#than having open wounds all over my face at all times
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so i have been tasked with explaining myself, by multiple people
i'm gonna start by saying that i'm actually a strong swimmer, but this was in the ocean, so i was outmatched from the beginning. my brothers and i were a bit far from shore, just kinda bobbing on the waves. i had a little flotation device tethered to my wrist because i wanted to relax, and leaning on it was easier than treading water. i wound up a little farther out than either of them, which meant i had to face the shore in order to talk to them, instead of looking at the place where all the waves were coming from. my first of two wise decisions.
i happen to turn around midsentence (second wise decision) and a wave breaks directly into my face - immediate lungful of delicious sea water. and my fun little flotation device does the opposite of its job, as it begins to drag me underwater with the wave before the strap breaks and i am left to the whims of physics, unable to orient myself at all. so i'm underwater, trying to cough up even more water (difficult!), still pushed around by the current, only able to tell where the surface is because occasionally the ocean flips me over and my vision turns white.
my first coherent thought is "oh, so that's where up is." my second coherent thought is "WRITE THIS DOWN." i don't have any paper with me, sadly, so i just flail about for a bit while doing my level best to commit the whole thing to memory until the ocean vomits my body onto the shore. my brothers don't know anything is wrong until they see that the strap of my TREACHEROUS TWO-TIMING flotation device snapped, and they follow me to shore where i am able to properly throw up all the saltwater, like a lady. and i am already trying to totter back to our umbrella so i can open the notes app on my phone. 6/10 experience
being a writer leads to a genuinely helpful but also very stupid kind of mindfulness where you'll be having a sobbing breakdown or the worst anxiety attack of your life and think "okay, I really need to pay attention to how this feels. so I can incorporate it into my fanfiction."
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He's drunk when he sends it. Pissed because Buck won't just let this die. Tired of seeing his name flash across his screen, texts full of anger and sadness and hurt.
I suspect you've already met your last and it's not me he sends, and then turns off his phone and reaches for the bottle of whiskey on his top shelf.
---
If he'd been sober he would have known better. It's not even like it's been a pervasive thought - just an inkling at the start of things that seemed to be completely off base once he got to know everyone better, but looking back... He can see it. The built in life. The steadfast support. The knowledge that they'd always, always have each other's back. The kid who hero worshipped him.
The thing is he's fielding texts from Eddie, too, checking in and then circling around to being so goddamn judgmental that it's like they've coordinated their attacks to give Tommy no room to breathe.
He ended it to save himself from slipping so far under the surface he wouldn't make it back.
The fact that he's lost them both to his own fear is icing on the cake for the demon on his shoulder that keeps trying to remind him that once upon a time he'd fully thought Eddie and Buck were amicable exes.
---
He has to blink to figure out who's standing on his doorstep. The mustache is gone.
"If you meant who I think you mean, you're dumber than you look," Eddie says, and shoulders past Tommy before Tommy can even muster an affronted expression.
Tommy wanders after Eddie into his own kitchen, immediately annoyed that he looks more at home there than Tommy has felt in weeks. He'd gotten used to the loft - the space, the echoes, the lights of the city. The smell of his own aftershave on Buck's pillow.
They never spent much time here. The loft was closer - to Harbor, to the 118, to all the things in the city that tempted them out for a night. And staying at the loft meant he wouldn't have the echoes of Buck in every room, around every corner. (The echoes are in him, instead, and he still feels the absence like a lanced wound.) Tommy has always been good at making other people think he's good at putting distance between himself and them.
Eddie digs in a drawer, pulls out the bottle opener shaped like a cow and pops two tops. Holds one out for Tommy and scowls when Tommy wrinkles his nose at the Corona.
"Absolutely screw you if you think I'm driving halfway across town for you just to get the ones you like, right now."
Tommy can't argue that. He takes a drag and swallows. Stares. Is everyone else experiencing whiplash seeing him without the mustache? It looks fine but it'd taken so much fucking work to get used to it and now it's just gone. Clean shaven, an acre of skin he hasn't seen in months.
Tommy blinked and the entire world was different. Tommy freaked and the world changed.
"What are you doing here?"
Eddie's eyebrows both lift, a frank Are You Fucking Serious look on his face that makes Tommy want to take him to the mats and have it out in the garage instead of over beers.
"Buck may be spinning his wheels trying to figure out what the fuck you meant but I know damn well what you were implying."
That seems unlikely. Eddie always seems to be the last person to have a single clue what was going on, with Buck scraping in just before him. It's a tight race.
He used to find it charming.
(He absolutely does not still find it charming, he tells his heart, and wonders if he could hire some tiny asshole gnome to go stomp around in an atrium or two and get it to stop doing what it's doing. Fucking traitor.)
"Do you actually believe that, or is it some dumb excuse because you're terrified of being happy?"
Oh, that's fucking rich.
Tommy opens his mouth to tell him exactly that but Eddie just steamrolls right by him. "You don't have to point out the hypocrisy, jackass. I'm well aware of my own issues. Thing is - you're like, almost right. Buck does make me happy. Next to Chris there's no one else in the world I'd rather have by my side, rain or shine, good or bad. I love him. He's my person."
Tommy rolls his jaw. It's not a vindication to hear it.
"Except I'm not gay, Tommy. And I don't want that. I never have. And neither does Buck, just in case that argument was about to hit the airwaves."
"How do you know?"
Something sparks in the back of Eddie's eyes. Understanding. Triumph.
"You want an itemized list or a demonstration?"
Which is when Tommy knows he's stepped into an absolute minefield. No markers. Just free balling his way through a conversation that could explode with even the slightest pressure.
Eddie's got his phone out.
None of this is ideal.
When he looks up, his eyes land squarely on Tommy, who would like in this moment to be able to curl so far in on himself he gets sucked clean through the other side. "First of all, Buck may have just been improvising his entire journey of sexuality but for once I was trying to get ahead of the curve so that whole starry-eyed newly not straight vision you have of Buck is bullshit. You let him pull you along by the shirt strings for months without pressing pause and then you freak out when he thinks his speed and your speed are the same speed?"
This is feeling a whole lot like an ambush, now.
"Did you ever even try to slow him down?"
Tommy has some choice words that aren't remotely appropriate to say to someone who is at least tangentially still his friend, so he takes another swig of shitty beer. God, this shit is awful.
"You wanna know how I know I'm not his one? How I know he's not mine?"
Tommy really, really doesn't. Honestly he'd like to kick him out.
"Because he went at our friendship at the same warp speed pace he took your relationship and it never fucking scared me."
Proof in the pudding, for Tommy. He's not the sort of jackass who actually thinks he can make a different judgement call on someone else's sexuality than the one they've made themselves, but come on.
"Shannon's been dead for half a decade," Eddie says, voice dropping so suddenly Tommy feels it like an icy draft. "And maybe one day I'll make my peace with that. Maybe one day I'll get out from under it. The point is I've lost them both and the loss wasn't the goddamn same."
"Buck came back," Tommy argues.
Eddie scoffs. Wrinkles his nose. "Jeez, he wasn't kidding about how weird that sounds." His phone buzzes on the countertop, and Tommy wonders what the hell that look on his face means. "Don't change the subject. I'm not here to talk you into anything. I'm just here to drink a beer with you and tell you how goddamn stupid it is to think that an uncertain future with Evan Buckley isn't worth every second of terror it causes you."
"You don't know me as well as you think you do."
Eddie tips the bottle against his lips. Swallows. God, why hadn't Tommy just pursued the self-proclaimed straight guy for a couple weeks before he scratched the itch somewhere else and kept a friend, instead?
"Maybe." Eddie tips his head. "Maybe I do, though. Maybe in the months and months you were invited to all my mopey nights in with Buck and all the crazy crap we end up involved in at the station and all the times you couldn't shut up about him when he wasn't around and all the times I got to see you falling ass over teakettle for my best friend, I learned a fucking thing or two about Tommy Kinard." He wags his head back and forth. "Maybe."
"Is there a point to this?"
Eddie tips his eyes to his phone, and it's probably too late at this point for the suspicion to begin to creep in.
"I mostly just came to confront you about your completely off base bullshit excuses, but there's actually a pretty simple solution to at least one of your multitude of issues, so. Now we're waiting."
Tommy doesn't like the sound of that at all.
"Chris is mad at you, by the way."
It's a distraction. It's fully a - "Why is he mad at me?"
"I should actually thank you, because it's the first time he's actively talked to me in months," Eddie continues, like Tommy hadn't asked a question. "He's pissed because Buck is sad and there's literally nothing in the world that gets a rise out of the Diaz boys like sad Buck."
"You can just say you're pissed at me and go, Eddie."
"Oh I'm angry. Don't think I'm not. Mostly I'm just sad for you. You had six months to get to know Buck and never thought to yourself 'hes going to love me and it's going to hurt' until he skipped too far ahead in the program."
And that's - kind of the final straw. He's let Eddie get his licks in. He deserves it, he knows he does. Honestly it's a little cathartic to hear - to know exactly what Buck has spent his time dissecting post-Tommy. "That's all I ever thought about. Do you think I didn't know going in? I tried to put a stop to it before it even started and he just doubled down! Do you think for a second I wasn't viscously aware that I was setting myself up for -."
No. He's not gonna say it. He's not giving that to Eddie when he couldn't even give it to Ev-Buck. When he couldn't give it to Buck.
Eddie looks victorious anyway.
"And for six months you thought it was worth it."
"For six months I was too much of a coward to stop thinking about it."
Eddie drains the rest of his beer. "I'm not gonna lie. You screwed up pretty bad. Like. Astronomically bad. Giving up your location in a firefight bad."
Tommy does everything he can not to wince.
"It's salvageable, though. If you want it to be. If there's anything I know about Buck it's that second chances are his bread and butter." He's been dancing around saying anything of substance about Buck's feelings, in all of this, but the hints are there. As if the bouts of angry-depressive texts from Buck weren't clue enough.
"And what if it's not what I want?"
Eddie's eyes dart to his phone one more time. "Then you can make it a clean break in about ... three and a half minutes."
Tommy nearly tosses his beer across the room.
#bucktommy#bucktommy fic#tevan fic#eddie&tommy#theres a part two to this that may or may not see the light of day
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Video 4
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The sun is setting over the jujutsu high compound, casting warm hues across the courtyard. Inside one of the quieter rooms, Y/N is setting up a small easel, your canvas ready for the first stroke. Brushes, tubes of paint, and a small ceramic bowl of water are neatly arranged beside you. Suguru is already there, sleeves rolled up, looking as if heâs about to become the next world renowned artist. His hair is a little more disheveled than usual, but the slight smirk on his face tells you he is comfortable.
âAlright, the camera is on and focused and Iâm setting up my canvas for real this time. You sure you want to join me, Suguru? Youâre not really the type to sit still for longâ
Suguru chuckles softly, picking up a brush and dipping it into a warm shade of blue.
âItâs called expanding my horizons, Y/N. Plus, I thought you could use a little companyâ
You nod, smiling as you adjust your canvas, although a teasing twink appears in your bright E/C eyes.
âIf weâre doing this, though, donât turn it into a competitionâ you remind him, âNo âwho can paint betterâ nonsenseâ
Suguru gives you a lazy, amused grim, clearly enjoying the thought of teasing you while painting.
âNo promisesâ he smirks âBut Iâll try my best to make something that doesnât end in chaosâ
Both of you dip your brushes into your chosen colors and start painting. But just as the two of you start getting into the flow of itâSuguruâs brush strokes deliberate and calm, yours more spontaneous and brightâa loud crash interrupts the settled peace.
The door flies open and Gojo Satoru enters with an exaggerated flourish, sunglasses on, and a pout plastered on his face.
âHey, hey! What is this? You two started a painting party without me!â He whines, âI thought we were friends, Y/N!â
Suguru raises an eyebrow as Satoru dramatically collapses on the floor, looking up to the ceiling with a hand over his heart.
âDid you just⊠fall in through the door for dramatic effect?â Suguru asks.
Satoru grins widely, âIâm just adding some flair, Suguru. How else do you think I should enter? Also, whereâs my invite? I thought we were the three musketeersâ
You stifled a laugh, trying to focus on your work, but the camera didnât forget to capture the small smile tugging at your lips.
âSorry not sorry, Satoruâ you say, âDidnât think you were the type to sit still and paint. I figured youâd be too busy doing something⊠important, like annoying people or emptying another dessert shopâ
Satoru sats up immediately, and dramatically, throwing his arms out as if wounded.
âOuch! Is that how you see me? That hurts. Iâm offended! Iâm a man of taste and class, Iâd totally be amazing at paintingâ
Suguru shakes his head with an amused smile, muttering knowingly to himself as he mixes some paint.
âYou wouldnât last five minutes without making a messâ
Satoru ignores him, âYou know, Iâm actually artistic. Iâm like⊠a modern-day Picasso. Or Van Goghâexcept I have my ears intactâ
You turn to glance a him, skepticism on your face.
âSure. And youâve definitely read all kinds of art history books, right?â
Satoru winks at her playfully, âWell, I donât read, but Iâm sure I could paint circles around both of youâ
Suguru rolls his eyes but, apparently done with Satoruâs antics, offers him a brush.
âFine. If youâre so confident, you can join usâ he relents, âBut Iâm warning you, weâre professionals hereâ
The three of them get to work, and immediately, Satoru begins to disrupt everything. You are trying to focus on a landscape with some subtle blending, while Suguruâs painting a more intricate figure. Meanwhile, Satoru is working on his own âmasterpieceâ, which mostly involves scribbling random, chaotic shapes with his brush, his colors clashing wildly with everyone elseâs.
Satoru holds up his canvas proudly, âLook, Iâm totally channeling my inner abstract genius! Itâs a representation of freedom, of rebellion! What do you think?â
You stares at the chaotic mess in front of you, the blue and red clashing violently. You snort, holding back a laugh.
âYouâre an actual disaster. It looks like a toddler dipped a paintbrush in a jar of chaos and went wildâ
âItâs artâ he states, grinning widely.
Suguru chuckles, setting his brush down for a second as he glances over.
âItâs definitely something. Not sure if itâs art, thoughâ
Satoru sticks his tongue out at him before turning back to you, his expression suddenly shifting to something more playful. He walks over to your easel, leaning casually over your shoulder, his face close enough that you can feel the heat of his body.
âBut, you know, youâre missing one thing in your painting, Y/Nâ
You raise an eyebrow, not sure whether you should be annoyed or entertained.
âOh? And whatâs that?â
Satoru leans in just a little closer, his voice lowering to a teasing tone.
âA little bit of me. A masterpiece canât be complete without a dash of perfectionâ
You roll your eyes, but your cheeks turn a light pink against your better judgement. You can never tell if heâs being serious or just trying to get under your skin.
You grab a paintbrush, quickly flicking a spot of green paint onto Satoruâs shirt.
âThere. Now itâs perfectâ you smirk.
Satoru stares at the green stain, his mouth falling open in mock horror.
âYouâve ruined me. Ruined my shirt. My image. Iâm a tragic artist nowâ
Suguru laughs from his corner of the room, shaking his head at the two of you.
âYou both are insufferable. Seriously, how do you guys even manage to get anything done together?â Suguru asks.
You let out a laugh, âItâs called balance, Suguru. I paint, and Satoru provides chaosâ
Satoru dramatically flops onto the floor again, spreading his arms out as if heâs defeated.
âYou know, this couldâve been a perfect group activity if it werenât for you two conspiring against my geniusâ
Suguru raises a brow, amused, âYou are a geniusâjust not in the way you think you areâ
After a few more hours of chaotic painting, in which a lot of paint ended up in both Satoruâs and your clothes, the three of you step back and admire each of your works.
Satoruâs piece now has a mix of random scribbles and strange shapes, while Suguruâs work is meticulously detailed, with deep serene colored forming a landscape. Yours is a bright piece, a playful interpretation of the sky, with clouds hues of purple and pinkâvibrant and dreamy.
You stare at the painting for a few minutes before turning to look at yourself⊠covered in paint. You frown.
âWell⊠this was a disasterâ a smile tugs at your lips, âAlthough, I kinda fun oneâ
Satoru grins, throwing a playful wink your way.
âWhat can I say? I bring the fun wherever I goâ he brags.
Suguru shakes his head but smiles quiestly, glancing at both of them with something akin to fondness in his eyes.
âSomehow we made it out. It was fun, though I kinda wished Shoko had been hereâ he sighs, âWouldâve helped me deal with you twoâ
You send him an offended look while Satoru simply grins widely. Suddenly, Satoru pulls out his phone, snapping a picture of the three pieces.
âPerfect!â He smiles, âThis is going straight into my âmasterpiecesâ collectionâ
âItâs not masterpieces if itâs just an album of your selfiesâ you remind him, amused.
âMasterpieces, Y/N, masterpiecesâ
Holding back a laugh, you move to grab the videocamera recording the whole process, closing it so the screen goes black.
The recording ending.
taglist: @gumiiiiezzzz @reagan707
FOR SOME REASON TUMBLR ISNT ALLOWING ME TO LINK SOME OF MY PARTS. IâM SORRY
#satoru gojo x reader#gojo x reader#gojo saturo#gojou satoru x reader#jujutsu kaisen gojo#geto suguru#gojo satoru#satoru gojo#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo satoru x you#jjk satoru#gojo satoru x reader#jujutsu gojo#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jjk gojo#jjk
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Exclusive preview chapter of my pre-DBZ Saiyans under Freeza fic, Homeworld Lost (read parts 1 & 2 already posted here) below the cut. Content warning for graphic violence and many disturbing themes.
This chapter is the third chapter of Part 9: Between the Stars. A little context: Vegeta, Raditz, and Nappa are en route to their third and final scheduled purge planet after taking a long time to recover from some serious injuries they endured while on their previous mission. It was traumatic for everyone, to say the least, and each character has tried to cope with the various events in his own way. Vegeta is on edge for a very specific reason, but Raditz either doesn't speculate or is intentionally obfuscating this reason. Vegeta is in his early 20s here, Raditz in his late 20s.
***
Part 9: Between the Stars Chapter 3: Cui's Assignment
I turned the knife over in my hands. Squeezed it. Channeled my energy through my fingers till it passed through the prism. The blade appeared. I often wondered if Shardonne had ever learned to control what little power she had or if she instead harvested souls like [SPOILER]. Either way, fidgeting like this alone in my pod, Iâd discovered that I could sate the knifeâs hunger for life energy.
Not that I would know how to use it beyond this or perform any kind of spiritual surgery. I had, like the coward I was, left [Freeza's healer's] secrets to languish with him in his laboratory. Perhaps Arugalaâs mother, my patroness, had taught me the anatomy of our chakras as she had her own children, but I wouldnât know how to mend a soul any better than I would how to repair a body that Iâd dispatched. However expertly Iâd done it.
Yet when I awoke in a tank at a nearby station, Zarbon had left the knife tucked into my breastplate where heâd certainly found it. As if he expected me to learn how to use it. Iâd figured out how to use and corrupt other devices supposedly beyond saiyan comprehension. So for all his talk of ensuring Vegetaâs death once he'd fulfilled his purpose, heâd nevertheless given me a chance to heal him. Equally possible that he was mocking me. Ultimately, he knew what Freeza and [his healer] meant to do to Vegeta where I didnât, and he would manipulate all of us to secure his desired outcome.
Fidgeting. The blade flickered dangerously above my wrist. I didnât want to step out of my pod. We didnât belong here.
Vegetaâs grim shadow fell across the podâs red window. Hurrying, I extinguished the blade and shoved it back inside my breastplate. He wouldnât tolerate any delays, and only gods knew how he might punish me if he caught me with the knife. Heâd come close several times. Always watching my whereabouts during our breaks from stasis.
He opened the hatch for me. âSleep when youâre dead, third-class,â he spat.
I got up. Fit my scouter over my eye.
âWhere the fuck is he?â
Nappa.
âIâm sure heâs almost here,â I reassured the prince.
âGods, almost as useless as you.â He paced restlessly. Back and forth, boots grinding the dust beneath his feet. His fingers tapped and twitched where they gripped his bicep.
âWe donât have to do this, you know.â
He stopped. His back turned to me, I saw only the subtle bristle of his tightly-wound tail. âCuiââa deep breathââhas humiliated me for the last time. Let him come to this planet and face me if he dares. After I am through cleansing this planet for him, taking half the time, Iâll throw his dust into the wind.â
âBut, this planetâŠwithout clearance. Freeza mightââ
âFreeza will punish Cui.â
âI donât think Freeza cares what Cui does.â
Abruptly, Vegeta spun to face me. A flash of violet before I could react. The shot flew over my shoulder to strike a ruin stretched across the horizon. It crumbled to the earth with the roar of falling stone and the scream of metal bending, kicking up clouds of dirt and ashes.
Vegeta continued as if nothing had happened. âTook the Ginyus to subdue this planet.â Pacing again. âFreeza gives us such strange assignments. So very strange⊠Never was about what the Planet Trade needs a saiyan to fight. When was the last time we fought with honor?â
Fuenghi was a great power, having brought us all to the brink of death, but the princeâs question was rhetorical. Iâd learned not to speak out of turn.
He stopped and tapped his scouter. Still searching for Nappaâs signal. âThere are always survivors of these purgesâŠâ Pulling at his gloves now, adjusting them, wringing his hands together.
If it took the Ginyu Force, we could be in for more than a fight, my mind answered him, presuming he wouldnât hear. He would not be questioned. Ever since recovering Nappa from the pleasure station, he tolerated so much less.
Everywhere we went, rooms fell silent until our sharp hearing picked up the inevitable mutterings about the massacre. Already Freezaâs scourge, now the prince was the murderer of depraved murderers, more merciless and cruel than any who favored their lawless gathering place. He mightâve worn the titles with pride if not for the disgraceful rumors that came with them.
âNothing to say, third-class?â
âYes, itâll be good to have a real fight,â I agreed despite not having listened. âYou donât need to justify it to me.â
âAs if I owe you an explanation.â
âYou donât.â And I didnât need one. A worthy opponent to test his strength, putting Cui in his placeârationalizations for himself more than anyone else. He certainly wasnât the first of his name to confuse our thirst for battle for a lust for blood.
He blasted at the ground a tailâs length off from where I stood. âYou watched him get in his pod, didnât you? You set up the coordinates yourself.â
âI did. You saw himâhe was in his right mind before I initiated any stasis protocols.â
âYou sent him somewhere, didnât you? So you could say I forced you to come. That you werenât responsible. That I was the one to go off course and defy orders.â He scoffed. âTry one of your lies with Freeza and see where it gets you.â
Nonsensical accusations, but I wouldnât criticize him. âI swear I didnât,â I said.
âPray that he arrives soon, then.â
Even if Vegeta had come alone, consequences would fall on all of us. Our disobedience wouldnât go unnoticed; taking on Cuiâs assignment was meant to draw attention. No matter what Vegeta mightâve done to me, I wouldâve refused to reprogram our route under any other circumstance. However, this planet must harbor some secret if Freeza had commanded the Ginyus specifically to purge it. More than mere strength, the assignment had required precision and, above all, trust. So Iâd gathered from Cui last we met.
I let out a sigh once my scouter finally alerted me to Nappaâs arrival. He landed not far off, and I hurried to his pod. Better that he faced me first with the prince poised on the edge of wrath.
I opened the hatch for him once assured his vitals were stable. He was still groggy, but he recognized me. âIâm glad youâre all right.â Offered him my hand to help him stand. âJustâŠdo as he says. Vegeta is in rare form.â
He nodded, but his knotted brow betrayed his confusion.
âWeâre cleansing the planet,â I explained. âLeveling whatâs left of the population centers, tracking down survivors. It wasnât on our itinerary, so donât blame yourself for not knowing.â
âDid you⊠Is this the first time youâve told me this?â
I shook my head as I found his scouter for him, took his hand, and folded it over the device. I had, in fact, told him repeatedly. âYou just woke up. Itâs been a while.â
His scouter locked onto Vegeta stalking toward us, and he tensed.
âAre either of you done wasting my time?â
I positioned myself between him and Nappa. âI just sent you the updated maps. Got a hold of them right before we left.â
He narrowed his eyes, but scrolling over the data distracted him sufficiently. âIf either of you fall behind,â he said once heâd finished his review, âI will leave you to rot on this godsforsaken rock.â
âYou mean for us to stick together?â Nappa asked.
The prince laughed coldly. âIf I could trust either of you, I might assign each of you different continents in the interest of time. But the fact of the matter is that I cannot.â
He took off without warning. Nappa and I scrambled after him, relying on our scouters when we couldnât match his speed. His flight cut an angry gash through the red smog. Distant, rapid blasts thundered across the sky in brilliant flashes on either side of the wound. Tracing his path with the scouterâs map, he left absolutely nothing in his wake for us to destroy. He would do the work of an entire crew in a matter of hours if exhaustion couldnât prevent him.
The prince thus occupied, I could easily slip away. And Nappa might not even realize Iâd left with how heâd been. Compunctionâs familiar ache churned beneath my ribs as I imagined him stranded and lost above the wastes. A relief, then, that I hardly knew what to look for. What it would be worth sneaking away to find. If Vegeta left anything behind for the finding.
He fired and fired and fired until he couldnât keep apace with the planetâs rotation, and night caught up with him. And then even the dazzling crashes of energy grew fewer and farther between. Darkness at last came to rest over the devastation, and my scouter indicated that Vegeta had descended to the surface. The map outlined what remained of a settlement through the obfuscation of smoke.
Once I landed, letting the prince have his distance, an energy scan discovered no survivors. Just a few minuscule power levels likely belonging to animals. Smaller buildings clustered together on the outskirts of an industrial compound. The Ginyus had taken care to destroy the machines, hangars, towers, and ships, but had left the rest well enough intact.
On an instinct, I made way for the rubble. Nappa followed me without comment. Vegeta, meanwhile, continued to stalk along the perimeter of the settlement, moving with silent intent. Masking, perhaps, a need for rest. Whatever he pursued, I couldnât stop him, and it made no difference to me so long as he gave me enough time to pick through the debris before disintegrating it.
