean has helped students with impulse dyeing their hair more than three times.

✰ Logan has cero space awareness and he'll sometimes bump his shoulder/arm against the doorframe or random furniture.

✰ Cyclops is the type of dude to walk with his arms completely outstretched infront of him and bent knees whenever inside a dark room.

✰ Kitty likes Sanrio, Cinnamonroll is her favourite. ^ Logan calls Kitty 'hello kitty' from time to time just to piss her off. ^kitty absolutely hates this.

✰ Quicksilver tried the mixing an energy drink with sour gummies and will prufosely go out of his way to tell everyone not to do it. ^still nobody knows what happened.

✰ if it was set in the 2000's, Rogue would definetely be a creepypasta kid (but the actual creepy stuff, not the fanon). ^Kitty would be a fanon creepypasta kid, her fav were jeff and nina (she's basic).

✰ More than three different kids have asked Hank if he was the Beast from the disney Beauty and the Beast movie😭

✰ Jean collects the cake-stand figurines from the birthdays celebrated in the school.

✰ Logan hates white chocolate with a burning passion.

✰ Kurt only eats the white cream from the oreos. ^Logan eats the cookie.

✰ One time Cyclops frustrated Logan so much that he real close into Cyclops face to argue with him and Cyclops blurted out "you look like you want to kiss me". ^Logan punched him in the gut after that comment.

[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Chpt. 7 - Black N' White Knight

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

“I can’t believe that just happened,” Dick tells Tim, hand carting through his hair. The two of them are in the kitchen, at the breakfast bar. Tim sitting in front of his laptop with his legs crossed, and Dick tapping one foot agitatedly against the marble floor. While Tim might not be grinning ear to ear, it’s pretty obvious for anyone who knows him that he’s delighted by the tale Dick just regaled to him.

And what a tale it was. He hasn’t seen you in a year and a half, and then when he does, he finds you teary eyed staring at a picture of him shirtless at the gym. Bruce had always told him the way he played with the paparazzi would come to bite him in the ass one day, but he really can’t say he expected… that.

Obviously, it had to be a prank. That’s his first thought. That’s his only thought, really. What other explanation could there be? An accident? Maybe you’d forgotten what his room looked like. It wasn’t like he kept much personal stuff in his Wayne manor room, the only markers his clothes and the letters he kept in his drawer from his parents.

And you were wearing his clothes, of all things. He’d be surprised if you forgot how much of a Superman fanboy he was, seeing as he’d spent many hours ranting to you before the explosion. So, a prank. A show of good will, an olive branch maybe? It was more likely you were just fucking with his head, as you’d done in the past. Never like this, though.

This was just… bizarre.

“I can’t either,” and of course, Tim sounds near estatic saying that. The love of chaos ran true in that one.

Dick had managed to wrangle his life under control a few years back, and despite the universe seeming to try to unravel it at the seams, he was indisposed to let it simply happen. Even if you of all people had changed. No, Dick was getting older, and he was finding his taste for chaos a lot more… limited.

He didn’t want to suffer it’s affects. He was currently suffering it’s affects.

“I knew something was going on when she showed up to the party, but this…” Tim pauses, leaning back in his chair, “It’s gotta be a prank, right?”

It said a lot about their family that this was all the assumption they defaulted to.

“It could be something else. Did you even take her to the hospital after?” Dick offers instead, overthinking as always. This situation seemed to be made for overthinking, though.

Tim hums. “No, we did not.”

Then he turns his stare to Dick, like he’s expecting something from him.

“Seriously?”

“What? You’re the friendly one.”

Dick very much did his best to seem like the friendly one, at least. Tim was well aware it was a complete farce, though. Dick was nice but he could also be a bit… well… a bit of a dick. Another thing he’d been trying to overcome. He was doing better than when he’d been seven, at least.

Dick sighs, pressing his hand to his forehead, “I’d probably just end up accidentally nagging her, and then she’d never speak to me again.”

“That’s not my problem,” Tim shrugs, glancing back down at his laptop and squinting.

“It is, actually. Because if she stopped talking to me you’d probably be the next one till the girls and Duke came home who has to talk to her.”

“She could talk to Jay,” Tim offers, because he’s a shithead. Dick bets he did the same with Bruce, “And besides, I’m busy doing surveillance.”

“You mean stalking.”

“I do it to everybody, stop making such a big deal out of it.”

Dick sighs again.

“Hm, you might want to check your phone,” Tim says, in a way that suggests he has once again tapped the network. Keeping him out of Dick’s private life was like Sisyphus and his boulder. He still wasn't going to give up, and the time Tim and Steph mercilessly bullied him for getting dumped over text had made him all the more so.

‘Dont_try’: hey. can you come pick me up? thx

“Please, tell me you sent that and are just messing with me,” Dick begs, staring down at his phone in mild despair. Chaos. Always fucking chaos. Despite how hard he tried, he could not keep his family out of trouble. God damn it, when he’d gotten this job he’d been the one made for trouble. Where did he go wrong?

“Honestly, sounds like the sort of thing I’d do, but the girl just got bitch slapped so I really think you should respond fast.”

“What?!”

“She’s fine now, run to the bathrooms I think. You know for such an upstate place you’d think they had better camera positioning,” Tim mutters, complaining that he can’t watch every single little movement you make. Dick thinks he should probably worry about this, as it’s a clear sign of another decline for his sanity, but he’s now got this shit to deal with.

“Why, Tim? What is going on? Just tell me what’s going on.”

“Hm?” he’s engrossed by the computer, “Ah, the shitty boyfriend… some soup- ha, how is she such a clutz? Maybe we should get her head checked again- and… an altercation of some kind? I don’t know, I can’t see it properly.”

Dick leans forward in his stool, clasped hands covering his face for a moment.

“Are you going to reply? If you don’t soon, she’ll probably make it a bigger shitshow,” Tim says, nudging his foot against Dick’s. Dick, good big brother that he is, takes a deep breath and steadies himself. Even if this is really not what he wanted for his holiday, he’s dealt with much, much worse.

The press will have forgotten about this within the week. You, however, likely not. He’d promised to help you all those years ago, and even if he had no idea why you were reaching out to him, or if you would even be amicable when you met again, he’d still damn well do it.

He glances back down at his phone.

“What is going on?” Dick repeats to himself, and Tim’s head cocks to the side. There’s that familiar cat that got the cream grin spreading across his younger brother’s face, and it just really isn’t welcome right now.

“Intrigued yet?”

Unfortunately for both him, Tim and especially you, Dick already was.

He’s in his car in five minutes flat, finger tapping against the premium leather wheel. The sound of it is the only thing that manages to keep him sane.

Riding up to the place, Dick realises that no, maybe the press won’t be over this within the week. Considering the amount of paparazzi swarming the place, he doubted you’d be free for at least a few months. To be fair, the mysterious ex-wayne making such a scene was a bit of a big deal. Before you’d been basically invisible, despite your immense wealth and past.

Invisible? Dick thinks he spots at least twenty cameras. And that’s not even mentioning all the phones inside that would’ve gotten up close videos of whatever happened. Their legal team would handle it fine, that which Barbara or Tim couldn’t wipe from the face of the earth. And that was very little, all things considered.

Dick has to push past the calls of his name, ignoring all the intrusive questions volleyed his way like the pro he was. He still makes sure to listen carefully and store away every vital bit of information, as well as remember the logos on the film crew’s van. Eventually he makes his way to the front of the line, and the flustered front of house immediately recognises his face and sweeps him inside. Dick ducks in with a thankful smile, which he admits, falters when he enters the scene.

A scene which you are not in. Your gold digging boyfriend was, though. Of all the things Dick regrets with you, it’s not breaking the horrid relationship the two of you had apart. Or well, the fact that you totally, loudly hated his guts. He was a sensitive guy, y’know!

He sees your terribly boyfriend - George, Dick remembers - raging at some poor servers, and he knows he need to go sweep in and save the pour soul. It’ll be a hard fight, he can already tell.

Before he does so, he sends a quick text to his phone.

Underwear_guy: Where are you?

Don’t_try: I’ll be right out.

Shockingly, that was the truth. You come striding into the restaurant, and immediately all eyes are on you. It makes you stutter-step. Dick can see you visibly stiffen up, before you manage to gather your courage and keep walking. You don’t even pay him a single glance as you walk straight towards your fuming boyfriend.

You try to whisper, keeping your voice quiet and your conversation private. The boyfriend seems uninterested in the idea.

“What the fuck are you thinking?!” he cuts you off.

You glance around, and then say something else. It seems like you’re trying to defuse the situation, but George seems uninterested by the idea. 

“This behaviour is ridiculous. You need to get it together, we’re in public!” he yells, like he isn’t the one causing a scene. He seems to be trying to intimidate you back into silence. But today and well, yesterday too, something is different about you.

Okay, that’s enough of that. Dick’s intervening.

“You cheated on me! You deserve it and everything that’s coming to you!”

Or, uh, maybe you’ve got it covered.

-

George’s shocked face is almost worse than when you literally bit him. Guess he expected you to be a bit more demure after that encounter. He should know better, the other version of you seemed to have been even more spiteful in nature.

Today again, you prove you are a less than stellar person. You’d stopped caring about George as soon as you’d discovered he’d cheated, but you were still angry. Not jealous, but furious. Bubbling up your throat, rage and bile and the urge to attack him once again, even if you just want to go home.

Your teeth grind. Your jaw ticks. And oddly, you realise you have a real taste for George Lancaster’s limbs.

Though your life had changed (literally) in the past few days, you were still the same girl from your first twenty-first. You wanted George Lancaster to suffer. Even more so, now that the evil cunt had hit you right in the face. The hit had stunned you, though. More emotionally than physically, but it had shocked you.

You couldn’t say you were a coward. You’d spent far too many days in your teenage years indulging in self-destructive behaviours to think that. But something about this pathetic man was scaring the shit out of you. You think that made you more pathetic, but you couldn’t quite tell. That’d be victim blaming, right?

You did have a habit of blaming yourself. It was just usually your fault.

…Maybe you shouldn’t have bit him, no matter how much the response was instinctual or his screech was satisfying. This was all too confusing, all too much. You needed to get back to your apartment, lock the doors and barricade them so nobody bothers you. And then maybe hibernate for a week. You needed some time to process all the stupid bullshit you were experiencing. The wayne manor was too much, your horrible white apartment was too much, George fucking Lancaster was too fucking god damn much.

You take a deep breath, and manage to stop yourself from bolting like a deer. Deal with the problem at hand. Deal with it now, deal with it!

“I’m leaving, and we are done. It’s that simple,” you tell George, trying to drill in a message that he seems unable to comprehend. At this point you’d assume he’d be trying to apologise, manipulate back into his good graces, but you think you might’ve completely broke him. Broke the script.

Good. That was damn well good.

“Can we talk about this somewhere else at least?” George replies, eyes flicking to Richard Grayson’s angry gaze. At least you think he’s angry. You can’t quite gather the courage to look directly at him.

Also, there’s the manipulation! You wish you weren’t right this time.

“Sure, but I’m bringing him, and my answer will absolutely not change. You hit me.”

“You bit me!”

Well, yeah, not your best moment. You don’t think you can regret it, though.

“Then I think this relationship is ending on equal terms,” you reply, trying your best to just get him to quit it. It is obviously not working by the way his expression darkens.

“I’ll tell the press everything,” George threatens, which, well, is sort of a shitty threat because I don’t even know what he’s threatening. ‘Everything’? Couldn’t he be a bit more specific?

You shrug. It is the wrong response, you know it is, but you’ve completely ran dry of fucks to give. Couldn’t be much worse than the bullshit happening right now. The press were already very well fed, considering the situation that was today. George makes a small sound of fury.

“We’ll sue,” Richard Grayson, the white knight that you’d daydreamed about, comes to your rescue. Is it odd that it’s kind of flustering? You probably shouldn’t be flustered.

George immediately snaps his gaze to Grayson’s, giving the man a look with a healthy dose of fear. Couldn’t blame the guy. Even if he was the second smallest of the three remaining brothers, he was still well known for being strong. His family often did kick-boxing, and their sister, Cass, often whooped their asses. It was sort of satisfying to watch. Anyway, his physical prowess from fighting to weirdo gymnastic bullshit was evident in his svelte build.

George was many things, but he wasn’t an idiot. With just the one threat from the Waynes legal team, he skitters away like the little rat you know him to be. He leaves the restaurant, and he very obviously does not pay or even leave a tip. You suppose you have the cash to make up for it. Then, ignoring the paparazzi, you were technically home free. You glance to the side. Richard Grayson’s beautiful face looks a mix of confuddled, frustrated, and exhausted. He still saved you, though, even after the fool you made of yourself.

White knight, indeed. It almost feels a bit anticlimactic, but it’s the results you wanted. And yet, an ominous feeling befalls you. Somehow, you don’t feel you’ve seen the last of George Lancaster. You just really hope the old you hadn’t committed any crimes. A tabloid? Humiliating, but livable. Prison? Not so much.

Not that the rich stayed in prison in Gotham, or even the rest of the world. It was kind of strange to realise you were sort of above the law now.

You glance at Dick, pulling your uncomfortably wet shirt away from your chest. You’ve sort of been bled dry of any shits you could give at this point, so you decide, very maturely, to make jokes and ignore all your problems. It had gotten you this far.

You’d seen this behaviour before. Many, many times. It was what usually got you fired. But now you didn’t really have to worry about that, so why should you worry about causing a scene and ruining your life a bit more? It wasn’t yours, after all.

“What do you think?” you joke, elbowing Dick. He looks down from glaring at the entrance George just slipped out of, to you. His blue eyes are a damn near shock to the soul. It takes everything in you not to start fidgeting.

“Think of what?” he responds, and despite how hard you try, you can not read his expression.

“I’m trying to make some more news. Don’t think the reporters got enough the other day,” you say, gesturing to the giant stain. It’s still Dick’s shirt. You hadn’t realised till now, but the Beatles was now some sort of green soup. Is it kind of gross of you to acknowledge that at least the soup smelled good?

Probably. You didn’t actually get to eat anything here. It’s also probably a bit weird that you’re thinking about eating at a time like this. Probably.

“I think you’ve done enough, honestly,” he says, glancing at the camera flashes from outside.

He sounds exactly like your mother, it’s almost uncanny. Well, this version of him technically knew her. You’re still not sure how well en-meshed your two families had been before the disaster, but maybe he’d picked up some traits from her.

…That… you’re not sure how to feel about the idea. The old green monster bubbles up at the thought, and you can’t tell if you’re jealous your mum got to meet Dick Grayson, or that Dick Grayson might’ve gotten to know your mum.

“We should leave,” he says, cutting off your bitter inner thoughts, “I know you don’t like it when the magazines bother you.”

You don’t? You don’t. Yes, that makes sense, ‘you’ definitely wouldn’t have. And it’s not like you feel comfortable with them either. In fact, if you think about the fact your drowned rat appearance will be on every tabloid in the city by tomorrow, probably alongside photos from your birthday, you feel so nauseous you could collapse. Going to compartmentalise that one.

“Yes, going, let’s go,” you say, following Dick out of the restaurant.

Despite the fact that the security guards are trying their best, it’s getting quite rowdy out here. When Dick wraps an arm around your shoulder, shielding you with his body, you almost just pass out right there. His muscles… Your heart simply can’t take it. As it is, Dick notices you jump like a foot in the air, and backs off. He still makes sure to try and protect you from their vision as much as possible.

Still, in an act that is purely rebellious, you turn and give them a big smile and a wave. Even as you hate every single person on the other side of the divide, you want to make one thing very clear. You will not be cowed by someone like George fucking Lancaster. Your peace sign and wink are a message to them, to him, and to yourself.

Despite the fact that this new life is one you have no idea how to handle, you know one thing. Put on a face, and it’ll always be easier.

Dick is probably wondering what the hell happened to you for you to be acting this way. Your shirt has a giant stain on it, you just broke up with your cheating boyfriend, went through a traumatising experience just a few days ago, and you’ve got the biggest grin on your face. This behaviour speaks more and more of a full blown mental breakdown. And it’s not the first you’ve had or the last.

