#sometimes the emotion is waiting in a dark alley

[selkiefinalist]

truly what a week when a sam girard first goal of the season ot winner is going to bring me to tears like yes the narrative and yes i love him but also what emotions perchance need additional outlet at this particular place and time

[n0vazsq]

Forever mine? Forever yours | CL16 x Reader

pairing . . . charles leclerc x gf!reader

summary . . . When you and Charles have a fight, you want nothing more than his forgiveness

request . . . no!

word count . . . 884

warnings . . . just a bit of angst that turns into fluff!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . was listenting to like love // break up songs while writing this and legit wanted to cry like kms

. . . The streets of Monaco were unusually quiet that night, the hum of distant cars replaced by the echo of footsteps against cobblestone. The city lights cast long shadows, stretching like ghosts between the narrow alleys.

Charles walked ahead of you, hands stuffed deep in his pockets, shoulders tense. The silence between you was heavy, filled with the reminders of words you hadn’t meant to say, things you both couldn’t take back.

The fight had started small, like it always did. You had only asked about the upcoming race, about his late nights at the simulator, about why he was pushing so hard. It had spiraled from there. Frustration simmering just beneath the surface, boiling over into harsh words and defensive silence.

Now, you followed a few steps behind, heart heavy, each breath tight in your chest. You wanted to reach out, to bridge the gap between you, but the distance felt overwhelming. Charles had always been intense, carrying the weight of expectations like a second skin. But tonight, he seemed…fragile, like a wire stretched too thin.

He stopped suddenly by the marina, the dark water stretching endlessly before you. The wind carried the scent of salt, cool against your skin. He didn’t turn around, didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, staring out at the horizon, hands clenched at his sides.

"You think I don’t care enough?" His voice was quiet, but the tone is his voice was unmistakable.

Your eyes stung. "Charles, no. That’s not what I meant." You took a step closer, but the space between you felt like a chasm. "I worry. You push yourself so hard, and I-"

He turned then, eyes meeting yours, frustration and something deeper swirling in their depths. "Do you know what it’s like?" His voice cracked, raw and tense. "To carry all of this? The pressure, the expectations…? Every single day, everyone looking at me, waiting for me to either win or fail." He shook his head. "And then I come home, and it feels like I’m failing here too."

The words hit you like a stab to the heart, and they probably were a stab to the heart. "Charles…" Your voice was barely a whisper. "I didn’t mean to add to it. I just… I see you carrying all of this, and it scares me. I don’t want you to break."

He looked away, jaw tight. "I’m already breaking." The statement was soft, almost lost to the wind. "I wake up thinking about the next race. I go to sleep replaying every mistake I made. And I know people are waiting for me to slip, to prove that I’m not good enough." His eyes found yours again, and there was a vulnerability there that made your heart ache."I’m afraid too. Afraid of letting everyone down. Afraid of losing… you. All because of my stupid mistakes."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You closed the distance between you, reaching for his hand. He let you, fingers cold but steady. "You’re never losing me,” you said, voice firm despite the emotion threatening to choke you. "I’m here. I’ll always be here."

He looked down, chuckling emotionlessly, thumb brushing over your knuckles. "Sometimes, it feels like I can’t breathe. Like I’m drowning under it all."

You squeezed his hand, stepping closer until your chest touched his. "You don’t have to carry it alone. I know I can’t take the weight off your shoulders, but I can stand beside you. I can remind you that you’re more than the races, more than the wins or losses."

He closed his eyes, taking a shaky breath. When he opened them again, the anger had softened, replaced by something raw and unspoken. "I’m sorry. I know I shut you out sometimes. It’s not fair to you."

You shook your head. "You don’t have to apologize for being human. I just… I want you to let me in. Let me help."

He reached up, cupping your face in his hands. His touch was gentle, a stark contrast to the tension that had been there moments ago. "I don’t deserve you," he whispered, voice barely audible.

You smiled, tears slipping down your cheeks. "You deserve everything, Charles, my angel. And I’ll remind you of that every day if I have to."

He leaned his forehead against yours, the distance between you finally gone. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The world around you faded away; the distant hum of the city, the gentle lapping of the waves. There was only this. Only him. Only Charles.

"Forever mine?" he whispered, his voice barely above a breath.

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, your heart swelling. "Forever yours."

He held you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded, his grip tight, almost desperate. The walls he had built around himself were still there, but for now, they had cracks, just enough to let you in.

As the wind carried the scent of salt and the promise of better days, you knew that this was how it would be. There would be fights, and fears, and moments where everything felt like it was falling apart. But there would also be this: quiet moments in the dark, where love felt like the strongest thing in the world.

[whisper-in-the-night]

My headcanons for Art the Clown

Tw: mention of violence, blood, killing and etc

Note: sorry for long waiting, I had some stuff to do. But I watched this movie last night, just can't not to write something

• Suppose that by some miracle you interested him, and Art changed his mind about killing you.

• Art is a man of the moment, of impulse, in this regard he is like a child. If he wants something, he will get it, no matter how. If he's interested in you, he'll get you and keep you.

• Again, he is quite childish, and since he cannot speak, all his emotions are visible in his body language and antics. His childish behavior can also manifest itself in frequent insults. He will be sitting on the couch with his arms folded and fundamentally avoiding your gaze. Try to guess what he's offended about. And it's better to do it quickly, before the desire to tear some human flesh wakes up in him. His mood changes very often, so be always prepared for the fact that at the moment of rare hugs he will suddenly become agitated or, conversely, aggressive.

• He's very jealous. It's not that he's insecure, he just doesn't like sharing his stuff, including you. You better not pay too much attention to other people unless you want to see their guts smeared on the wall in your bathroom.

• Despite this, Art is quite protective. He won't let anything happen to you. Be prepared that he will be constantly watching you. But now you can safely walk through the dark alleys, Art is always there, you are under the reliable protection of this guard dog.

• Art likes to scare you more than his victims. He doesn't know why, but he really likes the taste of your fear, it really turns him on. But Art will never really hurt you enough, except for a few cuts or bruises. There's something about you that makes him fear losing you for real. There's something special about the way you're scared of him. Maybe it's your expression or your cute screams, he doesn't know. But your guardian definitely makes him feel a lingering warmth in his lower belly.

• His actions and feelings can hardly be called love, because he really does not know how to get attached, he is just not quite the person for this. But he shows a certain affection in his own way. First of all, he's not killing you. Secondly, sometimes he tries to take into account your wishes in many things, tries to find out what you like. Thirdly, he can be quite clingy. When Art realizes that he wants your attention, he can gently pull the sleeve of your hoodie, as if asking for a hug, or he can just roughly grab you by the waist and put you on his lap.

• He really doesn't care about your appearance, he has a weakness for you because it's you.

• Talking about what you like. Art is very narcissistic and cruel. But over time, he will realize that your smile and your joy create some kind of strange feeling in his chest, he likes it. In fact, Art makes you happy only because it gives him a certain pleasure.

• He loves using you as bait for his victims. This gives him an extra push to kill his victim in an even more brutal way.

• In general, he can be kind to a certain extent, he even brings you small gifts from time to time. Besides, he's crazy about the sight of someone else's blood on your face and skin. But you'll definitely have to teach him to wash more often and eat normal food.

[orionremastered]

Hybrid/shapeshifter golden tiger reader as a vigilante with batfam? I really love your writing :0

They're so PRETTY how did I not know they existed before???? Also I love shifter fics bc who doesn't

Masterlist

Part Two

Golden

Being a shifter is bad in this day and age, at least until the shifter is mature enough to shift on command. Before then, young shifters can shift with any strong emotion, especially negative ones like anger and fear.

Most shifters mature when they turn into adults, which means they're either taught to become temporary psychopaths or are homeschooled until they're mature enough.

You, like many shifters, were the latter. Now that you're in university and studying biology, living in your own apartment states away from your parents, you're free. So incredibly free.

Free to be you, free to talk to people who interest you, and free to fight the lowly criminals of Goth- wait, what?

It was an accident, you swear. You couldn't bear to hear that poor little girl's blood-curdling screams (you hadn't understood what the phrase meant before, but you sure do now) any longer, so you shifted and almost, but not quite, mauled the man to death.

"Pretty kitty!" she had called you, and from then on you vowed to look after the young kids of Gotham, especially when going to and coming from school as well as at night (if you weren't studying). Sometimes you simply lay in the bushes of a park and watched over the kids as they played on the playground.

They remained your main focus (though you did save others, you mostly watched over the young children) even when the press got wind of the golden tiger shifter vigilante. "Golden" is what they called you, and it was certainly better than other names the press had given vigilantes before.

The local bat population had gotten word of your existence beforehand and had tried to even just get a glimpse of you, but you were too quick. After the press got wind, they amped up their efforts.

You've decidedly had enough of your studying and walked out of your apartment, climbing into the window of an ashy-smelling abandoned building, the charcoal staining your fingers as you moved into the dark to shift.

One could guess what happened to the building, but it didn't have anything to do with a golden tiger climbing out its window on a cool early spring night, the snow thawing slower than usual. There weren't many people on the streets at this hour which you were glad for.

You take your normal route today, going through the less fortunate neighbourhoods where kids are most commonly found. Slushy snow drenches your paws in cold water as you leap onto the next roof and climb down the stairs on the side of the building.

There's a bundle of blankets placed gently into a plastic bucket. You nudge the bundle with your nose gently and when the wailing begins you huff. Another abandoned baby; it's the third one this month. A mother you can't afford a child or is scared for the child's safety when it comes to the father.

Your teeth close around the bucket and you begin carrying the baby to the hospital in Crime Alley, a long trek from where you picked the baby up.

You hear something. Whispers. Your ears rotate to find the source of the sound which would be impossible for a human to hear.

"That's the tiger?"

"No shit," the second voice hisses, much older than the first. "What else could it be? A cow?"

"Whatever," the first one replies. "What do we do? Think that's a baby?"

"Probably. I say we take the baby and bring it to the hospital."

You turn your head to where the sound is coming from, impeccable vision allowing you to see Robin and Red Hood perched on a building above you.

"What about the- how good is a tiger's hearing?"