Glints of green from my scouterâs glow reflected across generators, glass amalgam, new scouter chips, command boxes, adapted prismsâall recognizable, but each with features slightly different from those laid out in the plans Freeza had gifted me those two moons ago. These were more advanced. Only at the Imperial Academy itself had I come across such technology. And this was at some remote factoryâhardly what the planetâs occupants mustâve kept for their ports and capitals.
They wouldâve traveled far and known much. Too much. I reached down and sifted through the scouter chips until Iâd isolated a few that heat and dirt hadnât rendered useless. These I slipped inside my breastplate near the stolen knife. In all likelihood, the chips didnât store any sensitive information, but I couldnât leave them and wonder.
I looked over my shoulder. Nappa had wandered off. I spun, then tapped my scouter when I couldnât see him anywhere.
A sigh of relief when the scouter highlighted his silhouette behind a shipwreck. Or not quite a shipwreck, but rather the spilled guts of a newly constructed Planet Trade flagship. One of its landing claws held him sitting upright. He looked up from his hands when I approached him.
âHere, youâll need this,â I said, retrieving his discarded scouter for him.
He took it, fit it, and squinted at the display. âWhat time is it?â
âHard to say, but itâs been hours. Iâm tired too.â
He picked himself up, refusing all help, and scanned the terrain of the settlement. âI donât remember this planet from the briefings.â
I pinched the bridge of my nose. âWe took Cuiâs cleansing assignment. A detour so we could get here before his crew did. The princeâs idea.â
âHeâs out that way.â He took a step in the same direction.
I gripped his arm before he could take off. âNappa, we just need to get through this without fucking anything up. He put both of us in tanks last time, and he was already furious with you for being late.â
He hung his head. âItâs because ofââ
âItâs because of the drug. I know you took some of it with you. And you wonât get better unless you stop taking it.â The last statement I wasnât so sure of, but I needed to sound sure in case it were true.
âYou took it too.â
âIââ I had no excuse for him, and he would know if I lied. Heâd seen into my mind just as Iâd seen into his all that time ago. âOnce,â I said finally. âAnd you mustâve seen whatâs happened with Vegeta too. So you knowâmaybe better than anyoneâthat he needs us to stayââ
An explosion cut off the rest. My arm whipped to shield my eyes as heat and hurled scrap crashed towards us.
A few scrapes here and there, but Nappa and I sustained no real damage. The scouter detected no power levels of any significance aside our own. I had to assume that Vegeta had grown weary of this place and would annihilate us with it if we lingered. No more blasts followed, however, and the ruins fell again into the obscurity of night.
The prince remained where he was, and we followed his energy. We heard him before we spotted the sparks blazing around his fists. Shouting.
âFreeza sent his special forces to destroy the likes of you? If you have any honor left, show me your real power.â
I directed Nappa to land at a cautious distance. Vegetaâs energy lit a gleam of terror across the furred creatureâs face.
âIfâif you have a ship, weâll go. Take whatever you want!â it stammered. âW-we gave your people the maps already!â
Vegeta laughed. âI donât give a damn about any of your maps. Either die a warriorâs death, or meet an end worse than hers.â He channeled more energy into his right hand and pointed it to illuminate a spot some tail lengths off.
There lay the mangled body of another creature. Several of six limbs twisted and broken. One snapped above the elbow, only soft flesh keeping the rest of the arm attached. A black, bloody mess of organs tangled beneath the ribs. Agony still contorted the face.
A shriek.
âWhat, never seen a battlefield before?â He blasted next to the creature and cackled as it dove into the dirt to dodge it. âGuess not. Hid from the purge too like the cowardly scum you are.â
The prince circled round to his victimâs side. The creature trembled too much to stand and couldnât answer him apart from whimpers and sobs.
âPathetic.â He shoved his boot into the creatureâs spine. âLast chance to fight back. Show your strength.â
Turning away, I glanced toward Nappa. âI donât think Freeza sent the Ginyu Force because these people were strong,â I said.
He stared blankly into the sky, smoke blotting out the stars. He was always worse when Vegeta lashed out. There was nothing to be done.
âDonât think youâre going to fight,â the prince scorned. âPissed yourself insteadâI can smell it on you.â
A hoarse scream followed the deep crack of a limb wrenched from its socket. Painâs memory echoed through my shoulders, numbness through my fingers. Vegeta had done the same to me when his blows left me shivering and useless. Warm-blooded, the creature must suffer similarly, and though we couldnât let it live for Freeza to find, its misery served no purpose.
I braced myself before facing Vegeta once more. Before bearing witness to the torture he could easily turn on me if anger mastered him. âTheyâre just weaklings,â I shouted. âA waste of your time. Letâs get this over with and get off this planet.â
He dropped the creature with a snarl. âI donât take orders from you, third-clââ
A bolt of red struck his armor in between his shoulder blades. From a blaster deadly enough to pierce Planet Trade gear, yet ineffective in harming someone of the princeâs power level. He whipped around where he stood in search of the sniper, hands ready with charges.
A pair of smaller beings lingered a second too long before disappearing around a wallâs corner.
Vegeta kicked the creature at his feet. âAre thoseâŠyour children?â
âNo!â A plea rather than a denial.
âTheyâahaâare going to watch you die.â He tapped his scouter, isolating the trace power levels instantly. He vanished, my eyes hardly able to track him, and the two children had no hope of escape.
âNnâŠâ The presumed father squirmed towards me. Supplicant, he stretched one trembling hand out to me.
I took aim for his head.
âArenât you going to save him?â
Fired.
I didnât process what Vegeta had said or why until it was too late. My shot had stricken the child whoâd dove to protect his father from me. Now he wept over the little body.
I gathered energy into my hand. âThese people are a waste. Just kill them.â
Vegeta answered my charge with one of his own. The child he held by the neck didnât understand that he meant it for me and squirmed as far away as it could. âDefying me, third-class? How sorry you must be that Freeza wonât let me grant your deathwish. Always tempting me⊠I can control myself, unlike you.â His grip on the childâs throat stifled a scream.
I stood my ground. âTell yourself whatever you want. But you wonât humiliate Cui by taking twice as long on his assignment.â
He fixed his sharp eyes on mine, sneering, as he leaned more of his weight and strength into his heel until his boot crushed spine and ribs with an unmistakable, wet crunch. âWorthless,â he snarled over the creatureâs gargling.
A quick death, at least, if not an easy one. Consequences damned, I vowed that the child would receive an end just as swift even if I had to intervene. All four eyes tightly shut, tears streamed into the dark fur lining its face. Its lips quivered over clenched teeth, and trilled whimpers escaped through them as Vegeta released its throat to embrace the child from behind. Almost as tall as he was, the princeâs mouth was level with its ear.
âDoes it make you strong, watching them die?â he said.
Iâd heard those words before, and my steps faltered.
âItâs been so long since Iâve fought someone worthy⊠So long, lying awake, restlessâŠâ Abruptly, he let go of the child. âShow me you arenât as useless as the rest.â
Its limbs buckled instantly, and it tumbled forward into the remains of its father and sibling. Away from Vegeta, I had a clear shot. I awaited only a slip of the princeâs attention. His speed would thwart me otherwise, and heâd deflect the blast.
The child, however, did not merely lie shocked and defeated. Somehow, even with a mouth full of its fatherâs blood, it summoned the will to rise up from the ground. I knew very little about the childâs race, but the look it turned on Vegeta was one of pure hatred. âWhy?â it spat at him.
The prince answered with a crooked grin. âAs if I could tell you why the gods have forsaken you.â
âGods have nothing to do with it.â The child managed to stand. A rise in power level did not accompany it. âYou did this.â
âWho are the gods but whoever is strongest?â Again, he seized the child by the neck. âAnd I am stronger than you. Iâm strongerâhahaâa Super Saiyan, the strongest in the universe!â
The [SPOILER] Iâd seen had been no more than a dream. I was sure of it now. Many times had Vegeta lied, hidden, said one thing and done another, and exhibited more arrogance than his actual strength warranted. After all thatâd happened, I understood why. My heart ached for him still. But as much as Iâd denied it ever since heâd turned on me on that empty planet, I was beginning to recognize his madness for what it was. And because his sanity was slipping, I knew his defenses would slip too when I finally aimed and took my shot.
Blasted cleanly through its skull, the child died immediately. The body convulsed for a few seconds before going limp. Still gripping the neck while he raved, Vegeta seemed not to realize whatâd happened.
âThere is nothing but your own strength. The gods gave you a mother and father just to wound you when they were taken away. Better now that theyâre gone, and you see the truth. Iâve set you free. Does it make you strong?â
He shook the body, rattled it. Heâd come to assume soon enough that heâd spoiled his torture too soon. The corpse could fascinate him only so long. I left him with it to see where Nappa had gone.
Heâd found the childrenâs hiding place behind the crumbled wall. He sat, rocking back and forth, muttering to himself. Something about Savoy. I couldnât stand to listen. I leaned down and struck him hard across the face.
âWe have to get out of here. Youâve got to snap out of it.â
He shook his head, massaged his cheek, and seemed to recognize me when our eyes met.
âVegeta just needed a moment to rest, but heâll be ready to set out again soon. Heâll put us in tanks again if we fall behind.â
âRaditzâŠwhere are we?â
I took a deep breath and turned my back to him before I could curse in his face. âFucking gods damn it all,â I ground out. âShit. Fuck. Canât fucking take this anymore. Canât fucking do it.â All of us were mad in our own way, and our next assignment would end in disaster. And all I had was I knife I couldnât use, empty scouter chips, and connections who meant me more harm than anything else. Vegeta had been right about one thingâthe gods wouldnât help us either. They never had.
âNappa,â I said, facing him again, âonce we leave, weâre going to go through your things and get rid of whatever is left of that drug. Let me do it, or Vegeta will.â
He frowned. Perhaps he hadnât even understood. Better, then, if he was too far gone to interfere.
âJust follow me, all right?â I took him by the arm. âItâs just a cleansing assignment we took from Cui. Thereâs not much left. We just have to finish up and leave.â
âWhereâs Vegeta?â
âDown that way. Found some survivors and took care of them.â
His brow knotted after he tapped his scouter. Another tap. âHeâs gone.â
Fucking gods, I refused to utter aloud. âOf course he is.â I locked onto his energy before he could fly too far ahead. âWeâve got to go.â
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đŁENDER đŠOUNDS !
pairing : rick grimes x reader warnings : petnames, injury, implied age gap, lowk ooc wc : 1.2k
the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows through the dimly lit room. the aftermath of the dayâs skirmish hung in the air - a tension that mixed with the smell of antiseptic. you leaned against the wall, cradling your injured arm close to your body, wincing every time you shifted. it felt like the weight of the world had settled on your shoulders, and you couldnât shake the feeling of vulnerability that came with it.
âhey,â rickâs voice broke through your thoughts, soft but commanding. he stepped into the room, his brow furrowed with concern as he took in the sight of you. âhowâre you holdinâ up?â
you shrugged, trying to play it off. âitâs just a scratch, rick. iâll be fine.â
he crossed the room in a few long strides, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of discomfort. âyou sure about that, sweetheart? looks worse than just a scratch to me.â
you rolled your eyes but felt your cheeks flush at the pet name. âi said iâm fine.â
âright,â he said, unconvinced, and gently reached out to examine your arm. his fingers brushed against your skin, and you shivered at the unexpected tenderness. âwe need to clean this up.â
âdo we have to?â you protested, instinctively pulling back. âi can do it myself.â
ânot a chance,â he replied firmly but softened at the edges. âlet me take care of you, okay? just this once.â
his gentle insistence caught you off guard. you wanted to argue, to insist you could handle it alone, but something in the way he looked at you, mixed with that tone of voice, made you reconsider. maybe it was the weariness from the day or the comfort of his presence that made you relent. you sighed, letting your arm drop slightly, and nodded.
âfine,â you muttered, a hint of defeat in your voice.
rick smiled, a mixture of relief and affection flashing across his face. âgood girl.â his words hung in the air for a second, and your heart skipped a beat. a warm flush crept up your cheeks, and you felt heat radiate through your body. rickâs gaze sharpened, a teasing glint in his eyes. âyou like that?â he asked, a smirk tugging at his lips. you opened your mouth to respond, but the embarrassment made you falter, and you could only manage a shy nod. âcute,â he said, his voice low and playful, clearly enjoying your reaction. the playful banter lightened the mood, and you felt a mix of flattery and bashfulness wash over you. he reached for a clean cloth, wetting it with some water before carefully dabbing it against your wound. you flinched, the sting causing you to bite your lip, but rickâs hand was steady and reassuring.
âsorry,â he murmured, his brow furrowing slightly as he concentrated. âi know it hurts. just a little longer, and then youâll feel better.â
you watched him as he worked, surprised by how gentle he was. it was a side of him you hadnât seen much - this nurturing instinct that shone through in the way he handled you. âi didnât think you were the type to play nurse,â you almost whispered lightly, trying to break the thin layer of tension.
he chuckled softly, not looking up from his task. âainât that something? but youâre worth it, you know? canât have you gettinâ worse on my watch.â his voice was warm, the sincerity in his words making your heart flutter.
as he finished cleaning the wound, he began to wrap it in a bandage, his movements careful and deliberate. âthere we go. all fixed up. you feeling okay, sweetheart?â he said, his eyes sparkling with pride. âyouâre a whole lot tougher than you look.â
âthank you, rick.â you replied, your voice softening, a shyness to your tone. the pet names rolled off his tongue like they were second nature, and you found yourself warming at the way he treated you.Â
âyou just focus on resting now, alright?â he said, standing up straight and looking down at you with a protective gaze. âiâll take care of the rest.â
âyouâre not going to let me do anything, are you?â you said with a smile.
ânot a chance,â he replied, crossing his arms over his chest, a playful challenge in his eyes. âitâs what iâm here for, darlinâ. no arguments.â
you felt a flutter of warmth at his unwavering determination. there was a comfort in allowing him to take the lead, to let him be the one to shield you from the harshness of the world outside. âfine, iâll be your patient for now,â you conceded, leaning back against the wall, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over you.
rick settled beside you, his presence solid and reassuring. âgood choice,â he said with a grin. âjust know that if anyone messes with you again, theyâll have to answer to me.â
âyou really think you can take them all on?â you teased, feeling a bit more at ease.
âi ainât worried about that,â he replied, a hint of confidence in his voice. âjust donât push yourself too hard, alright? let me help.â
you nodded, appreciating the way he cared for you. it was a new feeling, being treated with such gentleness, and as you sat together, you felt the tension ease from your body. maybe letting him take care of you wasnât so bad after all.
ârick,â you said softly, glancing at him. âi didnât think youâd be so⊠gentle.â
he turned to you, a curious look in his eyes. âwhyâs that?â
âi donât know,â you shrugged, your voice almost a whisper. âyou just seem so⊠tough.â
âi can be tough and still care, you know?â he replied, his tone serious but laced with warmth. âjust âcause iâm a leader doesnât mean i canât look out for the people i care about.â
his words struck a chord within you, and you felt a rush of emotion at the honesty in his voice. âyou really do care, donât you?â
âof course i do,â he said, his gaze steady. âyouâre important to me. itâs why i canât stand to see you hurt. makes me feel⊠helpless.â
you swallowed hard, feeling a lump in your throat. âiâm sorry for making you worry.â
âdonât apologise,â he said firmly, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. âjust take care of yourself, ând iâll be here to help. always.â
the tenderness in his touch sent shivers down your spine, and for a moment, everything else faded away. it was just the two of you in that small room, and in that moment, you felt an overwhelming sense of safety. âthank you, rick. really.â
âanytime, sweetheart,â he replied, giving you a small smile. âjust know that youâre not alone in this. iâve got your back.â
as the moments passed, you found yourself leaning into him, seeking comfort in his warmth. rick wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. âyou need to rest, you know? iâll keep watch,â he murmured, his voice low and soothing.
âiâll try,â you said, your eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion took over. his presence was comforting, a protective barrier against the world outside.
âgood,â he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. âyouâre safe here.â
and in that moment, with rick by your side, you felt more secure than you ever had. you knew that whatever happened next, you could face it together.
đ rick grimes : @notacleangirl, @v3lv3tf0x, @lemoanaid, @starpix
taglist form linked in pinned post :3
#jay writes!#rick grimesđ#rick grimes#rick grimes x reader#rick grimes smut#rick grimes fic#rick grimes fluff#rick grimes fanfiction#judith grimes#twd#the walking dead#andrew lincoln smut#andrew lincoln x reader#rick grimes x you#rick grimes imagine#michonne#andrew lincoln
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Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader
đ Masterlist
Chapter 24:Â The Devil At Your Back
Content warning:Â Angst, vivid dream, wounds, blood, slightly suggestive.
đ Songs for this chapter:
House Of Self-Undoing - Chelsea Wolfe Bad Weather - Stomper (feat. Lucy Tops)
* * * * *
Chapter 23
* * * * *
Youâre nine years old, and the catâs fur beneath your hand is soft. It purrs affectionately as your tiny fingers trail its velvety coat, feeling the rounded bumps that make up its spine. You laugh softly, smiling, as it comes toâ
A hand shoves into your hair and yanks you back. Your shuffling feet try to run, try to pull away, but your scalp is screaming. A cry pours out while your fatherâs face appears. The skin sagging at his neck wobbles with each angry exhale.
Hands that should protect take away so much.
âYou stupid, useless girl! I should have had sons to carry this clanâs weight. Instead, Iâm cursed with two fucking daughters!â
Crack!
The strike hits your cheek with a stinging burn, forcing your watering eyes shut. When they blink open, you suck in a breath. Your sister stands before you in the corridor, in the shrine.
âSister, itâs time to go.â She extends a hand.
You reach for it but stop and look down.
A bone-white kimono with dark blue edges hangs around you. Matching him. The thing youâll be bound to.
âNo. I canât. I canât do this.â
You step back.
She smiles softly, taking your hand, skin to skin.
âItâs okay,â she whispers. âYou must stay. You have to do this.â
No!
Somewhere, a babyâs cries reach your ears. You snap your head to the sound. It wails as if it were in pain. It wails as if it were frightened.Â
Make it stop.
It doesnât stop.
You shut your eyes andâÂ
Blink.
Opening them, your sister is gone.Â
Down the darkened corridor, you start to walk, your body heavy, disoriented, not your own.
Reaching the end of the passage, thereâs a door. You slide it open, a little ajar and slip in sideways.
Inside the room, is a futon, and there in the center of it lies your mother, split open, guts spilling from her swollen belly, eyes flickering, breath fast and shallow. She looks at you, mouth trembling, eyes wide, shock all over her face. A cry takes you over as she melts in a rupture of crimson meat and bone.
Nothing more than a pile. Nothing more than rot.
Somewhere, that baby still cries, and no one comforts it.
Blink.
Thereâs a glow on the horizon, and somethingâs burnâ
Screaming. Homes on fire. People running in all directions. Bodies, so many bodies, some partially eaten, and others not. The scent of blood, searing fat and skin clogs your throat.
Blink.
From behind, four hands slide across your stomach, a black band encircling the wrists. One climbs to your breasts, another to your cunt, the next slowly comes to wrap around your throat, while the last presses flush to your abdomen.
âLet me see you.â A deep rumbling voice at your back, warm breath on your neck, before a hot tongue licks a path to your ear. âLet me see you, my winter flower.â
A nudge along the side of your throat before teeth sink in, breaking skin and muscle. Blood rolls down your neck to shoulder, soaking your yukata red. It doesnât hurt. If anything, thereâs only pleasure.
Leaning back into touch, into warmth and solidity, you moan, something denied for so long.
âSukuna.â Your breathless voice reaches him, and fingers squeeze harder, gently choking you.
At your back, the King of Curses groans, shoving his face deeper into the wound heâs made, licking, sucking, trying to swallow skin andâ
The air suddenly splits, breaks, and falls apart on a sensation that sends the whole world vibrating.Â
Blink.
Walking with dirt on your feet, cool grass between your toes, you turn, pace, turn again.
âI killed herâŠâ
You turn, pace, turn again.
âI killed herâŠâ
Turn, pace, turn again, lift your head.Â
Death is here.
Itâs going to kill me.
A flame opens and slithers across your eyes. Muscles tense, muscles straining.
Red everywhere.
Thatâs all there is.
Red, red, redâ
âOi, brat! Time to wake up!â
CRACK!
âMother!â you scream, pushing your body up, hearing the sound echo off the stone walls of the dark overhang.
Panting, your breaths arrive in short, small gasps, chest heaving, the world around you a blur.
Breathe.
You do.
Breathe again.
You do, and then blink.
Itâs strange, but you must still be lingering between sleep and waking because four glowing eyes hover close, staring into your tear-streaked face.
But youâre not. Youâre awake.
Sukuna crouches beside your mat, his upper right hand planted on the ground next to your hip, massive body leaning in, almost framing you, close enough for his warmth to seep in. The firelight from the dying coals silhouettes him, casting a small glow across the dim shelter.
Itâs late, you realizeâstill the middle of the night.Â
âWhatâs going on?â you rasp, finally coming to.
You hate waking like this. Screaming. But at least being awake means no dreams. Awake means no nightmares. Just⊠looking into the King of Cursesâ face.
âMy Lord,â you whisper, staring at him, eyes squinting slightly. âWhat are you doing?â
How long has he been next to you? And why does this feel familiar?
Sukuna pulls back a bit, staring down at you. Even crouching, he looms so tall that you must tilt your head back to meet his gaze.
âYou were crying out in your sleep,â he grumbles flatly, clicking his tongue. âYou know how I feel about that. It disturbed my rest.â
A sudden weight presses around your neck. His energy. It drags over it like a phantom handâlike in your dream, and it leaves a surprising amount of goosebumps in its wake, making you shudder softly, though not entirely out of disgust.
Far from it.
Sukunaâs scarlet orbs drift down, lingering on your throat and chest, then lower.
âAlso, this fell.â
Swallowing a thick knot, your eyes drop to his second pair of hands, where he lifts your crumpled blanket from the ground and tosses it carelessly into your lap. Then he stands, rounds the fire and returns to his mat, settling himself with a glance at the dying flames. Quietly, he lies down, propping his upper arms behind his head, eyes drifting to the stone ceiling. After a moment, he turns onto his side, offering you his back.
You canât help but watch him as the nightmare stays fresh in your mindâthe look on your motherâs anguished face.
Leaning into a slouch, you wipe the dampness from your eyes, your nose stinging as fresh tears threaten to escape.
Was that what she looked like before you took her life? The dread that was there, the betrayal, the fear on her face.
Your heart begins to pound.
Why canât you remember how that night unfolded? Not that you want to, but still. Itâs all a blank space, forgotten and stripped away. Perhaps for good reason.
Because in that dream, she looked terrified.
A tremor runs through your hands. Throat thick, palms slick. The beating muscle in your chest pulses faster and faster.
Instinctively, you dig your index fingernail into the cuticle of your thumb, hoping the pain will ground you, but itâs useless.
Thankfully, there are still a few sticks near the fire. Needing a distraction, you lean forward, pick one up and push it into the coals. Sparks flutter up, the tip glowing a faint red.Â
Better.
With your mind beginning to settle, you grab a bit of moss, pressing and rolling it between your fingers. Itâs still damp, giving off an earthy smell. Fingertips pushing in more, you explore the textureâsoft but slightly coarse, cold against your skinâuntil, all at once, it fades.
You stop and look down.
The tuft blackens in your handsâlush green fading to a putrid brown, then a brittle gray. Tiny tendrils shrivel up, curling and recoiling from your touch.
âWhat the⊠hellâŠâ you breathe.
Hands flying apart, you quickly drop it to the ground, watching it disintegrate into dust on the stone floor.
Lifeless.
Panting softly, thereâs a scent that creeps into your nose. One, you know well.
Rot.
Your eyes move to your fingers, and your heart trips over a beat.
The tips up to the knuckles are a bruising colour, with thin, web-like veins spreading from the cuticles, branching unevenly. It looks as if a creeping blight infects your skin.Â
You rub your fingers together, scraping a nail along the surface. The sensation is still there, reassuring you that you arenât decaying, that the flesh isnât dead. Another rake, and gradually, the discoloration fades, your skin returning to normal.
Youâve never done anything like that before. Killing animals⊠people, yes, but plants? And it happened so quickly, with no sense of restraint.
The rocky walls of the overhang suddenly feel choking.
You rise quietly, moving smoothly despite the wobbly feeling in your legs, and walk past Sukuna. Judging by his stillness, he must have fallen asleep.
At the mouth of the hollow stone, you stop, needing air to steady yourself, feeling too out of control in your own body.
Tipping your head back, the clouds from the downpour are gone, leaving only the sky and its inky black curve and stars. You admire it for a moment, but the expanse and the moon sitting lonely overhead stir a familiar ache.
At this moment, you crave your motherâs presence, her comfort.
Dropping your gaze, you spot Ayanaâs white-dappled coat in the dark. She rests beside Sukunaâs horse, whose massive form nearly engulfs hers. The two creatures stand so close that their nearness brings a small sense of ease.
Keeping your hands in tight fists, careful not to touch, you step toward her and rest your forehead against the soft surface of her neck. Her ears flick, and she lowers her head, sensing your tension, and gives a gentle nudge.
A trace of a smile tries to form on your lips, but it doesnât quite settle.
Warmth suddenly flares at the bend of your neckâwhether intentional or not, malicious or notâyour eyes drift shut. You know Sukuna is not asleep but quietly watching you from behind.
You stay like this for a while until you sense him withdraw, and eventually, you do the same.
Turning, you move back to the shelter, catching his lower eyes as you pass but saying nothing. When you reach your mat, you glance down at the remnants of the moss once more.
Youâll have to worry about it later; there are other priorities above your own.
Sister, protector, tool.