There’s paparazzi snapping thousands of photos of the two of you, and instead of shying away as ‘you’ used to, you throw up a peace sign. One of the papps drops their camera. That confuses you a bit, as your peace sign deflates slightly. Didn’t they want more pictures? Weren’t you supposed to pose…?

For all you stalked celebrities online, you realise you have no idea how to pretend to be one. This is going to become an issue, you can already tell.

He points at a car, and you assume it’s his because he starts making his way over. He’s obviously done this sort of thing before, using and guiding the security with a smooth confidence. Even still, the two of you are a bit too close for comfort.

Which you prove, by putting your foot directly in your mouth.

“I don’t have abs, but do you think the press would like my stomach like they like yours?” you say, and almost immediately regret it. Another poor joke. You are deflecting so hard. And why the hell did you bring that up, you dunce? You feel your brain cells draining the more you’re around this guy, it’s not healthy for you.

“Please don’t pull your shirt up in public,” Dick sounds like he’s about to have a mental breakdown. It’s spreading, like the plague. You’re patient zero, of course. Even still he gets you guys to the car, and opens the side door for you. You follow his wordless command and slip into the passenger seat.

“I won’t. Sorry, sorry,” you reply, to relieve him of some of the trauma you’re currently inflicting.

He glances back to the papps, and then back down at you. His smile bowls you over like he’s getting the last strike in a fucking 300. He genuinely is the most beautiful human being you’ve ever seen. Thankfully, he closes the door so you have a moment to gather your sanity before he goes around the car and gets in the driver’s seat.

You hope you’re subtle when you shift away from him slightly. It shouldn’t be that surprising really. You were stupid on average. You would be stupider around attractive people. You would be frankly disastrous around someone as blastingly hot as Dick Grayson. The Waynes in general turned you into a drooling idiot.

Good god, you need to get out of this car. As soon as you think that, Dick is pulling away from the parking spot and out onto the streets. He makes slow progress because Gotham traffic, but eventually you manage to flee the horrifying stares of the cameras. Already you can tell it’ll be giving you nightmares. Probably along with images of the guy who tried to rape you and Damian Wayne sneering at you.

“So, how are you feeling?”

Despite how you wish it not, Mr. Grayson decides he’s going to start a conversation with you.

“Good,” you reply, the answer instinctive and an obvious lie.

You can feel his gaze on the side of your face, but you don’t dare return it.

“That’s good to hear,” he says, and his voice is gentle. Sort of infantilising if you’ll be honest.

While it is very clear to anyone who looks at you that you have no idea what you’re doing, you’d rather he didn’t bring it up. You’ll figure it out. You’ve always managed to figure it out. This is what you get for asking for help. Really, despite your momentary panic you could’ve taken George. Probably not physically, but…

“You can talk to me if you want, you know?”

“Can you stop the car, please?” you respond, when that question immediately activates your fight or flight response. Dick must notice something about you, because he quickly shoots forward and into a momentarily available parking spot.

You scramble with the door, shoving your way back out onto the asphalt. The immediate distinct smell of Gotham, even Gotham’s richer districts, calms you down. Sewage, the ocean, and the ever present smoke and fog.

Fuck’s sake. You aren’t making yourself look anymore well put together.

Clearing your throat, you turn and find Richard Grayson coming around the car hood towards you. There’s a worried look in his eyes, and you really don’t know how to deal with it. It’s like you made a deal with the devil. By getting rid of George, you’d gotten a new problem - and an infinitely more complicated one.

Shit, you need to stop making rash decisions when you’re having panic attacks. You’d say you should probably try and stop having panic attacks entirely, but you don’t really know how to do that.

The sound of your name has you snapping back to attention. Dick looks even more worried.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks, taking a few slow steps towards you. Again, infantilizing. Like you’re a wild animal about to run. Wait, weren’t you just comparing yourself to a chihuahua? Well, it’s not the same when other people do it.

“I’d like to take a walk,” you say, hand scrunching into your pyjama pants, “Alone, I’d like some time alone.”

“…In that?” He glances down at the stain that is slowly starting to dry. It’s making your skin itchy, but at least it’s not as cold.

“I can buy something,” you say, remembering one of the apps on your phone was connected to your bank account, which you had to assume was pretty full. It’s kind of stupid that you haven’t checked that yet.

You’re starting to feel a bit defensive towards your own intelligence. Maybe it’s because you seemingly keep making all the worst decisions.

Dick doesn’t make it any better.

“Do you have cash on you?” he asks, showing how little faith he has in your general abilities to survive as an adult in Gotham.

“I do, I’ll be fine,” you insist, because god damn it, you will be. You just need a fucking minute.

You ran from the Wayne manor because you felt like you were being watched, and then as soon as you showed up at the world’s most uncomfortable apartment, the haunting wraith known as George dragged you out in your P.J.s. You could figure it the fuck out, if these people would give you some fucking space.

Richard Grayson seems to realise that you’re getting upset, because he goes quiet for a moment. After staring at you for a moment longer, for which you manage to find the courage to maintain eye contact through pure stubborn will, he asks you one final question.

“Are you sure you don’t want a ride home or something?” he asks, still seeming so determined to help you.

His suggestion brings flashes of images of you breaking down in front of the Bruce Wayne to mind. From almost a birds eye view, you see yourself sobbing against your own ruined dress as the billionaire looked on. Bile literally jumps up your throat, and it takes a lot of willpower not to grimace at the suggestion.

“Look, Mr. Grayson, I really appreciate-”

“That’s the second time you’ve called me that.”

Once again, you feel the urge to simply sprint away from your own problems, but you manage to hold yourself still. Still, you can’t think of a solution. You can’t really think much of anything. Instead you stare at Richard Grayson with your hands threaded together and your lips pressed into a thin line.

Though you open your mouth to speak, you find you have no excuses ready or available. You’ve talked yourself into a corner already, and it’s your third day in this world. Marvellous. Maybe you should just tell the truth.

Still, the dangers outweigh the pros. They don’t know you, they don’t have any real reason to take care of you. If they believe you, they’ll toss you out onto the streets penniless. And if they don’t-

You blink. There’s a highway sign behind Dick, and it catches your attention like a lightning bolt. ‘Arkham Asylum 800 miles’. It’s white blocky letters on green panelling feels like a sign from god, warning you from the path you consider taking.

And then you realise that you might actually get sent to Arkham if you say anything, and you resolve to never tell a single soul about what has happened to you. You’ve heard enough stories about the asylum, and by god, you are not being roommates with the fucking Joker of all people.

Eventually Dick realises he’s not getting anything out of you and he sighs, shaking his head. His annoyingly perfect hair mesmerises you for a second, but you manage to wrangle your brain back under control. He really doesn’t make it easy.

“I just want to know if you’re safe. If you’re going through anything, you know we’re always happy to help-”

“Dick,” you say his name, face twisting in discomfort, “This was a… a one time thing. Usually I can handle my problems. It just… it caught me off guard. George cheating was a huge shock, and I needed someone to stand by me.”

“And you know I always will, right?”

Ah. That’s… Dick Grayson was a stranger. You didn’t know him, and more than that he did not know you. He did not know what you would do, could do. You didn’t think anyone did, not even yourself.

It’s a silly idea to expect your celebrity crush to save you, and it’s one you find you can’t stomach it at the moment. It makes you feel disgusted with yourself at the idea. It’s too indulgent, too silly. It’s very simply, not possible.

You’ve given up on relying on miracles. These lessons had been beaten into you, really. You didn’t want to have to learn them again.

Your feelings must show on your face.

Dick lets out a whoosh of air, frustration palpable. He carts his hand through his hair. It still looks perfect. The world is unfair, yadda yadda.

“You run hot and cold, you know?” he gives you a grin. It says a lot about his ability to act, seeing as it seems almost natural. Almost, being the key word.

Also, he is absolutely correct. The chihuahua effect is in full-swing. And you know what? You are probably going to continue to run hot and cold, because you’ve never made a decision in your life. He’ll just have to get used to it.

You raise your hands and shrug, in the universal ‘what-can-you-do?’ motion. He wasn’t wrong. You were being completely erratic. Not even you knew what you’d do next. At least life isn’t boring these days, right Right? You wonder who you are trying to fool, because it’s certainly not yourself.

“I’ll contact you if I need anything,” you lie, because it seems to be the right thing to end this torturous conversation, “And I’ll make sure to keep contact with Alfred. You can talk to Jeanine if you need anything, as well.”

Dick, unfortunately, calls you out on your bullshit.

“But not you, right?” he says, smile still printed on his face.

Woof. You think… you’ve hurt his feelings? Ah shit, you instantly feel like the scum of the earth. Still, you don’t know how you could fix this. Arkham is a genuine threat lingering over your shoulder, you don’t know enough about your new cut-throat billionaire world, and you can not lose any faith they have in you. Any that you have left, that is.

You’re sorry, but this is coming down to survival. And you are a greedy person, after all.

In the end, you don’t have anything to say, and Richard Grayson leaves without a word. Watching him walk towards his car, you feel… bad. Really bad. The part of you that is still crushing on this guy, a very large part of you, feels like you’ve ended the earth. The other part, the one that recognises that once again you’re going to have to fight for yourself… well, she thinks so too.

Maybe… maybe you could fix this. Apologise. Once you’ve gotten your bearings and know you’re safe and 100% financially stable, maybe you’ll figure it out. Give him his shirt back after you’ve dry-cleaned it.

For now, you give him your back as well.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

[tender-rosiey]

to be honest, idk how you did it but you truly got me stoked over heian era husband! sukuna. i hate the man with most passion (bcs of what he did in the manga), but i couldn't help but giggling, crying, kicking my feet with butterflies in my stomach every time i read your husband!sukuna stories. your writings are *chef's kiss*, i read all of those more than twice already.

idk if you're currently open for request or not, but i want to ask, are you comfortable writing angst/hurt no comfort stuffs? bcs my mind keeps imagining what and how the husbands (gojo, geto, sukuna, nanami) react to their wife (y/n) got klled right in front of their eyes? perhaps bcs of their enemies or something, the enemies know you are their weakness (imagining sukuna, the king of curses, who's feared by most, or satoru who's known as the strongest — turns out have a weakness that he himself perhaps is not aware of is so mindblowing(?)) anyway, you don't have to write it if you're unable to, no worries and no pressure!!

"YOU— WHO I HAVE LOVED TILL LOVE BURNED"

— when you die in front of gojo, geto, nanami, and sukuna

a/n: hehe i am so glad that you like my heinaera!sukuna MWUAH 💕 we gotta ignore what he is doing in the manga 🧍‍♀️ also sorry in advance y’all, but I lowkey had a blast writing this; hope you like this anon <333

GOJO SATORU:

satoru stood outside the operations room, anxiously tapping his feet on the floor.

he clutches his hands tightly, and his eyes are trained on the door, fixated on your cursed energy that he can feel through the door.

you were going into labor, after long 9 months of waiting.

the two of you were going to finally meet your baby girl. the same girl that the two of you would talk to at night, whispering and giggling amongst yourselves.

he knew that the pregnancy was hard on you, and that’s part of the reason why he is relieved that this day has come.

the moments are long agonizing, and what kills him on the inside are your screams of pain as you try to push out your daughter.

he wanted, so desperately, to be with you in the room, but the doctor decided against it; they thought that it would be better to free the room as they worried that there might be a risk in the labor.

that worried him, but he had no choice but to abide by what they said. finally, the sun smiles upon him, and he hears the cry of his daughter.

he stands up, grin overtaking his face, and eagerly awaiting being let in.

he waits.

and he waits, but nothing happens, and he stops the first nurse that goes out the room, “what is happening? is my wife okay?”

the nurse splutters and nods, before dashing to another room. he doesn’t believe her for one second, and so, he tries looking into the room through the windows on the door.

he can’t see anything, but he can still feel your cursed energy. that’s the only thing that calms him down.

but, he can’t find it in him to sit back on the chair. he leans on the wall beside the door, and his nails dig into his knuckles, almost making them bleed.

he doesn’t snap out of it, until the doctor walks out, lowering his mask, “mister gojo—”

he walks past the doctor and heads inside.

“y/n!” he calls out, but he is met with the sight of the nurses covering your figure with a white cloth. his eyes widen, and he grips the wrist of one of them, “what are you doing? she is not dead.”

the nurse’s brows furrow, and her expression turns into of one of pity. he snaps his head towards you then at her, “she is not dead. I can feel it.”

he can still feel your cursed energy, so they must be wrong.

he looks down at you and cups your face gently. he moves your face to his direction, and he whispers, “pretty girl, you did so well, but you gotta wake up now.”

your face is limp in his hand, and his eyes grow frantic, “y/n?” he urges, “please say anything, yell or scold me even.”

he rubs his thumb across your cheek as he chuckles nervously, “love, I can feel your cursed energy. the prank you’re playing is a bit too much, no?”

“mister gojo,” one of the nurses calls out, “I think it’s from her.”

he looks up, and he sees your daughter in the nurse’s arms. she is wailing loudly, and—the nurse is right—she is emitting your cursed energy or remnants of it, he realizes now.

“mister gojo, you need to have skin-to-skin contact with your daughter,” she speaks softly, gently handing the little girl to him.

he takes her, wordlessly, and he mindlessly opens his chest to hug his daughter to it.

the nurses exit the room, and satoru is left to stare at you.

he sits on the bed, one arm holding your daughter and the other hand holding your face. he speaks up lowly with a small and quivering smile, “wifey, come on, wake up. our daughter is here.”

said girl lets out a small huff, and satoru finds himself biting his lip as he lays his forehead on your own.

“come on, y/n,” he begs, “she even looks exactly like you,” he pulls you closer, “you cant do this to me—please, not you too.”

GETO SUGURU:

the businessman sighs, “I won’t pay more than what I offered. geto. my words are final.”

“and who are you to be making orders? geto asks, resting his elbows on the desk, “I could kill you with the flick of a finger, so either you give me the two million yen—I know you can provide—monthly, or you can say goodbye to this life and empire you built.”

the man taps his palm and sighs, “I assume that we won’t be reaching the outcome I want?”

geto tilts his head with a smile, “come on, you still have the power of choice.”

the man stares at geto for a second before speaking up, “your wife is a lovely woman,” he grins, “too bad she has to depart so early.”

at the moment, for the first time since that incident, geto feels his heart drop to his stomach.

he jolts up, grabbing the man by the collar and slamming him into the nearest wall, “what nonsense are you spouting?”

geto’s grip on the man’s throat quickly tightens.

the man is barely able to choke out his reply, “y—your dear sweetheart has been poisoned, since she went to your ‘usual’ café spot, and my men were there,” he grins manically, “better go and try to get your goodbyes, while you’re at it.”

your husband throws him on the floor and releases his most brutal curses to eat him. the man’s screams are ignored, as geto hurriedly runs to the café.

his heart beats violently against his chest. how did his curses not notice anything? how could he let you be in danger?

he slams the door open and yells out, “y/n?! y/n, do you hear me?!”

the café is empty, and the only person present there is you. the others having long fled.

you look so pained, letting out labored breaths and furrowing your eyebrows in discomfort. he kneels beside you and gathers you in his arms. he rises to his feet, but halts when you let out a pained shriek.

“I am sorry, honey, I know, just hold on,” he comforts. you shake your head and bury your face into his chest. he tightens his embrace on you and quickly starts running out.

“suguru, it hurts—moving hurts,” you cry, and it makes him kiss the top of your head firmly while nodding, trying to comfort both himself and you.

he thanks the heavens that he arrives at the estate, and he gently places you on the bed. he looks back at manami, “call all the healers and doctors, now!”

he looks down at you, and he grips your hand with it and presses it to his lips. he murmurs softly, “you will be okay; don’t worry,” he clutches your shirt.

he repeatedly apologizes and brings you fully into his arms. he watches your breathing slow down, and he feels your skin get colder. your expression starts to relax little by little.

it sends geto into a frenzy. he snaps, “where are the doctors?! why is no here yet?!”

manami runs inside and pants, “a-all the doctors have been k-killed.”

geto stops feeling the tips of his fingers, and he looks down at you. he starts breathing frantically, “then get anyone! anyone who knows about poison!” he cups your face and shakes you lightly, “y/n, please open your eyes.”