You do trust these vigilantes but not more than you trust yourself. You flick your tail and continue walking, a few corners from the hospital. The sound of their grappling hooks as the vigilantes follow you are only able to annoy you.

There's the hospital, just at the end of the street. You take no more than two steps before Red Hood steps out in front of you. You aren't surprised as you could hear him the entire time.

"Can I have the baby?" He asks, hand outstretched as he gestures for you to hand it over.

Your eyes narrow and you turn to see Robin behind you.

"It'll be easier for me to get it to the hospital," he explains. "They won't react calmly to a tiger carrying a baby."

He had an unfortunately valid point. The other times where you'd brought a baby into a facility, people freaked out.

Reluctantly, you gently place the bucket on the cold pavement and step back, letting the vigilante pick it up.

As Red Hood takes the baby to the hospital, you turn fully to face Robin. He's short and you reach up to the start of his ribcage.

"You're not an easy tiger to locate," he says. "It takes a few idiots."

You make a sound akin to a laugh, turn your head and vanish into the alleyway beside you.

Robin curses himself for not getting to pat the tiger. He'll be damned if his siblings get to first.

[aventurineswife]

Running in the Shadows

Summary: Caught in a chase under the moonlit sky, you believe you can outrun Moze, the elusive Shadow Guard of the Yaoqing. But Moze quickly catches up, only to surprise you.

Tags: Moze x Reader(can be read as platonically) Chase scene, Hurt/Comfort, Protector, Slow Burn, Tension, Fluff with Angst, Emotional Vulnerability, Barefoot Running.

Warnings: Mentions of panic and fear during the chase, Slight physical restraint, Mild emotional tension.

Feel free to send in your requests!

Original Idea

The moon hung high in the sky, casting an eerie glow on the deserted streets of the city. You sprinted down the narrow alleyways, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you glanced back over your shoulder. The sound of footsteps echoed ominously behind you, but you believed you could outpace your pursuer. After all, you were nimble and fast, and this was your territory.

You turned sharply, weaving through the shadows, your breath quickening as you picked up speed. However, the footsteps only grew louder, each step punctuating the air with an unsettling promise. Who was chasing you? You didn’t have time to think about it; you needed to escape.

As you rounded another corner, the alley widened, and you felt a rush of hope. Perhaps you could find a place to hide, a chance to lose whoever was behind you. You pushed your legs harder, ignoring the sting of your bare feet against the cold pavement, the gravel digging into your soles. You were almost there—just a few more steps.

Suddenly, a shadow loomed ahead of you, and instinct kicked in. You turned to run the other way, but in an instant, the figure emerged from the darkness—a tall, muscular silhouette with gray hair cascading over one shoulder. You recognized him instantly.

“Moze...” you gasped, feeling a mix of fear and an inexplicable thrill.

He moved with a predatory grace, closing the distance between you with ease. Panic surged through you, and you quickened your pace again, but it was futile. With a swift motion, he reached out and grabbed your waist, effortlessly lifting you off your feet.

“Got you.” he said, his voice low and steady, but there was no malice in his tone—only an unsettling calm.

Before you could react, he lowered you gently onto something soft. Confused, you looked down to find your shoes—waiting for you. The act was so unexpected, so disarming, that you almost forgot about your fear.

“Why were you running?” Moze asked, his violet-blue eyes locking onto yours, a hint of concern flickering beneath his stoic demeanor.

You stammered, “I… I thought you were after me.”

“I was,” he admitted, a faint smirk teasing the corner of his lips. “But not in the way you think.”

His hands remained on your, grounding, you as you tried to catch your breath. There was a vulnerability in his gaze, a flicker of something deeper beneath the surface—a connection that transcended the chase.

“Put your shoes on,” he said, his voice softening. “You’ll hurt yourself running around barefoot.”

The warmth of his hands lingered on your skin, and you nodded, slipping your feet into the shoes. The fit offered a sense of security, a reminder that despite the shadows surrounding you, there was someone watching over you.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, looking up at him. “I didn’t expect you to… uh help me?”

“Neither did I,” he replied, his expression unreadable. “But you shouldn’t have to run alone.”

In that moment, as the city around you buzzed with the life of the night, the world felt a little less chaotic. Moze, the enigmatic Shadow Guard, had pulled you from the edge of fear, reminding you that sometimes, the shadows held more than just danger; they held unexpected allies.

Just then, a distant siren blared, cutting through the stillness of the night. Moze’s expression hardened, the vulnerability replaced by a shadow of tension.

“We need to move.” he said, suddenly alert.

“Where?” you asked, glancing around nervously.

He hesitated for a fraction of a second, his eyes scanning the dark alley as if he could sense something looming just beyond the edge of the shadows. “Anywhere but here.” he replied, a cryptic urgency lacing his tone.

Before you could question him further, he reached for your hand, pulling you toward the darkest recess of the alley. The grip was firm, yet the moment felt surreal, as if the very air around you was thickening with unspoken truths.

As you ran, the weight of uncertainty hung heavily in the air. Just ahead, you spotted a narrow doorway that led to the unknown. With a fleeting glance over your shoulder, you caught a glimpse of movement—a flicker of shadows beyond the light.

Just as you reached the door, the echo of hurried footsteps filled the alley behind you—voices, angry and demanding. Moze’s grip tightened, and in one swift motion, he yanked open the door, revealing an inky darkness that swallowed you whole.

“What’s back there?” you asked, your heart racing.

“I don’t know,” Moze replied, glancing back at you, a shadow of doubt crossing his face. “But we don’t have time to find out.”

You hesitated at the threshold, the fear of the unknown clashing with the urgency of the moment. “Moze, wait—”

He turned, his violet-blue eyes piercing through the dark. “Trust me,” he urged, an intensity in his voice that sent a shiver down your spine. “We can’t let them catch us.”

And in that moment, as the door creaked open wider, you were faced with a choice. You could step into the darkness with him, leaving everything behind, or retreat to the light where you might be safe but alone.

As you weighed your options, the footsteps grew louder, and the shadows began to close in around you. The last thing you heard before the door swung shut was Moze’s voice, a whisper that echoed in your mind: “Sometimes, the darkest paths lead to the brightest futures…”

The door slammed shut, and the world around you faded to black, leaving you to wonder what awaited in the unknown and whether you would ever find your way back.

[satubby]

Yandere God Gojo headconons

[As promised, a bit late I know, but I needed my time to not cry for Satoru so an apology. So since I'm not good at describing powers and let's add to that Jujutsu Kaisen has mathematics, which I hate... I just won't go into his god-like powers]

This post comes from the previous idea, you can find it in my profile. Credits to the artist and me for the edition.

⚠️ Warning: This is MY interpretation of the character but it does not define the canon, I want to show my love for him (Fuck Gege for all I care) There may also be pronoun errors because damn my dyslexia affects my eyesight.

On an ordinary night, your mother sent you to the mini supermarket, a place similar to convenience stores like pharmacies. 「More common in my native Mexico, such as an Oxxo.」

Unexpectedly, a curse/demon began to haunt you. Without knowing how, you ended up cornered in an alley, the rain adding a touch of desperation to the atmosphere. Exhausted, you tripped over a trash can, lacerating your leg in the fall.

The unimaginable happened when your blood, the fruit of the scrape, awakened a god enclosed within a bucket, multiple eyes arranged in a dice-like pattern 「Yeah, I fucking used 'It' you thought」. Your blood acted as a call for the imprisoned being lying in there.

Satoru, the god that lay dormant, awoke. Upon realizing your situation, he offered to help you, but not before uttering the words that would seal your fate: "Tell me, mortal, do you accept that I save you by giving me something precious? Yes or no, the choice is yours."

Given your young age of six and the impossibility of facing the dreadful monster that pursued you, you had no choice but to accept. How could you refuse? Hell, you were a brat who could barely carry your mother's bag of errands, much less fight that dreadful thing that wanted you dead.

And so the deal between you and the unknown god was sealed with…. a tongue kiss. 「Despite its polemical nature, it is crucial to the development of the plot」.

❀.°• ─ ─ ─ ─➢ Satoru, in his divine form, is an extraordinarily powerful being. Sometimes, his impressive abilities can lead you into complicated situations, such as when a simple sneeze from him transported you to another dimension. Such is his level of power. 「In this version, we will represent him as an invincible individual to explore his unrestricted potential…. P.S. I hate you Gege」 ❀.°• ─ ─ ─ ─➢ Gojo is often playful and teasing, he often jokes with you, even going so far as to claim that you are his "wife" although it sounds like a joke, he really means it. His attitude toward other people's opinions is indifferent. He enjoys showing affection, kissing and caressing you, although he has waited for you to reach adulthood before formally considering you his mate in public. ❀.°• ─ ─ ─ ─➢ When he is not using his 'real' form, we see him as the canonical Satoru, though obviously with Lovecraftian touches to his powers. Despite his divine nature, he exhibits a somewhat childish side, similar to what he shows in canon… BUT 100% times worse, as he has been alone and being powerful, he doesn't have much morals as he considers it stupid to abide by the rules of 'lesser beings'. Despite his playful and relaxed attitude, he hides a dark side. He is aware of how capable he is of destroying a city with a single finger, if he so desires. ❀.°• ─ ─ ─ ─➢ Handling his jealousy is not his strong point, given that he has always gotten what he wanted and not knowing how to deal with humans despite having spent millennia observing them or making deals before being 'sealed' 「More like sleeping」It always makes it difficult for him to respond to his own emotions. ❀.°• ─ ─ ─ ─➢ Since he is not human and was born in the void of nothingness and everything, he has wandered and fought in various places, often just for fun or out of sheer boredom. His reactions can be fickle and capricious. This Satoru is a mixture of his adolescent and adult stages, mostly acting like a spoiled brat and playful with you but when he is jealous or sentimental, he acts according to his divine position. ❀.°• ─ ─ ─ ─➢ When he feels jealous, his reaction is unpredictable. If the reason for his jealousy persists 「Examples are like a male human talking to you」 And already for that reason he might decide to eliminate the source of his discomfort. For this reason, you hardly interact with other people. It is intriguing how loving words and gestures can appease him…. Although sometimes that doesn't assure you that those poor souls who crossed words with you will be saved from him. ❀.°• ─ ─ ─ ─➢ As a divine being, he has the power to materialize anything you desire. His gifts have no limits, and he takes you wherever you want. Sometimes, on a mere whim, he grabs you and takes you on unexpected rides using his abilities. It is curious how he shows jealousy towards any thinking human being, and even animals, taking you back home without allowing the date to continue or any activity prior to his jealousy.