Lying down, you pull the blanket over your body as the space falls into stillness. Only the soft hiss of the crumbling embers remain, lulling you back into drowsiness.
Your eyes shut.
A flicker of your motherâs dying face presses against your eyelids.
You snap them open.
âLord Sukuna?â you suddenly murmur.
Silence follows, but then you hear him shift.
âWhat?â he grunts, sounding annoyed.
You pause, rolling to your side to take in his profile, the right side of his face, his mask. You still canât quite place what it is.
âI never did thank you for the mare,â you say quietly, watching him focus on the stone ceiling.
The fire hisses again as it cools.
âThank youâŠâ you continue, the words sincere yet hesitant. âSheâs perfect⊠and Iâll treasure her forever.â
The embers release one last dying breath.
His lower right eye slowly falls over at you. The upper one joins it a heartbeat later.
Even in the black, with only a pocket of waning glow, you catch the corner of his mouth twitching into the softest smirk youâve ever seen on him.
Your foolish heart aches at the sight, and you mentally kick that feeling into some dark corner.
âGet some rest, brat,â he mumbles, rolling onto his side again. âYouâll need it for tomorrow.â
Pulling the blanket up, it takes a long time before you realize the corners of your mouth are curving into a smile. Smothering it, you roll onto your side, mirroring his back, and drift into a dreamless sleep.
* * * * *
The late afternoon sun hangs low in the sky when you and the King of Curses finally ride into the Kasai compound. Yesterday's weather delayed your journey, and when you arrive, the place is already bright with activity.
Peopleâfamily members, guests, attendants, other clans. Thereâs so much noise, so much chatter. Laughter, singing, jeering. If you listen closely, you can even catch the occasional shameless moan of a man enjoying himself a bit too openly with his concubine.
Itâs going to be a long night.
Your eyes wander ahead, trying to decipher what Sukuna might be thinking. When you woke this morning, he was already upâless agitated but still contemplative. His energy seemed more subdued, enough that even Ayana allowed him to water and feed her.
Something has shifted on your journey, though you canât quite name it. Perhaps it was the time away from the shrine or the moments spent alone.
But the sense of something being broken between you two remains.
Thereâs also a nagging voice inside insisting that something is wrong despite the countless reasons that could explain it.
As you approach the stables, you watch him closely. He surveys the surroundingsâthe gaudy estate, the limestone barrier, the tops of the yew trees forming the grove along the perimeterâstudying everything in great detail before finally turning his attention to the stables.
Inside, retainers and attendants mill about, drinking and chatting as they tend to a slew of horsesâlikely their way of passing the time while whoever theyâre here with spends the day getting properly shitfaced.
But as you enterâmore precisely, as he entersâeverything comes to a standstill.
You expected Sukuna to draw attentionâhis reputation, appearance, energy. Today is no exception. As you ride further inside, every weary eye falls on the four-armed creature. Then those eyes shift to you. And any hope of going unnoticed while here, gone.
Your jaw tightens, muscles coiling.
When Sukuna dismounts, the stables fall into a cage of silence, broken only by the restless movements of the tethered horses. They sway and knock their hooves in agitation as conversations die to murmurs. It almost feels like that night seven years ago when deranged whispers spoke of a demonâs arrival in the north.
Now, that same demon is here again, but this time, heâs among them.
Sukunaâs red orbs sweep the stables, making most avert their eyes, a few bow their heads, and some turn away completely.Â
âFucking fools.â A deep cackle erupts from his chest, and from atop Ayana, you spot a grin sneaking across his faceïżœïżœïżœpleased with their fear and likely pleased with himself.
Hell, this is going to be a long night.
With one last twisted flash of his teeth and a glare that skewers the onlookers, he turns, pushes back the strands of his wind-tousled hair and locks eyes with you.
One side of his mouth curves up smoothly. This man is a terror, but damn it, you were so blind before, only seeing the cruelty in his face. Terrifying, even.
Now, you couldnât deny itâyou see what else he isâbreathtakiâ
Gods, fucking take me.Â
Large hands slide around your waist, fingers crowding into the curve of your spine as he lifts you from the saddle.
âOy! I can dismount on my own!â you snap, feet thudding into the hay-covered floor.
Disregarding your protests, Sukuna draws you in until his mouth brushes your ear, a stream of warm breath tickling your skin. Inwardly, you curse yourself because, for a moment, your eyes flutter at the contact.
âRemember, we made a deal,â he murmurs, voice low, just for you. âWeâre here now, and I want that name.â
Your heart pounds.
Impatient.
Youâd barely touched solid ground, and heâs pressing for it already? What will he do once you give it upâor if he drags it from you? Though you might know the answer to this, and itâs bloody.
You turn, finding his face close to yours. Instinct makes you lean back, but he cocks his eyebrow and hauls you closer, unfolding to his height and gripping your wrist.
âDonât make this harder for yourself,â he growls through his teeth, digging his fingertips into your skin until it hurts. âYou may think you see me, but you have no idea what Iâm capable of.â
âLord Sukuna, in case youâve forgotten, Iâve lived in these parts the entire time youâve been destroying them,â you hiss quietly while flexing the hand he grips. âSo I know exactly what youâre capable of.â
Or most of it.
Youâre not sure you want to know the rest.
The pressure on your wrist increases while his jaw tightens as if he were gnashing your words around with his teeth.
âYes. And isnât fate just a cruel bitch that you were?â
Your nose wrinkles at his words.
âLord Sukuna!â
Multiple footsteps thud inside the stables, and a loud, boisterous voice draws your and the King of Cursesâ attention.
âWelcome!â
One of your fatherâs attendants steps forward and bows, lifting her head. Despite her magnanimous welcome, thereâs a nervousness in her eyes.
âPlease, this way.â She gestures toward the stony path leading away from the stables. âAnd my Lady, your father will expect to see you before you settle in.â
Great.
âAll right. Thank you,â you reply.
She steps outside, leaving two other attendants to handle your trunks and tether the horses. Sukuna glances once more at the two mounts as if assessing them before stepping onto the path.
Following the attendant, she leads you through a screen of hedges. The route winding discreetly along the estateâs perimeter, skirting the front gardens and leading into the compound. No doubt sheâs been instructed to bring you inside through quieter means, a poor attempt to keep the King of Curses out of sight as much as possible.
Once inside, the attendant brings you to a secluded room. Bowing once more, she slides the door open. You follow Sukuna inside, kneeling on the floor as the door closes behind you, sealing in the quiet, leaving you both to wait.
Seconds stretch into minutes. Minutes feel like an eternity. Your mind starts pacing like a chained dog. Every soundâfootsteps passing by, distant drunken laughterâsets you on edge.
You pick at your gloves and shift your posture, knees bent, feet tucked underneath you.
âYouâre tense,â Sukuna points out. Your eyes peek over at his relaxed stance. âAny stiffer, and youâre bound to snap in half like a twig.â
He sinks back into his lean, sitting casually, his upper arms resting at his sides, one knee bent, and his lower arm draped over it, fingers tapping idly.
âIâm fine,â you say, squirming to find a more comfortable position.
Sukuna huffs.
âIdiot.â
More time trickles by, and under your growing impatience, you begin to warm. The multiple layers of clothing draw sweat to the surface of your skin. You move your hands to your cloak, ready to remove it, when fingers clamp around your wrist and pull them away.
âLeave it,â Sukuna growls.
You shoot him a bewildered look, preparing to utter a curse at him, but he jerks his head to the door, listening intently, straining for something just out of reach. Youâve seen him do this before, and itâs never a good omen. The last time you saw that expression, a polearm had been hurtling toward you moments later.
Outside the room come soft sounds. Delicate footsteps and a whisper of fabric brushing against the floor.
A pause.
Four red eyes dart back and forth.
The hand at your wrist tightens.
The door slides open, and your sister steps inside. Sukunaâs hand slips away.
âYuna.â A smile spreads across your face, lifting your cheeks until they ache.
âSister!â White silk swishes at her ankles. âYou came.â
Sheâs outfitted in a beautiful pale kimono, and her hair and makeup are perfectly done for the festivities. The gem of the Kasai clan, indeed. Compared to her, after three days on the road, you feel like a ragged, unkempt toad.
Grinning, you start to rise to your feet, ready to go to her and gather her in your arms, but a snag at the back of your cloak holds you in placeâSukunaâs lower right hand. You stop moving. It shifts, sliding up to the top of your spine before trailing slowly down, vertebra by vertebra, until it passes over your obi and settles at the small of your back.
The possessiveness of his touch has a shiver spiralling through you.
Suddenly but carefully, he unfurls himself to his towering height, pulling you up and not letting go.
Yunaâs eyes hover between you and the King of Curses, her expression one of rapt attention.
âHello, my Lord.â She bows formally, eyelashes fluttering. Then she lifts her head, and a graceful smile touches her painted lips. âItâs always lovely to see you.â
Sukuna says nothing.
A horrible silence descends upon the room.
The three of you remain in place.
They stare at each otherâher features unreadable, his a challenging one, head cocking to the side in a sharp, smooth motion.
You feel the muscles in his arm tensing behind you, his fingers gripping the fabric of your garment with more force.
Yunaâs smile widens, eyes brightening with a strange recollection.
And then, ever so softlyâ
âI knew itâŠâ
âAh! My daughter!â Your fatherâs loud announcement cuts through the increasingly crowded room. The pungent scent of alcohol reaches you even from where you stand. âYouâve finally made it. I was getting worried something may have happened to you.â
Lying to your face, how refreshing.
He turns to the King of Curses and bows. Sukuna doesnât return it, making the balance of power unmistakably clear.
At the door, another figure enters, your attention swinging to them.
Onishi, with his swollen face and all.
Hideous bruises snake out from below the cotton strips, trying in vain to hold the nose you had broken into place. It looks hastily treated, an effort to appear decent in public.
A tinge of satisfaction curves your lips.
He moves across the room and takes a spot behind your father, leaning against the wall. His eyes meet yours, glinting probably from the memory of when he had you pinned against the limestone barrier, hands touching your breasts, invading your space. Almost as if reading your thoughts, the bastard gives you a discreet wink.
The fucking audacity.
Your hands curl into fists, leather gloves creaking softly.
Calm down.
Your eyes shift away, only to find Sukuna watching. A quick glance shows his lower eyes trained on you, while the others settle firmly on Onishiâs bruised, crooked face.
Knowing him, heâs bound to piece this together without a word from you.
With more pressure, the hand at your tailbone splays across the small of your back. Surprisingly, it grounds you.
âYuna,â your father says, pulling your attention from the warmth flooding you. âWhy donât you go back to our guests? Iâd like a small word with your sister.â
âOf course.â Yuna bows and heads to the door. Halfway there, she flicks you a look. âIâll find you at some point tonight, all right?â she whispers.
You give her a soft nod.
âOh, and daughter.â Your father adds, making her pause. âSend them in.â
A tight smile replaces her easy one. She leaves, but taking her place are three beautiful women, by their well-kept clothing theyâre attendants orâ
"Our guest should be made comfortable,â your father states, gesturing to the trio before turning his gaze to Sukuna. âTheyâre yours. Do what you wish with them.â
What?
A sour taste churns your stomach.
Sukuna eyes them as they approach. Their pupils odd, blown wide.
âThis way, my Lord,â they chime in unison, coaxing him toward the door.
A sharp, needling sensation splits you sternum to chest, dragging with it an emotion you donât want. Sukunaâs hand slips away from your back, and the entire room seems to stutter as you desperately try to catch his eyes. But he doesnât look your way.
Youâve never been in a relationshipâreal or otherwiseâbut something is there. That sticky, unforgiving emotion that feels like swallowing fire, burning deep and spreading through your body, making your skin prickle with heat.
Jealousy. This is jealousy.
You watch, unable to tear your focus away. Their nimble fingers trace up his arms, gripping his clothing, smoothing it, touching the contours of his muscles. Cooing and preening. One of their fingers skims the ink on his wrist, peeking out from his kimono. And it's that touch, that brief skin-to-skin contact, so simple and insignificant, that stings more than anything else.
He claimed to regret what he did to you when you first met, and now here you are, stumbling all over yourself.
Pathetic.
Look away.
Your eyes shift to your father, who is watching you closely. Is this a test? A trap? A scheme laid out for you to fall into?
Has he charmed you, daughter?
His words ring out inside your head.
So what if he had? What ifâ
No.
But deep down, you knew you were well and truly fucked. This monster has started taking that tiny sliver from you that you once promised youâd never surrender.
A sudden urge to laugh squeezes your lungs fiercely.
One of the women giggles, and Sukunaâs mouth pulls into a sneer.
Say something.
âWeâll give you a bath, my Lord.â Another of them hums, making your heart lurch while they pull him towards the door.
Do something.
Brows pinched, Sukuna leaves, his upper arms folded across his chest while the lower ones hang at his sides, the women clinging to him like parasites.
A glance back and four fiery orbs find yours, brimming with intimidating annoyance, deepening the crease above your nose.
âIâll see to you after,â he says, giving you a sidelong glance before he steps from the room, the women trailing closely behind.
âHe probably wonât fit in the bath. My Lordâs body is too big,â one of them complains, their voices fading down the corridor.
âPerhaps we can use our mouths instead.â
More tittering, more giggles.
The door falls shut.
You stare at the spot he just stood for too long, long enough to hear your father clear his throat. You lift your eyes, pushing away those raw, unwanted emotions, though the place where he had touched your back still burns.
Focus.
You straighten.
Your father scrubs his jaw, his attention settling on you, and you keep your expression neutral. No cracks, nothing.
Onishi, still leaning against the wall, retrieves an object from his kimono to fiddle with. It's small, a box, and fits perfectly in his palm. He rotates it repeatedly, each side catching the light as it turns, his eyes never leaving yours. For some reason, youâre certain he must not have told your father about your encounter weeks ago; otherwise, you would have been reprimanded by now.
As he turns the object again, you notice the sides are decorated with hooded slits.
He turns it over again.
And again.
Andâ
âWell.â Your fatherâs voice pulls your focus back to him. âYouâre here, and you managed to bring the creature with you. Well done.â
He pauses.
You can hear the unspoken words:Â Lured the creature here.
Thereâs a genuine smile on his face, as if, for the first time in his life, heâs proud of you.
Proud of you.
The thought leaves you conflicted because thereâs another look there, one thatâs not entirely tinged with contempt but carries a glimmer of care, as if heâs seeing you differently.
âYou have your extra month,â he grants. âYour sister is safe once again.â
Itâs a simple statement that should bring relief. A long time ago, you might have leapt at that look, like a dog waiting for scraps of affection. But now, all you feel is numbness.
âThank you, Father.â The words carry no real sentiment.
You bow, and he smiles.
âGood. Now go.â He flicks two fingers toward the door. âGet washed up and dressed. And donât forget to enjoy yourself.â His hawkish eyes lock onto you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl with disgust. âFor once, youâve earned it.â
* * * * *
Knock, knock, knock.
âMy Lady? Are you decent?â A female voice calls from the other side of the door.
An hour has passed since you returned to your old chambers to prepare for the festivities.
It didnât take long to bathe, slip into your new kimono, tie your obi, and slide your concealed scabbard into place. The makeup you appliedâpowder, kohlâwas simple, nothing elaborate.
During your time alone, your mind continually replayed the earlier encounter with your sister, the three women, your father, Onishi⊠Sukuna.
Something feels wrong, but youâre unable to slide what that is into place.
Mind churning chaotically, you were in the middle of combing your hair when the knock interrupted your preparation.
Now, as the sun sets, a lantern sits beside you, itâs light flickering on the wooden floor. Red fires the edges of your garment to black.
âYes,â you call out. âYou may enter.â
Resting your hands on your thighs, comb in hand, your eyes shift to the door.
It slides open.
One of the women from earlier stands there, anxious, chin cast down. Your mouth twitches with barely concealed disappointment. She bows and quickly steps aside.
The King of Curses steps unexpectedly into view, blackening the doorway, his eyes locking onto you kneeling on the floor.
âOh, Lord Sukuna.â You rise, the clack of your footwear echoing on wood.
A soft bow of your head, then you lift it. Heâs dressed in colours matching yours: a deep, muted purple kimono, like a swollen bruise, nearly black, painful in its intensity, and perfectly moulded to him. Your gaze drops to his waistâhis obi is a burnt umber, again, like yours, though his attire is stark, without embroidery. One more glance shows his hair swept back, all controlled chaos.
His eyes rake over you from head to toe, a muscle in his neck pulsing. At his side, all four of his hands tense, then release, as if he were restraining the urge to use them for something.
Itâs hard to breathe when he looks at you like thisâhungry. He is hungry.
âLeave,â he orders, flicking a hand dismissively at the woman. She bows and retreats, eager to put space between herself and him.
Without tearing his eyes away from you, Sukuna steps inside and shuts the door, dimming the room, making his scarlet eyes glow in the low light.
âContinue.â He grins, nodding his chin at the comb in your hand, then circles you.
Watching him, you sink back to the floor, resuming your kneeling posture and sliding the comb through your hair. His mouth twitches as he observes. This close, you catch the clean scent of himâno blood or ash, but something fresh. Cypress, perhaps.
âDid you need something, my Lord?â you ask quietly as he steps away, choosing to scrutinize your room in far greater detail than youâd like.
âDo I need a reason to see my wife?â He pulls a scroll lined with poetry from the shelf, inspects it, and makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a scoff before sliding it back. âBesides, I told youâyouâre not leaving my side.â
But you did.
The image of the trio of women taking him into their mouths flashes through your subconscious. Anger has you pulling the comb through your hair with more force.
He glances over, catching your expression before you can look away.
âNo, you donât need a reason. I just thought perhaps you would be too preoccupied with other company,â you say, striving to keep the bitterness out of your voice. But itâs there.
The comb continues to move, your fingers following it.
A calm settles over the room, broken only by the soft crackle of the lantern's flame, until Sukuna chuckles. The sound breaks the silence, swelling into loud, insidious laughter that makes your teeth click together.
âYou really are fucking stupid, you know that?â He steps around and comes to stand in front of you, the earlier grin on his face gone. âYou can barely see whatâs right in front of you, even when itâs still. Itâs pathetic!â
You glare at him, the comb stilling in your hand before you set it aside and look away.
âI see just fine,â you mumble, picking up a hairpin with a pearl inlay.
Sukuna sinks to his haunches. Two fingers slide slowly across the underside of your chin, hooking and guiding your face to his.
âOh, she sees just fine, does she?â he mocks, cruelly mimicking your voice.
A weight settles on your chest while your body silently begs you to turn away from him.
âShe sees everything? Even what hides in plain sight?â he continues, then pauses.
Three heartbeats later, he tilts his head, squinting at you as his expression shifts from pity to seething hatred. The sudden flare of anger in his eyes disarms you.
âNo⊠thatâs not it, is it?â His gaze narrows, searching for something you canât comprehend.
The air between you tightens.
Jabbing his fingertips into your chin, he forces you to straighten and lean toward him, so you must brace a hand against the floor between his knees.
âThere are so many hooks in youâŠâ he rumbles quietly, his thumb crawling up to smooth over the swell of your cheek. âSo many pulling, all at once.â
He traces up to your temple, applying more pressure. Nervousness climbs into your throat, but despite it, you roughly pull your chin from his grip.
âWhat are you even rambling about?â you mutter.
A split breaks between his eyebrow and mask and his hands fall to his sides.
He clicks his tongue in agitation.
âNothing, brat,â he grumbles, before reaching into his obi and suddenly pulling out a pear.
You quirk an eyebrow at it.
He takes a bite, the juice glistening on his lips as he leans back, letting go of your jaw.
You sit up straight, readjusting your posture.
âWhereâd you get that from?â you ask, hands reaching to the crown of your head to part the silky strands of hair and twist a section, weaving the hairpin through it.
Sukuna moves to lean against the wall.
âThe kitchen,â he replies, tracking your hands and the precise movements of your fingers. âI was hungry.â
As always.
He takes another bite.
âSo, youâre just walking around here like you own the place?â
âAnyone who sees me coming usually shits themselves. Here, with all your kin wandering around, itâs easy enough to get a simple piece of fruit.â
Of course, theyâre afraid. Heâs been eating and killing them for years.
Another bite.
âI can understand why,â you say, letting your eyes trail down the length of his body.
His teeth flash.
âNearly two months at my shrine, and my wife is still frightened of me?â he asks, amused.
Your eyes dart away, focusing ahead as the cool texture of the pin grazes your scalp.
âYour appearance⊠no.â
Your actions, yes.
With the hairpin in place, you reach for your comb and draw a few strands forward to frame your faceâor to shield yourself.
âOh? If my appearance doesnât scare you, perhaps you'd like to share your thoughts about it.â
After tapping the pin one last time to ensure itâs secure, you lower your hands to your lap and glance over at him. The piece of fruit already eaten and gone.
âYou want to know what I think about⊠your appearance?â You arch an eyebrow, features folding into soft confusion.
He crosses his upper arms over his chest, tapping a finger impatiently as he waits for an answer.
âYouâreâŠâ
A pause. He taps again.
Youâre unwilling to admit how heâs begun to haunt you, how heâs slipping into your dreams, your thoughts, and worse into yourâ
âYouâre adequate, my Lord.â
His chest swells, as if heâs about to burst into laughter, and you quickly turn away, grabbing your dark leather gloves from the floor.
âAdequate.â His voice fades into a condescending chuckle.
Through the curtain of hair, you see him push away from the wall and step toward you.
âIs that truly the grand assessment my wife can offer? Adequate?â He bends slightly. âBut perhaps 'adequate' suits you just as well.â
You scoff.
âAnd here I thought I was uglier than you expected,â you mumble, fiddling with one glove as you slide it on, trying not to relive the first words he ever spoke to you.
Sukuna leans in further, forcing you to look up.
âI lied,â he hisses in your face, eyes flaring wide.
âWhat?â You shoot him an exasperated glare as you get to your feet.
For reasons you canât quite place, your instinct is to punch him in the throat, knee him in the cocks, curse him into oblivionâand judging by the smirk growing on his face, the bastard knows it.
âTch, donât look at me like that.â His orbs brighten, as if this reaction brings him pleasure. âYour fragile emotions are so easy to fuck with.â
Another scoff. You start slipping on your second glove.
âThenââ You donât know why youâre asking, but the words come out. Maybe some self conscious part of you just wants to know, even from him. âWhat⊠do you think of me?â
His grin falters, and you avert your gaze, a flush of embarrassment shading your features at how vain you sound.
âNever mind, donât answer that.â One last soft tug, and the leather fits snugly over your fingers.
Sukuna steps closer, exhaling sharply.
You turn back to face him.
His lower eyes stare at your hands.
âYouâreââ
âA sickness?â Your barb interrupts him.
âFucking trouble,â he growls roughly, stepping closer. The palm of his upper left hand moves to your waist and slides to your obi, making you jump at the contact
âA nuisance.â Softer this time. His fingertips slip beneath, finding the scabbard hidden there.
âSomething unexpected.â The pads of his fingers trace over it slowly, his four eyes following the movement as if mesmerized.
âPerhaps⊠something pleasant.â His voice turns to a deep purr, and when his hooded eyes lift, your cheeks threaten to warm. Then, with a flick of two fingers against the scabbard, a sharp sting jolts your abdomen. You wince. Itâs such a subtle tap, yet it carries so much force. Grinning, he thumps it again before pulling back and striding to the door.
âCome.â He slides it open and steps out, demeanour turning severe. âItâs time to go.â
A heavy exhale punches past your lips.
Spilling into the corridor, you watch Sukuna step into the throat of the right passage instead of the left, the one that would discreetly shuffle you into the festivities.
âWhere are you going?â you ask wearily.
He stops and glances over his shoulder at you, then to the left corridor.
Understanding washes over him.
âYou expect me to sneak in there?â He turns, his face twisting into one of annoyance. âIs that what you expect of me?âÂ
âNo,â you say.
It's less about him and more about yourselfâan unwillingness to face all those judgmental eyes leering at you. The last time you were here, the insults and gawking looks had been draining.
Demonâs whore. Cunt. Oni bitch.
âAh, I see.â Sukuna folds his lower arms at his torso. âThe little snake is afraid.â
Your mouth twitches.
He gives you a mocking pout, then raises his upper right arm.
âLeftââ A finger points down the corridor ahead. ââand you can sneak in like a mutt, with your tail tucked between your legs. Or, you can go rightââ Another finger points toward the passage where loud voices trickle out. ââand walk through those insects with your head held high.â
Doubt creeping in, you glance to the corridor on the right. The idea of stepping into the heart of the hall feels daunting. Years of being cast aside and mistreated keep you from doing something so rash.
But perhaps, just this once, you will be brave.
Eyes glittering, you look back at Sukuna.
He lifts his eyebrow.
âItâs your choice.â
My choice.
For so long, choices have felt like sand passing through your fingers, never truly yours.
Elusive. False.
A persuasion to live a life that isnât your own.
With a controlled inhale, you lift your head and incline your chin. Your sandals tap softly as you step toward him, choosing right.
You pause.
âItâs only proper for you to go first, my Lord.â
Tradition dictates that men of his status lead the way, and you to follow. Yet the King of Curses steps behind you, bending down to lean over your shoulder.
âMhm, no,â he husks calmly. âI prefer the view from here.â
A hand gently pushes into your hair, pulling the strands back to your shoulder and exposing the scar he left on your neck.
A reminder.
âIâd hate to miss the look on everyoneâs face when they see you, of all people, march in there like you own the place.â He pauses, hand moving, he traces your nape with a finger before circling the bone at the base of your neck. âThe dutiful daughter, the shadow of the Kasai clanââ
A beat.
âThe one given to me so willingly.â
The hair lifts on the back of your neck.
Your eyes dart to him, catching the smirk in his voice.
The nagging voice in your head cuts through, louder this time, screaming that something is deeply wrong.
His other hand moves, curling under your chin and tilting your face up to meet his scarlet eyes.