“suguru,” you say weakly, and he instantly lowers his head, so he can hear you better. you whisper softly, “I love you.”

he nods repeatedly, “and I love you too, so you have to stay awake, so we can say it again, yeah? come on, y/n.”

he moves your hair away from your face, his hands shaky as he falters, “can you say it again? one more time.”

your body stills in his arms, and he shudders, “just o-one more, y/n…” he closes his eyes, burying his face in your chest. your arms are limp, and he is left hugging your body.

everybody stays silent, and they watch geto not leave or loosen his hold on you.

he looks up slowly at manami and speaks lowly, “round up everyone that had an affiliation to that scum; those filthy monkeys will pay for what they have done.”

NANAMI KENTO:

nanami heaves a sigh of relief when he spots yuuji, “are you okay?”

the young boy nods frantically, and nanami looks around him then at yuuji again, “is y/n not with you? have you seen her? anywhere?”

yuuji shakes his head, regretfully, but nanami takes a deep breath, “it’s fine; let’s search for her together, okay?” he assures.

yuuji smiles and nods, determined, “yes!”

nanami barely manages a reassured nod of his own, his mind focused on finding you. in fact, he starts running, eyes quickly scanning each street and corner for any sight of you.

he clenches his jaw, remembering what you said before taking this mission.

“kento, I have a really bad feeling about this.”

he dismissed your worries and pulled you close, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. he hummed softly, “I know, but we have to do it. if things go bad, then we have gojo present anyway.”

gojo is not present. shibuya is slowly turning into a city full of blood and corpses, both non-sorcerers’ and sorcerers’. he regrets not listening to you, but what else could’ve been done?

all he can do right now is find you and make sure you’re okay. that is his first and most important priority.

“nanamin, I found her!” yuuji screams excitedly, pointing at you who was busy thwarting off the myriad of curses charging at you. at the sight of you, nanami’s body relaxes, and he lets out a small smile.

you punch a curse back to a building, so you can finally turn to your husband.

“kento!” you grin and start running towards him. you throw yourself into his arms, and he—as always—catches you. he pulls you close and takes in your presence, burying his face into your hair.

he lets out a small breath.

“I am so glad you’re okay,” he says, but then he feels a strange wetness on his hand. he pulls away slowly and looks down at it. his eyes widen in alarm.

it’s covered in blood.

he looks up at you and mutters, “y/n, are you hurt? where are you hurt?”

“I—I don’t know,” you look up at him, “I can’t feel anything, k—kento; I don’t want to die,” you plead, and he quickly tears off a part of his suit to cover your wound and trying to stop the bleeding.

yuuji quickly goes to try and find shoko.

he hugs you closer, applying pressure to the wound, while pressing gentle kisses to your hair, “you…you won’t; don’t worry.”

you grip his shirt weakly and look up at your husband. you manage a small smile, “have I told you how handsome you are?”

he chuckles weakly, trying to stabilize his voice, “mhm, but I would like to hear you say it again tomorrow; can you do that?”

you nod slowly, “yeah…”

he stays silent for a second and grips you a bit tighter, “do you promise?”

your breathing starts slowing, “promise,” your body relaxes against his, and you feel his hand go to hold your own. he massages your ring finger and raises your hand to his lips.

you close your eyes with a smile, “I love you, ken.”

“I love you more,” he replies instantly. you stay still, and nanami embraces you with the entirety of his body, burying your face into his chest.

he clenches his jaw and whispers, “so much more.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA:

the king of curses dodges another attack with a full-blown smirk on his face. he swiftly turns and slashes the person till they drop into pieces. his chest heaves with excitement.

that is until he catches the smell of your blood.

he turns behind him, and he is greeted by a sight that he would usually take the time to relish in: a myriad of dead bodies, some piled on top of each other, and blood splattered and spilled everywhere.

he ignores of all that as his feet take him to where he senses your cursed energy.

he sees you standing in the middle of the bodies, and your stance is weak. you’re clutching your side, trying to stop the bleeding. he slowly walks towards to you and teases, “what happened? the queen got hurt?”

you let out a small chuckle, “shut up; it’s a minor injury, nothing worth noting.”

that is until the skin over your chest starts bubbling, and your heart explodes. the blood splashes all over him, and your body drops lifelessly to the floor.

sukuna’s eyes lock with your own blank ones, and he can’t process all the feelings he has.

his chest starts heaving particularly quickly, and his jaw clenches. he bends to his knees—something he never thought he would do—and raises your head towards his, searching for a glimpse of your cursed energy.

his eyes bore into your own as he speaks your name roughly.

“stop playing games, y/n!” he barked, shaking your head in his hand, but you grace him with no response.

“haha! I took out your dear wife; what will you do about it now, you monster?!”

sukuna eyes’ snap to where the voice came from.

he then decides that he will put that man through torture that is not even close to the amount of fury in his chest. sukuna is silent, as he gently lays your head down and walks towards the man.

the sorcerer’s smile starts crumbling, and he quickly falls on his back while trying to move away from sukuna.

“s-stay back, or I will kill you!” he attempts to threaten, but sukuna’s expression is blank. blank being a permanent furrowing of his eyebrows and his lips are pressed into a thin line.

the moment the sorcerer turns his back, trying to flee, sukuna cuts his feet.

sukuna doesn’t give him the chance to scream and wordlessly stomps on his back. little by little, he presses harder on the man under him.

he continues until he hears the cracking of bones and coughs full of blood. sukuna watches as the man tries to claw at his feet, in attempt to escape.

“I will make you suffer ten times over for what you have done.”

and it goes down in history as the biggest carnage sukuna has ever committed.

it didn’t stop at that man.

it extended to all the villages surrounding the vicinity. every sorcerer met a crueller death than the one before him. the single women were eaten, and the married ones were slaughtered.

no man was to enjoy what he was stripped of, and he would let the world remember your name along his through the passage of time, and he would make the temple he erected in your name stand tall forever.

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do not copy or plagiarize or I will rat you out to my bestie

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[svndaysaweek]

Addiction and Poisoning — {Feat. Minnie (& Miyeon)}

1.2k words

A/N: It’s been months since the last time I posted something. This might not be the best I’ve written, but I did write something, nevertheless. I’ve been feeling the need to release something, and @i-am-lifeform24 thankfully gave me a precious opportunity to write something!!! So I’m posting it here too. Check out other fics from the ‘Curated Companions’ also!

*Drug use, choking, bondage, a bit of angst(…?)

******

Once in for all. You head to the bar you’re regular at. Everytime you tip a glass there, you experience a weird dream and when you wake up you’re in your bed, no memories of how you even made it there.

It’s happened several times already. To the point where you start to doubt if it really is a dream.

A charming bartender, nice drinks, and the addictive dream-like scenes you fragmentarily see like a deja-vu. 

There are different versions of it, but all follow the same sequence: sit down, empty a glass or two, a little chirpy chit chat with the bartender and the very next blink she’s riding you in a frantic manner.

What haunts you the most is that you lose old memories too. The damage is disturbing, since even at work you don’t remember major events that happened. You really should stop drinking, and you're aware of it more than anyone. 

You can’t explain, but you feel like you should just go there again. It’s an addiction, maybe. You know you should stop, but you don’t.

******

The door swings open with the little bells on it quirkily ringing. It’s a dim bar, with the calm noise of people talking and laughing with clinking sounds. Over the counter she’s wiping glasses, not in a tuxedo but in a white sleeveless shirt, long blonde hair over a shoulder and a pair of orbs in her eyes with the aura that a quartz gemstone would exude.

Hot, but not red-hot. Erotic, but not foul.

The very eyes in your dreams that you made roll back.

“Hi, long time! The usual?” Minnie’s grin blooms quickly as if she’s been waiting for you. Then she fixes it the next second, recognizing how unusual it is for a bartender to be as turgidly excited as her.

“I’d love to.” With a bite on her lip she turns around, takes a bottle of whiskey. Then enters a room in the back for a glass.

Your hand automatically takes your phone out of the pocket. You see a message from an unknown number saying ‘Hey we need to talk’, but before you can check Minnie returns with the glass and serves it to you.

“Are you shifting soon? Never seen you in that shirt before,” A sip, and another. The latter is because it tastes rather different. “Ah, this? How do I look?”

Gorgeous!

Gorge-

Gor-

…

******

“Yeah, that’s it…” Minnie’s hands are planted on your chest while her hips are senselessly grinding on your cock. The pace skyrockets and her nails dig into you deeper and deeper.

But dangerously you don’t feel the pain. You can only feel how tight she’s squeezing your cock, how sweaty her thighs are, how hot her breath is and how good she’s fucking you.

“Fuck, it gets better everytime… How can I stop fucking you like this…” Her hands are now in her hair, arms open and messing her own hair a bit. 

She squeezes her own breasts before slightly choking you with both hands. You try to reach for her hands, which are cuffed to the bed. Minnie seems to enjoy the surprised look on your face, as her face descends to be just above yours with a pearly giggle.

“Bet Miyeon is all too vanilla to do this stuff to you in bed,” She whispers it right at your left ear before nibbling on it, making you flinch a bit.

“Miyeon? Who is-“

“Never mind, boy. I have only you and you—oh, god I’m close—have only me.” Minnie’s teeth leave a deep mark on your under lip. Her glance is now beyond enrapturing. It’s a poignant hypnosis with a tinge of coercion. 

Only when she cums and squirts on your cock with a rather lunatic moan is the bewitching scrutiny alleviated. The sound of heavy breaths and the tickle of her fingers stroking on your chest is all that you can sense.

And you’re sprawled on the bed, exhausted, with your consciousness fading out. “I have only you, Minnie” is what you lethargically repeat until all becomes dark.

******

You have no idea how you ended up on your bed. Again. The last place you remember you were at last night was the bar. 

Was it the whiskey after all? 

Before you could even get out of your bed a headache swirls inside your head.

I had intense sex with Minnie again in the dream again.

She mentioned someone.

I received a text from someone who wanted to talk with me.

What could all this mean?

All of a sudden, a loud knock on the door shakes you awake from your thoughts. 

“Who’s there?” You shout, and you hear a frustrated, urgent female voice.

“Honey, it’s me! Please open the door and let’s talk!” On the other side of the door there’s a woman standing. Anxious, upset and unfamiliar.

“Do I know you?” It’s a genuine question, because you don’t recognize her at all. “Honey, this is not funny. At all. Why the hell have you been ignoring all my-” The girl tries to grab your hand which you swiftly evade.

“Sorry, but what are you talking about?” 

You’re gazing at her eyes then you’re forced to shut your eyes because of a headache like being shot in the temple.

“Babe!” Down the hallway is Minnie. You are so confused by her calling you that, but it must’ve been the drink. Should’ve drunk less.

“Babe?! Excuse me, but do you know him? Honey, do you know her?” Miyeon looks shocked, terrified, even. “I do. Why are you asking me that? Who are you?”

Disbelief shades her face. “H-honey… What are you talking about? I’m your fiancé! I’m Miyeon, don't you remember?” At the same time there’s a victorious grin on Minnie’s face. 

“Seems the potion worked very well…” Minnie whispers in Miyeon’s ear, quiet enough for it not to make it to your ears.

You’re gazing at her eyes then you’re forced to shut your eyes because of a headache like being shot in the temple. Then all senses fuzz out.

******

“Don’t go too fast, Miyeon! It’s dangerous!” You’re on a bicycle following her, on a riverside road with cherry blossoms fluttering along the breeze. She briefly looks back at you, and the way her hair streams in the wind takes your breath. “You’re saying that because you can’t pass me!” She smiles playfully and speeds up ahead.

“What are you listening to?” She takes one of your earphones after sitting down next to you on the bench. “Just some classics. Autumn is a season of classics for me.” You turn your head in her direction and are stunned at how her look matches the color of the trees and sky ever so perfectly. She can only chuckle at your face.

“Oh my god, sweetheart, yes!” You’re down on one knee, putting a ring on her finger. She’s shedding tears with the happiest smile. “I love you, Miyeon.” You rise and hug her. Your hands are still shaking. Her shoulders shake from her crying.

“I love you too. I have only you. And you have only me.”

******

A/N.2: Check replies!

[wandixx]

one-shot snippet

Duke was running out of fumes to run on. The last few days would be exhausting if it was just vigilante or just civilian stuff but no, he had to have it both. Because of Arkham break out, he had been called in three nights in a row, not for a whole patrol but he couldn't exactly sleep it off during the day like others did, especially not in a week when every teacher decided they needed to have test or quiz or what not. Naps meant he wasn't as sleep-deprived as he could be but he needed far more. But he couldn't because crime in Gotham never sleeps so he had normal patrol to finish and there were about two hours left.

Would something bad happen if he just stopped for a moment and laid on a roof? Ten up to fifteen minutes. It was a slow day too…

Yeah, no, he deserved a moment to rest and if something disastrous was to happen in the meantime he would shame other Bats for not giving him enough time to sleep.

It certainly said something that he found gravel covering this roof to be quite comfortable. He set a timer for ten minutes and let himself close his eyes.

When the loud screech of the timer jolted him awake, he was suddenly fully aware that he wasn't alone anymore. He sat up a little too quickly.

"Oh, you're awake" white white-haired girl around Damian's age chimed, sitting cross-legged just a few feet away from him. She wore something that could only be described as a lab safety hazmat suit, white and black with popping green accents. When had Gotham gotten a new vigilante/villain/whoever the girl was? "Good, I just returned from a snack hunt," she added, gesturing at a big textile bag lying next to her. Duke didn't have enough brainpower to do anything more than ask.

"What?"

The girl shrugged, take-out from BatBurger in her hand.

"You look like you have a bad day if not a few days, so I've got you my cousin's bad day combo or at least the closest thing I could. BatBurger burger isn't as good as NastyBurger but you certainly have better fries" As she spoke, a second take-out bag, 1 liter bottle of energy drink, juice bottle of the same size, and pack of convenience store brownies joined greasy paper bag sealed with a sticker.

"Is your cousin a speedster?" Excuse Duke, it was a totally valid question, he saw with his bare eyes both Wally West and Bart Allen when they visited Manor. No one else would be able to stomach the amount of food they inhaled during their stays.

"Nah, we're not that fast or that hungry. Though I think I may get closer to the speed of sound." So, clearly, a meta if white hair and weir aura that let his eyes rest weren't enough indication "My cousin when he has a bad few days often forgets to eat so this combo has to help with there too. But I'll steal your fries of course."

Duke was not going to look a gift horse in the teeth, so he grabbed one bag and tore it open. There was a classic combo with bigger fries and NightWings inside.

"Thank you…" he trailed off, hoping that the girl would take a clue and introduce herself but she didn't. She just drowned her fries in ketchup and started munching. She had her own juice.

"My cousin always said that each part of this combo has a different purpose." she explained instead, slightly muffled because of the fries in her mouth "This" she gestured towards the fast food meal "is to soothe your stomach. This "she tapped energy drink "is to soothe your brain and kick it back online. This "she raised a bottle of juice "is to soothe your taste buds because energy drinks are war crime against them and this "she nudged brownies "is to soothe your heart because Ancients damn it, this day is awful and you deserve it. At least that's what he told me when I had day bad enough to deserve that" she shrugged, licking ketchup of her finger. Suddenly she froze "You aren't allergic, are you?

"No, I'm not" he confessed bewildered.

"Good"

For a long moment, they sat in silence, devouring food the little girl brought. Duke distantly wondered if this was how the night shift spent their snack breaks. It felt nice.

He was finishing his part of the brownies when the girl spoke up again.

"Do you feel better now?"