"Toru… for once, let me enjoy this vacation. If you take me somewhere, make it really worthwhile. I couldn't even ride the roller coaster just because the ticket booth clerk was a man…" You looked at him as he pretended not to have pulled you out of the amusement park just 5 minutes ago due to his jealousy.

"Come on, couldn't we go another time…? It's no big deal, you know I can take you anytime, why don't we cuddle instead of fighting, would you like me to shower you with kisses, mmh? Come on, my sweet bean mochi!!! I want to…" You looked at him, almost incredulous. You really doubt he'll let you go to a crowded amusement park. If you go, it will surely be when he's off duty or with a snap of his fingers, it's not for nothing that he can stop time.

"Even if you do that, it doesn't mean I'm no longer upset with you." You watched her pouting expression. Despite having six beautiful eyes and six arms, you didn't want to fall for his game.

Gojo was unwilling to listen to your complaints. He was in a bad mood, convinced that you would understand his position. He acted like a child seeking to get your attention to deflect your anger. And so, he devised a plan. He moved closer to you by climbing up on the edge of the bed. "Mochi, do you prefer something sweet or sour?"

"Do you think that's an appropriate question to change the subject? I'm still annoyed with you. Hey, let go of me!" You felt his firm embrace, laughing as he kissed your neck and his chest pressed against your back.

He took a lock of your hair behind your ear and fiddled with it in his mouth. A shiver ran through your body as his lips brushed your earlobe. "Why are you playing hard to get when you know I know you well? Besides, I know my jealousy doesn't affect you, and I'm going to make sure you're only mine." He laughed softly, pulling you closer to him.

"Satoru… That doesn't justify you threatening anyone who looks at me. I don't want to be embarrassed like the other day in the cafeteria, when you tried to hurt the cashier just because I ordered a cappuccino." You whispered as his six arms held you tighter and in different places, listening to his childish whimper as he buried his face in the back of your neck.

His behavior was becoming more aggressive and lustful, making him dangerous. He held you in such a way that you could not move. He looked at you with playful eyes, sketching a smile.

"So what if I'm jealous? If I'm honest with you, if another guy tried to get your attention, I'd be sure to eliminate any interest he showed." A smirk formed on his face. You knew that ugly smile well, a cruel and possessive one, dealing with his jealousy sometimes exhausted you … you had no choice since your soul was bound to him.

He kissed you passionately and caressed your body, his touch was too pleasurable to resist, your flushed but annoyed face said it all. He didn't mind at all acting that way in public if it meant you would still be his. "You will always be my only princess….. I love you, my precious mochi," he whispered softly before delivering another intense kiss, this time on your lips, his arms frolicking with you and bringing an even more severe blush to your face.

NSFW:

••┈┈┈••✦ This Satoru loves to make you scream, if Sukuna in his original form can grind you to exhaustion, our albino won't let you rest. ••┈┈┈••✦ He loves having you in front of his cock, the worst thing is that he can create more if he wants to. Let's add that he has six arms, each one can overstimulate you, forget to mention that Gojo is 213 cm / 7'1 feet, you are a midget next to him. So his cock and fingers are the size of your arms, but he can fucking manipulate reality and adjust your pussy to his size. ••┈┈┈••✦ He loves you riding his cock while he hears you moaning, sometimes you end up kissing him. He loves you sucking him while he pulls your hair. His hands usually go from your breasts to your waist [Sorry I'm not good at writing NSFW] All while you swallow his cock, his fingers have claws and putting them all the way in hurts but in the pleasure you end up giving priority to your lust, forgetting the pain. ••┈┈┈••✦ Honestly, Satoru can make your body not get tired so easily, but he is not cruel so he can set limits for you. He especially loves to bite, while you scratch him all over the place. ••┈┈┈••✦ His aftercare is incredibly gentle, he kisses and lulls you as if you were a baby, and how could he not? When he leaves you all exhausted down there and you can't feel your legs. Sometimes he gets to the point where his excitement clouds his judgement, ending up with your bones broken.

In general, having a relationship with him is like going on a roller coaster ride: You can feel a rush of various emotions and in turn want more of it even though you know it's scary to a certain extent. Just avoid making Satoru jealous and everything will be fine [What won't be fine are your mouth, your ass and pussy]

Tag list for those readers who gave heart to my previous publication:

@cyppelizabeth

@nunezs-stuff, @istanuwow, @crazynocturnalkiki, @gleski, @halalangyala, @milotoby, @candyqueen10, @unramdommas2004, @ermy1234, @erens-bbyy, @muichirolover, @potatofriesthings, @sobbing-leave-me-alone-bots, @flaming-vulpix,@cyrs,@honeygonebads-blog,@smoovehunie, @toxicbabygirl, @steppin-by-sunflowers, @serafina-nyx, @fav1mika, @bitchycherryblaze, @kals05, @rainbowpillbug0, @2kimmin4ever, @regalillegal,@zainabismelodramatic @starberrytarts,

[maomiscorner]

Holding on to You - short ff

Background: In this romantic fanfiction, Y/N, a girl battling depression and anxiety, finds comfort and hope in her relationship with Jake, a member of ENHYPEN. Through his love and unwavering support, Y/N learns to see the light in herself, even on her darkest days.

Pairing: idol!Jake x f!reader

There was a calming stillness in the small café tucked away in the alleys of Seoul. The soft, warm lights illuminated the pastel-colored walls, creating an intimate and cozy atmosphere. Y/N sat by the window, watching the light rain fall gently on the glass. It was her favorite spot, the one where she often retreated with Jake, far from the eyes of the world.

But today, she was alone. Jake was still busy with rehearsals for the new album, but he had promised he would come soon. Despite that, a slight sense of anxiety started creeping into her chest. Y/N wrapped herself in her oversized sweater, seeking comfort. Ever since she started dating Jake, her days had become brighter, but sometimes those dark moments came back. Depression and anxiety were like old ghosts that never fully left her in peace.Lost in those thoughts, the familiar sound of the door opening brought her back to reality. Looking up, she saw Jake walk in, his hair still a bit damp from the rain, and that smile that always made her heart beat a little faster. He quickly made his way to her, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead before sitting next to her.

"Did I make you wait too long?" he asked, his voice soft and concerned.Y/N shook her head, trying to hide the lingering restlessness inside. "No, everything's fine. I'm just happy you're here." Jake watched her carefully, as if he could read her deepest emotions without her needing to say a word. He had always been so attentive, so caring. Even when she felt lost within herself, he was there, with that gentle smile that seemed to pull her back to the surface. "I brought something for you," he said suddenly, pulling a small package from his jacket pocket.

Y/N looked at him curiously, her eyes widening. "What is it?" "Open it and see." With slightly trembling hands, Y/N opened the package to reveal a delicate silver necklace with a small star-shaped pendant. It was simple, elegant, yet incredibly meaningful.

Words struggled to come out. "Jake... it's beautiful, but why?" Jake smiled, taking her hand tenderly. "Every time you feel lost or sad, I want you to look at this star. Because even in the darkest nights, there's always a light shining for you. And that light, Y/N, is you. Even if you don't always see it."

Y/N’s heart swelled with emotion. There were times when the world felt too heavy to bear, but Jake always managed to remind her of her worth, even when she forgot it herself.Tears filled her eyes, but they weren't from sadness. It was as if Jake's love could melt away that invisible grip that often held her captive. "Thank you," she whispered softly, squeezing his hand. "I don't know how you do it, but you always make me feel better." Jake gently stroked her cheek, his gaze full of tenderness. "You don't have to thank me. That's what people who love each other do, right? They take care of one another."

Y/N nodded, feeling surrounded by a warmth that went beyond words. In that moment, with Jake by her side, the world seemed less frightening. He was her safe harbor, her light in the dark. "Just promise me one thing," Jake said, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them."What?" "That you'll keep fighting, even on the days when everything feels harder. I'll always be here, but you're stronger than you think."

Y/N smiled through her tears, feeling the bond between them grow even stronger. It was true, her battles weren’t over, but with Jake by her side, she knew she could face anything.

Because love, true love, was the greatest strength of all. And in that moment, with the sound of rain in the background and Jake's warm hands in hers, Y/N understood that she wasn't alone. She never would be.

Jake kissed her gently, a simple gesture yet filled with promises. A promise of love, of support, and of a life to be lived together, despite everything.

[astarionancuntnin]

Die For You (Chapter 2)

summary: following your encounter in that dark alley, you're faced with your old love. will you have the strength to stand up to him?

rating: T

word count: 2.5k

pairing: astarion x you (fem!reader)

cw: kidnapping, reader is shackled for a while, starvation (both imposed by captor and self-imposed), manipulation.

a/n: a shorter chapter and no funny business this time around cause we gotta focus on the development of their relationship while reader is in captivity. also! look out for the additional a/n at the end of the chapter! im undecided on where i want to take this so i want all of your opinions !!

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I fell in love with someone

I don’t know

Anymore, anymore

Sometimes I wonder if you

Think of me

Anymore, anymore

-

You can't make much of what happened after he appeared. You were too shocked by the presence of your past lover to acknowledge whoever cast sleep on you, knocking you unconscious at your most vulnerable moment. Cowards. When you awaken, you’re shackled, hanging to a wall in a dark cell. You pull against the restraints to no avail; you were securely locked in.

Your struggling must’ve made too much noise, as not long afterwards, the door opens wide, revealing Astarion, alone. He was standing proud in lavish clothing, different from the ones you had seen him in at the party a few days ago, but just as proper. As much as these last few months had been awful to you, it seemed like they had been the best in his last 200 years of existence. He approaches you slowly, head held high and arms crossed in his back.