âBesides,â he hums arrogantly. âIâll be right behind you.â
* * * * *
All caught up! I hope you enjoyed the story so far. Next chapter expected November 25.
#sukuna x you#sukuna x reader#dark content#heian sukuna#beneath the silk#dark fantasy#jjk fanfic#sukuna smut#true form sukuna#sukuna fanfic
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Sitting in a coffee shop, enjoying your nice cup of brew with your laptop open, typing up some report for someone, you've forgotten who, until a girl sits opposite you on the table, her dark dress flowing magnificently as she takes a seat. Crossing her legs and smiling at you while reaching over to close your laptop so you'll look at her.
"Hi, my name's Beth, and yours is...?" The confidence she exudes seems to be so effortless yet carefully crafted. You study her clean, shining face for an emotion, but all you get is suave calmness, smiling over at you.
You stutter out your name to her, and she lets out a small laugh. "You don't have to be so tightly wound, you know. Let's have a break, shall we?" You notice she's not holding a drink or anything, which confuses you for a second before she snaps her fingers. "Eyes up here, please~" she asks. However, it feels more like an order with how punctuating her words were.
You stare up at her. Were her eyes always so... purple? "Contact lenses. They're pretty, aren't they?" You nod. You hadn't seen something so nice in a very long time. It was like they sparkled in the light of the shop, keeping your eyes staring. The importance of her lack of coffee or your laptop being pushed aside takes a backseat in your head as she speaks to you. "You know, you really need to focus on what's important,"
she smirks as you look at her sparkling eyes. They're so... animated with her speech. "Like me. A pretty girl sits across from you, and you don't even look up until she's made herself known? You should pay me back for all that lost attention." You nod, your head feeling heavier than usual. "And you know. It's only polite to focus on someone sitting with you~" her eyes get a little smaller for a second with her grin. "Isn't that right?"
"It's... polite to focus..." You say, sounding almost far away from the table, your head in another world as you keep staring at those wonderfully enchanting eyes. "It's... right." The words feel worlds apart. Your lips slur, like you've just had one too many drinks.
"Come on, let's go. You're not staying here anymore." She states, standing up in one smooth motion. "You're coming back home with me."
The words soak in and while your waking mind is still processing them, you're out of your chair and walking towards her car.
That was the last time you were a free person. Before Mistress had her complete grasp on you~
using hypnosis for kidnapping đ
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Fight scene scenario focusing on Sylvie, specifically his reaction to getting injured in front of others
(Cw: Mild gore)
(Fic under cut; wordcount: 794)
Sylvie stayed near the back of the fight, sending Counting Sheep out to support his allies wherever he could. Not for the first time, he scowled to himself. His epithet wasn't really suited for close combat once his opponents knew what it was. Meaning that he was completely relegated to the sidelines.
Although, it wasn't as if he had nothing to do. The trio of twelve year olds cowering behind him definitely gave him incentive to stay here instead of rushing in with Dream Big.
"It's an important job," Percy had instructed him before, "We need you to make sure they stay safe. They're only children, after all."
Ordinarily, he would've been upset at such a minor role in the fight, but he understood and went along with it easily. Maybe because she had deliberately separated him from them when describing the trio as children.
"Augh!"
Sylvie's eyes immediately glanced over to where Percy was cradling her wrist, sword having been kicked into the air by her opponent.
With a grin, they grabbed the hilt, running their finger along the edge of the blade, "Let's seeâŠ"
Sylvie flinched as their head snapped towards them, smile growing ever wider on their face.
"The children would be the biggest loss, wouldn't they?"
The Neo Trio screamed as they sprinted forward, fast, much faster than they had been moving this entire fight. Were they holding back?
Sylvie hadn't even registered that he had pushed the girls away until they were upon him, plunging the sword into his side. He grunted, kicking them away and waving a hand to send a sheep gnawing at their legs. They only laughed, withdrawing their weapon with a twirl to swing at the summon, splattering it into dust with a small amount of blood trailing behind its arc. There wasn't any time for another counterattack before Indus was slamming into their side like a battering ram, forcing them far, far away from the kids yet again.
He held a hand on his wound, catching his breath. His body was starting to slump, but he forced himself upright. The world felt so much quieter than it was supposed to be.
"âŠvie! Sy..ie! Oh my god! Are you okay?!"
He blinked a couple times, looking down at where Molly was gripping onto his sleeve. There was a giant bubble around them. He hadn't noticed she had summoned it.
"I- I tried to dumb down the damage but- You still got hurt- I'm sorry- I- I should've-"
Sylvie wiped the blood off on his coat before placing a hand on the girl's shoulders, "Don't worry, I'm fine-"
"You're not fine!" She exclaimed, tears welling up in her button eyes, "That was a real ass goddamn sword! I- Let me-" Molly held her hands up towards the wound, green epithet bubble shrinking to numb down his pain.
He shoved her away, averting his gaze before he could catch a glimpse of her own shocked expression. "Save your stamina," Sylvie said after a brief moment, "You don't need to waste it on me."
"It's not wasting it!" Molly shouted, "You're my friend, of course I want to help-"
"Well, maybe I don't need your help," Sylvie snapped, taking a step back and crossing his arms.
Molly stared at him, eye twitching, "This is NOT the time for your lone wolf act, Sylvie!"
"Excuse me?!"
"WOAH, KID!" Giovanni Potage rushed into the scene with all of his usual tact (that is to say, none). "Jeez, that was a bad injury! Here." He held out a hand, soup forming into a sphere in his palm. "Open up!"
"I said I don't need it!" Sylvie slapped his hand back, the liquid falling and splattering against the floor. Giovanni just looked at him. Not with the usual annoyance, but more⊠concern.
He didn't like it. He didn't need their concern. Since when has anyone ever been concerned about him?!
"Go back to the fight," Sylvie spit out, stumbling away. "I'll be-" His own sentence was quickly contradicted by how his legs collapsed from under him, blood loss catching up to him.
"Sylvie!" Molly and Giovanni rushed over.
"Shut up," Sylvie hissed, voice drowned out by the beating of his own heart reverberating in his ears. "Shut up- I don't-" He curled further into himself, breathing picking up in pace until he could barely take in air.
The pain in his side felt like nothing compared to how they were hovering above him, staring down with eyes of pity- Stop it, stop it, stop it!
"Don't look at me," He whispered, pressing his hand further into his injury as if it would disguise the way the blood was soaking into the white of his coat, displaying his weakness for everyone to see.
#i bring sylvie angst yet again#this entire thing is INCREDIBLY vague because i don't know shit about the overarching plot of ee#epithet erased#sylvester ashling#sylvie ashling#molly blyndeff#giovanni potage#percival king#un writes
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man like on one hand yeah destigmatize acne and all that but on the other hand i went on accutane not because i cared about how it affected my looks but because living with that kind of acne is genuinely so hellish like i cant tell you how it affects your everyday life to not be able to move your face without it being in pain, without it opening a wound. without being able to sleep comfortably at night otherwise you'll be in pain or open a wound. waking up in the morning to find blood smeared all over your pillow. always needing to carry a tissue in your pocket to quickly dab at any blood that started dripping randomly throughout the day. the humiliation of literally just sitting in the same room as somebody and then you have blood dripping down your face randomly and they notice before you. and during covid, having to worry about getting visible streaks of blood on your mask, and needing to carry extra masks with you in case you did get blood somewhere that others could see. i would get blood on the earloops every single time i wore a mask but luckily nobody else could see that, but if i got blood on the actual mask itself then i needed to throw it away
like i cannot stress to you how bad this was affecting my daily life. i felt so gross and disgusting because it WAS gross and disgusting, it was genuinely unsanitary to constantly have open wounds all over the place, i felt so gross being in public for any extended period of time, and it was always a constant worry in the back of my mind about the whole blood thing. and nevermind not being able to sleep comfortably
like yes accutane is fucking me over with the dry skin and intense body and joint aches but i hate looking things up online and seeing people argue that the only reason anyone goes on medication for acne is for beauty culture reasons. maybe some people do, sure, but it's so largely reductive and fucking annoying to people like me who dont fucking care about that and are finally finding relief from clear skin
#sorry this is probably tmi and gross but also like. i mean. it WAS gross!#it was so draining all the time having to worry about this#like i cannot stress enough how my face would just randomly start fucking bleeding with no warning#and it wasnt just little drops of blood no i mean like heavy streaks going all the way down my face#i'd feel an itch on my cheek and i'd be like. is this a normal itch? or is this a drop of blood im feeling?#every time i touched my face i was worried it'd come away with blood#like it was gross it was so gross and it genuinely was so draining to feel like this giant ball of grossness every time i was near anybody#you think its beauty culture for my acne to affect my mental health? and not the 'im a walking ball of unsanitary open wounds' ???#brot posts#sorry. trying to find stuff about joint pain with accutane and i found some shit that was like#'oh was it worth it? the body pain for a few months? for beauty culture?'#yes. fuck off. i'd rather joint pain that i can manage with wraps and braces and that i can HIDE and isnt so unsanitary#than having open wounds all over my face at all times
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ahh i just cant stop thinking of sukuna's fav concubine getting injured from the other concubines but she hides it because shes scared of being weak (in sukuna's eyes) and/or a burden âčïžâčïž
âđđ đđđđ. true form!sukuna x concubine!female reader. fluff, sprinkle of angst n comfort. size difference. reader gets called âbrat, woman, little oneâ â ig this is a bit early in their relationship
âiâve arrived, my lord,â you announce your presence once you step into sukunaâs quarters. the dimly lit room removed all the stress you currently had in your systemâthe knowledge that youâre safe in his space causes your shoulders to drop.
sukuna turns his head to look at you while heâs laid back on his bed, topless. all four of his eyes roam over your body, which isnât anything unusual for you. he always does that.
âtch. took ya long enough,â the king of curses scoffs before gesturing for you to come closer, making that familiar motion with his fingers, âwhen i order yâ to come, youâre supposed to drop everything and rush to be at my service, woman.â
you hurry over to his side of the bed with a nod. âmy apologies,â you mutter. you canât tell him why youâre late, because hell would break loose within these walls. and also because youâre scared of what his reaction would be.
before being called over, you were in the kitchen, peacefully trying to get a snack, when two other concubines entered the room. you tried ignoring them, but that didnât seem to be the smartest move. it wasnât long before they threw derogatory remarks at you.
of course, you stood up for yourself and yelled some back. thatâs when one of them pushed you backwards, causing the skin near your hand to get slightly burned by the fire on the stove.
if it werenât for the maids around that went to report the ruckus to uraume, god knows what more would have went down in that kitchen.
âoi,â sukuna grabs your jaw and lifts your head up. he can immediately notice the vacant look in your eyes, which is unusual for you. you snap out of your trance and set the nasty memories asideâignoring the impulse to scratch the injury on your wrist.
âiâm sorry, my lord,â you say again before slowly undoing your obi. you figure that is why sukuna had called you over, to do your job as his concubine. you halt your movements when you realise that undressing meant that heâs going to see the wound on your skin.
you hesitate. that same instant of hesitation doesnât go unnoticed by the king of curses. a large hand of his moves to stop both of your wrists from pulling off your robes.
â. . .iâm giving yâ three seconds of my time,â sukuna narrows his eyes after allowing you to speak up and tell him whatâs on your mind. he hears you whimper in pain when he holds onto your wrist, your facial expression clearly uncomfortable. âspit it out,â he impatiently huffs. he wants to hear you say whatâs wrong.
you desperately shake your head, biting your bottom lip. you donât want to tell himâeven though you know youâre obligated to.
denying an answer to sukuna was your next big mistake.
âfuckinâ brat,â the pink-haired man grunts. he yanks your arms up to his face, harshly pulling down the sleeves of your kimono. all four of his red eyes immediately fall onto the wound on your wrist. you obviously hadnât treat it yet, even though you should have done so long ago.
thereâs tension hanging in the air almost instantly after your little secret gets revealed. sukunaâs grip on your hands tightens which causes you to flinch. you close your eyes and expect the worst. you can already hear the insults heâll throw at youâhow heâll call you useless, weak, stupid and all that.
âlook up at me,â his voice rings out in a firm tone. you donât want to anger him more than he already is, so you obey. you open your eyes and glance upwards, your worried gaze meeting his.
sukuna takes a deep breath to contain the bubbling rage inside of him; a rare sight indeed. he doesnât want to unnecessarily lash out at you when it isnât needed. however, he canât deny that itching urge in his chest, to get mad at whoever caused your skin to get tainted like that.
sukuna stares at you with an intimidating glare. when you expect him to yell profanities at you, the unexpected happens.
âwho did this to you?â he asks, voice strained like heâs trying to hold himself back.
you blink a few times. the king of curses sounds pissed off, and when heâs in that kind of mood, you know heâs not to be played with. you look the other way and try to think of a proper answer.
will you snitch and cause unnecessary bloodbath, or will you spare the lives of the concubines who hurt you and lie?
youâre scared of being seen as useless by sukuna if you tell him the truth. if you lie, heâll probably call you weak and stupid as well. itâs a lose-lose situation, you conclude.
you swallow the spit that has gathered in your mouth before parting your lips.
âm-miko,â her name echoes in his ears. you decide to be honest, because you know that thereâs no fooling the ryomen sukuna. a second of silence follows and when you look up at him, he stares back at you with furrowed brows.
âah,â you then realise that he doesnât know his concubines by name. he has way too many women at his disposal and doesnât find them worthy enough to remember.
however you have heard from uraume and the others that he does know your nameâonly yours. it makes you feel special.
you try to describe the concubine youâve tussled with, âs-short blonde hair, uhm, mole under her right eye.. brown colored eyesââ
sukuna thinks for a moment before clicking his tongue once he faintly remembers who thatâs supposed to be. without a word, he stands up and wraps one muscular arm around your waist, sweeping you off your feet and carrying you under his armpit like some package.
âuraume!â
his voice is loud enough to make the walls shake and it carries a clear hint of pure rage. everyone in the estate should have heard him by now, which means that they know what is going down in a couple seconds.
sukuna sounding this angry only means one thing; someone is going to die today.
the servants hurriedly scurry around, deeply bowing as he walks past them in the hallway with you still tucked underneath his arms. you let yourself be carried while your heart beats uncontrollably fast in your chest.
you feel your hands shake a bit. seeing someone like sukuna be this mad for your sakeâto the point that heâs ready to turn the entire area upside downâis somehow thrilling. though, you canât help but feel sick because of your own thoughts.
someone is going to die and there you are, cheesing about the king of curses.
you see the white-haired chef appear from a corner, their steps hurried. they glance at you and then back at their master. itâs like they immediately connect the dots.
âtreat her in my quarters. donât let her leave until i come back,â sukuna commands without even looking at uraume. heâs staring ahead, with an ominous aura emitting from his body, one that somebody can sense from miles away.
he puts you down next to uraume before glancing your way one last time. he lets out a deep sigh as he sees the worried expression youâre making. he lowers his head to your level so youâd be face to face.
âand you,â his warm breath hits your cheeks and sends a shiver down your spine. you gulp as sukunaâs hand reaches up to firmly tug at your earlobe, âiâll deal with your ass later, yeah? iâll make you feel what it means to hide stuff from me, little one.â
that sentence makes you even more nervous. you know you wonât be able to avoid the punishment sukuna has in mind, so you simply nod. âunderstood,â you reply in a squeaky voice. you donât have the guts to disobey himâheâs already out to kill someone and you donât want to be the next victim.
sukuna straightens his back again and continues his journey towards the concubinesâ quarters. every heavy step makes the floors and walls shake, a sign of his unstoppable rage thatâs about to be unleashed.
you feel slightly puzzled. you didnât expect this outcome when you revealed your injury to the ruthless man. you expected to be belittled and mocked for not being able to prevent a wound from being inflicted on your body.
instead, there he goes, off to get revenge in your stead. you feel a twisted sense of satisfaction after seeing sukuna be this protective over you. actions like these demonstrate more than his dull words can do, even if it may seem like he doesnât care about what could happen to a human like you.
#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader#sukuna x reader#jjk x you#sukuna x you#ryomen sukuna x reader#jjk fluff#sukuna fluff#sukuna x y/n#jjk x y/n
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After suffering a gunshot wound, you wake up in a hospital bed with Ghost sitting by your side. Unfortunately, the effects of anaesthesia leave you unable to recognise him and, worse, confuse him with someone else.
A/N: Fluff. Based on a request I received a while ago. Hope you like it, anon!
âââââââââââââââââââââââ
A machine on your left beeps rhythmically. The taste of something metallic lingers in your mouth, and the iodine smell stinks your nostrils. Your eyes open slowly, but the bright ceiling light forces them shut again. You lick your lips and attempt to swallow a couple of times. Dry. Your mouth is dry. You need water. Your hand moves towards your face, but a low, raspy voice advises you against it.
âCareful now,â it says, and a hand gently grabs your wrist. âDonât pull the IV off.â
You turn your head towards the figure beside you and squint. Itâs a man, but your blurry vision doesnât help you identify him. Your eyes travel to your wrist and focus on the closest part of him: a skeletonâs hand.
You try to shake your hand off his grip, but it turns out futile. Frustrated, you give up and raise your middle finger at him.
âNot my time yet,â you declare. âFuck off.â
âPardon?â he asks.
âNot ready to go yet,â you reply, tucking your middle finger in your palm and lifting it back up again. âAnd also, fuck off.â
The man releases your wrist, placing your hand gently beside you. He clears his throat and leans forward. Though your vision remains blurry, you spot what looks like a human skull with a hood over it.
âHow are you feeling, love?â he asks, his tone softer.
âHow am I feeling, love?â you repeat. âDid Hell improve their customer service?â
âIâm not-â The man begins but pauses. He sighs, shakes his head and rests his elbows on his thighs. âNever mind.â
âWhere am I?â You ask.
âHospital.â He replies. âYou took a bullet.â
Directing your attention to your body, you feel a dull throb in your chest. You wince as your fingers brush against the bandages.
âYou are joking.â You reply and slap your hand on the bed. âWhy? How?â
âWell,â He says and tilts his head to the side. âYou exchanged a few shots with the enemy, your gun ran out of bullets, his didnât, and here we are.â
âMy gun?â You ask, shocked. âI have a gun?â
âSeveral.â He nods.
âSEVERAL?â You shout. âWhy would I possibly need several guns?â
âItâs your job, love.â He replies.
âMy job is to have several guns?â you ask. âAnd shooting at people?â
âI wouldnât put it that way,â he explains, âbut itâs mainly for defence.â
âWell,â you shrug and wince at the pain. âDoesnât look like Iâm that good at defenceâespecially for having several guns.â
âI was really worrââ
âWater,â you interrupt and gesture at your mouth. âI need water.â
âDoctor said itâs not the time for water yet,â he replies.
âWhy?â you ask, pretending to check a non-existent wristwatch. âWhat time is it?â
âNo, love,â he replies and muffles a chuckle. âDoctor said you need to wait until you have some water.â
âYou throw the âloveâ thing a little too freely,â you mumble, licking your lips and lifting your index finger. âIâd be really careful if I were you.â
âReally?â he asks, leaning back into the chair and crossing his arms in front of his chest. âWhy?â
âI,â you say and point at yourself, âgot a boyfriend, thank you very much.â
âOh,â he exclaims and tilts his head. âIs that so.â
âYup,â you nod. âAnd he can kill you.â
âCan he?â
âCan?â You say, and a smug smile forms on your dry lips. âHe will absolutely, one hundred and a thousand per cent kill you.â
âIs he that good?â He asks.
âI mean,â you shrug, motioning at the bandages on your chest. âHeâs much better than I am.â
âOh wow,â he exclaims and leans forward. âIs he as good of a boyfriend as he is a shooter?â
âFar from it,â you reply, letting your hand fall to your side.
The man doesnât speak. He doesnât seem that comfortable all of a sudden. He shuffles in his chair, trying to find a better position, and when he does, he clasps his hands together.
âGo on,â he finally says. âSpill it.â
âOk, so,â you begin, âfirst things first, he doesnât listen to me when I want to vent, and whenever he does, all he says is nonsense.â
âThe lad gives you solutions,â he snaps, âand you call them nonsense?â
âI donât want solutions, man,â you reply, shaking your head. âI want him to just listen to me.â
âEven if the solutions he provides are literally the answers to your suffering?â
âEven then.â You confirm.
âGotcha,â he nods. âWhat else?â
âOof,â you sigh, âhow much time do you have?â
âIâm immortal,â he reminds you, âplus the next reaping is in five hours.â
âOh boy,â you reply. âBusiness not going that well lately, huh?â
âNot many deaths to take care of,â he spits. âI guess some people could use some serious training when it comes to their aim.â
âSpeaking of training,â you say, âheâs always at work and never spends much time with me.â
âThe guyâs trying to spend as much time with you as he can, for fucks sake!â he shouts, throwing his hands up. âHe even lied to get you on his team!â
âHow do you know he put me on his team?â You ask.
âI keep a close eye on him.â He replies.
âWhat did he lie about?â
âYour precision in aiming,â he jokes and motions for you to continue. âNext one.â
âI canât think of anything else,â you reply. âOther than he doesnât say how much he loves me.â
âYouâre having a laugh now, arenât you?â He says, and his tone feels almost threatening. âHeâs showing it to you daily; offering advice, keeping you close to him, even risking the possibility of being accused of nepotism for crying out loud! He doesnât need to say it as well for you to know it!â
âItâs just nice to hear it sometimes,â you sigh and twist a thread from the bed sheet. You turn your head slightly toward him, and he lowers his head to the ground.
âHow about you?â You ask. âYou have a girlfriend?â
âI do,â he confirms.
âShut up!â You shout, widening your eyes and immediately closing them back again. âWhere did you guys meet?â
âHell,â he replies. âRight in the pits of it.â
âHow is she?â You ask.
âPerfect.â He states.
âBullshit,â you murmur. âNo oneâs perfect.â
âShe is to me.â He says, shrugging.
âDo you love her?â You ask.
âAbsolutely,â he replies, nodding slowly. âOne hundred and a thousand per cent I do.â
âââââââââââââââââââââââ
#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x f!reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley x female reader#simon ghost riley x y/n#simon ghost riley#simon riley x you#simon riley x y/n#simon riley x f!reader#simon riley x female reader#call of duty#modern warfare 2#simon riley#cod mwii#cod ghost#ghost call of duty#simon ghost riley fanfiction#simon ghost riley fic#simon ghost riley fluff
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Single Dad!Simon who vowed to never trust another woman again after his failed past. He was locked up with the key thrown away, permanently off of the market.
At least thatâs what heâd told himself for years. Now, he was beginning to have cold feet.
Simon needed a nanny, one that he could trust completely. He didnât play about his child, and heâd be damned if he got set up with someone of ill intentions.
But, he was desperate.
Price needed him back periodically, even after his retirement, and he agreed. After all, money was tight when he parented on his own with a growing child.
That was when you came in. Soap had been a pal and recommended an old family friend, somebody he knew Simon could trust with his kid. Simon was skeptical, of course, but Soap had never done him wrong. Reluctantly, he agreed.
Simon wanted to have a trial period to see if you were truly built for the task. He wouldnât let you off easily. His child was his world, and women werenât exactly in his deck of cards when it came to trust.
You were as sweet as honey upon the first meeting with a smile that could outdo the sun. Your voice was soft as rain, flowing out of you like a summer song. You spoke to him with the upmost respect, and even more so with his child.
Simon knew he could trust Soap in guaranteeing somebody safe. You were the perfect candidate. He just didnât know it would lead into him feeling emotions heâd buried a long, long time ago.
Attraction. Interest. A crush, dare he say, like he was a stupid high school kid that just saw the prettiest girl in class and fell head over heels.
He had a silly crush on his childâs nanny when he fully intended to keep it short and professional. That was the way he operated. He was like a working machine, and you had undone his mechanics so easily to the point he struggled to function.
Seeing you with his child only caused his attraction to fester deeper. His child became attached to your hip, smiling more than they had ever done, rambling nonsense to him every time he returned home and you left to go to yours.
It was becoming hard to deny it. You opened an old wound of Simonâs, awakening that deep and dreadful loneliness he felt every passing day. Every smile, every laugh, every Mr. Riley even though you were close in age, all of it had him on the edge of his seat.
He wanted more. He was tired of denying himself happiness. The idea of pushing away every woman was still very vivid in his mind, but denying you just seemed criminal the more time passed.
âI never got to thank you for allowing me in to your home, Mr. Riley,â you told him one day, ever so sweet.
âThought I told you to call me Simon,â he grunted, avoiding your eyes as the two of you stood in the doorway.
âRight. Simon,â you corrected with a radiant smile. âYou have quite the kid, Iâll tell you that. I always look forward to coming over. It makes my day seeing the two of you.â
Simon could feel his heart pattering against his ribcage. His hands were sweaty, and he prayed you didnât notice him swipe them along his jeans.
âBoth of us?â he hummed.
âOf course. Youâre just as exciting to see, too, Mr. Ri- Simon.â
Simonâs lips quirked up the slightest bit, but his heart was in his ass. For the first time in a long time, a woman was making him shy and nervous, and it didnât feel as bad as it did before.
âYouâre always free to come over for dinner,â he offered.
âThat sounds great, Iâd love to have dinner with the two of you!â you exclaimed, beaming.
He didnât understand how you could be so bright yet so oblivious at the same time.
Simon cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably on the balls of his feet. âI meant, the two of us.â
You stared at him like heâd grown two heads, and he nearly slammed the door in your face from the sheer anxiety that spiked in him. He couldnât read your mind or what you were feeling, and Simon wished he had never said anything to begin with.
âThat sounds wonderful,â you said instead. Now it was Simonâs turn to stare at you crazy. âIâd love that.â
Simon realized he was staring too long, so he cleared his throat once again, giving you a brief nod and looking away. âAlright. Iâll text you a day and have Soap pick up the little monster for the night.â
When you agreed and left with the smile that made his heart ache, he didnât waste a second in texting Soap, telling him heâd be on nanny duty for one night that week.