"Yeah," he was a little surprised to realize that t it was true. He'll have to note down what she put in this 'bad day combo'. "Thank you"

"Don't mention it." she shrugged with a general gesture of dismissal "You're one of my cousin's favorite heroes because you're vaguely his age and handle Gotham alone during the day and I quote "She did honest or God air quotes at that" 'As only hero in Amity-' which is a lie by the way, Val is doing great and even if he suddenly got problem with how she feels about his alter ego, he still has Sam and Tuck even if they're usually more of moral support. And I helped when I visited, so no, he isn't the only one. Anyway as he said 'As the only hero in Amity, my heart goes out for anyone who deals with this type of bullshit so Dani if you absolutely have to prank heroes, leave them out of it, especially Signal, he can't be older than Jazz, he doesn't need any more mess to handle.' All aliens and lanterns are also off-limits because he is a space nerd. But you aren't space-related so I'm like 80% percent sure he has a celebrity crush on you" She slurped more juice, unbothered.

Duke was thankful he wasn't swallowing anything because for sure she would choke. He took a split second to consider addressing… this whole situation and choose against it. He was not ready to be anyone's celebrity crush.

"Your name is Danny?" he asked instead.

"Dani" she corrected" with an I"

"Ok. It's nice to meet you Dani-with-an-I" She giggled, nodding her head slightly.

"It's nice to meet you too Signal"

Duke stood up, stretching a little. Dani joined him after hastily putting all the trash in her bag. She was a little higher than expected.

"I have to get back to my patrol"

"Cool," she drifted back a bit, making him realize that she was floating a few inches above the ground. She fixed her bag on her arm.

"Hey, can I hang out a little bit more? My cousin will go green out of jealousy when I tell him" she added with a mischievous smirk but Duke could tell there was more to it. He took a moment to consider it, which apparently made the girl nervous "I can be invisible the whole time, like before." she offered, disappearing in the meantime. He could still tell where she was, because of her heat signature, and aura but for regular people, she would be no different than the surrounding air.

"Yeah, you can hang around and you don't have to be invisible. Just don't get in my way when I have to actually do some fighting."

She popped back to the visible spectrum and pouted like Damian whenever he got benched.

" I can fight, y'know? I stopped mugging on a snack run."

It was ten goddamn minutes, how could she get so much food and stop a mugging in such a short time?!

Oh, right, superspeed. Still, impressive.

"I haven't seen it" he started, channeling all Dick-trying-to-wrangle-Damian-into-socially-acceptable-activity' energy he could muster "So I don't know how you fight or even what powers you have. If we tried to fight together we would trip over each other" It was a bare-faced lie, Bat Training made sure of that but he knew for a fact that if he said anything else, the girl would be mad and probably did her own thing.

Was that what Bruce thought about all of them?

Oh no.

Dani still looked displeased but after a moment of consideration, she nodded with a defeated sigh.

Suddenly she straightened like she got struck by lightning and whipped around.

"Wha-"

She just shushed raising her finger to her mouth. Duke did indeed quieten.

"I have enhanced hearing" she whispered "There is a mugging somewhere this way."

"Let's go then" he shot his grapple, waving his other hand at Dani to come with him before he jumped off the roof. He heard the girl giggle as she flew right after him.

" After this, you'll show me the coolest gargoyles, okay? Sam asked for photos"

"Okay"

It seemed that the end of this patrol wouldn't be as bad as the start was. Hopefully.

And afterward, he was going to lock himself in his room until the sky fell or he was well rested.

Yeah, that was a good plan.

*******

how do you like it?

[vaspider]

So I need a more adult persons take on this. Is it wrong to ask people to tag gory/graphic images from gaza? I'm not trying to bury my head in the sand. I don't want to block mention of palastine but god these images are triggering the shit out of me and it isn't making me more aware or more empathetic, I'm already angry and heartbroken and praying and donating what I can.

It is never wrong to ask someone to tag something for any reason. I've asked people to tag animals that I have a phobia of, and mentions of Laika (the first animal in space), because Laika was a good girl and she didn't deserve what happened to her. It was cruel and horrible and it upsets me in a way that I recognize is out of scope for the death of a single dog seventy years ago. That person may decline to tag things for whatever reason, and if that's the case, it isn't wrong for you to unfollow them, block them, add their username to a filter list, whatever you need to do in order to curate your online experience. Without talking directly about the topic you brought up, 'cause it's something I don't do, as I've said about ninety squintillion times -- I used to reblog/post pretty disturbing images of human bodies out of a misguided sense of justice. I have been online for a really long time, and a lot of the stuff that was posted as 'necessary education' Back In The Olden Times were images of police and/or mob brutality visited on Black & brown bodies. Out of a sense of white guilt and a feeling that I should be 'bearing witness' rather than turning away, I perpetuated some of those images, until -- very kindly and gently, I think, for the scope of what was happening -- it was pointed out to me that:

it is unkind to subject the people who have been or might be subject to that sort of racialized terror to images of bodies broken by it, and

it is almost invariably the exact opposite of what the families of those people want, and

it does nothing to actually make me a better person or to advance any sort of real justice, and instead

it simply acts as a grotesque sort of terror tourism or war porn for people who can simply turn off their computer or phone screen and go about their lives.

I am really grateful to the person who took the time to gently shake me. They didn't owe me that, and I'm glad they thought I was a worthwhile investment of time and energy.

Whoever is posting images of bodies or gory images of victims from any injustice like that, especially without appropriately tagging the images so that people don't have to engage with that? They may be motivated by the best of intentions, but as long as they are engaging in that sort of casual, continual terror tourism, they're ... not helping.

There was a great article about this back during Ferguson that really flipped a switch in my head about the subject, where it basically said this is just another way that dominant cultures, Americans especially, seem to treat the bodies of people they view as Other as theirs to consume. There are ways to talk about whatever is going on which do not require people to utilize the bodies and blood of the dead as tools of persuasion (or emotional bludgeoning, tbh), as symbols to show how Righteous we are by "not looking away," and at the cost of those who have been or are more directly affected by the images.

Doing that sort of thing isn't a good idea in the first place, and you're not wrong to ask anybody to tag anything, or to disengage from those people if they find themselves unwilling or unable to tag that content so that you can care for your own mental health.

[greynatomy]

bigger than the whole sky

alessia russo x reader

based on this request.

been writing this for a while. my longest fic yet. i cried so much writing it.

thank you anon for the request, one of my favorites.

i also just reached 1k followers! thank you all for following and reading everything i’ve put out. i started writing for female celebrities then got into woso. i never knew people would read what i would put out, but i was wrong. i appreciate every single one of you who like, reblog, follow, or just read.

again, thank you! enjoy this angst!

———

In her twenty-four years on this earth, Alessia Russo can count every single event, party, or celebration she’s been to. Whether that be a birthday party, after party, or a simple get together. But the event she’s at right now is not something she ever saw herself attending for a very long time.

———

Walking to the field in her first day of practice at UNC. She didn’t know anyone and was a little shy, but you were the first person to introduce yourself to her. 

During both of your time at UNC, you were inseparable. No one would see one of you without the other, so it was not shock at all when you got together a year after meeting.

~~~

“Hey! Alessia!” You get her attention, catching up to her.

“Hey, Y/n.”

“Uh, I was wondering if you’d like to go on a date with me tonight? Only if you’re up for it and aren’t busy.”

Alessia’s smile could not get any bigger.

“I would love to.” She kisses your cheek, walking away. “Text me the details.”

You stand frozen in your spot. You hand coming up to your face, fingers brushing where her lips touched.

A few hours later, you were standing outside of Alessia’s front door, flowers in hand. You go to raise your hand to knock, but it opens before you have a chance to.

“Woah.” You we’re speechless. Alessia was wearing a black dress, with a slit at the right leg and red bottom heels. You were in a simple black dress pants, white dress shirt with a couple buttons undone and dress shoes. “You look breathtaking.”

“Thank you.” She gives you her million dollar smile. “And you look very attractive.”

“Ready to go?”

“Yup. Let me just lock up.”

Opening the passenger door for her, she gets in, giving you a kiss on the cheek before you close it. You run to the driver side and get in. You put the car in drive and go on your way to your destination.

Alessia notices your fingers fiddling with the gear shift so she becomes very bold and grabs your hand to intertwine them, settling them in her lap.

The date went along perfectly. You talked about anything and everything, catching up on things that happened recently. Driving back home in a comfortable silence, smiles on both your faces.

You walk her to her front door, saying how you had a great time hoping to go on a second date and more after that, her agreeing. After a couple seconds of silence, you feel very confident and place your hands gently on her cheeks.

“May I?” You ask.

Alessia just nods, bringing her face closer to yours and closes the gap, lips molding together in a quick but passionate kiss. Pulling away she bites her bottom lip.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She kisses your cheek, hurrying into her door.

“Yeah. Tomorrow.” In a trance, you slowly walk back to your car with the biggest smile on your face, doing a happy dance not aware that Alessia was watching you through the window, laughing.

———

Walking around the living room, she can’t help but tear up. All the memories you made coming back to her. All that you accomplished together. She was glad to be able to play with you and start on your professional football careers together on the same team for Manchester United.

~~~

“I thought lesbians were supposed to be good at building and stuff.”

You and Alessia are in the process of moving into your new apartment in Manchester after being signed by United together.

“That’s very stereotypical of you Less.”

“I’m just saying.” She shrugs, biting back a smile.

“Would you like to help me then?”

“Nah. I think you’ve got it all figured out.”

~~~

“You’ll do great.”

“Same with you.”

~~~

“Making their debut today, Y/N Y/LN and Alessia Russo, an unstoppable duo from the University of North Carolina, subs into the game.”

~~~

“Another goal for Alessia Russo from the assist from Y/N Y/LN. The duo showing us exactly what they’re made of!”

~~~

Years later, you’ve both just signed a deal with Arsenal. The club not wanting to separate the dynamic duo the two of you became known for.

———

She makes it up to your shared bedroom, not having been since that day, opting to sleep in the guest room. Taking a deep breath, she twists the door knob, opening the door.

Everything was how it was left two weeks ago. Nothing being changed. Eyes scan the room, landing on your bedside table. A picture sat on top, one of Alessia’s favorites. Hands trembling, she delicately picks it up, thumb running over your face.

———

Walking along the water, footprints remain behind them on the sand. Hands intertwined, occasionally swinging between the two.

“You ready for tomorrow?” You ask softly, not wanting to disrupt the calm atmosphere.

“Nervous, but it’s the world cup final.”

“That’s to be expected then.”

“Come here. I wanna take a picture.”

Holding her arm out, phone in hand, you place your head next to hers into frame. She turns her head, placing a kiss on your cheek.

Later that night, she goes through the photos as you slept. Seeing as they were live photos, she watches them. She didn’t notice at the time, but after kissing your cheek, you look at her with the look all her friends told her about.

Like she hung all the stars in the sky.

———

Alessia felt numb. All of the emotions she could feel are bottled up inside her. She thought of the last moment she spent with you, still not able to wrap her head around it all.

��——

You and Alessia make you way to the garage. You open the driver side door for her, letting her get in. You close the door, she rolls the window down. You lean down, resting your arms on the door, head sticking in the car.

“Now, you be careful getting to training. It’s our first one with the team.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

“See you soon.”

She leans up giving you a kiss. When she pulls away, you hold the back of her head to pull her back in, kissing her a bit longer.

“Be careful. I love you.”

“I love you more. See you in a bit.”

She watched you put your helmet on, swinging a leg over your motorcycle, driving off, giving her a little wave.

Alessia arrives to training first, waiting for you at the car park. When you didn’t arrive in a couple minutes, she went ahead inside.

“Hey! Where’s your missus?”

———

The door opening snaps Alessia out of her trance. Looking up, she sees her parents and your mom. She wipes her tears hastily, sniffling a bit.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

“Hi, Mum.”

The three parents look at each other, not knowing how to start. Alessia’s dad eventually sit next to her daughter on the bed.

“We need to tell you something.”

———

You knock on the front door, it quickly opening to reveal Alessia’s mom, Carol.

“Y/N! What a lovely surprise!”

“Hi, Carol.” You greet, returning her embrace. “Is Mario home? I need to talk to the both of you.”

She leads you through the house to where her husband was sitting on the couch.

“Hey, kid.”

“Sup, pops.”

“Y/N said she needs to talk to us.”

“Oh? What about?”

Taking a seat in between the married couple, you reach into your pants pocket, pulling out a small velvet box. You hear a gasp that came from Carol.

“Oh, honey.”

“I-I just wanted to let you know that I’m ready, been ready, to take the next step into my relationship with your daughter. Alessia is… she’s the love of my life and I hope you’d give me your blessing to do so.”

A strong hand finds itself on your shoulder, pulling you close.

“Kid. You’ve had our blessing since the day we met you.”

“There’s no one better for our Alessia than you.”

———

Your mom holds out her hand, a small velvet box sitting in it.

“She told me to hold onto it.”

Alessia let out a quiet sob, sliding off the bed, kneeling over onto the floor. Her mom follows, wrapping her arms around her daughter.

“She loved you so much.”

———

“Is this Alessia Russo?”

Alessia got a call minutes after walking into the locker room. An unknown number.

“This is she.”

“You are the emergency contact for Y/N Y/LN. How fast can you get to London Medical?”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Alessia’s heart is racing, the unknowing of why she would be called as your emergency contact. She packs her things as quickly as possible, hands shaking.

“Woah. Where are you going? You just got here.” Katie questioned, seeing her stuffing her training bag.

“Uh, Y-Y/LN hos-hospital.” She stutters.

Katie realized how serious the situation is, grabbing her things for her.

“C’mon. I’ll drive. Which hospital?”

“Lon-London Med-Medical.”

“Okay. Get in the car.”

The two run towards Alessia’s car, giving her keys to Katie. After a twenty minute drive, they get to the hospital. Running to the emergency room, she goes straight to the nurse’s area.

“Y/N Y/LN. My-my girlfriend. I got a call.”

“Alessia Russo?” She nods. “I’m Kerry. I called you. If you can sit in the waiting room, I’ll have a doctor come out and talk to you.”

Not even a minute later, a man dressed in scrubs walk up to the two footballers.

“Hi, I’m Doctor Hill. This is Officer Randall. You’re here for Y/N YLN?”

“Yeah. What happened.”

“We got a call for a crash. Witnesses say it was head on. Driver was drunk and is in our custody.” The officer answers.

“What about my girlfriend? What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s in surgery right now, we’re trying to repair her broken leg, ribs, arm, but what we’re most worried about is her head. She was wearing a helmet, which is good, but with how the driver hit her, we’re unsure how she’d heal. We’ll let you know more when we’re done. Now if you’d excuse me.”  With that, the doctor heads back through the double doors.

———

“Earlier this month, Arsenal signed women football’s dynamic duo, Alessia Russo and Y/N Y/LN. We’ve seen what they’ve done at the University of North Carolina, Manchester United and we’ve been excited to see what they could bring here at Emirates Stadium.

Two weeks ago, Y/LN was struck by a drunk driver and unfortunately passed away. Let’s all take a moment of silence.”

Alessia is trying hard not to break down in front of everyone. She’s done that plenty enough.

“To the families of Y/N, we are with you. Alessia Russo, we stand by you. Y/N Y/LN. You are loved. You are missed. Rest easy.”

———

It’s been four days since the accident. There’s been no change in your overall health and brain activity. Doctors have told Alessia that there’s a low chance of you ever waking up.

“Ms. Russo.” Doctor Hill knocks on the door. “I need to talk to you.”

“Yeah?”

“We’ve gone through her file and you make all of Y/N’s medical decisions now. When we need to do something, you’re the one to make the decision.”

“What about her mom? I thought that only if you’re married, you’re the next in line or something?”

“She listed you as her power of attorney. She trusts that you make the choice for her. Ones that she can’t.”

“What do I do now? Is there still a chance for her?”