“How’s your head, my dear?”

Hearing his voice again for the first time in months triggers a wave of emotions within you. Hurt, hatred, longing… lust. You shake them away as best as you can before questioning him.

“Why did you bring me here, Astarion?”

“I simply wanted to talk,” he says, his tone annoyingly playful.

“Was the kidnapping and shackles really necessary?” You slightly pull against them again to make your point; you can barely move in this condition.

“Can you blame me? Seeing how you ignored me so easily all night, and the fury in which you provoked my servants, I doubted you were going to follow me here willingly.”

You close your eyes and sigh, dropping your head, discouraged.

“Plus,” he adds, “I couldn’t take the chance to have you run out on me. I let you go once, it’s not a mistake I’ll be doing again.”

“Really? Now, after all these months, you want me back?” You chuckle, somehow finding a way to laugh at the situation you’re in as you raise your head back to meet his gaze. “I notice that your inability to move on wasn’t part of the many things that changed after your ascension.” 

He smiles back, amused by your wits. “I told you, I only changed for the best. Besides, I know you've been missing me just as much.”

“Oh please,” you roll your eyes, trying to conceal your reality. “You couldn’t be further from the truth.” “Am I? Were you not alone and miserable for all these months, flinging yourself at any stranger willing to spend the night with you? Or did my spawns lie to me?”

“Wait… How do you know that? Have you been spying on me?!” You exclaim in disbelief.

“Well, someone had to make sure you weren't off to get yourself killed in some stupid way.” 

You scoff, offended at this image he had of you. “I can handle my own, thank you.”

“And yet, my servants had no problems cornering you in a dark alley.” 

You open your mouth as you're about to answer back when you find yourself at a loss for words. He got you there, the prick. He notices your silence and sighs before commenting on your state.

“I’m sure you’re mad at me right now, and I wouldn’t blame you for it. But know that I’m doing this for your own good.”

“My own good? If you wanted to help me, you would disappear from my life, let me go and give me a chance to move on.” You feel like crying, and yet, the irony of the situation makes you laugh some more. “You have everything you’ve ever dreamed of and yet, you still couldn’t find someone new to replace me.” He laughs lightly. “I’ve only ever wanted you, my treasure. And now,” he walks towards you with a languid pace, his hand reaching for your chin, lifting it to meet his gaze, “You're finally where you belong, where you should have always been in the first place.”

You snap your head out of his grasp. “Shackled at your feet?” You spit out.

He forcefully brings back your gaze on him, his nails grazing your cheeks, making you hiss. “By my side.” He looks at your bared teeth, smiling. “You will make a deadly consort, that I'm sure of.” Your eyes widen as you understand the implication, and your voice rises as the fear starts to set in. “NEVER.” 

He tilts your head aside and leans in the crook of your exposed neck, his breath hot against your skin. “You don't have to. I can just take what's rightfully mine,” he whispers and that last word sends a chill down your spine. You struggle in his grasp, trying to pull your neck away as you shout. “Don’t you DARE!”

He chuckles to himself. “Oh, don't you worry, I won’t bite unless you ask, very, very nicely.” He releases your face coldly but doesn’t move away from you. “But where are my manners? I almost forgot; I meant to invite you to eat.”

“I would rather starve,” you declare, leaning into that last word.

He sighs, seemingly growing tired of your attitude. “Fine, do as you wish,” he says, walking away from you. 

He leaves and you’re left on your own for Gods know how long. You spend those first hours trying to free yourself still and eventually give up when you start to feel the bruises on your wrists. You drift in and out of consciousness, fatigue affecting you more with every hour that passes. Without any source of light, it’s nearly impossible for you to tell how much time had gone by since the night you were captured. But, judging by the growling of your stomach, at least a full day had gone by, maybe even two. Your arms and legs were starting to give out on you as well, when the door before you opened to a spawn you didn't recognize. 

“Lord Ancunín invites you to dinner,” he says, composed.

“You can tell him to fuck off.” Your words don’t have the intended effect as they’re told with a shaky voice. In truth, you would kill for just a piece of bread right about now, but you would let yourself die before you complied to Astarion.

“I'm afraid that's not an option.”

Two more spawns appear behind him, and you instantly understand where this is going; this wasn't a request, it was an order. You're unshackled, although the spawns’ grips were so strong, you didn’t notice a difference, and were guided out of your cell. You reach an immense dining room, where Astarion has been waiting for you, a gold cup already to his lips. Knowing him, you suppose it’s either blood or fine wine, not that you care either way. You sink into the chair positioned at your end of the table, eyeing the food before you suspiciously. 

“You don’t seriously think I would poison you, do you?” He exclaims. “Oh no, quite the opposite; I only want what’s best for my precious pet.”

You scoff, briefly eyeing Astarion who is sitting opposite you before turning your attention to the contents between the two of you. You would lie to yourself if you said you weren't starving. The food laid out on the table looked delicious. The table was filled with different plates of food, each one looking better than the previous, making your stomach growl in appetite. You could practically drool all over the place, but you didn’t want to give Astarion the satisfaction of seeing you cave in. Not yet, not so soon. You wouldn’t let him get the best of you. 

Astarion quickly understands your intentions, with you staring right back at him, and he sighs, rolling his eyes. “It wouldn’t be wise to let yourself starve, pet. You wouldn’t want to waste all this delicious food, would you? Don’t be shy, at least take a bite.”

You're tempted, but against your better judgement, you ignore the mouth-watering meal, crossing your arms in defiance. He rolls his eyes, matching your attitude.

“As you wish.”

He snaps his fingers and the two spawns that brought you here move towards you, reaching for your arms. You stand up abruptly, pulling away from them and swiftly grabbing a knife from the table, standing in a defensive stance. Astarion speaks up, and you can practically hear the smile in his voice. “Trust me, you do not want to pick a fight here. My lovely assistants only want to bring you back to your cell for the night.”

“I know the way.”

“I insist.”

Your fatigue and hunger get the best of you; you simply don’t have the energy to fight. 

“Fine.” You drop the knife on the floor in defeat; even if you managed to land a blow, you had nowhere to run off to, and they would probably catch up to you anyway.

“That’s my girl.”

You hate the effect he still has on you. He knows just what to say to get to you.

You shoot him a deadly glare and feel your breathing quickening as your heart races with anger and your nails dig through your palms. He smiles pretentiously at you, and you’re overcome with thoughts of jumping onto him and punching his stupid face, making him regret everything he’s done to you these last few days. If it wasn’t for the awful twist in your gut, you might have. You shut your eyes closed as you look away, frowning, before you start walking away and the two vampire spawns accompany you to your cell, where you let yourself slouch over the rock wall. At least, they didn't restrain you again.

Once again alone with your thoughts, your mind drifts to your companions. Specifically Shadowheart; would she still be waiting for you? Would she be looking for you? You wish you had a way to contact her, let her know you need help. Your thoughts are interrupted by a stabbing feeling in your gut, again. Maybe you should’ve taken a bite, just a small one, just to keep you going… No, this was a game to him, you needed to hold on. The pain is good, you try to convince yourself, it’s a reminder that I’m alive, mortal, and I’ll fight to keep it that way as long as I can. 

Another wretched tenday passes and you avoid the food still. Every day follows the same routine: you’re woken up, Astarion’s spawns bring you to the large dining room where you’ll refuse to eat anything, until he gets bored of your attitude and you’ll be brought back to your cell, three times a day. You sense how Astarion is getting annoyed at you, and it strengthens your resolve. However, you hate to admit it, but you’re becoming weaker and weaker. You spend most of the passing days asleep, unable to think straight through your hunger, and too exhausted to do anything else. 

Finally, you cave in.

As you're brought to the dining room for dinner, your gaze falls upon your favourite meal, presented before you. For the first time in days, your façade breaks down, you have eyes for nothing else other than the meal in front of you. Had this been given to you on the first day, you would’ve gladly turned it down, but you didn’t have that kind of resolve anymore. Astarion snaps you out of your reverie by speaking up, and you raise your eyes to meet his.

“You had asked me what my favourite meal was and I couldn’t remember.” His tone is gentle. “It had been so long that everything tasted like garbage. Even wine tasted like pure vinegar. It frustrated me. That’s when you told me about yours: Baldurian Mash. You described it in such great detail, I could almost taste it myself.” He pauses, and you look up to meet his gaze. “I wanted to give you what I couldn't have. A chance to remember.” You can’t stop the tears from swelling up. You’re famished, completely drained, and mentally spent; this was the last straw. You grab the gold-plated utensil with a shaky hand and dig into the plate, shoving that first bite in your mouth. It’s even better than you remember it. You chew on that first bite longer than necessary, relishing the taste of the meal. It’s comforting, filling, it tastes like home; it’s everything you’ve wanted and more. You are so hungry that you end up ravishing the rest of it, barely taking the time to savour it properly past that first mouthful. Your belly growls, this time content with the food you finally gave it. After so many days resting on an empty stomach, you can't afford to eat anything else. You smile unconsciously as you lay back in your chair, satisfied with your meal, before getting up to leave, following the usual routine.

You stop in your tracks near the door and slightly turn around towards the ascendant, pausing before the words escape your lips.

“Thank you.”

As you walk away, you miss the devilish grin forming on his lips, as you curse yourself for granting him the satisfaction of your words.

You know the way to your cell by heart now; you would probably be able to reach it with your eyes closed. You walk in front of the spawns, your mind wandering to your evening, to him. He remembered that little detail about you that felt so insignificant back then, and he sounded so sincere. What if he cared all along? Had you been wrong about him all along? Did you miss out on the signs, too blinded by your guilt? Deep down, was he still your Astarion? The same questions keep repeating themselves over and over until one of the spawns speaks up, snapping you out of your own world.

“Excuse me, my lady?”

Lady? The mention of the title stops you in your tracks and you turn around to face them, a question mark visible on your face.

“Lord Ancunín requested that you be moved to this room from now on.”