Soap was quick to agree, but not without a little âYouâre welcome ;)â text back.
#call of duty#cod#cod x reader#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley#ghost cod#ghost drabble#ghost simon riley#cod ghost#ghost x reader#ghost#simon âghostâ riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x you
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âi wanna ruin our friendship!â ft. wriothesley, neuvillette, alhaitham, and kamisato ayato
in which genshin men decide being friends is not enough. why be friends when you could clearly be so much better as lovers? part two of âweâre just friends, butâŠâ (<- read part one for better understanding of each)
contains: female reader (use of miss, milady/my lady, lovely lady, and madame) ; fluff (slight hints of angst but all happy endings) ; confessions, friends to lovers, wriothesley: implied harassment of reader by an inmate, reader is a doctor at the fortress, angry and possessive wriothesley, jealousy ; neuvillette: reader works at the palais, melusine features, neuvillette is implied to be emotional and make it rain ; alhaitham: mentions of drinking alcohol (alhaitham), vulnerable alhaitham, reader can cook ; ayato: slightly insecure reader, mentions of reader being in a lower class than ayato
WRIOTHESLEY
wriothesley is not a possessive man, despite his feelings for you.
heâs long accepted that somewhere between frequent visits to you in the infirmary and occasional lunches together as fellow colleagues at the fortress, heâs fallen hopelessly hard for you. how could he not, when youâre so gentle-natured, smart, and unfairly pretty?
but still, wriothesley is not a possessive man. when men praise you to the archons and admire your unearthly beautiful smile, he is not possessive. when he grumpily watches your fingers brush against bare chests of the wounded after pankration matches, he is not possessive. when you shyly thank an inmate who rushes to hold a door open for you, he is not possessive.
but even wriothesley has his limits. and they happen to snap over the edge todayâbecause now, as a man corners you against the wall, pestering you until distress is clear on your face, wriothesley feels possessive.
itâs a shameful feeling, but itâs one he canât help. heâs tolerated many things, enough of them that make him wash down the bitter taste of jealousy with the most soothing tea he can find in his collection. but this? this is beyond the patience of even a kind warden such as himself.
you, whether you or anyone else in this fortress knows it, are his to protect.
so he walks up, fisting the inmateâs shirt and lifting him up to drag away from you, jaw tight and locked as he asks lowly, âis there a problem? if i didnât know any better, iâd say you were giving this lovely lady here some trouble.â
ây-your grace,â the man, to his credit, has a good mind to look remorseful, eyeing you nervously for a moment before rapidly shaking his head. ân-no, i was justâŠi was just askinâ her if sheâd like some help findinâ her way is all. you know the fortress can be confusinâ ân such.â
the inmate trails off, nervously chuckling as he quivers in the wardenâs unforgiving hold.
wriothesley glances at you, raising an unconvinced eyebrow as he asks, âand do you need any help finding your way, miss?â
âno,â you shake your head, voice a bare whisper.
his jaw tightens further, glancing back at the man before he snarls lowly, âthen you leave her alone. donât let me catch you bothering her again, understood?â
ây-yes, your grace!â
wriothesley releases the manâs shirt, crumpled from his iron grip as he stares, eyes narrowedâthreatening, even, as he waits for the brave soul (for anyone who bothers you where heâs in charge is the bravest of all souls) to leave. not one moment is wasted before you watch the inmate scramble away, leaving you alone with a tense, disgruntled duke in your hands.
âthank you,â you whisper, âiâm not sure how much longer heâd have bothered me if you hadnât shown up.â
âanyone else ever try that before?â he seethes. youâve never seen him so angry beforeâsomething about it feels almost personal.
you shake your head, stepping away from the wall as you walk over to him. âno, wriothesley,â you murmur, âno one gives me a hard time. this was a first.â
âlet me know if anyone bothers you,â he grunts, fist still clenched even with no shirt to hold like earlier. âiâll take care of it.â
you eye the way itâs tightly curled, knuckles almost ghostly white from the pressure before you gently grab his hand, working his fingers loose from his tight grip and rubbing a soothing thumb over the crescent mark from his nails along his palm.
âof course,â you smile softly, âthough, iâm sure word will spread quickly that the warden doesnât appreciate his doctor being bothered by persistent men. i donât think there will be any repeats of this incident.â
he should feel ashamed.
you think so highly of himâdefaulting to believing heâd saved you because he was only worried for your wellbeing, and not because it burned him alive to see a man so close to you, a man who desired you just as much as he did and had stooped to such unchivalrous methods to have you.
faintly, heâs aware that your hand is still grasping his, still rubbing a thumb over the angry, red marks along his palm as you study him carefully. heâs sure thereâs not much he hides in his expressionâyou must be reading him like an open book. he canât bring himself to care, however, not when the sight of someone else pinning you to a wall and towering over you is still so fresh in his head.
âsomething on your mind, your grace?â you ask, leaning closer.
perhaps, if he was a stronger man, one with more firm principles, heâd know to pull away and give you your space. but you lean closer, and heâs weak to his own desires, so he takes it as an invitation to lean closer himself.
âyes,â he admits, âiâŠiâm afraid i had less than honorable intentions when stepping in.â
âoh?â you raise a brow, looking at him in fond amusement. maybe you already know, he thinks, if your lack of surprise tells him anything. âenlighten me, then. what were your intentions?â
âto make sure no man comes close to you,â he mumbles, leaning closer while you do the same, your noses just barely brushing as your breath all but mingles.
âwhy?â you ask. it almost sounds like a pleadâlike youâre waiting to hear something desperately.
âbecause itâs unbearable to see you with other men,â he says hoarsely. if youâre uncomfortable, you donât show it. but he has reason to believe youâre quite the opposite, in fact, when your eyes seem to brighten.
âand if i were to say i appreciate your intentions?â you ask softly.
finally, his jaw loosensâinstead, he replaces the clench with a loose, easy grin, one that allows him to chuckle lowly as he stares at you with a playful disbelief.
âthat so?â he hums, âperhaps then youâd care to join me for dinner today, miladyâiâll have the finest meal the cafeteria has to offer waiting for you.â
âon a date?â you ask hopefully.
âon a date,â he confirms with a slight nod.
you kiss his cheek, making his breath catch in his throat as you step away and smile gleefully. âiâll see you at dinner then, your grace.â
NEUVILLETTE
the first day you skip your newfound routine of tea and desserts with neuvillette and the many, many melusines that join, it rains. harshly so, in fact.
you walk up to the palais, soaked from the unexpected weather as you grin sheepishly at a concerned sedene.
âmadame!â she gasps, âoh, youâve been caught in the weather!â
âitâs alright, sedene,â you chuckle, âitâs nothing new in fontaine to have unexpected rain. i suppose i shouldâve planned accordingly. is monsieur neuvillette in his office? i have papers for him,â you hold up a file.
sedene fidgets for a moment, hesitant as she says, âyesâŠheâs in his office butâŠwell, i should warn you that heâs not in the best of moods.â
âoh dear,â you furrow your brows, âhow unfortunate. iâll make it quick. theyâre quite urgent papers.â
she nods at your promiseâand just before you can turn to leave, she stops you, seemingly debating before making a final comment.
âyou didnât join us today, madame,â she starts, âfor tea today during the monsieurâs break.â
âoh,â you tilt your head in surprise for a moment, âyouâre right, i didnât. i apologize if you were waiting on me. i was caught up with much paperwork to finish before i came in.â
âi see. perhaps monsieur neuvillette will appreciate knowing that, then,â she smiles.
before you can ask, she skips away, finding a group of melusines in the corner. you watch as they whisper away behind their paws, blinking back your confusion before walking towards the door of neuvilletteâs office, knocking gently.
âmonsieur neuvillette? may i come in? i have some papers that must be delivered to you.â
thereâs a shuffle from inside, a clearing of the iudexâs throat before a raspy, âyes, of course. come in.â
you enter, walking in slowly as you close the distance between the door and his desk, smiling as you set the file down in your hands. he looks ratherâŠwell, youâre not sure, exactlyâperhaps the best word would be melancholy. suddenly, sedeneâs words from earlier ring in your head, and you wonder if thereâs any relation between your absence and his seemingly downcast mood.
so you give him an apologetic look as you speak. âi apologize if my absence was a surprise to you today. it seems i lost track of time with paperwork. i hope you enjoyed a peaceful break with the melusines,â you hum, âyou certainly need a proper break with all the duties you take on.â
against your better judgement, you reach over, brushing a strand of misplaced hair from his forehead and tucking it back in place. rarely does the chief justice of fontaine ever look less than prim and proper, if ever at allâand the action causes you to pause just as much as it does him.
he breaks the silence first, and if he notices the slight flustered expression on your face, he doesnât point it out as he says gently, âitâs quite alright. iâm sure youâre a busy individual.â
âi do quite enjoy my routine visit,â you say shyly, âit was a shame i couldnât join today. but rest assured, iâll be present tomorrow.â
âiâm glad to hear it,â he seems to brighten a bit, a gentle smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he admits in a quieter voice, âtruthfully, i had assumed you didnât want to join meâor excuse me, us,â he coughs, correcting himself at the end.
âoh dear,â you furrow your brows, crinkles forming in your forehead as you quickly shake your head, âof course i love joining you. today was a rare occasion, iâm afraid. i hope i didnât upset you, monsieur.â
âno,â he shakes his head just as quickly. he coughs, clearing his throat as he adds, âitâs just that iâŠwell, i have come to enjoy your company. a little more than i perhaps should.â
he doesnât meet your gaze, cheeks flushed a gentle shade of pink as you take in his words. silently after a moment, with a bright grin on your face that spreads across your lips and finds itself in the deepest of crinkles in your eyes, you slowly reach over to cup his face.
neuvillette, no matter how trained in self control, cannot help but lean into your touch, staring at you with wide eyes as you rub a delicate circle into the swell of his cheek.
âiâve come to enjoy your company as well, monsieur. perhapsâŠperhaps it would be nice to enjoy each otherâs company outside of the palais as well,â you offer. and then, eyeing the small opening in the door, you add, âsomewhere away from prying eyes.â
neuvillette watches as the door quickly shuts, the soft giggles of the melusines muffled behind the door as he chuckles in amusement. his hand cups the back of your own, cheek laying comfortably in your palm.
âyes,â he murmurs softly, âi think i would love that.â
ALHAITHAM
alhaitham is not drunk today.
you can tell when you open the door because heâs not swaying, or slurring his words, or staring at you with a hazy look. instead, heâs perfectly sober, perfectly rational, and perfectly collected alhaitham.
you look at him in surprise before smiling in greeting.
âyouâre not drunk for once,â you murmur, âi donât think i ever get a visit from you when youâre not drunk.â
the words make him wince a bitâhe doesnât like the implication of that. alhaitham enjoys your company when heâs not inebriated, especially when heâs not inebriated, in fact. mainly because he can actually recall things that way, like the way you laugh and the crinkle of your eyes. but somehow, being drunk has become a bit of a weekly routine for him at the tavern with his friends (which really, is just cyno and tighnari, and of course, kavehâbut kaveh can hardly be considered a friend these days).
coming to your doorstep every week when heâs drunk becomes a byproduct of his habits. he canât control them, like an involuntary muscle that moves on its own accord without his permission. just like his heart beats and pumps blood, his feet carry him to find you.
itâs natural, autonomic.
âi didnât want to drink tonight,â he explains, rubbing his neck awkwardly. alhaitham is bluntâspeaking his mind is not a complicated task. heâs sure of his thoughts and opinions, and the response people give them is of little concern to him.
but his thoughts arenât very coherent when they come to you. heâs not sure of even a single thing, in fact. sure, he knows he likes youâreally, really likes you. but sometimes, he contemplates if heâs fallen in love with you. he canât tell, if heâs being honest, because heâs never been in love before. itâs uncharted waters for even someone as knowledgeable as him.
and then thereâs the more difficult part. heâs not sure if you feel the same, or if youâd respond positively to the idea of his developed feelings. logic tells him youâre kind, compassionate, deeply understanding. perhaps youâd let him down gently and still consider him a good friend if you donât feel the same. but for some reason, thereâs an illogical part of him. one he doesnât recognize. one that tells him that you might walk away and never look twice in his direction again as soon as you realize the nature of his feelings.
logic doesnât win in his mind for once. it hasnât for a very long time. itâs why he doesnât tell you for so long how he feels.but tonight he plans to change that.
regardless of your feelings, requited or unrequited, alhaitham will tell you how he feels. he owes you that much, for all the careful care and deduction you put into handling his drunk self. for all the meals you made and let him eat before letting him crash on your couch. for all the cups of coffee you made his hungover self as you carefully tiptoed around your own home so the noise wouldnât disturb his pounding head.
he clears his throat, fiddling with his fingers as he stares at his feet.
âdo you want to come in?â you offer.
he shakes his head. âi donât think thatâs a good idea. i cameâŠi came to say something.â
âi see,â you nod, âthen by all means, share what you have to say.â
itâs not so easy. not when he tries to plan the words in his head as he walks to your home, and not when heâs standing before you. alhaitham is a linguist. he speaks over twenty languages, some of which are known to be romantic by nature. heâs read the divinest of poems and decoded the most complicated of hieroglyphics. he, of all people, should excel in putting words together.
but his tongue feels like sandpaper in his mouth as he stares at you, though. distantly, heâs aware he must look stupid. standing here, silent and stiff as you stand by your door and wait for him to spit out what he has to say.
so he says the first thing he can thinkâand it makes his face burn as soon as he realizes what he says. âyour sabz meat stew is my favorite.â
you grin, chuckling in amusement as you murmur, âoh my, iâm flattered. you came all this way to praise my cooking?â
ân-no,â he sighs in embarrassment, âthatâŠthatâs not what i meant.â
you hum, smiling at him softly as you patiently wait for him to speak again. a part of him feels like youâre aware of something, something that maybe even heâs not aware of himself. but he doesnât want to dwell on thatâperhaps your knowledge is a product of his drunken rambles, and heâs not sure he wants to even begin imagining what that might look like. what he doesnât know canât hurt him.
âwell, if you must know,â you giggle, âi enjoy making your favorite for you.â
âi enjoy your stew,â he mumbles, concentrating for a moment before his face hardens with determination and he looks at you, âi enjoy waking up on your couch, and drinking your coffee, and the way you hum when you get ready for the day. itâs enjoyable because itâs you.â
you process his words for a moment before smile slowly, eyeing him with wonder as you break into a fit of giggles. he doesnât have time to dwell on whether or not youâre laughing at him because thereâs an arm looping around his bicep, pulling him in past your door and pressing him against it as soon as itâs shut.
youâre closeâitâs the first thing he notices, chest brushed against his chest as you look up at him with a fond, affectionate expression.
âyouâre a smart man, alhaitham,â you murmur, âiâm sure you can figure out why i make your favorite every time you come. and make your coffee just how you like. and let you sleep in on my couch when i could be spending my morning enjoying the sun.â
he wants to tell you that he doesnât feel very smart when heâs around you. itâs like logic is a foreign concept as soon as your smile invades his line of sight. but words are difficult enough to produce when youâre so close, he doesnât think he could tell you even if he tried.
instead, he asks, âbecause youâre kind?â
ânot kind enough to do groceries for two every weekend,â you chuckle. âunlessâŠâ
âunlessâŠ?â he asks breathlessly.
âunless itâs you, silly,â you snort. âdo fill in the lines, will you?â
he allows himself to hope. because it doesnât take logic to let himself hope you feel the same way he does.
âifâŠâ he takes a deep breath, taking a moment to contemplate before boldly settling his hands on your hips, âif i come here next week sober, would you still open the door for me?â
âof course,â you whisper.
âif i came whenever i wanted, would you still open the door for me?â he asks, eyes peering into yours desperately, begging you to tell him what he wants to hear.
you sigh, gently cupping his cheeks as he closes his eyes and shudders. âalways,â you breathe, âwill you come?â
âyes,â he nods. his shoulders slumpâin relief and in pure bliss as he lets his head drop to the crook of your neck, pressing his nose into your warm skin as you cradle the back of his head. âbecause i enjoy coming home to you.â
âand i enjoy welcoming you home,â you murmur.
and itâs at the same time that you kiss the side of his head and he kisses the soft skin of your neck, a stumbling mess of limbs pressed against one another as you both find your way to collapse on your familiar couch.
KAMISATO AYATO
itâs midnight when thereâs a knock on your door. itâs rushed, an incessant tapping against the surface that almost has you concerned, but the familiar face through the peephole eases your worries.
and then it hits youâayato is here. beyond the question of how he has the time to visit you so unexpectedly, thereâs the concern of what people might think if heâs seen here so late, standing outside your door.
âayato? why are you here?â you look at him in confusion as you open the door, eyebrows furrowing as he smiles at you.
âwell, hello. such an enthusiastic greeting youâve afforded me,â he says playfully, making you roll your eyes. âwonât you even invite me in?â
âwell, come on then,â you huff, âitâs always something or another with you.â
âwhatever do you mean?â he gasps, a hand pressing to his chest in mock hurt, âiâve simply come to have a heartfelt conversation.â
âat this hour?â you cross your arms, scoffing at his timing. still, you could never turn him away.
itâs not of any trouble to youâayato knows it too. but thereâs something oddly vulnerable about having him in your home, and unexpectedly at that. suddenly, everything feels out of place and untidy to you, a contrast to the large, sophisticated estate youâre sure he must be used to. you shift on your feet, feeling the scrutinizing gaze of someone as important as the yashiro commissioner, standing in your small home where you have nowhere to hide.
âah,â he nods in amusement, âhow impolite of me. shall i take my departure, then?â
âi could hardly turn the yashiro commissioner away without allowing him to speak,â you shake your head, fighting back a smile as he grins. âpray tell, what could have prompted such a spontaneous visit?â
âiâd like to ask for your hand,â he says bluntly.
you blink, gaping at him in disbelief. ayato has never been cruelâin fact, heâs always been much the opposite. especially to you. heâs become painfully important, a friendship youâve never expected but cannot fathom existing without now that you have him.
but something about this feels cruel, like heâs aware of the deeper feelings youâve accidentally let surface in the process, feelings you try to push back desperately. how could the yashiro commissioner be seen with someone so far from his realm? someone so disconnected from his world and status?
you furrow your brows, looking at him unimpressed as you murmur, âthatâs hardly funny, ayato. be serious.â
âi am serious,â he tilts his head, âi, kamisato ayato, would like to ask for your hand, milady. if you would be so kind, that is.â
his hand is offered to youâand something in your aches to reach for it. to feel his fingers intertwined with yours, to feel the rough calluses of his hands from years of swordsmanship, to feel the gentle warmth of his palm pressed up against yours.
âi-in marriage?â you ask in utter confusion.
he chuckles, hand still outstretched as he raises an eyebrow. âwell, i figured marriage would be a bit sudden, but far be it from me to deny such an enthusiastic idea.â
youâre not sure why (or maybe you are, and you simply hate to admit it), but thereâs a burning sting in the back of your eyes. something bubbling between humiliation and hurt and flooding in the form of tears as you stare at him unsure if heâs lost his mind, or if heâs simply joking at your expense.
ayato has never made you feel like a victim of casual cruelty from his end, so a small part of you wonders if heâs truly serious. but the more logical part of you tells you that if not a mere attempt at playfulness, what else could this be?
âthis isnât funny,â you whisper, voice small. âi hardly find such pranks entertaining, ayato. i thought you to be better than that.â
itâs silent. deafeningly so, in fact.
his hand dropsâslowly, hesitant as he eyes you in uncertainty. he takes a step towards you, closing the distance enough to notice every small detail of your face, but leaving enough of a gap so as not to overstep.
âi hardly find any entertainment in offering myself up, either,â he murmurs, âdo reject me gently if you intend to. iâm afraid my age is catching up to meâi have a weak heart.â
âyouâre hardly old,â you snort, watching him suppress a smile as he studies you. âyouâre really being serious?â
âdo you doubt me?â
âi suppose not,â you whisper. his hand extends to you again, something hopeful in his eyes, something almost desperate as he stares at you and waits for you to finally take it in your grasp.
your hand slowly finds his, fingertips grazing those calluses youâve noticed for so long, rough and firm under the delicateness of your touch. finally, it hits you he came without gloves on, and you realize it must be for the chance of feeling your skin against his, bare touch with no fabric to separate either of you.
you feel him, taking in the years and years of training that show through such toughened skin, and he watches you carefully as you trace along his palm before flattening your own against him, slowly lacing your fingers together.
âi have found the man who attacked you,â he says quietly, âand iâm ashamed to admit theâŠunsavory methods i was prepared to take to punish his crimes.â
âi hope you wouldnât stoop to such levels for me,â you say quietly.
âi fear there isnât much i wouldnât resort to for your safety,â he admits.
âiâm hardly worth such trouble,â you shake your head, smiling softly as you reach over and cup his cheek, thumb brushing gently against the mole youâve always ached to feel. whether from the brush of your lips or from the graze of your thumb, youâve always wondered how itâd feel. âthere are much more worthy women to be the object of your affections, my lord.â
âayato,â he corrects. it sounds like a plead, if you listen carefully. âand not to me,â he shakes his head. âitïżœïżœs you i desire. iâm afraid i cannot concentrate on my duties until i have you. the nation shall befall a most unfortunate fate if i must suffer a single night more without having you.â
âiâm starting to think i am the only hope inazuma has left,â you roll your eyes, staring at him in wonder, âit seems it has fallen to me to ensure we have a functioning yashiro commissioner.â
âi do hope youâll take such responsibilities seriously.â his hand lays over your own, keeping your touch in place as he leans his face into your palm further, closing his eyes and relishing in your touch.
âoh, ayato,â you chuckle breathlessly, eyes watery as you step closer, closing the gap until your chest presses against his. you wonder if he can hear the rapid thrumming of your heart, if he can feel it. âyouâll be the death of me.â
âi should hope not,â he chuckles, leaning closer and closer until his lips hover over yours, just a millimeter away from brushing against them, âi fear for my own sanity should such an ill fate come before you.â
âoh kiss me, you fool,â you scoff tiredly at his antics.
he doesnât waste a moment, pressing his lips hungrily against yours, hands wandering to your waist and instantly pulling you closer, fitting his palm to cradle the small of your back. he chases your lips frantically when you pull away, a low grunt of disapproval rumbling from his chest before he plants his lips against yours once more. he kisses you like heâs crossed oceans upon oceans to find you, fixed on keeping you not more than a fingertips distance away at all times so that heâll never lose you again.
and finallyâfinally, once heâs decided heâs sufficiently stolen the air from your lungs, he allows you to pull back and breathe.
âiâm afraid i can be a rather overbearing lover,â he murmurs against your lips, pecking them lightly. âyouâll hardly be free of me should i desire your company.â
you chuckle, leaning to kiss his mole softly, cradling his face. âi believe iâll find a way to cope,â you grin.
ayato was fun to write last time, and he was just as fun to write this time and i am realizing i have some real hidden feelings for the man the more i write him. i really enjoy doing his dialogue, though iâm not sure if i do it justice. i sure hope i do đ„č
#writing tag#wriothesley x reader#neuvillette x reader#alhaitham x reader#ayato x reader#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader#wriothesley x you#neuvillette x you#alhaitham x you#ayato x you#genshin impact x you#genshin x you#wriothesley fluff#neuvillette fluff#alhaitham fluff#ayato fluff#genshin fluff#genshin impact fluff
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safe. | spencer reid.
You were pregnant but JJ had just left the team and they needed you. You hadn't told anyone; you hadn't even told Spencer.
my masterlist!
cw: fem!reader, pregnant!reader, guns, violence, mentions of murder, mentions of drugs (antidepressants and opioids), mentions of car accident, gunshot wounds, death of pregnant woman, general criminal minds themes.
wc: 6.2k
a/n: bruh this was a looooong one! dw some banging smut coming in the next one with post-prison reid >:3
now playing... Fare Well by Hozier
This was really starting to piss you off.
You fell to your knees as bile pushed up your throat, your skin paling as you vomited for the third time today. You tried to keep something, anything, down but you would just wind up curled in on yourself and sweating in the corner of the bathroom stall. You ate a couple of crackers and sipped on water to keep your empty stomach satiatedâ But you always ended up right back here on the bathroom floor with your head between your knees trying to will the pain away.
Emily noticed your pale complexion and how exhausted you looked, offering to get you some medicine or ask Hotch about sitting out of the next few cases. You told her you were fine, that it was just stress. That answer seemed to satisfy her enough, though she wasnât fully convinced. To be fair, your workload had increased tenfold since JJ was forced to accept the job at the Pentagon, and you missed her terribly but you were proud of her. But you really could have used her advice right about now.
Because you swore this baby had it out for you.
You found out you were pregnant just over a week ago and you still hadnât told Spencer. You were still wrapping your head around the whole thing because initially, you didnât think you were pregnant, you just thought your body was dealing with the stress and workload in, frankly, a bizarre way. Hotch had wanted you to take over doing JJâs job as communication liaison, which were rather important shoes to fill. He had total faith in your ability to do JJâs job as well as do your own as a profiler, but you werenât so sure anymore.Â
You would tell Spencer when you were ready and right now was not a good time. Everyone was surviving on four hours of sleep a night, far too many cups of coffee and sheer willpower. The absolute last thing they needed was to lose another team member. So you soldiered on like a championâ a champion who still held her head over the bureauâs less than impressive toilet while she threw her guts up.
âY/N?â You didnât even hear the bathroom door open, the ringing rattling around your skull distracting you from your surroundings. Penelopeâs heels clicked against the tiles as she cautiously peered around the wall of the last stall where you kneeled on the ground. âOh my god, sweet thing! Whatâs wrong?â
âIâm fine, Pen,â your voice was hoarse when you finally replied. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and tried to smooth your hair down, attempting to look at least semi-presentable before you left the bathroom to pretend everything was okay.