The look on the doctor’s face says otherwise.

~~~

After talking to your mom, her parents, she’s now back in your hospital room. She never thought she’d see you like this, lifeless on a bed, wrapped in bandages, wires poking and prodding all over.

“Hey, baby.” She sniffles. “Um. It’s been a few days since you’ve been here. Uh, it’s really all up to you now.” She grabs your hand, mindful of the wires and needles. “If-uh-if you feel like you can’t go on, I pro-I promise you that I’ll be fine. I can look after your mum.”

Alessia gets up from her seat, walking to the corner, bottom lip trembling, holding in a cry. Holding herself together, she goes back to where you lay.

“I don’t want you to fight for me anymore, to-to suffer and longer. If…if you need to let go, you can. Just know that I love you. As much as I want you to wake up, and see what we could’ve been, what should’ve been, I-I let you go.”

She watches your chest rise up and down, the movement slowing down. The beeping from the monitor slows, ending in a long beep. Flatline.

You were gone.

Nurses rush into the room to try and revive you, but Alessia waves them off, not wanting you to go through anymore difficulty. She let you pass peacefully.

———

“A hat trick for Alessia Russo on her Arsenal debut! What a player!”

Alessia couldn’t hold it in anymore. She collapses onto the ground, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her teammates surround her, Lotte gets to her first, embracing her in a tight hug. Lotte had become your best friend at UNC, so it was difficult for her too.

With Arsenal winning the game, Lotte and Alessia were asked to do a postgame interview.

“We’re now here with Alessia Russo and Lotte Wubben-Moy. What an amazing performance from the both of you. Alessia a hat trick and Lotte who assisted them all. What was going through your head?”

“Uh, well, it’s the first game of the season and there was supposed to be one more here from the UNC squad, but unfortunately she isn’t. I played for her. Y/N is-was my best friend.”

“Alessia?”

“Uh, yeah. We all started our football journey together back at UNC and supposed to be back together again, the three of us, so I just played for her. She always believed in me and was by my side, following to all the way to Manchester and now to London. So I-uh-the whole team really just played for Y/N.”

———

Walking down the path, flowers in hand, Alessia stops in front of headstone. She takes the old flowers out of the built in pot and replaces them with the new. 

She takes a blanket out of her bag and lays it out in front, sitting on it. She reads the stone, for what felt like a hundred times.

Y/N Y/LN

Daughter • Footballer • Wife

you are bigger than the whole sky

Even though the two of you never got married, your mom and Alessia decided to call you a ‘wife’. It just wasn’t official on paper, but it would’ve happened anyway. She now wears the ring you never got to give her on a chain hung around her neck, to keep you close to her heart.

“Hey, baby. Uh, played my first game as a Gunner. Scored a hat trick just for you. Pretty sure you were watching down on me, helping me get those goals in.” She wipes a fallen tear. “Wished you would’ve been down at the pitch with me, but, uh, yeah. I don't know what else to say. You’re usually saying something back. I’ll see you again soon.” She kisses her fingers and placing them overtop of your name. “Ti amo amore mio.”

At twenty-four, she didn’t think she’d have to say goodbye, but here she was, walking out of the cemetery, leaving you behind.

[super-who-locked-me-in-here]

Pieces of media my mom has seen and the popular MLM ships in them that she doesn't think are gay:

MCU - Stucky (note that she does get a kick out of Stony stuff and she believes wholeheartedly that those two hate fucked in a not-filmed scene of Avengers 2012 so this is not about her thinking "oh Captain America is so straight-laced because he's the ideal American man" or anything)

MCU - Poolverine (she's fully aware and accepting of the fact that both Logan and Wade are canonically queer characters but she thinks all the flirting Wade did with Logan in the newest movie didn't necessarily mean anything because "he talks like that to everyone". Side note though: while she believes Wade should be with Vanessa, she does think that Logan can and should shoot his shot with Wade after Vanessa inevitably dies since he and Wade are both immortal. It's just that she thinks Wade should get his happy ending with Vanessa first.)

MCU - Lokius ("Mama have you ever seen a man fix another man's tie like that" "No but that doesn't mean it doesn't happen! I wouldn't know though; it's been like 15 years since I worked a corporate job.")

Sonyverse/Marvel - Symbrock ("They literally have a symbiotic relationship. That doesn't make them gay." So I showed her the comics where Eddie calls Venom "love" and gives birth to Venom's babies and she said "Fine you win but please never show me alien man birth ever again."

Supernatural - Destiel ("They're like Steve and Bucky! They're brothers in arms! They've been through hell and back together!" Note that she only watched through season 5 but she does know about a lot of their later interactions because I told her about them)

House M.D. - Hilson ("Dot I watched that whole show and they were never anything more than good friends" "What about when House admitted to thinking about Wilson during sex? What about that whole episode where they pretended to be gay for each other to prove a point to a neighbor and Wilson proposed? What about that whole episode where Wilson had to furnish the apartment and House told him not to let a woman tell him what to do but Wilson let House tell him what to do? What about the whole ending?" "Why can't two men just be close enough friends to joke about that stuff with each other?"

Real life - Me and my best friend of the same gender orientation who I've kissed multiple times and have had a requited crush on for years that neither of us have ever persued for logistical reasons (I literally used me and this friend to try and prove my mom wrong about Stucky and Destiel. I asked her if she thought me and this friend were like brothers and she said yes with a straight face)

Sherlock - Johnlock (to be fair this is the BBC ship name, but she doesn't think any iteration of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are the slightest bit gay. "They're business partners and roommates.")

Our Flag Means Death - BlackHands (Should go ahead and say that I'm not really a BlackHands shipper myself; we both really enjoyed Stede and Ed's romance in the show. BUT it takes so much away from Izzy's character and his development if you don't acknowledge that he was jealous of Stede and in love with Ed, at least a little. My mom thought Izzy was just an extremely loyal first mate.)

Also, for the record, I'm not trying to call my mom out as homophobic. I'm queer and so are two of my siblings and she's very supportive of us. There are gay romcoms she enjoys like Our Flag Means Death and Red, White, and Royal Blue. The reason I'm making this list is because I think it's really funny how she doesn't understand the concept of queerbaiting (not that all of the above listed ships are queerbaiting). She thinks things are either explicitly straight or explicitly queer (whether it's gay, lesbian, bisexual, etc) and cannot comprehend the idea that some character relationships are deliberately pushing the boundaries of straight friendships into queer relationships to get more minority viewers and I think her explanations are funny.

[iwaasfairy]

ETCHED IN RED | VERMILLION Part 2

tw. dubcon/noncon, yandere, bullying, age gap, power imbalance, implied stalking wordcount. 1k

read part 1 here or see the valentine's masterlist

gojo satoru x reader

It’s been a while since you’ve left the countryside for Tokyo. It’s been even longer since you had the displeasure of being locked up in a room with the people who stood by while your life — well, you want to believe you can leave old grudges lie. It’s been half a decade, and people change. As you wade through the group of people, mostly old classmates and their partners, you regret coming alone.

Your cold hands play with the flute of champagne, before you look up again.

He’s yet to take his eyes off of you.

White hair and those blinding, paradise blue eyes… apart from maybe one extra line next to his eyes, he still looks the exact same. You’re very aware you do not. You made a purposeful effort to remove anything that made you you the second you left Tokyo. But it doesn’t really surprise you all that much to see that he still recognises you. Gojo’s might just be surprised to see that you came at all. If you were smarter, you wouldn’t have.

It’s been long enough that you could’ve ignored the invite. Could’ve pretended like you didn’t know the class of cheery misfits, that you never got it at all. But Yuuta had sounded apologetic, and maybe somewhere deep down you wanted to believe that everything had changed. That you’d arrive and you wouldn’t feel the same helplessness you felt. Maybe seeing one of your beloved friend’s memorial pictures would mend things, and you could let go of the strings still pulling you back.

Being that it isn’t just a reunion, but a memorial too; there’s very little music to fill the space. It leaves everything awfully raw and exposed. Your shift the glass from holding, to placing, to holding again. Flutter your nervous fingers along the stem, as you flip through the picturebooks they’ve left on the table, alongside the framed picture of her. Before she was Yuuta’s flame, she was your friend— came to Tokyo Jujutsu High on the same train as you. You flip through some of the yearbook until you find a picture that makes you swallow tighter.

It’s you and her, Makki, Panda, Inumaki. And of course Gojo, white hair hanging loosely over his shades, his arms around Yuuta’s shoulders. You remember the day it was taken. You remember the way you’d brushed away your spilled tears and had puffed your chest out like none of it had any effect on you, and how you’d watched Yuuta ignore you through the gap in the door. While Satoru embarrassed you, humiliated you, threatened to ruin you. The more vile stuff had come only later; but you can’t help but think that if anyone had said something, none of it would have happened in the first place.

You wouldn’t have had to hide like a rat under the floorboards.

His scent spooks you before he can even make his presence known, has you bumping into the table of entrées when you turn. Your eyes meet his through the tinted glass, but it doesn’t take away from the intensity that stares back. A tad bit too wide to be comforting, a little too wild to feel familiar. You’re pinned like a bug under his towering shape, and though he smiles, you don’t feel it. Gojo Satoru’s even more unsettling than you gave him credit for. Something about distance making the heart grow fonder. “Hardly believe my eyes,” he chuckles, “I didn’t hear you’d swing by. It’s been a few years…”

You nod back, certain the smile doesn’t reach. “I quit, you can’t expect me to come by every few weeks. You’re all busy, and I decided our line of work wasn’t for me, so…”

He chuckles at that, and runs long fingers through his hair. “Even though we’re so understaffed?”

“Because we’re understaffed. Too many familiar faces.” If he catches your underhanded dig, he doesn’t show it. But Gojo was always good at hiding whatever was bothering him. “It’s good to see Miwa, Inumaki and Makki again.” Your eyes flick over his shoulder to another familiar face standing among their circle, but can’t make yourself say a nice word about him either. A few years ago you would’ve added him to the list too. But here, you can’t call him a friend. “Panda and the staff too.”

“You look really different. Wouldn’t surprise me if the staff didn’t recognise you.” He eyes you down for a few moments, before taking your drink out of your hands and downing it. Not even a question, he just takes. Like he can still scare you into owning every part of you. “But I guess if anyone was going to quit, it would’ve been you or Yuuta. Must’ve been hard after the funeral.”

It shouldn’t surprise you that he’s managing to twist your fondness back onto you. However much it hurt, that wasn’t the straw. No, it’s always been Satoru. He’s the reason you left. He already knows this. You don’t expect the picture-perfect smile he’s giving you to slip any time soon. “It was. Especially because I didn’t really have any support.” You glare at him just barely, before picking your now empty glass back up. “Following your lead and all.” It doesn’t bring you the resolution you hoped it’d bring. 

Even when you watch him chew his tongue for a response, or when his eyes sink down your chest to your hands clasped around the flute. To the glittering stone on your finger. For once, he raises his eyebrows too high, eyes searching. Maybe he expected the threat of violence to stop you for longer. “Got married in your time away?” He’s quick to school his expression back, and if it wasn’t for the forced jerk of his mouth corners, you could believe he’d actually be happy for you.

“Engaged,” you force out. It’s the truth. It’s just that as soon as it’s out, you wish it right back. There’s something wrong with his eyes. “It’s been good catching up.” You would add some false pleasantries after, but Gojo would just take it as an invitation. “I’m going to talk to Miwa, haven’t seen her in years.” A hand wraps around your shoulder when you try to slip past him, gripping too tight. With one long step he almost forced you into the wall. His smart tongue presses against his teeth, before he softens his grip and lets you go.

“You look beautiful, baby. Missed your pretty eyes staring up at me like that.” You turn over your shoulder to glance at him instinctively, just long enough to watch the Cheshire grin slip onto his lips. Before he winks, and strides past you back towards the group — stopping only to brush his mouth past the shell of your ear when he dips. “Can’t wait to catch up. It’s been a long five years, hasn’t it?”

All Rights Reserved © IWAASFAIRY 2024. Works are exclusive to this Tumblr.

[ssa-dado]

8 - Law & Self-Awareness

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader

Genre: angst, sad stuff, fluff

Summary: Hotch and Peter confront a tense situation as they rush to Riverhead, where the unsub is expected to strike next, but conflict arises when Peter wants to warn you, fearing for your safety. Hotch insists on following procedure, though both men struggle with personal fears and the ethics of their choices. At Riverhead, you visit your father's grave, reflecting on past decisions and realizations. In a quiet moment later, surrounded by your team, you come to understand a truth you've been trying to avoid.

Warnings: Grief, CM case

Word Count: 6,1k

Dado's Corner: Here's the sister chapter of the previous one! The narration is still inspired by Suits' 2×08. Funny how Aaron making physical contact with you occupies 57 paragraphs while Peter doing the same thing ½ of a line. Also this is probably the first chapter in which Y/N's physical appearance is mentioned sooo let me know if you imagined her in this way (it's still very vague don’t worry). That said, bring out your finest china, we're celebrating!

previous chapter ; masterlist

“Riverhead,” Hotch said, his voice taut, barely containing the urgency that trembled beneath the surface. “He’s going there next.”

Peter’s eyes widened in disbelief, his immediate reaction pure instinct as he reached for his phone, fingers fumbling desperately to find your contact. “We have to call her. She needs to know -”

Hotch’s hand instinctively shot out, grabbing Peter’s arm with a force that matched the fear hiding behind his calm eyes. “No, we can’t. If we warn her, we risk tipping the unsub off, causing chaos, panic. It’s not just about her, Peter. It’s about every person in Riverhead. We have to handle this the right way.”

Peter wrenched his arm free, his anger flaring like gasoline igniting in the confined space of the SUV. “You’re seriously going to let her walk right into this? She’s in danger, Hotch! And you’re just going to sit back and do nothing?”

Hotch’s expression remained steely, but there was a tremor beneath the surface, a vulnerability he kept tightly under wraps. “This isn’t just about her. There are hundreds of people in Riverhead who could be at risk. If we alert her and it gets out, we’re not just endangering her, we’re endangering everyone. It’s not fair to warn one person and not the others. You can’t let your feelings dictate your decisions.”

Peter’s laugh was sharp and scornful, tinged with a mix of disbelief and fury. “Feelings? Don’t talk to me about feelings, Hotch. You’re always hiding behind the rules, always standing on the side of the law like it’s some infallible god. But this isn’t just about following orders - this is real, and she’s walking into something she can’t see coming.”

Hotch’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles going white as the weight of Peter’s words crashed over him, each one a blow to the carefully built walls he’d constructed around himself.

He shot Peter a side glance, his voice simmering with restrained anger. “I’m not doing this because it’s easy, I’m doing it because it’s the only way to stop this from getting worse. If we tip him off, if she gets scared and acts on it, it could cause a domino effect that puts even more lives at risk. We have to be smarter than that.”

Peter turned to fully face Hotch, the intensity between them palpable, a charged current of frustration and fear. “You keep talking about doing the job, about being ‘smart,’ but what about being human? What about doing the right thing for once instead of hiding behind procedure? What happens if something happens to her, Hotch? Are you really going to look me in the eye and say we did the right thing?”

Hotch’s expression tightened, his jaw clenched as he fought to keep his emotions in check. He kept repeating the same words, not so much to convince Peter, but to anchor himself - to hold onto some semblance of control as much as possible. “This isn’t just about one person, Peter,” he said, his voice a bit strained with the weight of the impossible choice they faced.

“We can’t put her safety above everyone else’s. It’s not how we do things. If this gets out, if people panic, we lose everything. That’s exactly what the unsub wants: to see us unravel, to watch us make decisions with our hearts instead of our heads. We can’t give him that satisfaction. We can’t let him win.”

Peter scoffed, his anger bubbling over as he stepped closer, his eyes blazing with frustration. His voice rose, each word laced with a mix of fury and desperation. “You’re always so damn obsessed with the law, Hotch,” he snapped, his breath coming faster, as if the force of his emotions was too much to contain. “But what about ethics? What about the people behind the profiles, behind all these damn statistics and protocols? This isn’t just a case file, it’s about real people.”

Peter’s tone shifted as he tried to reach Hotch, his next words softening, laced with an urgent plea. “You know Y/N. I know Y/N. And if she were standing here, right now, listening to us argue like this, she wouldn’t hesitate for a second. She’d probably quote some damn philosopher she loves - Sophocles or whoever - about how there’s more to this than just sticking to the rules. She’d remind us that the law isn’t the only thing that matters, that there’s a fine line between what’s legal and what’s just.”