The spawn walks towards a door you had never noticed previously and opens it, welcoming you in. You look at the other spawn who nods at you before you walk towards the room. Inside you find a large bed, draped in luxurious blue and gold silk sheets, a lit fireplace creating a warm light all around, and a large window, covered by black curtains. The room alone is almost as large as the one you shared with your companions back at the Elfsong. The walls were filled with books that you couldn’t make out exactly, and a cosy blue velvet chair sat between the fireplace and the window. You’re still taking everything in when one of the spawns speaks up.

“Please let us know if you are in need of anything. Have a good night, my lady.”

You barely notice them as they both leave, closing the door behind them, too enraptured by the sight of your new room. You're confused. Could this be a trap? Was he watching you from somewhere like he had been all those previous months? You look around quickly but can't make out much, as the fatigue from your first meal in days settles in. The bed in the middle of your room looks so comfortable after spending days sleeping against the cold rock ground. You reach for it and as you lay down, you feel yourself drift to sleep almost instantly.

-

Familiar faces that look like you

They tend to

Mess with my head just like it's deja vu

It's always

Right when I think I’m getting over you

That it feels

Like I have salt inside an open wound

[bittersweetresilience]

hehggehhe hi sunny…TOP FIVE RENJING MOMENTS/SCENES/DIALOGUE from your Own fics……or anywhere. anything you want forever. renjing

OH MY GOD ISA... I HOLD THIS QUESTION LIKE A PIECE OF TREASURE AND THEN RUN AROUND AND BITE YOUR ANKLES SO SO SO SO LOVINGLY... AND ALSO GET SLIGHTLY SHY BUT OMG I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU INFINITY

1. the ending of 大鱼 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

“You’re tired, aren’t you?” Yingxing murmurs, and his eyes are pale violets in the darkness, luminous. “You should go back to sleep.” Except Jing Yuan has a dream, sometimes. In the dream, he is falling. In the dream, he is turning into the sky, and there is no other ending. In the dream, he has been alone for seven hundred years, and this night is the real dream. Jing Yuan does not know which is which. All he knows is that he wants to live a little longer in the one where he has Yingxing.

the orgasm scene is also a good one but i'm on the floor forever about the ending. the culmination of the themes of dreams and suicidal thoughts and longing... this excerpt gives me emotional damage but i loved writing the whole scene because i finally got to come full circle with all of the extended imagery.

2. this bit from 起风了

Jing Yuan wants to say—even if you keep them, you can’t keep me. But he bites his tongue. He doesn’t want to make it real, not now, not here. Not when Blade is with him. Besides, for all Blade knows, Jing Yuan is just being self-defeating. Or maybe he does know. Maybe he knows and that’s why he came. Maybe he’s here to let him leave. “Aiya,” Jing Yuan says, around the sudden lump in his throat. “You still haven’t showered. Can we wait to argue until you’re clean?” Blade doesn’t move. “If I go, will they still be here when I come back?” Maybe Jing Yuan doesn’t know anything.

起风了 is in the same universe as 大鱼 and it features dom sub blade taking care of jing yuan while jing yuan is having suicidal thoughts so basically i eat this whole fic out sloppy style

3. this flashback from 浮生若梦 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

“But if I die first…” “Tch, why would you?” “Hey, being a Cloud Knight is dangerous, you know? Otherwise my parents wouldn’t have tried to stop me.” “…fine then. What happens if you die first?” “Yingxing-gege, you have to come see me.”

i think you can already guess what has happened... this little section is placed right before blade enters the sanctum where he will see jing yuan, before he understands what he will see, and let's just say, that makes me feel SICK

4. this scene from and i get the feeling that i'm living

“I suppose it’s all right if you stay, then,” Jing Yuan said, and his laugh was a little melancholy. He hadn’t coughed all day, but he did after that sentence, smothering it in his sleeve. “It won’t be much longer, anyway.” Something tightened in Blade at that, some sort of resistance. Was that why Jing Yuan had insisted they walk around? As some sort of last meeting? The way his gaze had been so slow to part from the bustling stalls of Aurum Alley, the paper kites they flew in front of the Palace of Astrum, the starry skies of the Divination Commission—had he been delivering his farewells to the home that he would live and die in? Tightening again, and Blade found that there was a reason for him to be here after all. That he couldn’t accept this.

it's a hanahaki fic hey why are all of these major character death fics and i have. feelings. about blade being unable to accept that jing yuan will die like this and deciding to take him away so he can at least fulfill all of his wishes and allow him to feel happy and free before it happens.

5. IPC RENJING AU

“If you keep that up, you won’t be able to afford our apartment,” Blade says. “What an unthinkable situation. I’ll have to depend on you for everything.” Blade huffs a laugh. Low and short, but it trickles like honey from the earpiece all the way down to Jing Yuan’s fingertips.

SO AFTER ALL OF THAT TRAGEDY HOW ABOUT SOME DOMESTIC WORKPLACE ROMANCE... they are literally so sweet in this au i need to cry about it. i just yoinked a random dialogue from the fic because i don't have a particular favorite. the entire au is my favorite.

THANK YOU FOR COMING TO MY TED TALK I LOVE YOU

[multi-fandoms-posts]

Manipulation and Love

X Men Masterlist

X Men Masterlist 2

It’s a cold night in Berlin. The streets are quiet, with only a few cars moving through the foggy alleys. David Percival leans in a dark doorway, watching the house across the street. His eyes fixate on the figure stepping out of the door: Y/N, his ex-girlfriend. Even after all these months without her, he has never stopped loving her. The breakup shattered him, but now he has a plan—a risky plan to show her that she still needs him.

He glances quickly at his watch. The moment is drawing near.

He takes out his phone and dials a number. "It’s time," he says calmly, then puts the phone away. He remains in the shadows, his eyes locked on Y/N as she walks down the street, unaware of his presence. She looks thoughtful, lost in her own world. Perfect.

---

Y/N walks down the dark street, her hands buried deep in the pockets of her coat. She just needed some fresh air; the silence of her empty home was becoming suffocating. Since her breakup with David, she’s been trying to move on, but it doesn’t always work. Sometimes, she misses him—his presence, the way he always protected her when they were together.

Suddenly, she hears footsteps behind her. Quick. Urgent. A shiver runs down her spine, but she keeps walking, now a little faster. The footsteps get closer. Panic rises in her chest, and before she can turn around, she’s grabbed from behind.

"Don’t scream," a deep voice hisses in her ear. A masked man pulls her into a dark alley.

Y/N can’t think clearly. Her heart races, and she struggles to breathe. But before the attacker can do anything else, another voice cuts through the night, a familiar one.

"Let her go!"

With a swift motion, the attacker is yanked away from her, and Y/N stumbles against the wall. Her vision is blurry, but she recognizes the figure throwing himself at the man. It’s David. He strikes hard, with a precision and ferocity he perfected as an agent. The fight is short and brutal, but it’s clear who has the upper hand. The attacker is thrown to the ground, and David lands a final blow, leaving the man motionless.

David is breathing heavily as he turns to Y/N, his eyes filled with concern. "Are you okay?" he asks quickly, moving towards her.

Y/N stands trembling against the wall, her eyes wide with shock. She can barely speak, but she nods. "What... what are you doing here?" she stammers finally.

"I saw you and knew something wasn’t right," David says, glancing briefly at the unconscious man on the ground. "I couldn’t leave you alone."

Y/N tries to steady her breathing. Her heart is still pounding, but amid the fear, she feels something else—a familiar spark suddenly igniting inside her. She thought those feelings had long passed, but now, with David protecting her again, she feels the warmth and trust she once shared with him.

David sees the change in her eyes. For a moment, he stands still, then gently reaches for her hand. "It’s over. You’re safe now."

Y/N hesitates before taking his hand. "Thank you..." she whispers, her voice shaky. "I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t..."

David interrupts her. "You don’t have to thank me. I’ll always be here if you need me." His voice is calm but firm. He tries to keep his emotions in check, but his gaze gives him away.

Y/N looks up at him, and though she’s still confused and a little scared, she feels the connection she’s been denying for so long. "Will you... walk me home?" she asks softly.

David hesitates for a moment, then nods. "Of course," he says, and together they head back to her house. The streets are quiet again, but between them, an unspoken tension lingers.

---

At her front door, David stops. "You’re safe now," he says, turning slightly as if to leave.

But before he can go, Y/N grabs his arm. "David, wait..." Her voice is soft, almost unsure. She lowers her gaze before looking up at him again. "Could you... stay here tonight?"

David stands still for a moment, surprised by her question. But then a crooked smile forms on his face. He quickly hides it and turns fully towards her, trying to maintain his composure. "Are you sure?" he asks gently, his eyes searching hers.

Y/N nods slowly. "Yes... I’m sure." Her voice is quiet, but there’s a vulnerability in her eyes that she hasn’t felt in a long time.

David steps closer, his eyes piercing into hers, and without another word, he follows her inside. The silence between them is no longer oppressive but full of unspoken possibilities—a second chance at something they both thought was lost.

As they enter the living room, David looks around briefly. "I’ll sleep on the couch," he says calmly, though inside, he feels a longing to be closer to her.

Y/N hesitates for a moment, her eyes darting nervously around the room before she finally says quietly, "You can sleep in the bed... if you want."

David looks at her, surprised. He can see in her eyes that she wants his closeness, even if she can barely bring herself to say it. Inside, he’s triumphant, but he doesn’t show it. Instead, he simply nods and says softly, "If that’s what you want."

Y/N smiles slightly and leads him down the hallway. David follows, his heart beating faster. As he walks behind her, he knows his plan has worked perfectly. She wants him back—and he’s ready to do whatever it takes to reignite that spark.

David quietly lies down in bed, and as Y/N settles next to him, he feels the warmth of her body close to his. Inwardly, he smiles with satisfaction.

The morning slowly breaks, and the first rays of sunlight make their way through the bedroom curtains. The room is quiet, with only the soft breathing of two people to be heard. David lies on his back, deep in sleep, his arms wrapped tightly around Y/N. Their heads rest close together, and his hand is protectively placed on her hip, as if he doesn't want to let her go—not now, and perhaps never again.