âNo, no, my girl, you are not fine!â Penelope stood in behind you, pulling your hair out of your face as you vomited the last remnant of your soul into the toilet. âYou need to talk to Hotch, youâve got a bug or something, my dear. You shouldnât even be at work when youâre this sick, let me talk to him for you and you just go homeââ
âIâm not sick, Penelope!â You didnât mean to shout at her, you really didnât, you just felt awful and felt like a shell of yourself with how poorly youâd been sleeping and eating paired with all the stress of doing JJâs job as well as your own. It was just a lot.
Penelope went quiet but stayed close to you, still holding your hair as you sat back on your heels, running your hands down your face. She let out a soft sigh, knowing you didnât mean to shout at her. Penelope was stressed tooâ everyone was.
âIâm sorry, Pen,â you mumbled, your throat hurting from all the vomiting and coughing youâd managed to do todayâ it had to be a record honestly.Â
Penelope just shook her head at you, reaching her hand out toward you, âyou donât have to apologise, sweet girl, I know youâve got a lot on your plate.â You shook your head, you still felt bad and shouting at sweet Penelope was not the way to deal with all the emotions swirling around in your head.
âItâs not fair,â you replied as she helped you to your feet, gently guiding you over to the basin to help you clean yourself up. âYouâre stressed too, I didnât mean to yell.â
Penelope brushed some of your hair out of your face, her gaze narrowing as she watched you, waiting for you to tell her what was going on. It never came and she knew she would have to push you a little. Penelope thought it was necessary though because seeing you like this was awful and she couldnât even imagine how Spencer would react if he knew how sick you were.
âWhatâs going on?â Penelopeâs voice was soft; gentle, just trying to get you to talk so she could help. You were stubborn when it came to asking for help and by the time you did, you had hurt yourself more than necessary trying to solve it yourself. Not this time thoughâ Penelope refused.
âIâm okayââ you looked at Penelope and she raised her brows at you, not accepting that answer in the slightest. You sighed, knowing this is a fight you wouldnât win. âIâm pregnant.â
Penelopeâs jaw nearly hit the floor. She knew something was up with you but pregnant? That was not on this year's bingo card. âWhat?? Y/N thatâsââ she gauged your expression and she really couldnât tell if you were upset or happy about being pregnant. She cut herself off before she finished her sentence, pulling her lips into a line. âAre we happy about this news or are weâŠ?â
âWeâreâŠâ you were happy. Honestly, you were. You and Spencer had talked about having kids one day, ideally after you were married but that didnât seem to be going to plan. Youâd been with Spencer for three years, in the BAU for four, itâs not like your relationship was new or in the honeymoon phase, it just wasnât the original plan and that scared the hell out of you. But you were happy to be carrying his childâ the timing was just piss poor. âWeâre happy⊠just scared.â
âOh, baby,â Penelope cooed. âOf course youâre scared, itâs a huge adjustment. But I know you and I know Spencer, you guys will nail this parenting business.â Penelope managed to prove time and time again why she was your best friend. You often wondered if she knew you better than you knew yourself, which wouldnât really surprise you given her job.
âI hope so.â You smiled softly, feeling somewhat human again after splashing water on your face and washing your hands. You knew Spencer would be a good dad, he was so good with kids and he was so gentle and patient with you. He was meant to be a dad. You just werenât sure if you were meant to be a mother. You wanted to be a family with Spencer, it made you feel warm just thinking about it, but you were a person who worried about almost everything, even the things out of your control. What scared you was how in control you were.Â
âIâm surprised Spencer hasnât told everyone, that boy is obsessed with you and youâre making him a dad? God, it must be killing him sitting on thisââ Penelope suddenly looked at you wide-eyed, connecting the dots all on her own. You winced as you watched her figure it out, gritting your teeth as she let out a soft gasp. âYou havenât told him?!â
You covered your face with your hands, letting out a muffled squeal of frustration into your palms. You would tell him eventually, just not right now, he was far too busy and was already stressing about his own workload, you couldnât imagine how much more stressed he would be if he found out you were still in the field while pregnant.
âPen, please,â you turned to her, âplease keep this to yourself. Iâ We canât deal with this right now. JJâs gone and everyone is worked to the bone, I canât do this to everyone right now, especially Spencer.â Penelope looked at you sympathetically, you knew you were asking a lot of her to keep it to herself, especially when Penelope wasnât great at keeping secrets.
âY/N, sweetie, youâre going to have to tell them eventuallyâ Youâre an FBI Agent. Being in the field is so dangerous and you donât just have yourself to think about anymore.â You knew Penelope was right. You carried a gun around for Christâs sake, you literally hunted down serial killers, active shooters, total psychopaths and everything in between. The field was no place for a pregnant woman.Â
âI know, I know,â you sighed, resting both of your hands on the basin in front of you.
â...How far along are you?â
âTwelve weeks,â you said softly, resting your hand against your belly. You didnât have much of a bump yet but you were sure it would sneak up on you before you even realised. Lucky for you, you wore a lot of baggy sweaters around the office so you had some wriggle room when it came to hiding it.
â...My moneyâs on a girl,â Penelope was trying to make you feel better. She really was helping because the idea of Spencer hosting tea parties, getting covered in kitten stickers and his hair being covered in tiny butterfly clips made your heart swell.
You let out a soft laugh, âI think so too.â
âAlright, my love, I think we should leave this bathroom before they send out a search party,â Penelope laughed, linking her arm with yours to guide you out of the bathroom.Â
You honestly did feel better after talking to Penelope and throwing the rest of your guts up. She made sure to remind you about ten times to call her if you needed anything, you promised you would because it did make you feel better knowing that someone knew about your pregnancy and you didnât have to bear the weight of the news alone.
You sat down at your desk with a sigh, sipping on your water bottle to soothe your raw throat. You popped a piece of gum in your mouth, willing the taste of bile away. You let out a huff of air as you stared down at all the paperwork you had to do. Doing JJâs job proved to be intense, especially when you were doing your own work on top of herâs. You picked up your pen when you felt Spencer press a kiss to the crown of your head as he placed a mug of hot coffee on your desk in front of you.
You smiled, craning your neck to look up at him. Spencer took the opportunity to kiss you softly, one of his hands resting on the side of your desk while the other rested on the back of your chair. You smiled against his lips, âshouldnât you be working?â You teased.
âAre you trying to get me to go away?â Spencer looked at you curiously. You rolled your eyes playfully because of course you didnât want him to go away. If anything, you wanted him to pick you up and take you home right this second.
âYes, Spencer,â you replied sarcastically, âIâm trying to get you to go away.â Spencer wasnât great with sarcasm but he had come to understand your humour over the years. He just grinned and pressed another kiss to your lips.
âSarcasm is rooted in truth, angel,â Spencer retorted with a gentle smile.Â
âI am joking, but we both have a lot of work to do, Spence. I donât know how Iâm going to manage doing JJâs job as well as my own,â you sighed, leaning back in your chair.
âThereâs a reason Hotch wanted you to do it. I donât think he could have picked anyone more capable,â Spencer replied. Maybe it was the hormones and the fact you were carrying a baby, but the comment made you want to cry. Spencer frowned as he watched your face fall, âwhatâs wrong, angel?â
âNo, nothing,â You replied, sniffling quietly. You gave him a genuine smile, âIâm fine, Spence. I promiseââ
âNew case just came in,â Morgan called to the two of you, gesturing toward the meeting room at the back of the office with a manila folder in his hand.Â
You looked at Morgan with a confused expression because now it was your job to decide what cases the team took after JJâs departure. Morgan told you the case went straight to Hotch this time; an old friend had called in a favour.Â
Spencer pulled a chair out for you, taking the seat right beside you in the meeting room. You opened the case file the moment Penelope dropped it in front of you.
âThe victims are 20-year-old Evan Miller and 21-year-old Daniel Clark, both engineering students at Caltech. They were shot three days apart outside their family homes in the local area of Pasadena, California.â You followed along with Penelope as she gave a run down of the victims and the circumstances of their deaths.
The killings were straightforward, the UnSub didnât try to dispose of the bodies and the men were simply shot in the head execution style. It didnât seem like the doings of a serial killer who would usually seek some kind of sexual release from torturing and killing their victims. If anything, it seemed like revenge killings.
âThey were just shot?â Emily questioned, eyebrows furrowed as she stared at the crime scene photos.Â
âOnce in the head,â Hotch replied, âthere were no witnesses around which suggests the UnSub knew the routine of the victims and the neighbourhood.â
âCould be a stalker?â Penelope suggested.
âStalker victims are usually the object of a stalkerâs affection, they rarely act in violence let alone such a blunt killing,â You replied, confused by the nature of such a straightforward murder.
Spencer flicked through the victimâs files, âthe single shot to the head suggests the UnSub just wanted them dead. No physical evidence of sexual release or torture⊠This could be some kind of revenge killing.â
âDid these victims know each other?â You asked.
âAccording to their parents, they came from the same friend group,â Penelope replied.Â
âWheels up in thirty. Garcia, you're coming with us. Get your go bag,â Hotch said, quickly standing up from his chair. Penelope made a small noise of surprise before quickly ushering out of the meeting room. Hotch didnât usually have Penelope come along but given you were short a very valuable member of your team, Penelope had started coming along more often. Not that you would ever complain having Penelope around.Â
You pinned up the last of the crime scene photos on the board, standing back with your hands on your hips. Spencer was writing on the whiteboard next to you, jotting down all the things you knew about the victims and possible motives of the UnSub. Hotch and Morgan were engaging in formalities with the local detectives on the case while Penelope got herself settled in the makeshift office they had set up for the team.Â
âThe parents of the victims are here,â Emily poked her head into the office. âY/N, Hotch wants you to talk to Ben and Sarah Miller, Iâve got the Clarks.â
âAlright, I got it,â you replied, letting out a dejected sigh.Â
âYou okay?â Spencer gently tucked some of your hair behind your ear, turning his full attention to you. You let out another sigh, nodding your head tiredly. âYou can do this,â he said quietly, his eyes shifting between yours.
âYeah, I know,â you smiled softly. Spencer planted a soft kiss on your cheek before leaving the office, leaving Spencer and Penelope alone.Â
â...I think she needs a break,â Penelope said after a beat.Â
Spencer looked at her, eyebrows furrowed, âwhat makes you say that?â
Penelope tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, âsheâs doing JJâs job and her own. I mean, I think sheâs the right girl for the job but⊠you know what sheâs like.â
Spencer sighed, he knew exactly what you were like. You always held yourself and your work to such a high standard and you often overworked yourself to make everyone happy. âYeah, I know. Iâll talk to her when we get back to the hotel.â
âI think thatâs a great idea, lover boy,â Penelope grinned.
You opened the office door, files in hand. Mr and Mrs Miller immediately stood up as you entered and you gave them a sympathetic smile. Mrs Miller had clearly been crying, still clutching a tissue in her hand while her husband paced around the office.
âPlease, have a seat, Mr Miller,â you said gently.
âIâll stand,â he replied firmly. You decided not to argue and sat down on the chair opposite the couch where Mrs Miller sat.
âMrs Miller, Iâm Agent L/N, Iâm with the Behavioural Analysis Unit in the FBIââ
âFBI?â She questioned. âWas Evan in trouble?â
âWe suspect he and his friend Daniel were killed by the same person,â you explained. Mrs Miller let out a soft gasp, her hand coming to rest over her mouth.Â
âIs it alright if I ask you a few questions about Evan?â You asked. Sarah didnât say anything but she nodded her head, fresh tears forming in her eyes. âDaniel and Evan knew each other, right?â
âThey went to high school together,â Sarah replied, her voice shaking. âThey were so excited when they both got into Caltech,â she smiled sadly, fresh tears streaming down her face.
âDo you have any idea who killed our son?â Ben asked, his voice sounding angry.
âThatâs what weâre here for,â you said, âweâre here to find who killed your son and whyââ
ââWhyâ?â Ben repeated, âhe was just a kid.â
You sighed softly, âI understand that, sir. Weâre just trying to figure out a possible connection.â
âEvan and Daniel were good kids. They would never hurt a fly,â Sarah frowned, sniffling softly as she began crying again.Â
âDid Daniel and Evan hang around the same social groups?â You asked, turning your attention to Mr Miller, who was still pacing around the office with his arms crossed. âMaybe in some kind of extracurricular activities?â
âThey were both on the college basketball team,â Ben said after a beat. âWhy? You think this asshole is going to kill more of these kids?â
âI am just trying to get an idea of the social groups Evan and Daniel were a part of,â you didnât want to get into the gory details of why you were asking such questions and decided they were both far too emotional for you to keep asking them questions; you would let Hotch handle it. âI need to speak with my team but Iâll be right outside if you need anything.â You rested a hand on Mrs Millerâs shoulder and you couldnât shake how much you missed JJ doing this part.
You let out a sigh as you left the office, rubbing the tension in the back of your neck. You slowly walked over to Hotch, âEvan was on the Caltech Basketball team, he and Daniel went to high school together and Evanâs parents were adamant he was a good kid. I think he was a good kid, just got involved with the wrong people.â
Hotch let out a breath, âI want you and Prentiss to go to the school, talk to the faculty, basketball team coach, anything you can get.â
You nodded, gesturing to Emily on the other side of the bullpen. She firmly nodded at you and the two of you left for the school.
The team worked the case for two days before another body showed up. Everyone was starting early and finishing late to find the person who was doing this and you worked closely with the detectives and other officers on the case. Hotch gave the profile as soon as the team was certain but given the demographic of the suburban areas he was targeting these boys, it was rather unremarkable. The third body belonged to 21-year-old Oliver Marsh, another Caltech student studying Physics. He was shot once in the head while walking his dog no further than a block from his house.Â
You stood in the middle of Oliverâs bedroom staring at the posters and certificates that littered his walls. Spencer rifled through papers on his desk, mostly finding papers related to physics journals and essays for school. Emily and David were downstairs talking to the parents while Hotch and Morgan went to see the crime scene.
You walked over to his bedside table pulling it open. There were a lot of birthday cards and a game boy but what caught your attention was the little clear yellow bottles with white caps. You lifted the first bottle out, reading the labelâ
âOliver was taking Oxycodone,â you said softly, catching Spencerâs attention. â...And Escitalopram,â you spun on your heel, showing Spencer the two bottles. Spencer took the bottles from your hands, eyebrows furrowed as he carefully read the labels. âChronic pain?â you suggested.
âCould be,â Spencer replied. âHe could have been taking non-steroidal anti-inflammatories too, theyâre typically over the counter.â
You rifled through the drawer again, pulling out a blue box, âYeah, he was taking Ibuprofen too.â
âWe should talk to the parents,â Spencer said. You nodded and the two of you ushered down the stairs to where his parents sat in the living room with David and Emily. âWas Oliver suffering from chronic pain?â Spencer quickly questioned before he even fully made it into the living room.
Oliverâs mother held a tissue to her nose, glancing at Emily with a confused expression. You put your hand on Spencerâs bicep, âHas Oliver injured himself recently? Maybe a fall or injury while playing sports?â
Oliverâs father shook his head, âNo, not recently. Heâs been on those antidepressants for a few years and takes the codeine when he hasâ had flare-ups.â
âFlare-ups?â David asked pointedly.
âHe was in a car accident four years ago,â Mrs Marsh said, âHe was in the passenger seat and was in a coma for two weeks⊠he hadnât really been the same after that, got really sad and antisocial⊠he was in a lot of pain too.â
âHe had to stop playing Football and running track, his body just couldnât keep up,â Mr Marsh added, his eyes glazing over. âHe lost a lot of friends, I donât think I ever saw him hang out with anyone, Physics became everything to him.â
âDo you have evidence of his medical records anywhere?â Spencer asked. âJust so I can look them over.â
âUh, yeah, of course,â Mrs Marsh stood up, Spencer following her to their home office on the other side of the house.
You sat down across from Mr Marsh, âThe accident he was in,â you started, âwhat happened?â
He looked at you with a pain in his eyes, âHe was in the car with some of his friends and they were driving home from a party and it was late. I think they were allâŠâ he hesitated for a moment, âthey were all drunk.â
âWho was in the car?â Emily asked, not liking where this was going.
â...Evan Miller and Daniel Clark,â his father began to cry, holding his hand over his mouth. You felt your eyes widen, this was a revenge killing.
âWho was driving, Mr Marsh?â David asked quickly.
âUm, godââ He sniffled softly, âPeter⊠Peter something, he was older than them, I really donât remember.â
âThank you, Mr Marsh,â You stood up, quickly moving to the front door to call Penelope. You pulled out your phone, dialling her number. She picked up after the first ring.
âHow may I be of service, oh queen of my country?â she sang, her fingers typing furiously against her keyboard.Â
âI need you to look into an accident for me, four years ago,â you said with your hand on your hip. âOliver Marsh, Daniel Clark and Evan Miller were all in the accident too. See if you can find newspaper articles, news segments, anythingâ I think we know who the last target is.â
âRight, give me a moment,â Penelope replied. You heard her typing before she stopped, âOh noâŠâ she mumbled softly.
âWhatâs wrong, Pen?â You furrowed your brows.
âPeter Harvey,â Penelope sighed, âheâs the last boy⊠He was driving with three other high school boys; Oliver, Daniel and Evan when they struck an oncoming car and killed a pregnant woman on impact; her husband walked away without a scratch.â
âShit.â You cursed, âWhatâs his name?â
âJonathan Hughes, his wife was Katherine⊠she was 8 months pregnant, Y/N.â Penelope sounded so pained and you knew she was thinking of you and the small baby you were carrying. âY/NâŠâ
âI know, Pen⊠After this case wraps up⊠Iâll tell everyone,â you replied with a gentle sigh.
âAnd youâll take time off?â Penelope sounded like she was lecturing you.
You smiled to yourself, âYeah, Penelope. Iâll take some time off.â
âOkay⊠Iâll send Hotch and Morgan Jonathanâs last known address, Iâm sending you Peter Harveyâs addressââ
Your phone beeped as Penelope sent the address through. âWhere would I be without you, Pen?â
âNowhere good, my love,â you could hear the smile in her voice. You quickly hung up before walking back into the Marshâs house.Â
Emily and David turned to look at you, âWeâve got him.â
âAlright, you guys go, Iâll grab Reid and weâll be right behind you,â David waved you off and Emily quickly ushered the two of you to the car.Â
Emily was speeding toward the address Penelope had given you while you called Hotch and Morgan, filling them in on all the information Penelope had given you. They agreed to go to Jonathanâs address to hopefully intersect him before he left for Peter Harvey. You were always nervous when it came to these parts of the case because you couldnât control the outcome no matter how hard you tried. A grieving man was going around killing these young men and while it was awful what he was doing; you could sympathise with him and the pain he was feeling over losing his wife and unborn child.Â
You instinctively rested a hand over your belly, your thumb stroking the small curve. You couldnât even imagine how much pain Spencer would be in if he lost you, let alone your child too. You would tell him and you would ask Hotch about taking some time off later in your pregnancy and sitting out of cases like this.Â
âShit heâs already here,â Emily cursed when she noticed Jonathanâs SUV parked a couple of blocks from Peterâs address. âCall Hotch.â
You dialled Hotchâs number and he picked up almost instantly, âWhat is it, L/N?â
âHeâs already here, his SUV is parked a couple blocks down from Peterâs address. Heâs already out looking for him,â You quickly said.
âWeâre on our way, units are already on route,â he hung up after that.Â
Emily pulled the car up on the gutter, the car skidding to a stop. You immediately pushed the door open, holding your gun by your thigh as you ran across the lawn to Peter Harveyâs house. You knocked on the door and a woman answered after a beat.
âMrs Harvey?â You asked, panting softly.
âYes?â
âIs your son Peter here?â
âNo, he went to the store down the street an hour ago, he should be back soon⊠What is this about?â She asked, her hand gripping the door in concern.
âWe believe someone dangerous may be looking for your son,â Emily said. Mrs Harvey rested her hand over her mouth, a soft gasp leaving her lips.
âMom?â You spun around and Peter stood with a plastic bag of groceries in his hand in the middle of the lawn.
It all happened almost in slow motion. You saw a figure wearing dark clothes stalking across the lawn and without even thinking, you darted toward Peter as the UnSub pulled the gun out of his coat, aiming it straight at Peterâs head. You could hear Emily yelling at Mrs Harvey to go back inside before she pulled out her gun and aimed it at the UnSub; but it was too late.
You shoved Peter to the ground as he fired, feeling the shot burn through your shoulder as both you and Peter fell to the ground. You instinctively pressed a hand to your burning shoulder, warm blood oozing from the wound and through your fingers.Â
âJonathan Hughes?â You said, your breathing heavy as you tried to fight through the pain. He held his gun right in front of your face.
âMove,â he grunted, his eyes glassy.
âI know what happened to your wife,â you breathed trying to stall him as more police cars with blaring sirens pulled into the street.
âThey killed her,â tears streamed down his face and you honestly felt bad for him.Â
âIt was an accident,â you replied softly.
âThey were drunk,â he almost yelled, his hand shaking as his gun was still trained on you.
âI know,â you said, âIt was a stupid mistake that haunted them, Jonathan. I know it doesnât change what happened but these boysââ
âTheyâre monsters!â he shouted, hot tears streaming down his cheeks.
You saw David and Spencer get out of the car. Spencerâs heart was in his throat when he saw you kneeled on the ground, shielding Peter with your body while your hand and shirt were covered in your own blood. He didnât even pick up his gun as he began stalking toward you.
âY/N?â His voice was soft when he called you at first, then it turned to outright concern and anger, âY/N? No, no!â
David grabbed Spencerâs arm, pulling him back as Spencer fought against him, trying to get to you. It was irrational and it was dangerous. David quickly picked up his walkie, âAn agent has been shot, we need an ambulance.â
âWho was shot?!â Penelopeâs voice rang out in the car as she spoke to Morgan and Hotch.
âI repeat, agent L/N is shot, we need an ambulance,â David spoke before putting his walkie away to hold Spencer back, pulling him to the ground.
âMorgan! Oh my god!â Penelope felt tears form in her eyes.
âItâs okay, babygirl, sheâs going to be alright,â Morgan said, trying to reassure her as Hotch stepped on the accelerator.Â
âNo, Morgan, you donât understandââ
âWeâre going to get an ambulanceââ
âSheâs pregnant!â Penelope blurted out, not knowing what else to say for them to understand the gravity of why Penelope was so upset and concerned.Â
Hotch hesitated for a moment, âSheâs what?â
Penelope let out a shaky breath, âsheâs twelve weeks pregnant, Hotch. She wasnât going to tell anyone until after the caseâ and now sheâs been shot.â Penelope began to cry, holding her hand over her mouth as tears slipped from her eyes.
Hotch hadnât sped that fast since he found out Foyet was in his house. He cared about his team a lot and he had a soft spot for you even though he wouldnât admit it. The tires skidded along the road as Hotch pulled on the handbrake, both him and Morgan training their guns on the UnSub as they approached.
Morganâs heart hurt at the sight of you, your skin slightly paled as blood bloomed from your shoulder, drenching your arm and your hands. You looked so scared as the UnSub trained his gun on you, unmoving. Emily had her gun aimed at the UnSub, yelling for him to put it down.
âJonathan Hughes!â Morganâs voice caught your attention. âPut down the gun!â
âDonât move!â Jonathan shouted, âIâll shoot her!â
âNo you wonât, man,â Morgan shook his head.
âHow do you know that!? Sheâs in my way!â He shouted back.
âSheâs pregnant,â Morgan sighed. Your eyes widened as you looked at Morgan, who looked back at you with a sad expression.Â
Spencer stopped fighting against David, his breathing evening out as the words fell on his ears. You were pregnant. You were carrying his baby and you got shot and now you had a gun held up in front of your face. Spencer didnât even realise he was crying, his tears cold against his warm skin. All he could do was watch, there was nothing he could do.
Jonathan glanced at you as you held your hand over your belly. âW-What?â
Morgan reached a hand out as he got closer. âJust like your wife, Jonathan⊠You wouldnât kill a pregnant woman like those boys did.âÂ
Jonathan seemed to dissociate, staring at you with such a hurt expression as Morgan leapt forward, grabbing the gun from Jonathanâs hands and tossing it across the grass. He pushed Jonathan to the ground, pinning his hands behind his back. You let out a breath as you felt yourself grow tired. Emily caught you before you fell the rest of the way to the ground, holding you close to her body as she screamed for a medic.Â
âYouâre okay, youâre okay,â Emily gently rocked you, âyouâre going to be fine.â
âIâm sorry,â you muttered, tears running down your cheeks.
Your eyes were heavy as you attempted to pry them open.
You let out a shaky breath as you finally pulled your eyes open, the smell of disinfectant hit you first, followed by the sounds of beeping. You were in the hospital. You glanced down at your arm, an IV stuck in your arm while a pulse oximeter was clipped to your finger. Despite the fact the doctor had prescribed pain medication, you still felt like shit and your shoulder was killing you.
A soft noise caught your attention and you glanced at the chair next to your bed, Spencer sound asleep in a chair with a hospital blanket draped over him. You smiled softly as you saw the flowers, balloons and plushies littered around your room, most likely a courtesy of Penelope.
âSheâs awake,â Morgan smiled, standing in the doorway.Â
You grinned at him, âHi, Derek.â
Morgan slowly walked over to your bed. âFeeling okay, pretty girl?â Morgan gently grabbed your hand, giving it a soft squeeze.
âIâm okay,â you replied. You almost didnât want to ask but you knew you had to, â...is the baby okay?â
âYour baby is fine,â Morgan replied with a soft smile. You let out a breath of relief as you placed a hand over your tummy protectively. â...You scared the life out of everyone though.â
âI know,â you sighed.
âEspecially your lover boy,â Morgan said, âhe hasnât left your side.â
âSounds like my Spencer,â you laughed softly.Â
âY/N?â Spencerâs voice was laced with sleep as he opened his eyes. He quickly got up, ditching the blanket on the floor to tend to you.