Peter’s voice cracked slightly, his gaze searching Hotch’s for any flicker of understanding. “She’d be talking about the balance between law and justice, that sometimes what’s right and what’s legal are not the same thing. And you know she’d be right, Hotch. We’re not just here to enforce rules. We’re here to protect people. And if you can’t see that, then maybe you’ve lost sight of why we’re doing this in the first place.”

Hotch felt something inside him twitch at Peter’s words, a sharp, painful pull that he couldn’t ignore. The truth of what Peter was saying sliced through his defenses like a scalpel, precise and unyielding. It was as if Peter’s voice had reached into the guarded, unspoken places of his mind, exposing the doubts he worked so hard to bury. He could almost hear your voice echoing in his head, clear and insistent, the way it always was when you spoke up during team meetings.

You had a way of looking at cases that was different from anyone else, this deep, almost philosophical curiosity that refused to settle for the easy answers. You’d sit there, arms crossed, eyes locked in that thoughtful gaze, and when you spoke, you’d often pose questions that hung in the air, challenging every assumption. You never just saw suspects and victims; you saw people - complex, flawed, human. You’d remind them all that beyond the evidence, beyond the profiles, there were lives and stories that couldn’t be reduced to simple binaries of right and wrong.

Hotch could almost picture you now, leaning forward in your seat, the intensity in your eyes as you dissected every aspect of the case. You were never satisfied with just the black-and-white - you thrived in the gray, constantly urging the team to see beyond the rigid lines of the law. At how you’d quote philosophers, pull wisdom from literature, history, anything to make your point. It wasn’t about showing off. it was about challenging everyone, especially him, to rethink their approach. You’d often remind him that justice wasn’t just about following rules, it was about finding the truth that lay hidden beneath the surface, about doing what was right, even when it wasn’t easy.

Peter’s words hit Hotch hard because they echoed what you would’ve said, what you always said. It was that relentless pursuit of justice, that constant push to go beyond the status quo, that made you such an irreplaceable part of the team. And right now, it was tearing Hotch apart, knowing that you weren’t there to challenge him, to remind him of the bigger picture, to make him question the very things that had once felt so certain.

Peter noticed the crack in Hotch’s demeanor, and he pressed on, his voice softer now but no less intense. “But none of that matters if she doesn’t make it out alive, does it? You can stand here all day talking about rules and duty, but if she’s gone, who’s going to remind us of the difference? The dead can’t debate law and ethics, Hotch. Only the living can do that.”

Hotch’s breath caught in his throat, Peter’s words hitting him with a force that felt physical, like a punch to the gut. He could feel the fear that had been clawing at his insides since the moment he realized you were in danger, the fear he had been trying so desperately to keep at bay. The fear of losing you - of never getting the chance to understand what this thing between you could be, of failing to protect the one person who had managed to breach the walls he’d spent years building.

“You think I don’t know that?” Hotch’s voice broke, his control slipping for just a moment. “You think I don’t feel it? But it’s not just about what we want, it’s about what we have to do. You want to protect her, and so do I. But again, this isn’t just about saving her. It’s about stopping him. It’s about making sure no one else gets hurt because we let our guard down.”

Peter’s gaze softened, but his frustration remained, an unresolved tension simmering between them. “Maybe you’re right, Hotch. Maybe we have to think about everyone. But that doesn’t mean you’re not scared. And it sure as hell doesn’t mean you don’t care. So stop pretending you’re above it all, because you’re not. You’re just as terrified as the rest of us.”

Hotch looked away, his eyes fixed on the road ahead as he tried to regain his composure. Peter was right, he was terrified, but not just for you. He was terrified of what it would mean if he let this get personal, if he let himself care too much and it all fell apart. But as they hurtled toward Riverhead, the truth of Peter’s words lingered, gnawing at the edges of his resolve.

He couldn’t afford to lose focus, not now. But the fear, the aching fear that he was making the wrong call, that he was letting his own walls cost him something irreplaceable, was a battle he was losing with every mile closer they got to you.

And in the silence that followed, the weight of those unspoken fears hung heavy between them, a fragile truce bound only by their shared desperation to protect you, no matter the cost.

You had finally arrived at Riverhead.

The cemetery was quiet, shrouded in a stillness that felt heavy with the weight of unspoken memories. Each step toward your father’s grave felt deliberate, slow, as if every movement pulled at something deep within you that you hadn’t touched in years. You hadn’t been here since the funeral, and the sight of his name etched into the stone brought a fresh wave of emotions you weren’t prepared for: grief, anger, regret, all tangled up in the memories you had tried to bury.

You knelt beside his grave, your fingers trembling slightly as you placed a single orchid on the cold, gray headstone, the delicate petals were a sharp contrast to the starkness of the granite. Orchids had always reminded you of the first case you ever worked on at the BAU - a case that had tested every part of you, that had made you realize what it truly meant to carry the weight of other people’s pain. The purple flower was a fitting tribute, an unspoken apology for not being there when he had needed you most, for choosing a path that had pulled you away from his final moments.

You traced the letters of his name, feeling the grooves under your fingertips, and memories of the past surged forward, unbidden. You thought back to the day you told your parents you wanted to become a profiler - a day that, despite all the tension that often simmered between you, had stood out as one of the rare moments of connection between you and your father.

It had been a rainy Sunday afternoon, the kind that kept everyone indoors and made the house feel smaller, the air thick with the unspoken tensions that seemed to linger in every corner. You had been pacing your bedroom, rehearsing the words over and over in front of your mirror, heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and dread. Telling them that you wanted to be a profiler felt like exposing a piece of yourself that you had kept hidden, especially from them.

You finally gathered the courage, walking down the stairs with resolve. Your father was at the dining table, surrounded by stacks of paperwork, his glasses perched on his nose as he scribbled notes on a report.

He was always working, always lost in something that seemed more important than anything happening in the room. It was his way: work was sacred, an escape, and a duty that defined him. You often resented it, the way he would get so caught up that he’d miss dinners, birthdays, the small moments that you had yearned for as a child. But there were also times when you admired his dedication, his unspoken belief that what he was doing mattered.

Your mother was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables with an efficiency that matched her exacting nature. She always seemed to be in motion, always doing, rarely resting. She was the professor, the academic who had spent her life studying the human mind, dissecting theories, and teaching students who idolized her. To her, intellect was the highest form of achievement, and anything less was a waste of potential.

You stood in the doorway, feeling the familiar knot of anxiety tighten in your chest, but you pushed forward, clearing your throat to catch their attention. “Mom, Dad… I need to talk to you about something.”

Your father glanced up first, pulling his glasses off and setting them on the table with a raised brow, his expression curious but calm. “What’s on your mind?”

You hesitated, glancing between them, searching for the right words. “I’ve decided what I want to do after graduation. I… I want to be a profiler. I want to join the FBI.”

The room fell silent, the only sound the steady chop of your mother’s knife against the cutting board. Your father’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t speak right away, just watched you, his gaze heavy with a mix of concern and something you couldn’t quite name. Your mother, however, set her knife down sharply, her brow furrowing as she turned to face you.

“A profiler?” she repeated, the disbelief clear in her voice. “Y/N, do you have any idea what that entails? You’re talking about diving into the minds of criminals, putting yourself in danger every day. This isn’t some classroom exercise, this is real life.”

You braced yourself, taking a deep breath. “I know what it means, Mom. I’ve thought about this for a long time. I don’t just want to study the human mind, I want to understand what happens when it breaks. I want to make a difference, to stop people from getting hurt.”

Your father remained quiet, but his gaze never left yours, absorbing every word. There was something in his eyes that told you he was listening, that he understood the weight of what you were saying.

“Do you really understand what you’re asking for?” your mother continued, her voice laced with frustration. “You’re brilliant, Y/N. You have so much potential. You could do anything: be a researcher, a professor. You’d be safe, you’d be respected. Why throw all that away to chase criminals?”

It stung, but you had expected her reaction. For as long as you could remember, your mother had pushed you toward her path, believing that academia was where you belonged. But as much as you respected her work, it had never felt right for you.

The endless theories, the dissection of literature studies in sterile classrooms, it all felt too detached, too far removed from the gritty reality of the world you wanted to understand. You wanted to do more than just read about what broke people; you wanted to see it, to confront it, to fight against it.

“I don’t want to be safe, Mom,” you said, your voice firmer now, carrying the weight of all the arguments you’d been rehearsing for months. “I want to be out there. I want to see the truth of what people can become, the good and the bad. I can’t just sit back and write papers about it.”

Your mother’s mouth tightened, the disappointment etched in her features, but your father leaned back in his chair, studying you with a quiet intensity. He cleared his throat, and you braced yourself for the inevitable disapproval. But when he finally spoke, his voice was low, contemplative, carrying the weight of his own unspoken struggles.

“If this is really what you want,” he said slowly, choosing each word with care, “then you have my support.” He paused, glancing at your mother before returning his focus to you. “Work is… sacred. It’s a calling, not just a job. I know I haven’t always been there, and I know you’ve seen the toll it can take. But I also know the satisfaction that comes from doing something that matters, something you believe in.”

Your heart swelled, caught off guard by the unexpected warmth in his words. It was one of the few times you’d felt truly seen by him, and the memory of that moment, of his quiet nod of approval, had stayed with you ever since.

Your mother turned away, picking up the knife and resuming her chopping, her movements more forceful now. “Just don’t come crying to me when it all falls apart,” she muttered, the bitterness barely hidden in her tone. “There’s no glory in risking your life. There’s no reward for choosing danger over reason.”

But you held on to your father’s words, his silent validation, and in that moment, it had been enough. Even if he wasn’t always present, even if his own work often kept him away, he had understood the drive that pulled you toward the unknown, the need to carve your own path, even if it led you away from everything they had envisioned for you.

As you stood at his grave now, the weight of that decision felt heavier than ever. You had chosen this life, knowing full well the risks, knowing the sacrifices that would come with it. And yet, in this quiet moment, you couldn’t help but wonder if he would still be proud, if he would still see the value in the path you had chosen.

You stood up, brushing the dirt from your knees, feeling the rough earth cling stubbornly to your clothes. As you turned to leave, something caught your eye near the cemetery entrance: a line of sleek, black SUVs parked in formation.

Your heart skipped a beat as you recognized the unmistakable outlines of the BAU vehicles, their dark, imposing presence impossible to miss. But what truly made your breath hitch was the sight of Hotch. Even from this distance, you recognized him instantly, not by his face, but by his unmistakable posture, the way he stood with that rigid, commanding presence, his stance was familiar, almost comforting in its certainty, a figure you’d know anywhere, even among a crowd.

It was only after a moment that your gaze shifted and you noticed Peter beside him, standing just as tensely, their expressions hard and urgent. Hotch’s sharp, focused demeanor contrasted with Peter’s more animated stance, but there was no mistaking the tension that hung between them, like a taut wire ready to snap.

Despite the distance, you could feel the weight of their conversation, the urgency that radiated from them both, and it made your pulse quicken. You hesitated, watching them, knowing that whatever they were discussing, it was serious, and you were about to be pulled right into the heart of it.

A surge of fear shot through you as you rushed toward them, your heart pounding with a mix of dread and confusion. As you got closer, you could see the strain etched across Hotch’s face, the urgency in his eyes that told you something was terribly wrong.

“Hotch?” you called out, breathless, searching his expression for answers. “What’s going on?”

Hotch turned to you, his eyes meeting yours, and for a split second, you saw the raw fear that he usually kept buried deep within. His jaw tightened, the weight of everything he couldn’t say hanging heavily between you, and you knew, whatever this was, it was bigger than any case you had ever faced.

Hotch’s normally composed demeanor was strained, his eyes revealing the fear he had been fighting to suppress all day. Peter, usually quick with a grin, looked torn between anger and the overwhelming relief of seeing you safe.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, breathless from both the sudden sprint and the weight of dread that settled in your chest. “Why are you here in Riverhead?”

Hotch exchanged a quick glance with Peter, an unspoken conversation passing between them before he turned back to you, his voice steady but edged with urgency. “The unsub’s been leaving clues at each crime scene, riddles hinting at his next target. The latest message… it mentioned Riverhead.” He paused, the gravity of his words sinking in, his gaze unwavering. “We think he’s planning his next attack here.”

Your stomach dropped, the weight of his revelation hitting you like a physical blow. The peaceful cemetery, a place you had come to seek closure and quiet, suddenly felt exposed, vulnerable, and fraught with danger. You looked around, the once comforting silence now suffocating as you imagined the unsub watching, waiting. You turned back to Hotch, trying to make sense of the layers of fear and determination that flickered across his face, unspoken and raw.

Peter, attempting to cut through the tension that gripped you all, forced a smile, though his voice was tight with the day’s unrelenting strain. “Luckily, Hotch cracked the code before anything happened. Sharp as ever, saved us all a lot of grief.”

You barely registered Peter’s words, his voice a distant murmur against the roar of your own thoughts. Guilt and self-reproach surged within you, crashing over like relentless waves. You were supposed to be better than this: your instincts, your training, everything you had learned should have protected you. But you had been caught off guard, blindsided by a danger that crept too close, too fast. Your eyes flicked back to the gravestones, their cold, silent presence now bearing witness to your vulnerability, each one a haunting reminder of how close you’d come.

Hotch, always attuned to the unspoken, stepped closer, sensing the spiral of self-doubt threatening to consume you. His hand found your shoulder, his touch firm and grounding, pulling you back from the edge of your own unraveling. The contact was startling at first, his touch warmer and steadier than you expected, cutting through the noise in your head like a lifeline.

It was a simple gesture, but it felt like an anchor in the storm, grounding you when everything else seemed to be slipping away. Hotch's touch was rare, almost unheard of, he was always so composed with his steady presence always keeping his distance, preferring words over gestures. But this, the solid weight of his hand on your shoulder, meant more than he could ever say.

His touch was warm, steady, a silent assurance that seeped past your defenses. It wasn’t just a comforting squeeze; it was Hotch’s way of saying what he rarely ever said aloud: I’ve got you. You’re safe. We’re here, and we’re not going anywhere.

The unspoken promise behind that touch cut through the chaos and fear, wrapping around you like a shield against the overwhelming feeling of guilt and self-doubt. It was as if he was lending you his strength, even for just a heartbeat, and in that moment, it was enough to keep you from completely falling apart.

“We’ve alerted local law enforcement,” Hotch said, his voice lower, more gentle now, the usual edge softened as if he was speaking directly to the turmoil inside you. “They’re securing the area. The unsub’s been targeting public spaces to create fear and chaos, but we won’t let him succeed. Not here, not today.” His words were calm, steady, the kind of reassurance that cut through the panic clawing at your chest.

You nodded, the knot in your throat tightening painfully as you fought to swallow the rising wave of emotion. The breath you drew felt unsteady, like the first real one you’d managed in minutes, but even as you tried to gather yourself, the stark reality of how close you’d come to danger clung to you, gnawing at the edges of your composure.

Hotch’s hand stayed firm on your shoulder, grounding you in a way that was both comforting and unnerving. It was a constant, quiet reminder of your vulnerability, a presence that made it impossible to hide from the fear you so often buried deep.

Desperate to shift the mood, you forced a strained smile, hoping to lighten the heaviness in the air. “Since we’re all here… how about we grab dinner?” you suggested, your voice wavering but hopeful. “There’s this local spot I used to go to when I was a kid. It’s nothing fancy, just this cozy little place, but it’s familiar, and… I could really use some company that feels like home right now.”