Y/N slowly awakens, blinking into the gentle morning light, immediately feeling the warmth radiating from David. For a moment, she remains still as the situation sinks in. David is holding her close, so familiar and yet so different after all the months of separation. She lies in his arms, wrapped in this sense of security that she had missed for so long. Her skin tingles slightly under his touch.

Y/N shifts slightly, careful not to wake him, and looks up at him. He is sleeping soundly, his breathing steady, with a peaceful expression on his face that she hasn’t seen in a long time. A soft smile creeps onto her lips as she watches him. In this moment, everything feels so right, as if time had taken a step backward.

She never thought she would feel like this again—so safe, so close to him. The pain and the separation seem far away in this instant, and all that matters is the moment they are now sharing.

Without thinking, she snuggles closer to him, her forehead lightly touching his chest, and she breathes in his familiar scent. She closes her eyes as she feels the gentle rise and fall of his chest beneath her head. The warmth of his arms around her gives her a feeling she has missed for so long, the safety only he could provide.

David, half-asleep, feels her snuggle closer, and a smile spreads across his face, though he keeps his eyes closed. He instinctively pulls her nearer, as if wanting to protect her from the whole world. Inside, he is relieved. His plan had worked out better than he could have imagined. But in this moment, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that she is here with him, and that the spark between them has come alive once more.

Y/N remains still in his arms, savoring this moment. The morning is quiet, and in David’s embrace, she finally feels whole again, as if everything that ever happened between them has faded into the background.

She knows they still have many things to work out, but now, in his arms, it feels as if everything could be okay, as if this new beginning is possible.

[calaisreno]

Clues

This is how Sherlock Holmes seduces me, with long fingers and murmured Italian, with midnight violin and inexplicable clues.

May 19: Clues

Note: This one is dedicated to @totallysilvergirl and @keirgreeneyes for their remark: "@calaisreno could make a compelling story out of a drugstore receipt." Well, I tried!

“What do you make of that?” 

The long, thin fingers of Sherlock Holmes dangle before my eyes, holding a slip of paper. 

A clue, I think. 

He drops the paper in my lap and I examine it. A receipt, from the corner shop. Cigarettes, £6.51.

He’s muttering to himself in Italian, dropping pieces of clothing on the furniture and floor. The door to his bedroom closes. 

This is how Sherlock Holmes seduces me, with long fingers and murmured Italian, with midnight violin and inexplicable clues.

Clues. It means something, this piece of paper. It’s always something like that, insignificant to the point where an ordinary man (me) dismisses it, only to see it reappear hours or days later, the key piece of evidence that unravels the mystery. 

I am, unfortunately, ordinary. To me, it’s just a receipt. 

Sometimes Holmes takes my hand in his long, white fingers. He kisses the knuckles, and looks up at me, pale eyes through dark lashes. And he murmurs, alkaline. 

Later, I’ll know what it meant. We’ll be standing around a body, and Holmes will have his pocket lens out, examining the curtains. Lestrade will be impatiently shifting from foot to foot, wondering why he’s let a madman into his crime scene. And Holmes will say, The sole of a shoe is like a passport. And he will explain.

Solutions are for explaining. Clues are not. And explanations are rarely forthcoming when there are still more clues to be found. 

Just once, I’d like to be holding the final clue, to produce it when he’s putting it all together, to hand it to him with a smile. To see his face light up, hear him exclaim, Watson, you’ve done it!

But I am ordinary. 

I hold the paper between my short, ordinary fingers, wondering what it could mean. 

When Holmes comes out of his room, he is wearing a long caftan and a head wrap, and smells of vetiver. “Don’t wait up for me,” he says as he leaves.

Like a soldier at the front, I sleep lightly on the sofa, waiting for the summons. If inconvenient, come all the same. 

It’s never inconvenient; I live for such moments. 

He doesn’t return until the following day, late. This time he’s wearing a flat cap and dungarees.

“Drayman?” I ask.

“Plumber’s assistant.” 

He accepts the tea I make, takes two sips, stares into the void for some minutes, and goes into his room, still holding the cup. 

I know that look. The game will soon be afoot. At a moment’s notice, we’ll be off— running down an alley, cornering our prey. I fall asleep on the sofa, dressed for action. 

When I wake, he is gone again. His bed has not been slept in. I berate myself for sleeping deeply while Sherlock Holmes has been tracking dangerous criminals. 

I have put his dinner plate in the refrigerator, washed the dishes, and looked for clues. His deerstalker hat is on the floor beneath his chair. The remains of a cigarette lie crushed in the ashtray. There are crumbs on the table. A half-drunk cup of tea sits balanced precariously on the mantel. 

The call eventually comes. We jump into the waiting cab and race to the crime scene. 

He’s pacing, humming. My excitement builds. I can see that his mind has almost broken the puzzle. 

It’s the moment, I think. 

I offer it to him, the final clue, the receipt. I have no idea what it means, but I’m sure it’s the missing piece. I’ll hand it to him, and his face will go slack with surprise for a moment, and then he’ll seize the paper and tell us what it means. And his fingers will brush mine, and I’ll know that I have— even if just for a moment— impressed him. 

I hold it out. He stares, reaches out a trembling hand and takes it from me. Our eyes meet. His shine, and strong emotion fills them with tears. 

“You were right, Watson,” he whispers. “You’ve always been right, dear friend.”

I don’t know how, but I have done it. For once, I have handed him the solution to the case. 

“Do you see?” He holds the receipt, his long fingers trembling. “It’s outrageous! Six-fifty for a pack of cigarettes! My God! How can I afford this habit?” He sighs. “You’re right, Watson. I must quit smoking.”

Tagging: @elwinglyre @meetinginsamarra @raina-at @lisbeth-kk. @momma2boys @7-percent @jrow @helloliriels @the-reading-lemon @peanitbear @bertytravelsfar @thetimemoves @copperplatebeech @mydogwatson @thegildedbee

[sourb0i]

What a cool way to use a colour prompt!! I'm giving you number 1, with the prompt "evening" and if you feel like it (but totally don't have to if it's not up your alley) I'd love to see some Dracula stuff :)

I really liked Dracula! I usually keep up with Dracula Daily, although I've fallen off the wagon a bit this year. Also, the wordcount for this got a bit away from me lol.:

It was evening. The sun stretched deep purple fingers out from behind the mountains in one last, desperate attempt at daylight. A lone figure stumbled through the woods, wild-eyed and weary. His hands were raw and covered in cuts, the nails ripped ragged. It felt like Jonathan had been walking for days, but the castle still loomed high in the cliffs behind him. He pressed on. Occasionally he raised his fingers to the thin, rectangular shape tucked away in the pocket over his heart. He couldn’t expect to survive, not out here, not alone, not with those monsters no doubt close on his scent. But at least he would not disappear. Mina would know what happened to him. Even if she didn’t believe it, she would know. 

It was evening. Mina caressed the petals of the rose Jonathan had bought her before he left. She’d dried and pressed it, and its once soft, lush petals were now dry as parchment. The deep red hue had faded to a dusky wine which made her blush nearly the same colour whenever she thought of the man who’d given it to her. She’d received a letter from him just that morning, saying he’d left the castle where he was staying and was nearly halfway home already. Her heart should have leaped for joy at the news. Instead, it sank with an uneasy dread. The letter was in Jonathan’s handwriting, but they were not his words. In all her time knowing him, Mina had never known him to be terse or sharp, at least not to her. There was nothing in his letter to raise her suspicion, and yet she couldn’t help feeling certain that something was wrong. Perhaps Lucy was right; Mina was working herself too hard, allowing her emotions to get the better of her. A holiday on the coast might be just the thing to refresh her spirits. Pressing her rose back into its hiding place in her bible, Mina pulled out a fresh piece of paper and penned her acceptance to Lucy’s invitation, and the sooner the better.

It was evening. The best time to catch flies, the best flies, the fattest flies. Fat flies made fat spiders. Renfield eagerly watched the windowsill, waiting for an unsuspecting victim. He’d saved some of his food to spread on the stone, which was sticky with the viscera of his previous meals. Renfield licked his fingers, salty and warm, as he waited. It was all a game of patience. Beyond, the late sun darked the smokey London sky into a dreary brown. It was rare to catch a glimpse of the real sun, the real sky. Sometimes Renfield forgot what colour it really was. It seemed like it had always been brown, or grey, or black. Those were the colours of life, of thousands of lives packed together like wriggling, writhing sardines. So much life, untouchable from his window. Renfield had to make do with flies and spiders, until his Master came to free him. His Master, who was perhaps the only truly living thing in the world. He alone had mastered the consumption of life. But Renfield could learn. He, too, could consume life, and perhaps live forever as his Master did. He just had to be patient.

It was evening. Lucy sat before her mirror, absently brushing her hair. Just this morning, her mother had said she was looking a little pale, and perhaps a trip to the seaside might be in order. Lucy paused brushing to ghost her thumb over her cheek. It was light, and plump, and a fine pink like a springtime peach. Anything less would not do for Arthur. It wasn’t as though Lucy had ever expected him to court anyone else, but still she felt she must present her best for him. Her dear Arthur, who she would marry soon. The idea still felt like a dream, that might be snatched from her upon waking at any moment. But no, the dream was real, and she would hold tight to it with both hands. Soon enough she would have her Arthur, and Mina would have her Jonathan, and they could all live happily together as the closest of friends. In truth, there was hardly anything more that Lucy could ask for.

Here's a link to the original prompt, if anyone else wants to send one in!

[solofanatic64]

TMNT 2012 OC TIME

There’s a lot of weird things that happen in the universe of Tmnt. Mutants, aliens, living fragments of space that travel the galaxies at high speeds and have the ability to grant wishes, alternate dimensions, time travel-wait what was that 3rd one? Living space fragments? What?

This is Comet

and she’s a living fragment of space that’s been floating in the earths orbit for over 18 years until she incidentally crash-landed in NYC after being pulled out of orbit. But she doesn’t know that, she woke up in a random alley way with amnesia from the crash, only remembering all of the knowledge she retained when she was in space (because of course she did, of course she doesn’t remember the most important thing about herself, why the hell would she do that).