âIâll leave you to it,â Morgan quickly said before leaving the room.
Spencerâs warm hands cupped your face as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, âI thought I lost you, Y/N.â He let out a breath, pulling away to stare at your face and stroke your cheeks with his thumbs. You reached a hand up to grip his forearm.
âIâm sorryââ
âYou donât need toââ
âIâm sorry I didnât tell you.â Tears formed in your eyes as you stared up at him, searching for any kind of anger or resentment. There wasnât any, he could never be mad at you.
âI wouldnât have let you come on the case,â he replied after a beat. âI wouldnât have let you leave the house.â
âThatâs why I didnât tell you⊠I knew you would be protectiveâ more protective,â you corrected with a soft smile.Â
âIâm aware,â Spencer pulled his lips into a tight smile. âYou know the odds of⊠complications are higher in the first trimester, angel. You should have told me,â he frowned.
âI know, Spence,â you sighed. âI just wanted to make sure I was in the clear before I told you⊠I understand being shot isnât necessarily helping with that butââ
âI understand,â he replied. âIâm just glad youâre okay.â
You stared at him for a moment, âare you happy?â
âHappy?â
âThat Iâm pregnant? I know weâre not married and our jobs are crazy butââ
Spencer cut you off by pressing a kiss to your lips, he pulled away slightly, âIâve never been more happy,â he whispered.
You beamed with happiness, a bright smile tugging on your lips. Spencer hesitantly pressed a hand to your belly, his thumb stroking your tiny bump.
âPenelope thinks itâs a girl,â you muttered.
â...What do you think?â He asked curiously.
âI think she might be right,â you giggled softly.
âYou know you canât actually tell yet,â Spencer said and you rolled your eyes playfully.
âYou asked what I thought!â you retorted.
He laughed softly, âYes, youâre right, youâre right.â
âMmm, did that taste like poison to admit?â
âAre gunshot victims supposed to be this mouthy?â
a/n: phew! i hope you guys liked it <3 i know i disappeared for a hot minute but here she is!!!
#criminal minds#spencer reid x reader#criminal minds x reader#spencer reid#x reader#spencer reid fluff#cm spencer#dr reid#spencer reid x pregnant!reader#pregnant reader#female reader#spencer reid x fem reader#penelope garcia#criminal minds dr reid#cm x reader#derek morgan#david rossi#aaron hotchner#jennifer jareau#jj#emily prentiss
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*cough* agatha with a controversially young lover *cough*
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đ/đ: I'm combining this with another request for Agatha and a virgin reader because it seemed like a very natural fit. I hope that's okay.
đđ: Age gap (reader's in their 20s), Virgin!Reader, Dom!Agatha, Oral (Agatha receiving), fingering, accidental exposure, slightly mean domming
Agatha called you out for eyefucking her the first time you met. Reveling in the flustered panic that followed.
âWhat? No, no, I um- I didn't mean to-â
âOh, relax twerp, it takes more than a horny Zoomer to make me clutch my pearls.â
As unimpressed as she seemed with you though, that wasn't the last time she sought you out.
Because apparently, despite your age you made the best potions of anyone in the state, and her need for one drove her right up the grungy stairwell to your apartment.
Dressed to the nines in her expensive blazer and fancy updo, she looked almost comical outside your door, glaring through the threshold. âI'm here for the potion.â
âShhh.â You ushered her inside, glancing over your shoulder. âMy roommates don't know⊠about my extracurriculars.â
âOf course you have roommates.â
Of course that was the only part of your statement she addressed.
âItâs finished, come in.â
She followed you to your bedroom, a sad little thing, half taken up by your desk alone.
Your college textbooks were pushed precariously to the side to make way for your supplies, from which you plucked a vial and handed it to her.
âHere you go.â
Agatha held it to the light, examining the dark liquid inside with something like approval sparkling in her eyes⊠At least until you opened your mouth.
âThat'll be 500 dollars.â You said, wincing as her inspecting gaze turned to wide, fiery eyes. â...Mam.â
â500 dollars? Are you joking?â
âSorry. College is expensive.â
You wisely didn't mention that most of your customers were a lot less magically experienced than her and easier to gouge.
âI didn't even bring 500 dollars.â
You sighed. You could -as was evident- really use the money but you weren't going to pick a fight with The Agatha Harkness over it, that was for sure.
âFine. 100.â
She huffed but reached into a pocket and handed you the bill.
âGreat. Just great. Ya know, if you think I'm wound tight now you should see me on a budget.â
âUh huh.â You couldn't muster sympathy for her if you tried, you doubted you could even brew a potion to. âI'd think at your level you could just magic-up whatever you want... I'm not even sure why you need me.â
Nerve struck, her only reply was a withering glare as she tucked the potion away in an inner pocket of her jacket.
Talking just to fill the silence, shooting your shot because you figured you weren't going to make her any more pissed off, you continued,
âIf stress relief is what you're after there are other ways. Free ones.â
You didn't know if she'd catch your meaning, you thought it might be better if she didn't, but oh, she did.
Suddenly, you were the center of Agatha Harknessâ attention, a gleam in her eye and a smirk twisting her face.
âYou offering one?â
Your stomach lurched. Did that actually work?
You clawed inwards for any shreds of confidence, enough to get out, âI, well, I could be-â
âThat what the discount was for? You wanted a different kind of payment?â
And that threw you off completely.
âWhat? No, no I-â
âCareful.â She teased. âA sweet little thing like you really shouldn't be offering up what you're not willing to part with.â
She was fucking with you.
And you stumbled right into her trap with no thoughts of getting out.
âI'm not, I mean, I am, I'm willing, if youâŠâ
As much as she clearly enjoyed chewing on your embarrassment, you could tell her patience was thinning by the straining look on her face. She wasn't going to stand there all day waiting for you to get a sentence out.
Fuck it.
Agatha Harkness respects bravery you rationalized, seconds before your lips hit hers.
The terror of free-falling only faded as her lips pushed back against your own, returning your kiss with one more domineering, more violent. So heated your brain was almost melting.
Agatha pulled back, but with swelling lips you hardly felt the difference.
âYou sure you know what you're getting yourself into?â
You nodded dumbly, âIâm really into you.â
âOh, I know you are, Hon, that's not what I'm asking.â Her tone was dark and steady, as soft as a caress. âDo you honestly think you can handle me?â
You swallowed, eyes locked on hers against every instinct to avert them.
âI-Iâll try my best.â
She laughed, a breathy kind of cackle that left a wicked grin on her face.
âProve it.â
Her hands on your shoulders turned heavy and almost thoughtlessly you sank to your knees under their strength.
âYou want me toâŠ?â
She gave you that same look again, like she was waiting for you to catch up and running low on patience.
âOkay⊠wow, umâŠâ
Your hands, so steady and precise an hour ago while you worked, shook as you reached for Agatha's zipper.
This couldn't have been real, you waited with bated breath for her to slap your hands away.
For someone to jump out of your closet laughing.
For her to pull out a dagger and slit your throat in some kind of virgin sacrifice ritual, because, hey, what was more likely, Agatha Harkness fucking you or killing you?
But her zipper went down, and with a huff Agatha pushed her pants and panties down right along with it.
Holy fuck.
You nearly moaned at the sight of the most perfect cunt you had ever seen in your life. Which was redundant, but it was the only thought your fritzed, virgin brain would supply.
But with white-hot lust came a knot in your stomach as it dawned on you that hundreds of years of experience was staring you down.
How could you possibly live up to that? Be adequate even?
âThis is where you lick it.â
You startled at her gravelly voice.
Right. Try now, wallow in your inevitable failure later.
âShould we lock the door first?â you asked, glancing at your crudely installed cheap lock.
âI don't know, should we?â She asked rhetorically, looking like she was seconds away from pushing your head where she wanted it herself.
âRight, nevermind.â
You dove forward, licking straight up her slit and earning a catch in the older woman's breath.
Was she surprised? Expecting you to back out just as much as you expected her to?
Wetness gathered on your tongue, a taste of pure sex that made your head spin. You heard yourself moan. Go figure youâd be the first one to.
You lapped greedily at her cunt, a sloppy exploration that you could've spent an eternity on, but Agatha wasn't having that.
âMore.â She exclaimed, halfway between a moan and a growl.
You weren't too inexperienced to know what that meant.
You dragged your tongue up and prodded around for her clit, barely making out the little bud.
Okay. Now what?
You wracked your brain for sex tips. The alphabet trick? Did that even work in real life?
Testing the waters, you used your tongue to spell out your name on her clit, and in a flood of relief and liquid heat you heard a breathy, little moan above you.
Her bundle of nerves swelled under your tongue, hardening into something defined, something easy to play with.
âOh! That's it! That's a good girl.â
God, she was gonna make you cum on the spot talking like that.
Lust caving in your brain, your licks dissolved to messy, thoughtless circles and crosses. Not that Agatha seemed to mind.
You glanced up at her with hazy vision. Her arm was pressed to her forehead, fist closed as tightly as her eyes. She was already so close.
Possessed by a desperate need to give her that final push over the edge you brought your fingers to her pussy, sliding two inside of her in a gentle thrust.
Agatha moaned through gritted teeth, clenching hard around you while you curled inside her, grazing her g-spot.
âFuck, fuck, fuck.â
Saliva and Agathaâs own wetness dripped down her legs, down your hand, down your chin. She trembled beneath you, breath hitching and coming back a choked sob.
Violent flutters errupted beneath your tongue and around your fingers, but you didn't dare ease up without her command, you didn't until she broke off panting.
âEasy, Tiger, what are you doing? Going for two?â She all but gasped out.
âSorry.â You said, no more composed yourself. âSo, um, was that okay?â
She laughed, âyeah, you did good.â As if remembering that she was the wicked witch of Westview she twisted her features into something meaner. âBut don't get too cocky, it's been a long time for me.â
Before you could be proud of the praise or offended by it being cut down you jolted -nearly out of your skin- with the click of your door opening.
âWoah! Ever heard of a sock on the door?â
Oh fuck.
You couldn't even look at your roommate. Wide, apologetic eyes on a groaning Agatha pulling her pants up. Annoyed but not quite embarrassed about this stranger getting an eyeful of her ass.
With her own scolding gaze burning into yours you could only cringe deeply, watching as any chance of Agatha returning the favor faded into the abyss.
âI gotta say, I think this warrants a refund.â
#agatha harkness x reader#agatha harkness smut#agatha all along#agatha all along x reader#marvel x reader#marvel smut#marvel imagine#mcu x reader#agatha harkness
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Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader x Rio Vidal: The Prize
Summary: Agatha has been fighting to reclaim her prize from Rio for a long time.
AO3
Included: dark themes, lesbian drama & yearning, near-death experiences, smut; biting, orgasm denial, praise kink, degradation, s&m, blood, fingering, cunnilingus, use of pet names, begging
Words: 9.7k
Tag List: @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @escapetodreamworld @white--lillies @imtrashinflames
1750
Glowing hands press over the seeping wound, magic swirling around them, diving inside. Thereâs no satisfaction of watching the flesh knit itself back together. Instead, your magic drifts right back out like smoke.Â
Oh Goddess.Â
âDo take your time.â Agatha snaps, voice strained, âI have absolutely no plans.âÂ
Five types of poison are immune to tangible magic. You know antidotes for three. Staring hard at the wound, you look for the blackened edges consistent with Nightrot, finding the flesh as red and irritated as to be expected. Is it swelling or screaming that goes with Alewifeâs Revenge? A glance up at her face finds it normal. Her lips are pursed.Â
Your hands shake, one hovering over the open wound in her middle, the other clutching your head. Remembering has never mattered more so why is your mind empty? Pieces of information slip through your fingers like sand. Dozens of cadavers, hundreds of hours of study; useless.Â
Unable to rely on your memory, you scramble across the floor for the dagger thatâd flown from the wall. The little light coming from the boarded windows prompts the metal to glint. The edge of the blade is sticky with blood, beneath it a metallic sheen that can only be a witches poison. You hold it up to the slant of light to see the color.Â
âAre you out of your mind? Heal me!âÂ
You drop the dagger the second the poison glints purple. You slap your hand over your mouth, panic beginning to course through your veins; the bodyâs own special brand of poison.Â
How are you going to tell her?
âIâm trying!â You snap, voice breaking.Â
Itâs a cruel joke that the poison should be so well matched to the witch bearing its effects. You stare at the edge as it rocks from being dropped, your stomach turning when the color doesnât change. If only you could be wrong this once.Â
Were you a lesser witch, youâd curl in a little ball and quail under the weight of your failures. The idea is seductive. Yet, you turn to Agatha where she lies, pale and sweating on the floorboards. The pallor of her skin makes you whimper.Â
âAgatha,â You start, your voice holding just enough, âitâs Sauraâs Dread.âÂ
Things click into place behind her eyes despite the glazed-over look to them. She fights to find a way out of this, but you know well that the reality cannot be avoided.Â
âGive it to me. Youâre wrong.âÂ
âI know poisons better than most.â You hand the dagger over anyway.Â
âThatâs not saying much.âÂ
The comment stings, but you let it slide off you. You cannot give into petty squabbles now. With so little time to find a solution, you have to focus.Â
She stares hard at the blade as if willing it to change.Â
âBrew the antidote.âÂ
âI canât.â You whisper.Â
Thereâs a flicker of something in her gaze that looks suspiciously like rage. Your own internal fire leaps to meet it; of all the emotions to look upon you withârage? As if this is your fault? Youâre not the one that dragged her into this old cabin, intent on sifting through the contents.Â
Itâs not your fault. You know that as the truth. Yet, shame floods you.Â
âYouâre a healer.â Agatha spits, âWhat good are you if you donât know the antidote?âÂ
âSomeone didnât let me stay with my coven long enough to learn it!âÂ
âThe next time someone tries to keep you from me, Iâll let them.âÂ
The fire in your chest ebbs. An old argument at an inconvenient time. There will be no rough makeup sex following this argument, no unspoken apologies in Agathaâs kisses. All the time, all the bodies; they cannot be for nothing. They mean too much.Â
Fleetingly, you feel pity for your old coven. In their minds they had attempted to do the right thing. Keeping you from Agatha must have seemed reasonable. But you remember how many bodies they made, how pleased it made Her.Â
Sauraâs Dread takes its victim within six hours. This, you know confidently. The demise is slow and painful, a poison intended for torture. You canât stand to see Agatha in this kind of pain. Youâre not ready for her to be just another body.
âIâm calling Her.â You say.Â
âNo.â Agatha counters, âSheâll never let me live it down.âÂ
âYou wonât live down anything if youâre dead, Agatha.âÂ
âI wonât die.âÂ
Sheâs an idiot.Â
Magic flowing into your fingertips, you trace familiar symbols on the floor. They glow bright and then dim as they wait. Around your neck sits an old, jagged bone, tied by a thread; you use the end of said bone to split your palm and drip blood over the symbols.Â
Agathaâs mouth is moving, but you donât listen. You mutter the incantation in latin under your breath. The wordsâold and comfortingâcurl your tongue in ways that youâve only known between two pairs of legs. You end the incantation with the key that gets you around the waiting list; Her name, Her true name.Â
Thereâs a blinding flash of light and a puff of fog, but the symbols contain it. You catch the glint of white teeth.Â
âYou rang?âÂ
Rio smiles, clad in darkness and bone and that same beauty that always stops you in your tracks. Upon seeing her, you breathe easier.
âWe need your help.âÂ
âYou wouldnât have called so formally if it was quality time you wanted.â Amusement dances in her eyes.Â
She eyes the symbols on the floor. They no longer glow, but still they contain her. She scuffs a foot along them.Â
You smudge the symbols and the containment drops. Stepping over the magic as it sinks down into the earth, she catches you by the waist and devours you; lips and teeth and tongue dominating your own, leaving you helpless to do anything but give in. And youâre all too willing to do so.Â
When she pulls back, youâre breathless. Somewhere in the fray your lip has begun to bleed. Rio soothes her tongue over the wound and you feel it close.Â
âHand.âÂ
You offer the demanded appendage, palm up. She places a kiss in the center and licks the blood from her lips.Â
Rio turns her head to where Agatha has dragged herself to sit against the wall. The rise and fall of her chest is slow, but there. She glares at the two of you. You flush while Rio grins.Â
âHi, sweetheart. You look like shit.â Rio says, delighted.Â
âA side effect.â Agatha grits out, âThe same canât be said for you.âÂ
Rio tilts her head back and laughs. Itâs deep and rich and fills you with thoughts that are not appropriate for this situation. The hand on your waist squeezes as if she knows. Then, she releases you.Â
She crosses to crouch before Agatha, devious smile shifting to something softer. One of her hands works through a lock of Agathaâs hair, brushing it out of her face.Â
âWhat did you get yourself into?âÂ
Agathaâs eyes drop to Rioâs lips, but she stays silent.Â
âSauraâs Dread.â You choke out, shame winding itself tight inside you, âI donâtâI canât brew the antidote.âÂ
You should have done more to push off Agathaâs agenda; just so you would have finished your research. A few extra days wouldnât have hurt. They wouldâve infuriated Agathaâand Rio by extensionâbut then you would know the solution instead of watching her slowly wither away.Â
Rio doesnât look away from Agatha, but you know the soothing tone is for you, âItâs okay.âÂ
Something passes between the two that you miss. One moment, Rio holds Agathaâs face in her hand, while Agathaâhesitantlyâleans into the contact. The next Rio is standing between the two of you, toying with her knife, all business.Â
You feel a chill pass through you at the unfamiliar territory; staring into Rioâs eyes and finding the affection buried away. It stings more than knowing how youâve failed.Â
âYouâre asking me for life in a bottle.â Rio says, grinning, âWhat do I get in return?â
Short of knowing that Rio would fix it should you ask, you find yourself shamefully bereft of anything with value. You search the space for anything to bargain with. Agathaâs eyes should be looking at you with knowing, but her gaze doesnât leave Rio.Â
When Agatha tilts her head and grins, turning on the bedroom eyes, you pause.Â
âWhat youâve wanted for years.â Agatha says, âBrew me a little potion and you can have her all to yourself.âÂ
Rioâs brows shoot sky high. You tilt your head, then freeze. Itâs you. Agathaâs bargaining you.
There should be a sweetness in knowing youâre the only thing of value she has to offer, yet the taste is sour on your tongue. The words feel like a punishment, a reprimandâand not the kind youâve begged at her feet for. That awful part of you would rather Agatha die than ever willingly give you up and Rio eyes you as if she knows it. Does it please her to know how theyâve twisted you?
One mistake, you think bitterly, and Agatha throws in the towel. Despite all the near-death experiences youâve endured at her side. Despite the years youâve spent together. You never expected a punishment of this proportion.Â
You bite your tongue. At your sides, your fists clench and unclench. They glow with the anger you canât keep hidden.Â
Pride rears its unhelpful head and you speak before you can stop to think, âMy life for Agathaâs.âÂ
Rioâs full attention is on you, then. Her eyes are bright.Â
You speak directly to her, âIâm bound to you and The Road until such time as Agatha traverses it to collect me.âÂ
Had you not been so focused on Rio, you would have noticed Agatha flinch at your suggestion. Her wide, glassy eyes stare at you. You do not give her the satisfaction of your attention. If she is going to be cruel, so can you.Â
Your terms are a challenge; and Agatha doesnât turn down a challenge.Â
Her devious, wicked mask clicks back into place. Rioâs expression is pensive. Despite the poison working through her system, Agatha almost looks as powerful as her best day.Â
âYouâd let me steal her away, O Death?â Agatha teases.Â
The comment is salt in your open wound. You glare, wishing more than anything that you could wrap your hands around her pretty neck and squeeze. You want her not only to begâbut to apologize.Â
But Rioâs eyes havenât left you for a second.Â
âAlright, sweetheart.â Rio says, âYour life, bound to mine, until Agatha comes to get you.âÂ
In it you understand the desire you both share; to have Agatha, one way or another. You wonder if the desire for possession is your own or something youâve learned from her.Â
From her pocket comes a small glass vial. She tosses it to Agatha, who only barely catches it. She cradles it like something precious.Â
âDrink up.â Rio orders.Â
Then Rio is there, arm around your waist, holding all your pieces together. You lean into her comfort as color returns to Agathaâs cheeks.Â
âTe veo.âÂ
--
1754
âShe waits for you.â
Agatha whips around, purple crackling at her fingertips. At the edge of the clearing, Rio leans her weight against a gnarled tree, eyeing the withered husks of once-witches in the grass with interest. She looks almost predatory.Â
âDoes she?âÂ
Rio nods, eyes shifting to Agatha, âLike a puppy. Itâs almost pathetic.âÂ
It is pathetic, is what she should say. Time and affection have curbed her tongue on this small thing at least. On you. Agathaâs smile is knowing.Â
Rio has pulled her punches toward you since the beginning. Agathaâs never minded. Itâs almost sweet watching the oldest force in the multiverse tiptoe around a witch barely into her second century. Is it that craving for ancient knowledge in your veins that renders Rio down, or is it simply your pretty face?Â
Does it matter?Â
âI donât have what I need yet.â Agatha rolls her eyes, âWitches these days donât have the power they used to.âÂ
âOr maybe youâre leveling the population before they have time to strengthen.â Rio raises a brow.Â
Agatha thinks, deliberately dramatic, then shrugs, âNo, thatâs not it.âÂ
With a shake of her head, Rio steps out from the treeline, and closes the distance across the clearing. Agatha watches every step with dark eyes. The stench of death and magic sends a chill down Rioâs spine; thereâs nothing more delicious than a life snuffed out.Â
The wind slows in the trees as if sensing her. Birds silence their sweet tunes. There is frantic rustling in the trees somewhere as creatures do all they can to get away.Â
Yet Agatha stands, waiting, and allows Death to pull her into her embrace.Â
One of Rioâs great loves is watching skin split so she can lap up the blood at her own pace. Yet, when her hands settle on Agathaâs hips, theyâre gentle. She doesnât open wounds with her teeth. Rather, she moves her lips over Agathaâs until she canât breathe. Agatha is wary when she pulls back.Â
Rio shrugs, âA message from her.âÂ
âI see. Forgiven me, has she?â A slow, taunting grin, âAnything from you?âÂ
âHave you earned it?âÂ
âThese bodies didnât make themselves.â
A tilt of her head, as if considering, âMaybe youâve earned something small, then.âÂ
And they meet in a clash of lips and teeth. Rioâs hands are everywhere, leaving behind deep claw marks that make Agatha moan into her mouth. Agathaâs own nails pierce through cloth and skin at her hips but draw no blood. She tries to push Rio backward toward one of the trees, she just needs a little leverage and Rioâs thigh toâ
Rio pulls back. She grins something wicked at the flash of Agathaâs purple.
âSomething small.â
Agatha makes a face, batting her lashes. Rio doesnât give in.Â
âYouâre awful.â
âYou love it.â Rio says, then her face takes on something more serious, âDonât keep her waiting, Agatha.â
Then sheâs gone as if she was never there; the only evidence being the bleeding marks on her skin. Agatha stares at where she stood for a long time before moving on.
--
1801
The Road changes, youâve seen, as the covens come along. Small cottages, ancient ruinsâthe most interesting was an old system of catacombs, though it lacked the remains youâd been intent on studying.
Your favorite, though, is the bower, absent of any illusions or spells.
Beneath a canopy of purple leaves upon a seat of grass, you watch the events unfold from afar. An old curved trunk sits at your back keeping you upright. The animalsâlost familiars, mostlyâwander up to you here, nibbling at fallen leaves and taking up residence in your lap.
From outside it could be mistaken for a simple tree. Yet, beneath it, the world is at your fingertips. The position of your place presents the underside of millions of glowing leaves to your view; lives, Rio said, witch and non-witch alike.
You find the one you love best among the foliage. You trace your finger down the purple veins, hoping she feels you, thinks of you, misses you. The veins seem to glow a little brighter at your touch.
Rio doesnât enjoy you toying with them; worried a wrong move on your part will take a life too soon, upsetting the greater balance sheâs beholden to. But she taught you how to handle Agathaâs. Trace, never prod. Caress, but never pluck.
A black cat settles in your lap and you sit straighter.
Soothing a hand down her back, she purrs. Her little body presses against your stomach and basks in your warmth.
âYou really are too predictable.â Rio says.
She stands a few feet away, clad in dirt and muck, yet still beautiful. Always beautiful.
âI like it here. Itâs comforting.â
âYou like being close to Agatha.â She corrects.
The leaf in question glows brighter as if sensing the mention. You trace a finger along the edge, willing all your love into it.
âThis is all I have of her.â You admit.
Something like softness creeps into Rioâs face. As soon as it appears, it recedes. She joins you under the canopy. The cat in your lap startles and leaps from your lap, darting back into the underbrush.
You had never thought to secure some token of Agathaâs, then. Now, with nothing of herâs to hold close, you settle for her life-line, begging it to tell you her whereabouts and if sheâs safe; it is always silent. Rio is, too. She doesnât mention much when you ask, though you know she knows the actions of every life tied to her.
The Road is a wonderful home. Rio is an attentive partner. But you ache, still, for the other set of hands you knew; those who were predictable in their firmness, balancing the sudden changes of Rioâs own.
âYouâre crying.â Rio says.
Her face is dark, but fury lingers around the edges. Something like worry flutters in and out of her eyes. You have nothing to say, so you only nod.
Then youâre in her lap. Rioâs bunching up your dress to your waist, canines embedded in your neck. Her nails dig into your hips and the blood warms you. You whimper.
Lips kiss down your neck while a hand hovers between your legs. You bear down, desperate for any friction to dull the ache. And she gives it to you. Her hand is exactly where you want it, fingers rubbing and pressing, and you grind your hips hard, harder until youâre right there.
And then her hand is gone.
You whine. Your hips move of their own volition, searching for that pressure to send you right over the edge. Rioâs lips catch your own in a bruising kiss and you whimper into her mouth.