Hotch’s hand lingered for a moment longer, as if he was reluctant to let go, his touch a silent reassurance that even in your most vulnerable moments, he was right there with you. The smallest flicker of understanding passed between you, unspoken but felt deeply, as if he knew exactly why you needed this, why you needed them.

Peter’s grin was immediate, though it was tinged with the lingering shadows of what could have been. He clapped his hands together, trying to inject some much-needed levity into the moment. “Now you’re speaking my language. Food, friends, and hopefully a strong drink or two. What do you say, Hotch?”

Hotch hesitated, his mind still half-entangled in the day’s events and the potential dangers that loomed. But then he looked at you, really looked - saw the exhaustion etched into your features, the traces of pain you’d been carrying since your father’s grave. He knew this wasn’t just about a meal; it was about finding a moment of respite, about reconnecting when the job tore so much away.

“I’ll join you,” Hotch said quietly, his voice softer than you’d expected. “But I’ll catch up in a bit. There’s something I need to take care of first.”

You watched him turn back toward the cemetery, his figure fading into the sea of gravestones. It wasn’t like Hotch to delay; he was always so determined, so single-minded when it came to the job. But you sensed this wasn’t just about duty, it was about finding his own moment of stillness in a day that had been anything but.

Peter placed a comforting hand on your back, his touch gentle and familiar, guiding you toward the restaurant with an ease that belied the day’s tension. The small, local eatery was exactly as you remembered: warm, inviting, with the kind of worn wooden tables that made you feel instantly at home. The faint hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, the soft glow of the streetlights filtering through the windows, all of it wrapped around you like a comforting embrace.

Rossi and Gideon joined soon after, settling in with the kind of camaraderie that came only from years of shared battles and late-night stakeouts. There was a tiredness in all of you, a bone-deep fatigue that only people in your line of work truly understood, but for the first time in what felt like forever, it wasn’t just about the job - it was about being together, about finding solace in each other’s presence.

Rossi leaned back in his chair, his eyes twinkling with a blend of mischief and genuine curiosity. “So, thesis, antithesis, synthesis,” he mused, his voice carrying that familiar hint of amusement. “Come on, kid. Educate us. What’s that all about in these weird Hegelian stuff you always talk about?”

You chuckled softly, grateful for the distraction. “It’s about the constant cycle of conflict and resolution. The synthesis - the so-called solution - doesn’t end the cycle; it just becomes the new thesis. Life is always evolving, always challenging us to adapt. Every resolution leads to a new conflict, a new question. It’s never really over.”

Rossi nodded thoughtfully, his gaze flicking between you and the empty seat that Hotch had yet to fill. “Sounds like something we could all stand to remember,” he said, his tone softer now, more reflective.

Meanwhile, back at the cemetery, Hotch stood alone in front of your father’s grave, the silence hanging heavy and profound. The orchid you had placed there was still fresh, its vibrant petals striking against the cold, unyielding stone.

Hotch understood the significance of that flower, the way it linked back to the very first case you’d ever worked at the BAU, the first time your paths had crossed.

It was the unsub’s calling card, a chilling detail that had haunted the case and marked the start of your journey in this unforgiving world. It was the first time he saw you not just as another agent but as someone uniquely brilliant, fiercely determined, and carrying a burden that ran deeper than anyone could have guessed.

Hotch knelt slowly, the memories of that first meeting mingling with the present, a bittersweet reminder of how far you both had come. He thought of you standing in that briefing room, so composed and meticulous, always immaculate in your appearance.

Your hair, always perfectly straightened, framing your face in a precise way that left nothing to chance. You wore black almost every day, the monochrome only broken by subtle variations in texture: sleek, tailored fabrics that gave the faintest hint of depth but no room for distraction.

He knew it wasn’t just a preference; it was armor, a way to command respect in a field that often doubted you because of your youth. On days when you felt a little lighter, a little braver, you’d occasionally allow yourself the small rebellion of a white shirt, a glimpse of something softer beneath the carefully crafted exterior.

He remembered noticing the deliberate choices you made, how you often wore masculine, tailored suits, sometimes even a three-piece, to project authority and mask the youth that others might use against you.

You were always striving to appear older, tougher, less vulnerable, less feminine, crafting an image that demanded to be taken seriously. And while it worked on most, Hotch never needed the sharp suits, the perfectly placed hair, or the carefully chosen colors to see your worth.

From the beginning, he had valued your insights, your sharp mind, and your relentless drive. He had never looked down on you, never needed you to prove yourself in ways that others did. He saw past the façade to the strength and vulnerability beneath, and he respected you all the more for it.

As he placed the small replica of the Guggenheim Museum beside the orchid, the gesture felt heavy with meaning - a tribute not only to your father but also to the history you both carried.

It was an offering of understanding, a quiet acknowledgment of everything unsaid between you. As Hotch lingered by the grave, he couldn’t help but think of the first day he met you, how determined you were to make your mark, and how, even then, he had been grateful for your presence. You challenged him in ways that reminded him of why he had started this journey, refusing to let the darkness win.

For a moment, Hotch allowed himself to feel it all: the gratitude for having met you, the fear of losing those he cared about, and the faint, fragile hope that maybe, he could find a way to let someone in without losing himself completely. As he stood there, surrounded by the quiet of the cemetery, he found a flicker of peace, a rare, delicate solace that, for the first time in years, made him feel less alone.

When Hotch finally made his way to the restaurant, the sight that greeted him was a balm to his weary soul. You were seated at the table, laughing at something Peter had said, your eyes sparkling with a light that had been missing all day. Rossi and Gideon were leaning back, more at ease than he had seen them in a long time, their expressions softened in a way that only moments like this could bring out - rare and fleeting for men who had spent their lives chasing shadows. It was a simple scene, but it was enough.

It was a reminder of why Hotch fought so hard, why he kept pushing forward, even when the weight of his responsibilities felt like too much to bear.

Without hesitation, Hotch took the seat directly across from you, mirroring the way your desks were always arranged back at the office.

It was deliberate, instinctual - a configuration that felt as natural as breathing. There was comfort in this alignment, in the way his eyes always found yours first, no matter how hectic the day had been. It wasn’t just about proximity; it was about connection.

Sitting across from you allowed him to see you fully, to catch those fleeting, unguarded moments when the professional masks slipped, and the real you shone through.

It was the angle that felt right, where he could read the subtle shifts in your expression, the small smiles that hinted at unspoken thoughts. It was where he could feel the bond between you most acutely, a silent acknowledgment of the trust and understanding that had grown over time.

You looked up as Hotch sat down, your gaze meeting his with a warmth that said more than words ever could. In that moment, the noise of the restaurant faded away, leaving only the quiet understanding that had always existed between you.

It was as if the world had shrunk to just the two of you, anchored by the familiar rhythm of shared space, the unspoken promises that bound you together. You had always understood each other in ways that transcended words - both driven by the same relentless need for justice, both carrying the weight of lives you couldn’t always save.

“I thought you’d never come, partner,” you greeted him, your voice carrying a mix of relief and something deeper, something that spoke to how much his presence truly mattered. It wasn’t just relief, it was comfort, knowing that he was here, that he always showed up, no matter what.

Hotch’s response was immediate, his voice softened with sincerity. “How could I miss this?”

The words were simple but carried so much more meaning. It wasn’t just a casual remark, not from him. It felt like a reaffirmation of something deeper, a silent promise that went beyond tonight.

It was a declaration that he was there, not just for this moment, but always. His presence was grounding, steady, the kind of anchor you hadn’t realized you needed until it was there.

As the night went on, you couldn’t help but reflect on how everything had unfolded - especially the train journey that had brought you to this point.

Or how the out-of-the-blue conversation with Rossi about Hegel’s thesis, antithesis, and synthesis now felt almost fated, as though the universe had nudged him to ask you once again – to make you acknowledge the truth you kept hidden within you.

Maybe the irony was the point: Hegel’s idea of the synthesis, the resolution that comes from the collision of opposing forces, was exactly where you found yourself.

The journey to self-awareness wasn’t linear; it was filled with contradictions, moments of doubt, and unexpected realizations.

Every step you had taken, every case, every sleepless night, now made sense, as if you had reached a vantage point from which you could see it all clearly for the first time.

It was like standing on the top of a mountain after a long, hard climb, finally able to look back at the winding path that had led you here.

And standing at that vantage point, you could see why you had been hesitant about the date with Peter, why something in you had resisted moving forward with him. It wasn’t because you didn’t care about him - it was because your heart had already chosen someone else.

The truth settled in gently, like a quiet revelation you had always known but hadn’t fully accepted until now.

It was Hotch.

It had always been Hotch.

The connection between you, the understanding, the trust that went deeper than words, it was more than just friendship or partnership.

You had admired him, respected him, but now you could see it for what it really was.

The reason you had hesitated, the reason you hadn’t been eager for anything else, was because the person you truly wanted was sitting right across from you.

You had a crush on Aaron Hotchner.

●

Extras: here are some pics of the Guggenheim Museum by Frank Lloyd Wright! It inspired me to write the case you read in "Thesis" and Aaron Hotchner to show his love support to Y/N in this chapter.

[lucienarcheron]

Spirit Meets the Bones - I

Eris and Iris.  Son of a high lord, daughter of a fiend.  An arranged marriage brought them together and beneath all the hate, the two are more alike than they’d like to be. 

Genre: Angst/Drama/Romance Warnings: Mentions of physical abuse.

Author's Note: Today marks the three-year anniversary of when I first posted this story and what better day to start reposting than today! It means so much that people stuck around and are still excited for it to continue. I hope you enjoy how it unfolds!

biggest shoutout will go to @abruisedmuse ♥️ without you, I don't know how I'd finish this fic. ily!

Tagging: @abruisedmuse | @elizascarlets | @vanserrass | @climb-the-mountian | @positivewitch | @ladyelain | @helion-ism | @readthelastpaage | @sarions | @spinachtz| @elizab3th-grace | @ladystarrynight| @daily-dose-of-sass | @highlady-fireheart | @carnythian| @viewfromtheotherside | @lovedbyth3sun | @carolynmezzosoprano | @thedarkinmansfield | @moonfawnx | @imma-too-many-fandoms | @krem-does-stuff | @that-golden-lyre | @cynicalpotatoe95 | @lattristantketcup | @tiny-dragon-lover | @runningwiththeoceans | @sweet-but-stormy | @illyrianshadowhunter | @this-is-rochelle | @applestrudeldoo | @comingupbexx | @foxybananaaaz | @weesablackbeak | @roseliey | @my-otrand | @thewilderheart | @rityrooroo | @highladyofduskcourt | @electromagnetic-waves | @eastofatlanta | @secret-third-thing | @feysandfeels | @mali22 | @theeternalstruggle | @devilsfoodcake22| @maidr-00 | @the-midnightwriter | @moobell55 | @alohaangels | @readychilledwine | @lalaluch | @ladywhilemia | @easchies | @animezinglife | @zenkindoflove |

Find it all here.

Eris's hands were clasped behind his back as he stood rigidly next to the female who had now become shackled to him. His bride had only repeated the words of binding in a dull, dry tone and shifted her face slightly so he’d kiss her cheek rather than her lips in front of everyone. Already, she had more nerve than he anticipated. He had only smiled.

The two now stood in their finest before his parents, the festivities of the wedding raging on behind them. It would continue to rage on when the bride and groom took their leave. It all meant nothing to either of them.

Eris stood in his suit, tailor-made, and fitted in forest green. Iris’s bridal gown of white covered every inch of her, painted against every delicate curve. Eris had only stolen glances, not looking for too long. The hatred in her eyes had become grating. 

He spared Iris another side glance, aware his father was watching him, and gave his parents a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you, Father. You spared no costs on this wedding.”

“If only the bride and groom seemed to enjoy it as well.” 

Eris offered his father another tight smile. “It all happened so fast. We’re both a bit whiplashed but I’m sure Iris loved it as much as I did,” he said and finally fully looked at his bride. “Didn’t you...wife?”

Iris automatically bowed her head towards the Lord and Lady of Autumn and turned her gaze to her now-husband. “Of course...husband. Forgive me, I am a little tired. It’s been a long day.”

Eris and Iris.

Iris and Eris.

He only looked at her with boredom.

She looked at him wanting to desperately snap his neck.

“Well, run along then. Enjoy your wedding night. Don’t embarrass me, son. Make sure to show your bride a good time.” Beron mused with a laugh and the Lady of Autumn, Lady Enya, gave Eris a pleading look as he nodded to his parents. 

“Welcome to the family, Iris.” Lady Enya said softly.

Iris bowed her head in thanks and turned once more to look at her now-husband who gave her a small smirk and Eris couldn’t take his eyes off her. Couldn’t help the slight glee at how hard she was trying not to sneer back at him.

“Come along wife, it’s time for the fun part of being married,” Eris said with a coy smile and held out his arm. 

But Iris only stared at it. She stared at his arm and wondered what would happen if she just...snapped it off his body. Or stabbed him. Or at least attempted either option. Her father had nearly ripped her head off when he found out about the small knife hidden beneath her dress. The sting of his smack had barely settled down before she walked into her wedding. Nonetheless...her fingernails could be sharp enough to maim.  

When a moment passed and Iris still hadn’t taken his arm, Eris stepped closer to her.

“Take my fucken arm before I drag you out of here.” he hissed and Iris blinked then tilted her head towards him with a shy smile, the ever-blushing bride as she approached him and slipped her arm through his. Never mind that it was trembling slightly.

“Try dragging me out,” she said softly. “I’ll only end up dragging your bleeding body back across this hall.”

It was Eris’s turn to blink then his lips twisted into a smirk. “Is that what your eyes have been trying to tell me? We can fulfill your dirty little fantasy once we’re alone.”

Iris stood before her husband and schooled her expression so that anyone looking at her would see her gaze reverent rather than murderous. As if they didn’t know how reverent murdering someone you hated could be. 

“Oh, does that mean once we’re alone, I can run a blade several times through your torso?” she said sweetly. “Because that’s exactly what I was fantasizing about.”

Eris chuckled, his eyes drinking in the sight of her. The challenge in her voice. The sternness in her hooded eyes. “Big words for a shaking gazelle in a room full of wolves,” he said softly and leaned in to kiss her temple, ever the besotted groom. “Don’t forget, you married the worst of them. I’d watch that pretty mouth if I were you.”

Iris let him pull away and let him see the shy smile on her face even as rage flashed in her eyes. Her grip tightened on his arm and she leaned into him again.  “Or what?”

A chuckle slipped out before he could help himself. Bold. She was bolder than he expected. “You’ll find out once we’re behind a closed door, wife.”

He felt her body tense but paid her no mind as he nodded his acknowledgment to the people congratulating them, as he did practically drag her out of the room. The sooner they got out of there, the sooner this night would be over and he could somehow think of how to handle this female that had been shoved at him. 

They walked in silence down the hall, nodding to any lingering guests before turning a corner and the path before them was empty.

“Did you lose your tongue, little gazelle? No more big words now that you don’t have an audience?” he said quietly, as the two walked down the halls of The Forest House towards their wing. A whole wing where he was to now live with his little lady. “Not going to try and run?”

She finally yanked her arm free from his and openly glared. “And go where?” she spat. “As if you wouldn’t drag me back here and humiliate me for trying.”

Eris only hummed his response and watched as she huffed then continued walking and he took the time to openly observe her in the silence. In a tense, nearly suffocating silence. 

His wife. 

Wife. 

He mouthed the word silently to himself then frowned thinking of how, for the second time, he was forced into a union he had little say in. At least this one hadn’t fucked anyone else as far as he was aware. 

It wouldn’t have mattered if she did at this point. She was now his and he was hers. There was no escape. There would be nobody else. And Eris wasn't exactly sure how to feel about this. 

How was he supposed to feel about a female he knew nothing about? How, exactly was he supposed to feel when he had only found out a month before the wedding that she was to be his?

Her father, a wealthy merchant — a criminal as Eris had understood, wanted to build better ties with the High Lord of Autumn to no doubt get away with things he shouldn’t. Never mind that the male was as big of a piece of shit as his father. He had simply offered his daughter to Beron as a bride for Eris like she meant nothing to him. Wrapped her up for him like a delicious dessert to be eaten. 