All she knows is that she can shapeshift, she glows, she knows a whole lot of other stuff, and that 70% of the natural elements can harm/kill her. But she also knew about the invasion going on in NYC and the conflict happening between the Hamato Clan and the Foot Clan. And you would think that, because she knows all of the nitty gritty details behind the conflict, that she would wait for the turtles to return and join their side, right? NOPE! She joins the Foot Clan instead (idk girlie lives for violence and chaos). She doesn’t have much fighting skill besides punching, kicking, stabbing, slicing, and smashing, but she’s got spirit!

Extra stuff:

-that reference of her on the left isn’t a shifted form, it’s a rubber skinsuit of her default form. It’s hard for her to keep a form in place for a long time so she just uses that when she isn’t doing much activity and just lounging

-if you look at her closely, you can see small details such as creases in her rubber skin, stitches for mending tears, and some dark blue surrounding her sclera (it’s unsettling to look at so just don’t)

-she’s kind of dense, anytime a display of her wish powers are incidentally shown to her, she plays it off as some weird coincidence (unless it’s too weird, then she gets suspicious)

-she’s a very emotional person and her mood can change on a whim, she can go from having a good day to feeling the intense need to break something angrily to having a good day again in the span of an hour (ok maybe not on a whim, but you get my point)

-since she doesn’t remember her past, she comes up with theories of her own. Her theories include: runaway Kraang experiment, traveling alien from another planet, strange kind of super mutant, and space princess from another galaxy

-despite being a young adult, she’s reckless and irresponsible most of the time (like a teenager)

-sometimes she’ll just pop out of nowhere when she goes to talk with her coworkers (it’s makes them jump every time and they hate it. Is that gonna stop her? Nope)

-she doesn’t actually need the glasses, she just likes how they look on her

-her playlist consists of Insane Clown Posse, Pierce the Veil, Utsu-P, Mitski, Slipknot, Rammstein, Kittie, and various other songs from various other artists

-her favorite fashion aesthetic? All of them

This is all I can manage to post about now without completely info-dumping so I’ll talk more about her if y’all have any questions (I’ll see if I can open my ask box, if not then womp womp)

[joylinda-hawks]

Lao Wen. I thought you were just pretending to be a crazy fool. I didn't realize you really were one. WOH Episode 9 Part 10. The ghosts of the Ghosts Valley hide in the darkness and watch what happens outside. In the dark alleys, men fight over the Glazed Armor. One of them emerges victorious and stabs the other lying on the ground with his sword. The ghosts hidden in the darkness are just waiting for their turn. The victor takes the Glazed Armor from his hand and watches them. Meanwhile, ZZS and WKX continue to float above the city rooftops. Eventually, they reach an abandoned courtyard where the final battle took place. ZZS discovers the bodies of two men. WKX appears next to ZZS, who looks around. WKX laughs and spreads his fan, saying that it's no wonder there's been silence and states that the men have put on a play called "Die Together" and adds that it's great. Meanwhile, ZZS kneels down by both bodies and looks at one of them closely. He says that it's Cyclops Jiang Che, then looks at the other man and explains that it's Crazy Knifeman Li Heng. WKX bluntly replies that they both enjoyed some fame and asks why they died in such a comical way. WKX continues by saying that all over the world, everyone chases profit and dies for it. Meanwhile, ZZS takes one of the men's hand and spreads his fingers, seeing Glazed Armor in it, takes it out and looks at it closely. WKX continues when these idiots realize that one must live to enjoy profits. ZZS holds the Glazed Armor in his hand and listens to what WKX is saying, who laughs at what he said. ZZS stands up and shows the Glazed Armor to WKX and says that it's a piece of Glazed Armor that the FBZ thief stole from WKX. WKX casually replies that it looks like him. Surprised, ZZS asks WKX what he looks like. WKX replies that Ah Xu is very smart and should think a little. ZZS looks at WKX and can't believe what he's hearing. Meanwhile, HY in his room opens a wooden box and takes out two pieces of Glazed Armor that look identical. He is surprised by this and wonders why the two pieces of Glazed Armor are exactly the same. ZZS walks down an empty street, followed by WKX, who asks if Ah Xu doesn't think this is all very funny. ZZS is annoyed by WKX's behavior and doesn't answer. WKX runs up and grabs his arm, asking him to wait for him. WKX asks what's going on. ZZS pushes WKX away from him. He asks WKX if he can't see that what he's doing is wrong. WKX asks why, because everyone will kill each other anyway. He's just added fuel to the fire. ZZS states with determination that he thought WKX was just pretending to be a crazy fool and didn't realize that WKX really was one. ZZS leaves, leaving WKX alone. WKX sadly watches ZZS leave. The final scene is one of the saddest in the series. ZZS realized that WKX is not quite the person he wanted to think he was. This benefactor Wen was starting to seem like a cruel and emotionless person to ZZS. WKX realized that he had revealed too much of his character to ZZS, because he didn't expect ZZS to condemn him for what he did. WKX, who was happy for a moment, stops smiling when he realizes that what he did did not please ZZS. Hearing what WKX told him about Glazed Armor and how he acted then, ZZS was horrified. Leaving Tian Chuang, he wanted to distance himself from the cruelty, but it turned out that the man he wanted to trust was also a cruel person. ZZS unfortunately does not know what WKX went through in life, maybe this knowledge would allow him to see the other person differently. ZZH and GJ, their scenes together, especially those where they can show the emotions of the characters, are deeply memorable. Sometimes we are able to experience these scenes with them.

[almostgenerallyalways]

Far from where we live / I have not learned to forgive (pt 2)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem reader  Category: angst / multi-chapter / case / second chance Word count: 2,1k  CW: language, canon typical violence pt 2 - Part 1 here

“I was remediated in the academy also... what was my issue? Marksmanship, physical training, obstacle course, Hogan's Alley, you know, pretty much everything that wasn't technically book related. They ultimately had to make exceptions to allow me into the field.”

Called to Texas on a case, Spencer is confronted with a ghost.

The downtown Austin Super 8 has the advantage of proximity to the police department, but its charms end there. The view from Spencer’s room is that of the other side of the elevated highway, headlights streaking the limp net curtains as cars speed by. A sign on a telephone pole at the entrance to the oil-stained parking lot proclaims Jesus Saves.  

Spencer sighs and gives up trying to fiddle with the air conditioning. Nothing he’s doing seems to make a lick of difference to the stifling temperature of the room. (“I’m sorry we couldn’t put you guys up somewhere nicer,” Nguyen had said, apologetic, “the APD’s budget mostly goes to tricked out golf carts to creep down 6th Street with so the mayor can say we’re doing something about the loud drunks. Homicide gets the scraps.”)

He decides to walk up to the second level, where a deck overlooks a pool that’s seen better days. It looks almost nice in the dark, lit from below the water’s surface, and at least the night air is a relief to feel on his skin. He sits down on a rickety lounger, thinking back to the afternoon.

The case isn’t sitting right with him. Three dead girls in three weeks, no leads. The team had spent the afternoon being briefed on the work done so far, and independently confirming information with Penelope’s help.

Sometimes, just going over the work done by some Podunk police force a second time was enough to unlock a case. Things were missed, leads overlooked, resources sometimes scarce. But everything that passed through Spencer’s hands this afternoon checked out.

He had to give it to you and Nguyen – you knew what you were doing.

Hearing footsteps on the cement stairs, he turns to find Derek rounding the corner. “Hey, kid. Too hot in your room, too?”

Spencer smiles wryly as Derek settles down on a lounger of his own, the metal creaking under his weight. “You know, they called me ‘kid’ back at the Academy too. I hated it, until I didn’t.”

Derek regards him in that pensive way of his, elbows resting on his knees. “So. Wanna tell me what’s up with you and the pretty detective?”

Spencer turns away, letting his gaze focus on some dead leaves at the bottom of the pool. “Ancient history.”

There’s no reply, and Spencer knows the other man is waiting him out, waiting for him to fill the silence. Annoyingly, he finds he wants to.

“Remember how my friend Ethan from school went to the Academy with me and then dropped out immediately?”

Derek nods, giving him space to continue.

He sighs. “That’s when I met her. Detective Valdez,” he mimes air quotes around your name, still not used to it. Truth be told, he’d never imagined you taking a man’s name.  

“We all called her Dallas back then, it was kind of a joke.” Despite himself, he smiles. “She and I were some of the youngest in the class and we just sort of bonded, I guess. We’d help each other.” He sighs, folding his hands together. “We got really close.”

Derek’s left eyebrow shoots up, but he still doesn’t say anything. Spencer feels himself coloring and looks away.

He hasn’t thought about you like that in years.

“Anyway,” He clears his throat, “Then two weeks before the end of our training, she up and left. Just like Ethan, except she wouldn’t even explain.”

He shakes his head, hoping to suppress the emotion in his voice. “I didn’t get it. She was so close to graduating, and she was good. I wouldn’t have made it through without her, and she literally just left me.”

“Pretty boy.” Derek keeps his voice low. “She never told you why?”

“No.” He leans his forehead to his clasped hands. “She called me a few times, months later, around the time I was recruited to the BAU, but I was too angry by then to hear it. I picked up one day and told her to go to hell.”

He looks up at Derek, but the other man’s eyes are unreadable. “It may seem ridiculous; the Academy’s twenty weeks, I knew her for less than five months. But at the time she was my only ally in the world. We were inseparable.”

Derek shakes his head slowly. “No, man. That doesn’t seem ridiculous to me at all.”

Spencer gets up, suddenly unable to sit there any longer. “Yeah, well. It broke my heart when she left. And now she’s here, and she’s married, and we have to spend God knows how long together solving a case that seems to be completely deadlocked.”

* * *

10 years ago, MCB Quantico, VA

It’s the Sunday of the first week of training, and Spencer is quietly marveling at the fact that he made it through the week alive.

Well, he may also be quietly marveling at you, stretched out on your stomach in the grass before him. You flip a page in the book you’re reading, propping your chin up with your elbow, which causes your Bureau-issued navy-blue t-shirt to ride up slightly, revealing a stretch of the smooth skin of your back.

Spencer quickly looks back down into his own book.

This Sunday afternoon is the first ‘free’ time the recruits have, though they have to stay on base. Leave privileges aren’t granted until three weeks in, so the two of you had decided to review coursework in a shaded spot on the lawn outside the dormitories.

This morning, the whole class got their first walk-through of Hogan’s Alley, the base’s mock training ground built to look like an actual town. Then, because there had been too much chatter amongst the group, Lemoore had sent them on a five-mile run.

Spencer had heard that people started to enjoy running, eventually. You sure seemed to have no problem with it, even getting up at the crack of dawn to run around the base for fun. For him, it hadn’t happened yet – to the contrary, he seemed to hate each run more than the last.

Suddenly you groan, and it startles him enough that he drops his book. “Spencer. I’m never going to get this. I might as well go back to Texas right now.”

He scoots over, using his hands, to examine the chapter of Forensic DNA Typing: Biology and Technology Behind STR Markers you’re currently faceplanting on. “What, this? This is easy.”

You raise your head at him, your expression miserable. “Thanks, Doctor Three-PhD’s-at-twenty-one. Some of us mere mortals got C’s in biology in high school.”

He chuckles. “No, I mean, I can help you with this. I read this book last year.”

Plucking at a few blades of grass, he adds: “I should be the one panicking, about firearms training tomorrow. You were with the Border Patrol for two years, you’ve got actual experience. I’m not sure I can even lift a gun, let alone shoot one.”

You gasp and roll over onto your back, looking up at him. “Spencer, you genius.”

He freezes, momentarily distracted by the way you look, lying down, eyes shining up at him as you bite your lip to keep from grinning. “What?”

You prop yourself up, leaning back on your elbows planted in the grass. “It’s the perfect solution. I help you with your marksmanship training, the physical requirements, whatever you need. You help me through the forensic science. We can get through this together.”

Spencer nods slowly, mulling it over. It’s not a bad plan. “We can?”

You break into a smile and hold your right hand out to him. “Together. I will do everything in my power to make sure we both see this thing through to the end. Pinky swear.”

He feels a matching grin begin to break out across his face. “I’m not sure FBI agents pinky swear.”

You hook your finger around his, and the small skin-to-skin contact makes the back of his neck tingle. “Good thing we’re only trainees then.”

* * *

Present

A short and clammy night of sleep had been interrupted by a phone call from Hotch at 6 AM, letting the team know that another body had been found.

Spencer looks at her now, strung up against the unforgiving concrete column supporting the overpass. Her head lolls to the side, eyes open but unseeing. Her arms are spread wide, tied up high with her palms up, like a mockery of Jesus on the cross.

The Texas sun is already high in the sky despite the early hour, illuminating particles of dust and pollution in beams of light reaching their feet, slanting under the tar-covered carriageway above.  

“He’s mocking us,” Nguyen says. His tone is flat, but Spencer notices the detective is clutching his hands into fists so tight the skin pales. “He’s never left a body this close to downtown before.”

Crime scene technicians and APD uniformed officers move in Spencer’s periphery, giving the detectives and agents space to make their own observations. An ambulance has taken away the gas-station attendant who found the body on his way into work, overcome with shock.

The young woman is naked but for her tennis shoes, which are streaked with blood. Spencer is used to depravity, has seen it all in his 10 years at the BAU – and yet, this scene is turning his stomach.

“No outward signs of sexual assault.” You say beside him. “We’ll have the ME confirm, but if he’s repeating the pattern of the previous three cases, there won’t be.” Your voice is steady, but Spencer still knows you well enough to hear the raw undercurrent.

He watches you roll up the sleeves of your white linen shirt and notes you look tired this morning, more so than yesterday. If he doesn’t look too closely, he can see you exactly as you were ten years ago, but then he blinks and before him is this incongruous woman, you-but-not-quite: A badge and Smith & Wesson at her belt, a semi-permanent worry line etched beside her left brow.

A version of you he doesn’t know anymore.

You haven’t looked straight at him since he got to the scene.

Behind him, Hotch is on the phone to Penelope, who is just getting into the office in Eastern Standard Time. JJ is talking to the crime scene techs further along under the overpass, while Derek comes up next to Spencer, along with two uniformed officers.

You step closer to the body. “I’m not a profiler, but the lack of sexual assault combined with the clear need to humiliate these women and put them on display is telling.” Turning to Spencer and Derek, you ask: “What would you say?”

Derek answers for the both of them: “Classic sexual sadist who can’t perform. He needs to exert control, to feel above them.”

“I’m sorry,” Spencer hears you say, but you’re no longer talking to them: You’re addressing the young woman, softly. “I’m sorry we didn’t stop this.” You take a deep breath as you try to maintain composure, and he sees your jaw clench, which was always your tell.

He watches you reach out a latex-gloved hand and close the girl’s eyes, very gently. Before he can think better of it, he says: “Don’t touch her.”

It comes out louder, harsher than he means it to, and he realizes it when you turn towards him, the expression in your eyes already shuttered and closed-off: “It won’t make a difference for the medical exam, Doctor Reid. The photos have been taken. Let her have one modicum of dignity.”

You peel off your gloves and walk away, in the direction of JJ and the crime scene techs, without sparing him another glance.

The uniformed officer to Derek’s right (Castillo, Spencer thinks, he was in the squad room yesterday) fixes him with a disapproving look. “Back off her, man.”

The officer sets off to follow you, his broad 6’4 frame brushing too close to Spencer as he passes by, causing him to step back involuntarily.

* * *

You stand facing the open door on the driver’s side of your truck, hands clutching the frame, trying not to be sick.

It’s too much. A fourth girl killed – on an accelerating timeline – Spencer being here, his presence throwing you off. No leads. No goddamn leads.

Castillo comes up behind you, announcing himself in his gruff voice: “Detective? You OK?”

You turn halfway, pulling yourself together with a deep intake of breath: “I’m fine.” Then, because he looks dubious, you muster a smile: “Thanks, Johnny.”

John Castillo has seen you on the very worst day of your life, got a real close look at it, so he knows to trust you when you say you’re fine.

He nods at you once, squinting against the sun. “We’ll get this bastard, honey. You’ll find him.”

* * *

That night, Spencer is bent over a large table in the APD’s sixth floor bullpen working on the geographical profile when Detective Nguyen walks in with fresh coffee. Beside him, Rossi is rifling through stacks of old case files the Texas Rangers sent over.

“How’s it going?” The tall man asks, as Spencer gratefully accepts a steaming paper cup.

He sighs in response, pointing at the grid-lined paper: “This guy is literally all over the map. The data points of where the victims disappeared, went to school, worked, lived, and where they were found cover almost all of the city. Almost three hundred square miles, which doesn’t really narrow things down.”

Two uniformed officers come up to Nguyen to discuss shift change logistics, and after a few swiftly exchanged words they bid the detective goodnight, nodding their heads at Rossi as well. Spencer receives only a glare before they head off.

Rossi chuckles beside him. “Okay kid, I have to ask, what’d you do to these guys? Since we’ve been here, they’ve mistrusted you on sight.”

Nguyen clears his throat, seemingly embarrassed. “Don’t mind them. It’s not you.” He busies his hands straightening a few file folders. “They got it in their heads there’s some tension between you and Valdez because you used to know each other. I told them it’s nothing.”

Spencer feels himself coloring slightly. “We knew each other at the Academy, but we haven’t spoken for years. Either way it wouldn’t impact the investigation in any sense.”

The taller man sighs. “I know, that’s exactly what Valdez said. Just ignore them and try not to take it personally. They’re just real protective of her since Adrian got killed.”

A bitter sense of foreboding suddenly fills Spencer’s throat. “Adrian?”

If Nguyen seems surprised by his ignorance, he hides it quickly. “Valdez? Her husband. He was a uniformed officer on the force here. He got shot while responding to a domestic disturbance three years ago.”

.

.

.

Authors note: soooo pt 1 of this didn’t really get any response but I have the rest of the story loosely plotted out and i’m having fun writing it so i will probably finish it anyway, just not sure on what timeline. anyway, comments/reblogs always appreciated <3

[darling]

In the Ink-stained reverie recesses of my psyche, where shadows dance with forgotten memories, there resides a peculiar ache—an ache that defies reason, like a cryptic cipher etched upon the walls of my soul. It is not the sharp pang of loss or the dull throb of regret; no, it is something more elusive, more insidious.

Perhaps it is the saudade, that untranslatable Portuguese word that clings to the edges of existence like dew on a spider’s web. A yearning for something undefined, a nostalgia for moments never lived. I trace its contours, like a blind artist seeking solace in the texture of an unseen canvas.

The hüzün, too—an exquisite Turkish lament that coils around my heart. It whispers of faded tulips and crumbling minarets, of lost empires and fractured dreams. I taste it in the bitter coffee, the smoke of half-forgotten cigarettes. It is the ache of impermanence, the knowledge that all things unravel, even love.

And then there’s the spleen, that melancholy companion of the French poets. It slinks through my veins, a black cat prowling the alleys of my mind. I find it in the rain-soaked streets, the empty park benches, the discarded love letters. It is the ache of existence itself—the weight of being, the burden of consciousness.

Why this sadness, you ask? There is no answer, no tidy explanation. It is as if the universe, in its capriciousness, has decided to play a cruel game—a game of whispers and half-truths. And so, I carry this inexplicable sorrow, like a secret talisman against the banality of days.

Tonight, as the moon casts its silver net upon my solitude, I sit by the window, tracing the contours of my longing. The cognates weave their spell, and I surrender—to the ache, the yearning, the unspoken echoes. For sometimes, my dear, sadness needs no reason; it simply is—an enigma wrapped in velvet, waiting to be unraveled.

And so, I sip my wine, listen to the rain, and let the darkness cradle me. For in this quietude, I find solace—a strange, exquisite solace—in the language of melancholy. - Incommodious. Saudade: A Portuguese word describing a deep emotional state of longing or nostalgia for something absent or lost. : Hüzün: A Turkish term referring to a melancholic, poetic feeling associated with the impermanence of life and the passage of time. : Spleen: A concept from French literature, particularly associated with Charles Baudelaire, representing a profound sense of melancholy, ennui, and existential angst.