And delicious she was. Eris let his eyes roam her body as she stalked in front of him toward the room. She didn't even know which way they were supposed to be going and yet, the confidence in her walk of rage didn’t hold her back. Her chestnut brown hair coiled up in braids, the tiara sitting atop her head, exposing her long lovely neck.

The train of her dress trailed behind her and he only quirked his brow at the design, not as frilly as he had expected. Then again, he knew nothing about her. No one had given him the chance.

Eris stepped on the tip of the dress’s train and she startled, a small gasp escaping her lips. Turning sharply, she glared at him.

“Get off my dress.” she seethed but he only gave her a small smile.

“We’re here.” he said and watched as she froze again, color seeming to drain from her face. He pursed his lips and wondered just how badly she thought this was going to go. “Are you thinking about running now?”

This seemed to unfreeze her body and Iris blinked at him. “Just open the door.” she muttered quietly. But he could hear her heart beating. He could almost taste her fear and his lips curled in disdain.

Eris waved his hand for the door to open and with a mocking bow, he gestured for Iris to step inside. She gave him a withering look then slowly stepped into the room and Eris followed her in. 

The two stood in the doorway of the suite taking in the grandness, the room a swirl of all the autumn colors in one, coming together to give it a look of a magical place of rest. Never mind that the two people required to live here wanted to do anything but be in this space. The suite was huge, decorated with a seating area in one corner, a small dining space in another, a bedroom set that included a large closet across the wall, a vanity, and —

Iris’s eyes fell on the bed that was big enough to fit six people and her fists clenched. She only gave him a look of loathing and wrapped her arms around herself, wanting to refuse even acknowledging the space.

But then Eris closed the door and locked it, and the sense of panic she had been holding back all day filled the room. He heard her swallow and as he took one step closer, Iris whirled around.

“Don’t touch me.” she snarled.

Eris paused then took a deep breath, his hands once again clasped behind his back, a sour taste in his mouth. Naturally, she was to assume the worst about him. Naturally, he might as well oblige her. 

“You’re my wife now. I thought the whole point of the wedding night was for us to be touching as much as possible,” he said quietly, his signature smirk gracing his face as he moved closer to her. “Or did they not teach you that?”

Iris flushed and shot him a glare, pointing viciously. “Don’t you take that tone with me or I’ll make you regret it.”

Eris’s smile was feral at the challenge. “Claws are coming out now, are they, wife?” he said quietly and took another step closer. “I wonder if you have claws like that in bed.” He tilted his head, observing her. “Why is your dress so modest? Didn’t they tell you I like to see some skin?”

She took another step back, hating the predatory look in his gaze. “You won’t be near my dress for too long so don’t concern yourself with it.”

“Are you sure about that? I do need to fulfill my husbandly duties and take it off of you.” he said again and took the final step for them to share a breath. “Make you feel all the wonderful things a husband should make his wife feel.”

“Stop talking to me that way.” she hissed, shoving him back.

He chuckled and grabbed her arm firmly, pulling her into his chest. “I will talk to you however I see fit, especially when it makes you flush so beautifully.” 

And indeed, Eris hadn’t gotten the chance to stare at her so openly until this moment and it was unfortunate how beautiful she actually was. Very unfortunate, he thought, especially when his own heart started beating wildly in his chest and he felt hers sing to the same erratic rhythm. 

The world seemed to still as his fingers gripped her arm. His amber eyes found her hazel ones and both pairs of eyes widened slightly. His gaze intensified as he soaked in her features and how a few loose strands of hair had slipped to frame her face so wonderfully. Iris’s own thoughts had paused at how close his lips were to hers and the way he stood so elegantly and effortlessly towering over her. 

It was truly unfortunate. Because Eris’s eyes had flickered down to her lips and back, the corner of his lips lifting. How much would she hate him if were to kiss her? Could he have one taste? 

Iris flushed deeply as Eris leaned in even closer and she did the only thing she could think of to get away from him.

Eris let out a groan of pain as she kneed him in the balls and crossed to the other side of the room.

“What the fuck was that for?” he hissed, doubled over, his glare meeting the one Iris shot at him.

“I told you not to touch me. Married or not.” she hissed, taking a step back. “And based on everything I’ve heard about you, I definitely don’t want you touching me.” 

Eris ran his tongue over his teeth as he straightened and took another step towards her.

A chair flew towards him then and he barely ducked in time.

“What the ever-loving fuck —”

“Stay on your side of the room.”

“I’m not going to —”

“One more step and the dagger will be next.”

Eris stared at her in confusion, at the dagger that looked so much like —

He looked down at his belt where he knew his dagger to be sheathed...except it was not.

“You were too busy trying to intimidate me to notice,” she said with a snort, and gone was the trembling gazelle that he’d seen all day, his dagger twirling her hand. “Surprise.”

Eris blinked then huffed out a noise of disbelief. “Well, wife. This is an interesting turn of events...How did you manage to steal it?”

“Most males are stupid and get easily distracted by beautiful females. If I let you believe I was weak, you automatically assumed you could dominate me and lose the upper hand,” she said simply and shrugged. “Your mistake.”

He narrowed his eyes. “From the things your father told me about you, handling weapons wasn’t on the list.”

“My father is a lying piece of shit and doesn’t know an actual thing about me.”

“He told me your passion was piano and you prefer to stay indoors because you were sensitive to the sun,” Eris stated flatly and Iris rolled her eyes.

“I do love piano but the only thing I’m sensitive to are the bruises he gifts me that people would notice if he let me out as often as I’d like.”

Eris froze. A distant roaring filled his ears as he stared at Iris. He stared and stared and when she narrowed her eyes at him, he clenched his teeth and took a breath.

“Your father beats you?” he asked quietly. 

Iris shrugged and it was a shrug that he knew well. A shrug he had mastered to deflect Beron’s marks on his own body. A shrug he had mirrored from his own mother.

“My father seemed giddy at the idea that you’d be beating me too,” Iris began and sunk the dagger into the table with a loud thud, before meeting his gaze again. “But if you think that gives you permission to lay a hand on me, I will break every single one of your fingers and carve your heart out of your body. I would die trying.” 

Eris stared at her. Trying to think of a response. Trying to think of all the things he’d heard about her before this moment.

“My daughter is delicate.” her father had told him. “She’s also foolish and needs guidance with a heavy hand. Don’t be afraid to put her in her place.”

There was nothing delicate about the fiery rage he saw in the female in front of him. Nothing but sharp glares and determination. Her stance alone told him she would be nothing of what he had expected.

His mother’s bruised skin flashed in his mind and Eris swallowed then met Iris’s gaze. 

“I would never harm you,” he said firmly and she tilted her head, quirking a brow.

“Your reputation says otherwise.”

“My reputation is catered to a specific audience.”

“Your reputation is the reason I am willing to kill you and face death myself rather than let you turn me into the broken doll my father tried to make me.”

Eris pursed his lips at that and slipped a hand in his pocket, the other coming to brush back his hair. “It appears wife, that you and I aren’t what we seem.”

Iris crossed her arms. “So it seems, husband.”

“We wasted time not getting to know each other a month ago.” Eris scoffed with an eye roll and Iris froze. “Your father insisted you were too nervous and shy.”

“What do you mean a month?” she asked breathlessly, her hands fisting at her sides.

Eris’s blink marked his confusion. “A month. Our engagement was announced a month ago.”

Iris blinked then blinked again and Eris watched as a cascade of emotions flashed across her face. 

“A week.” she gasped out. “I was told a week ago.”

Eris’s eyes narrowed and he took in her shaking hands. “A week?” he asked quietly. 

Iris only stared at him and he felt his chest tighten when she started taking deep breaths. Eris opened his mouth to say something — he felt compelled to say anything — but she held up a hand.

“I will only say this once,” Iris spoke, her voice surprisingly steady. “We may be sharing a bed but we will not...go further than that.”

Eris frowned, his own hands fisted at his sides. “Alright.”

She blinked in return. “Alright?”

His expression immediately turned sour at that. “I think the expectations for tonight have been made very clear. What more do you want from me?”

“Nothing. I don’t want anything from you.” Iris replied, all steadiness was gone from her voice as her face fell. “I wish I had nothing to do with you.”

And with that statement, she darted into their shared bathroom and slammed it shut. 

Eris remained rooted to his place and simply stared after her, at the closed door she now hid behind, his thoughts a thousand miles a minute. 

He thought about their names and the silly way they matched.

He thought about the similar father figure they seemed to have and the history they seemed to share.

He thought about the small thrill he had felt when he had been within kissing range. 

Eris's frown deepened at the sniffle he heard from behind the door and wondered...just how much hell would they be in for now.

[kurosstuff]

2nd time requesting so bear with me please. Sera x Gn!Exorcist!Reader who came back from an extermination and is very tired. Just some fluffy stuff and maybe a small tiny bit of spicy stuff. It doesn't have to be a Fanfic, it can be head cannons. I don't really mind :]

Please and thank you!!

Gonna be a headcanon this time cause- I got a very bad headache at the time of me writing this♡ your so sweet♡ Oh -So only one drabble this time- I do hope you enjoy still though

Warning(s): fluffy mostly, some blood and some spice tho- slighr angst? Very short headcanons

Ngl I like to think all the sera x exorcist reader are all like- connected that I did- ..maybe I'll make a thing about it? If anyone would like that idk

Sera x gn!exorcist!reader

Every time without fail. The second you enter your home, Sera is there waiting for you- eagerly to help you relax more than be aware of how taxing - how draining your job is. How she carefully pulls your tired Frame to her huge one not minding the blood touching her or her dress-

"Shh, little one~ my darling little swan~, you've done so good for me~ protecting Heaven~. " she purred out, shushing your tired body from your worries of you dirting her. Ruining her pure white dress- bleaching it in such a sinful color.

Red.

Such a gross thing on such a pure angel "now now~ I've made a warm bath for you~" Sera purred out, carrying you to the bath, her large height bending into the bathroom setting you down. Planning on helping you relax fully-

First a bath- to clean yourself of the filth(and to ensure you are unharmed) sera will bath you herself humming to you as she does

Just going all out bubble baths massages wing massages- SCALP massages- she wants her precious angel to feel relaxed

praises- I repeat PRAISES.

THE WHOLE TIME?? She'll praise you none stop- even after she carries you out of the bath- dressing you in pajamas she set out-

She won't let you eat though- she'll make you drink water but food? Forget it. She read somewhere that food after traumatic events they'll throw it up and she's scared that'll happen to you when your supposed to rest

Cuddled all the way- just wrapping you in her six wings whispering to you sweet praises? Watching you turn into a puddle into her arms? GOD she can't get enough of it- how your wings flap how you chirp-

She doesn't mind having a little fun to help relax you- she doesn't mind at ALL only thing though- she won't allow you to lift a finger- just going all out on servicing you- ensuring your satisfied- it's all about you-

She'll stay the whole night cuddling kissing up on you praising- only time she won't do spicy is if your truly exhausted and/or hurt in any way

She'd be too panicked over you to even think of such a act- she's just to busy worrying about you to act on that "impulse"

[hitokiri-izou]

HSR spoiler talk ahead

.

I think this is a popular theory, where we are in a timeloop dream in Penacony, and upon a re-watch im starting to think it's true.

Some moments that stand out to me are when we first arrive in Penacony and meet Acheron, where she seems to recognize us. We also have a series of images flash on screen that might be what we've experienced before. That being said, I don't think the Acheron we interact with throughout the story is anymore aware of a loop than we are, this moment felt like a slice out of time.

Another moment is when we're tracing Firefly's footsteps and in the tv room, she says she wants to try again. I wouldn't have given it much thought had Acheron not drawn more attention to it. She also seemed more attached to us than what a day would allow but thats my own view.

What really kinda sealed it for me was when we met Aventurine at the end. When we were walking down the hallway, he said it was a familiar hallway to a familiar room and says he remembers the little game we played. The way it's phrased makes it seem like he's just talking about our meeting at the beginning of the game when he gives us his room but he says "I finally remember". I think that memory he was referring to was that but now it seems so far away since he did indeed remember everything. To us, we met him a day ago. Maybe with his memories back, it's been much longer.

There are other things that I'm absolutely missing but these were three key moments for me. There's just some little stuff that seems to allude to reversing time, such as clockie and the clockwork powers. And there's definitely something going on with Misha, and I bet we've had a closer relationship with Robin at some point.

Whether it's the Watchkeeper's legacy or the family or how anything is possible in a dream or hell if there's another memokeeper around who's less benevolent and is messing with everyone's memories, I don't think this is our first run.

And a fun similarity: Acheron sometimes speaks with red text, something that happens in umineko no naku koro ni which happens to be a time loop of sorts, or rather a retelling of what story was actually told. When a certain character speaks in red text, it means that what she's saying is the truth.

I'm very curious to see what the red text means for Acheron. She says we will see the world in black and white, but sometimes red will appear when there's a choice being made.

So maybe the red text she speaks is a choice being made - but there's no other choices. Like when you refuse for her to join you and Black Swan, she asks for you to repeat your answer until there is only one option left - also in red. This would also call back to what Aventurine told us when at the beginning of the game and what he repeated at the end:

Allow me to make you an offer - one you can't refuse. No reason to choose otherwise...

If it's a time loop, maybe the red text she speaks are things that will absolutely happen in every loop?

Anyway this isn't any actual theory crafting, I'm more just typing out my train of thought. I've seen other theories too - especially about Acheron and Firefly - and I'm really curious to see where this is gonna go

[nickeverdeen]

heya! could you please do some HC's for Mike Schmidt with a s/o who absolutely LOVES the animatronics and he wants to keep her away but she keeps going back so eventually hes js like "fuck it. it is what it is" and gives in to let her play with abbey n them? thankssss!!!!!

Sure! Although is it just me or is this fandom dying?

You = white cursive text

Mike = orange text

Abby = purple text

————————————————————

Mike Schmidt x fem!reader who’s an animatronic lover

At first, Mike is adamant about keeping you away from the animatronics

Mainly ‘cause he is fully aware of the risks and dangers associated with the job at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza

Animatronics randomly acting up at night?

Nope, he’s not letting you or Abby near them

Seeing the animatronics walk on their own in middle of the night was enough to creep him out

And the protective boyfriend he was he wasn’t gonna let anything happen to you ‘cause of his actions

Mike warns you about them yet you can’t see anything bad about the animatronics just like Abby

“The animatronics might look harmless, but they have a tendency to act up, especially when it’s dark. I don’t want you to be in harm’s way.”

Despite his warnings and attempts to dissuade them, you are persistently drawn to the animatronics

“I get that you’ve seen some weird things, but I’m not afraid. I’ll be careful around them.”

Mike's protective instincts kick in, and he worries about your safety, repeatedly emphasizing the potential dangers lurking within the pizzeria

“I just want you to be safe. If something were to happen, I couldn’t forgive myself.”

However, you remain undeterred, convinced that the animatronics are misunderstood

“I think we can change the way we see them. They’re not inherently dangerous; they’ve just had some glitches in the past.”

Over time, seeing the genuine excitement and joy on your face, Mike begins to soften

He observes how you interact with Chica, one of the friendlier animatronics, and notices the mutual enjoyment you both share

After a while Abby joins and she surely is in love with the animatronics maybe even more than you

“Mike! Look at how cute they are!”

Abby grinned while playing with Chica and other animatronics

“You might see them as harmless performers, but I’ve seen some creepy stuff. It’s hard for me to trust these animatronics completely.”

Mike shook his head taking Abby away waiting for you to follow

He felt bad when he saw you get sad about it

The more you try to interact with the animatronicts the more he slowly lets you go without comments

Eventually, Mike reaches a point where he decides to let go of his reservations, adopting a "fuck it, it is what it is" attitude

He concedes to allowing you and Abby to play with animatronics, realizing that perhaps it can coexist in an unexpected actual joy for all of them

Despite his initial reluctance, Mike starts to appreciate the happiness and comfort that the animatronics bring to you

It becomes a unique bonding experience, and he finds himself occasionally joining in on the fun, even if cautiously

Seeing you happy made him smile and he couldn’t hold back a chuckle when Bonnie was tickling you

Of course at first when Bonnie touched you he instantly got nervous

But Mike realizes that your love for the animatronics is harmless, and he learns to accept and support their interest, understanding that it’s a source of joy for them