Needy, desperate, you can almost hear her say.
But when she pulls away and digs her nails in harder, she whispers, âCry for me, sweetheart.â
She alternates between giving you what you crave and rescinding it for hours. You whimper, moan, and beg. She laughs and repeats herselfâcry for me. You lose count of how many almost-orgasms tighten your body just to go unfulfilled. You do cry. You sob and sheâs there, tongue licking up your tears and knuckle deep inside you, thumbing over your clit until you have what you want.
Youâre not sure how long you lay there, after, crying against her.
--
1833
Rioâs arm is warm where youâre wrapped around it. She leads you through the winding stone streets, around grand buildings with stained-glass windows. Some of the scenes depicted in the glass are beautiful, simple; but the majority are Catholic in nature, dripping with sadness and guilt. You shake your head.
Passersby nod or tilt their hats, but donât seem to see you. Their eyes go especially glassy when they look at Rio.
Whereas youâre clad in a dress of rich layered fabric, Rio has opted for more masculine attire. The low heels of her dress shoes click upon the stone. The unwrinkled fabric of her suit smells of smoke.
Your heels donât quite agree with the stone. After the fifth time of a near-twisted ankle, you huff, âCould I not have worn flat shoes?â
âThe heels compliment your legs.â
âYou canât even see them.â
âYet.â She winks.
You roll your eyes, ignoring the heat suffusing your cheeks. Another nod to a passing couple and Rio makes a sharp turn. Youâre led into a damp, dim alleyway.
The ground is made from rough slabs of uneven stone. You curse when your heel slips and only Rioâs strength keeps you standing. Water slides down the walls on either side, thick moss growing in the cracks. You reach out to feel it only for your hand to come away red.
If not for Rio pulling you along, youâd have screamed. Blood cascades down the walls. From it grow dark, twisted plants youâve studied beside The Road. Beneath the plants and out of them come bones; most have yellowed with age, but there is the occasional bright-white specimen.
Surprise aside, you lean toward the bones with interest. Still, Rio presses on.
The alleyway is growing slimmer by the second. Should it continue to do so, youâll be forced to walk behind Rio, and the thought makes you tense.
Rio squeezes your hand, âRelax, sweetheart.â
âIâd relax more if I knew what we were doing here.â
âWhereâs the fun in that?â
Before youâre forced to walk single-file, you come to the end. Rio traces a counter-sigil upon the stone. With a shudder, a door is revealed. Above the silver knocker, embedded in the door, sits an unblinking eyeball. The blue pierces you.
Rio pulls and slams the knocker. The eyeball falls from the door and hits the ground with a sickening pop. You nearly shriek while Rio makes noises of delight.
âOoh,â She chuckles, âweâre not the first to arrive.â
You try not to think about what the eye must look like now, âCan I go home?â
âWhy so squeamish all of a sudden? You handle the cadavers I bring you just fine.â
âThatâs different. Thatâs research.â
âWho says this isnât, sweetheart?â
The door opens soundlessly. Inside, the scene is much the same; another dark, slim space, though notably absent of plants and body parts. The owner of this place must be allergic to candles, the lighting situation is just pathetic.
Rio waits. When you make no move to walk inside, she sighs, nudging you with a hand on your lower back, âLadies first.â
Youâre not sure if being first or last is the worst. If anything is to jump from the walls now, youâll take the brunt of it; youâre reminded of that day with Agatha all those years ago. Rioâs warmth at your back offers the strength you need to continue. Though, you do cling to her hand the whole way.
The hallway empties into a full room. Dark shelves match the height of the walls, on them jars full of ingredients. There are tables boasting dozens of drawers, though none sit open. Glasses and tools and cauldrons line the tabletops. In the center of it all are two figures; well, one figure and one corpse.
You canât catch your breath. Sheâs as beautiful as the day you lost her.
âAgatha.â You whisper.
Agatha turns and smirks. She doesnât look nearly as surprised to see you as you do her. Upon seeing you, her expression softens, eyes full of affection and longing. It hardens a bit when she glances behind you.
âYou ruined the surprise.â Rio says, arms crossed, though one motions to the corpse, âWe needed her.â
âWhat could you possibly need with a poison witch?â
âOur darling healer wanted to study with her.â
Something like regret turns Agathaâs face when she regards you. With a wave, she produces a thick book full of yellowing pages. You tilt your head when she offers it to you.
âHer lifeâs work. Iâm sure thereâs more here somewhere.â Agatha shrugs.
You take it and hold it to your chest reverently. All this time you thought Rio was putting you off about finding a competent poison witch and yet here you are, standing in her apothecary. She lies dead on the floor but you couldnât care less when the real gift stands before you.
You long for her. You ache to feel the gentle caress of her hands on your face, the threat of her nails on your scalp.
A look at Rio tells you she isnât entirely pleased with the turn of events. Yet when she sees your excitement some of her ire dissipates. The yearning in your eyes must be plain, since she gives you a single nod.
Book of poisons tossed onto the tabletop, you throw yourself into Agathaâs arms. Sheâs as steady as you remember. Her hand grips your chin and forces your lips to hers. Her hands are predictably firm wherever they land. She grips you as if afraid youâll slip away. But her kiss, oh gods her kiss; soft lips and taunting, sharp tongue. The length of her body pressed against your own and so warm.
There are hands in your hair and this is all youâve wantedâall youâve craved for years. Why, then, do you feel the urge to cry? To rip the heart from your chest and banish it to where it wonât hurt?
Agatha is warm and steady. You bury your face in her neck and her in yours. Your hands shake with the force of clinging to her.
The feeling is bliss. Yet, it isnât complete.
You glance over Agathaâs shoulder to Rio. She stands in the doorway, watching the scene with dark-eyed interest; but thereâs a weariness in the set of her shoulders.
âBeloved.â You call, holding one of your hands out to her.
Rio raises a brow. Her eyes donât stray from your outstretched hand.
âThis is your gift, sweetheart.â
âAnd itâs incomplete without you.â
Her eyes stray to Agatha, who has taken to watching her, too. This time, Agathaâs eyes donât harden. They maintain that soft look you melt for.
Agatha extends her own hand alongside yours.
âCome on.â Agatha urges, soft.
You watch the resolve break moments before she wedges her way into your embrace. Her fingers lace through yours, but her face is pressed into Agathaâs neck. She pushes and nuzzles like she wants to become part of her. It reminds you of the cat that visits the bowerâEbonyâbut you donât dare say so.
Agathaâs hands leave you to caress Rioâs face. A thumb rubs along her cheekbone. You press yourself against Rioâs back, unable to glimpse her face but sure of the longing in her expression.
In a perfect world, there would be no separation between the three of you. No clothes, no emotional barriers, not even flesh to keep your hearts from mingling into one. You settle for Rioâs hand in your own and Agathaâs blue eyes locked on you.
You lean over Rioâs shoulder and kiss Agatha, your free hand fumbling with getting into the formerâs pants. She chuckles darkly in your ear. It ignites a spark in your chest; a dangerous longing for this to remain, to be always. You try to push it away and focus on how Rio moans in your ear instead.
--
1869
âWill you walk with me?â
Rio nods, smiles grandly, âOf course.â
You laugh. She holds out her arm, ever the picture of a gentleman, but you lace your fingers through hers instead.
As a rare treat, you lead. You pull her along the road. The leaves change beneath your feet, from silver and black to the hues of autumn and then to pure green. The Road opens its arms into a clearing bathed in the color. Only the stone building in the center stands apart.
Upon your approach, flowers grow in the flattened grass where you step; honeysuckle and heliotrope, babyâs breath and red chrysanthemum. Rio glances over her shoulder as the blooms spring forth.
Ivy grows up the walls of the building. You brush a gentle hand over the leaves.
Crumbling, worn headstones en masse wait behind the building.Â
Rio tilts her head, âWhat is this?â
The door is unlocked. You knew it would be. The Road cannot keep you from this place.Â
Inside is warm and hazy. Papers with elegant scrawl cover every surface, books half-open litter any free spaces. Shelves line the walls, jars bearing various specimens. Plush couches overflow with deep, red cushions, begging you to sit and stay. A fire cracks in the fireplace.
Rio turns this way and that. She wanders around the room, flipping through books. A fingernail taps against a jar full of eyes. An errant paper is plucked from where it sits haphazardly atop the mantle. She stops.
You know the paper the second she comes into contact with it; can remember the way you wax poetic about how beautiful she is, how safe you feel in her arms. She picks another, then another, so on, and you know every word the second she touches them; the way she unwinds in Agathaâs arms, her face twisted in perfect fury, the lightless turn of her eyes when she teeters on the edge of wickedness.
She looks at you, vulnerable and unsure, âWhat is this?â
âMy heart.â
âThat⊠then why is all of this here?â
Her hand shakes the papers for emphasis. You resist the urge to laugh, lest she think youâre making light of her. Death can be cruel, but you try not to be.
You step close. Gently, the papers are extracted and returned to their places. Rio stares and hardly breathes as you take your face in her hands.
âYou pulled away after that night.â You whisper, finger tracing her cupids-bow, âDo you think I touch you only because it is convenient?â
Rioâs lip curls. Fists bunch at her side, crackling with green light. You feel the rumble of her anger working through her chest. She tries to pull from your hold, but you donât let her.
âDo you think I kiss you and pretend itâs her?â
Rio snarls, âI will kill you if you donât stop talking.â
You smile. The threat is a real one, but you donât fear it; the outcome is remaining by her side. With one hand you reach and pull one of her fists between you. You unravel it, trying not to flinch against the bursts of power over her skin. You press the palm of her hand over where your heart resides inside your chest.
The snarl fades just so. Fury still lingers in her eyes. You press your hand over hers and will her to see, to know.
âLook at the walls.â You order.
Upon the walls, plain and dark, shimmering scrawl appears. Agatha Harkness, it reads in shaky lettering; like a name carved into a tree. One signature turns into ten and ten into countless. Purple and shimmering is Agathaâs brand upon you. Rio yanks and reaches for the dagger she keeps handy.
Rioâs true name appears in shimmering green letters, then. Same as Agathaâs, there are countless signatures. They conjoin and overlap until the walls of your heart look like nothing more than a childâs colorful scribbles.
She stares at the walls in disbelief. The knife in her hand clatters to the ground.
âIâve carved your names upon my heart so Iâll never forget who it belongs to.â You whisper.
âSweetheartâŠâ
You bend and collect her blade, pressing it into her hand, âNow do it yourself.â
Her hand wraps around the handle reflexively. Rioâs hand doesnât leave the spot over your heart, feeling the steady, truthful beat.
âItâll hurt you.â Rio says. She doesnât bother hiding the desire in her voice.
You urge, âMake me hurt.â
Each artful stroke of her blade is slow. You whimper, but grip her wrist and push the blade deeper into your flesh. She scoffs when tears flood your eyes. The tears run down your cheeks while you smile, filled with bliss and ache in equal measure.
Itâs a gift to love so deeply it wounds you. You never want her to stop; who, aside from your shared scar, holds such power? Who else in the world could touch your heart truly enough to carve into it?
Thereâs delight in her every movement. She consumes the pain of millions and yet, none of it is of her own making. She can only relish in what others have done; torture for a being who remains eternally intimate with the greatest methods of drawing out agony. Death has no free will but that you offer herâand she takes what none else would give, ravenously.
Is it enough?
Not forever, something tells you, you think it might be her, but for now.
--
1925Â
âYou called?â Rio asks.Â
âIf I didnât know any better Iâd say youâre avoiding me.âÂ
Agatha leans against the wall beside a small window. The pane has been slid upward, letting in the sounds of the city below, releasing the smoke of Agathaâs cigarette into the air outside.Â
The cigarette is clutched in gloved hands. Her expression is amused as she draws in and releases the smoke, watching it form the shapes she wills. Though it has no effect on such a witch, Rio admires the objectâs capability of bringing Agatha infinitesimally closer to her.Â
âWeâve been busy.âÂ
âBusy or not, Iâd say twelve bodies earns me a visit. And with the bulk of good booze I just removed from the market, Iâd say Iâve earned a little more.âÂ
An obvious lure with paltry bait, still Rio bites, âWhat do you have in mind?â
âLet me see her.âÂ
She should. Youâve come to accept Agathaâs absence in your life, but she sees how much time you spend in the bower, and how you flinch when her name comes up. Rio hadnât expected the frequency of Agathaâs name on the lips of covens walking the road to be so overwhelming, but it always drives you right into her arms; that she will relish.Â
But Death is not giving. She takes. Taking is, in fact, her favorite hobby. Twelve bodies is not enough to make up for the haunted look in your eyes. She wants moreâwill have it. Agatha has to earn you.Â
âIâll need a little more from you.â Rio drawls.Â
âDo you have any idea how hard it is to kill that many witches here with the nightlife?â Agatha throws her hands up. Ash flies from the forgotten cigarette.Â
The sounds of Chicago seem to grow louder, as if to aid her point. Rio grins. She crosses the small space and takes the cigarette, snuffing it out on the back of Agathaâs hand. The action prompts a quiet moan.Â
âIt shouldnât be a problem. What I want, you have an abundance of.â Rioâs smile widens as she manipulates Agathaâs hand, removing the glove, pushing and prodding until purple flashes along the flesh.Â
A cooling breeze sneaks in the window and rustles the fringe along Agathaâs dress. Itâs a beautiful thing, short and decadent. Rio knows youâve enjoyed the few sightings of the period fashion youâve glimpsed, but like her, youâd enjoy this specific dress in a pile on the floor.Â
Agathaâs eyes stare at where Rioâs flesh meets her own. Her eyes are contemplative, calculating. She hesitates. And that is her fatal mistake.Â
Rio throws her across the room with a shove. Agathaâs side hits one of the walls and she falls, face-first, onto the mattress sheâs been sleeping on. The springs shriek at the sudden weight. Agatha snarls, throwing out a blast of purple that slams into Rioâs chest. Rio moans something filthy.Â
Thereâs a brief struggle where Rio does her best to keep Agatha pinned; to the bed, to the wall, wherever thereâs a surface. Yet Agatha is slippery. Her magic whisks her right out of the hold Rio puts her in and wherever Agatha wills it; which currently, is behind the other witch so Agatha can kick the back of her knees. Rio kneels not of her own volition.Â
She braces to stand, only to find the blade of her own dagger at her throat.Â
Rioâs gaze has lost any warmth. Her affection is buried deep, beneath layers and layers of earth she craves to bury Agatha in right this second, âYouâre breaking her heart.âÂ
âThat shouldnât be a problem, you like seeing her cry.âÂ
âWhen Iâm the one responsible.âÂ
Agatha rolls her eyes. She maintains a carefully ambivalent expression. Rio knows better; knows, under all that forced emotion, that Agathaâs heart is waging against her head, warring over her selfish desire to keep every bit of power.Â
Then, something shifts. Rio feels it. Agatha has made her choice and it isnât you. And it ignites a rage in her chest unlike anything sheâs felt in centuries.Â
She snatches the dagger back from Agathaâs grasp and only just barely resists the urge to bury it in her chest. If she has to drag Agatha back to you kicking and screaming, she will. You would like that, wouldnât you?
âIâll kill you.â Rio vows, and means it. Agatha canât run away from the two of you if her soul is Rioâs to keep.Â
Agathaâs eyes flash with fear. Then, she grins around it, âIf you can catch me.âÂ
Latin words roll off Agathaâs tongue faster than Rio can comprehend. She recognizes the words and what they mean, where theyâve come from. Rio reaches out with her magic for the Darkhold too late; it, and Agatha, have completely vanished from her awareness.Â
When she returns to The Road and finds you pacing before the bower, she stops short.Â
âDid youâis she dead?â You ask, worrying your lip. Though your eyes dart every which way, looking for whatever manifestation of Agatha you believe sheâs brought you.Â
âSweetheartâŠâÂ
--
1937
âDo you think if I cut you open you would heal too fast for me to do any research?âÂ
Rio tilts her head, considering. Sheâs sprawled out on the plush couch inside the physical manifestation of your heart, toying with her knife, having a staring contest with the unblinking jar of eyes while you jot down thoughts into notebook number⊠well, sheâs lost count.Â
âProbably.â She answers, âIâm also not sure I have organs.âÂ
You pause, âHow is that even possible?âÂ
âMagic, sweetheart.â
Leaning back, your mind begins to race; given how old she is, it would only make sense that the organs the body came with are gone, rotted awayâbut would the flesh not go with it? You massage your temples. Life magic is no easier to understand than Death magic.Â
Thereâs only one way to test your hypothesis. You stand from your place at the table and cross to her, straddling her hips where she lay on the couch.Â
âI want to see.â You say, holding out a hand.Â
Rio hands over her dagger and sinks further into the couch, as if that is possible. She grins up at you with no shortage of delight. You do your best to tamp down on your own grin.Â
The flesh beneath your hands is warm and smells of damp earth where you peel away her shirt. Her eyes darken with every inch of flesh revealed to you. Firm and unafraid, you press the tip of the dagger down against her sternum. The action earns you an exaggerated moan.Â
You rip the dagger away, glaring, âBehave.âÂ
âOr what?â Rio taunts, tongue pressing against the inside of her cheek.Â
âOr I stop letting you watch my dissections.âÂ
She tenses, âYou wouldnât.âÂ
âWouldnât I, beloved?âÂ
âGet on with it.âÂ
You lean down and steal a quick kiss. It melts away the darling little pout on her lips.Â
When you press the dagger back down, the flesh bends, but doesnât open. You tilt your head and press harder. Rio watches, unphased. There is absolutely no give to her flesh. It gets to a point where youâre pressing your entire body weight behind the dagger, but Rio only laughs, squirming as if the action tickles.Â
You whine and sigh. The dagger is dropped unceremoniously onto her chest while you lean an elbow against the back of the couch, sinking somewhat into the cushion.Â
âIf you want live specimens, we can collect some.â She soothes.Â
The idea isnât intolerable, but you shake your head.Â
âThey scream too much.âÂ
âAnesthetic exists, sweetheart.âÂ
âI suppose thatâs true.âÂ
You look away, tracing the walls and their offerings with your eyes. Upon them hang paintings of your own making; scenes of life, death, love, fearâmostly fear.Â
The human condition fascinates you, always has. Of the emotions to study, fear is the hardest; it is always fleeting in your wake; your face is too kind, too trustworthy, wiping away any sense of the unease you seek to study. You stare at your paintings and feel only distaste, knowing theyâre not quite right.Â
You canât claim to have always had such taste. No, a cultivation for the finer flavors of life and death takes time. You can pinpoint where the itch started, however; that day in your childhood village when a dying soul reached out to youâscarcely were you a day older than fourâand found no assistance.Â
How beautiful it was; grisly, messy, but beautiful. You did not flinch away. Rather, you found yourself drawn in, eager to see more. And being of a coven of healers, your desire was fulfilled. Death was yours before you knew her name.Â
Looking down at her, she stares back, unashamed to be caught. The heart in your chestâwhich has felt so stagnant in recent yearsâwarms toward something almost pure.Â
Rio will one day claim your soul. This, you know, and accept; your soul belonged to her the second you watched that woman die. You fear the when. What becomes of you when she claims your soul? What if you have yet to conduct all the research you desire? There is so much still to learn and you know sheâll abandon it for the chance to keep you.Â
You love her, but youâll never forgive her the knowledge youâll one day lose. The warmth in your chest doesnât ebb.Â
Her top is still splayed open from your attempt at dissection. A healthy amount of flesh is bared to your eyes. You trace one finger from her neck to the center of her chest and tap, just above where a heart should be.Â
âWhen you come for me,â You say, âI want to hold your heart in my hand.âÂ
âYou already do.â She utters.Â
âWill you let me study it, then, when Iâm but a soul?âÂ
âYou can study whatever you wish as long as it leads to me.â
--
1989
Agatha dwells on mistakes, often. She just doesnât allow them to distract from her purpose. She is ruthless, to her very core.Â
She spends an embarrassing amount of time trying to open the damned door to The Road. One coven after another, all failures. There is an obscene beauty in claiming a reward for what would otherwise be failure on her part.Â
Time passes, enemies made, promises broken. She shrugs them all off. Yet she canât shake the feeling of your hands in her hair, on her face. The lingering whisper of your kisses haunts her. The Darkhold whispers to her, oftentimes in language she shouldnât comprehend, and it offers her the solution, should she just be patient;Â
The Scarlet Witch
--
2026
The power that floats before you is biting and all too familiar.Â
It fights against your hold, twisting and writhing like a wild animal, desperate to return to its mistress. But youâre stronger for now. The Scarlet Witch threw this power into the ether in her attempt at playing Death, and now it is yours to hold until Agatha comes for it.Â
Anger rubs against the heart in your chest like a cat. You lean into it, feeling your own power respond to subdue that which isnât yours.Â
Rio watches beside you. She runs her fingers through the purple electricity contained in your palms, laughing when it fights her. Lips press against your temple.Â
âNot long now.â She assures you.Â
You feel longing and fury in equal measure.Â
âI want her soul, Rio.â You whisper.Â
A small chuckle, low beside your ear. It sends shivers down your spine. Her hand grasps your chin and turns you to face her, her lips meeting your own. The kiss is soft. You melt into it.Â
She pulls back, tone careful, âYou didnât walk The Road, sweetheart.âÂ
You have not earned what The Road promises to grant.Â
--
2026
Agatha doesnât expect the end of The Road to look like Agnesâ Westview home, nor does she expect to see Rio perched on the roof, leaning back, as if waiting. But every step closer to the front yard makes her more furious.Â
She is owed her prize.Â
Upon her first step in Agnesâ yard, the front door opens, and she is blasted with something so strong that it knocks her back to The Road, on her back. She groans. Yet, she feels more alive than she has in centuries. Her body shudders with its missing piece; her power curling up in her veins, pleased to be home.Â
She sits up, wincing at the ache in her bones that continues despite the gift sheâs received. Leaves stick to the back of her arms, little pieces having crunched beneath her weight and adhered to her skin. She does her best to brush them away while getting to her feet.Â
Rio remains on the roof, grinning.Â
There, on the porch of Agnesâ house, is you. All the glory of you.Â
Agathaâs heart leaps in her chest despite the scowl on your face. To her, you havenât aged a day; still the young, fresh-faced witch following at her heels, dizzy on knowledge and the thrumming power inside. Time has not erased the love she hasâso great it threatens to bring her to her knees.Â
âDearestâŠâ Agatha murmurs, taking a half-step forward.Â
âYou have your prize.â You sneer.Â
Your heart aches, begging you to go to her; hasnât it been centuries? But your pride holds you back. She left you here while she gallivanted around the world getting what she wanted.Â
Thereâs a brief flash of hurt on Agathaâs face, before it morphs into a wicked grin. Her posture changes, too, to something more proud, as she slinks across the yard toward the porch. You resist the urge to take a step back.Â
âNo, I donât.â She drawls, âAre you going to be a good pet and come home willingly, or do I have to put you on a leash?âÂ
Something inside you burns for her. You ache for her touch, for her to force you to do what she wants. It creeps through the cracks of your pride and turns it into something else. You stick out your chin. Agatha snickers.Â
Magic pulses in your palms, pulling various items from around you to throwânot fast enough. Agatha has you kneeling with your hands bound in a blink.Â
âThatâs not very nice, dear. And after all Iâve done to get here.âÂ
You regain some of your fight, snarling, âYou left me here.âÂ
Agatha hums.Â
âInto the deal you stumbled your way into. Iâm not the one who tied herself to The Road in a fit of pride.âÂ
âYou were leaving me regardless. If I was going to be handed off, I was going to do it on my own terms.âÂ
âDid I specify a length of time in my proposal? Was there any explicit mention of how long She could have you before I came back?â Agatha asks, mean-spirited joy in her eyes upon watching the realization dawn in your own. All that time you spent agonizing⊠when you had shackled yourself, âYears lost because you wanted to be a self-righteous brat.âÂ
Thereâs a lilt to her voice that clues you in to everything youâd once seen instinctually; Agatha has been in just as much anguish as you have, left to walk the world alone. You see the pain in her eyes. Just like then, you try to get to her now, eager to fix it, to wipe it away.Â
The binding around your arms keeps you stationary. You whine and pull against it.Â
âAgatha,â You whine, âIâm sorry.âÂ
âYou will be.â She says. Then she turns to your left, finger poised and accusing, âAnd youâyou kept her away from me.âÂ
Rio shrugs, smiling, âI couldnât just make it easy on you.âÂ
Agatha waves a hand and Rio is kneeling on the porch at your side, similarly bound. Yet where you look pained, she is delighted.Â
âIâm sorry.â You repeat, âI didnât mean to be bad.âÂ
âThat doesnât change that you were.âÂ
A cloud of purple smoke announces your arrival to the inner bedroom of Agnesâ house. It doesnât look like what youâve seen from Rio, though. Where Agnes had been bland and cookie-cutter, this is rich fabrics and deep wood. It is Agatha through and through.Â
You and Rio kneel side-by-side at the foot of the bed, where Agatha perches. Her beautiful blue eyes donât miss the slightest movement you make. Sheâs clad in a dark robe with snakes and flowers that has Rio leaning forward in interest.Â
Agathaâs eyes lock on you, âYouâre going to apologize. Properly.âÂ
âIâm sorryââÂ
âWith your tongue.âÂ
Leaning back on her forearms, Agatha spreads her legs, and you feel the desire in your body rush through you. Itâs so strong you feel your head begin to pound. Sheâs pink and dripping and all you want is to do a good job for her.Â
Yet, ever the brat, you lean forward and start with kissing her inner thighs. With every press of your lips to the delicate flesh you murmur an apology. She sighs.Â
A hand weaves into your hair and yanks you back. Her eyes are dark. Her face is set in a punishing expression but you see the yearning in her that matches your own. She yanks again, lighter, and you moan.Â
âWhat did I say?â She asks, before directing you where she wants you.Â
Witches donât subscribe to the idea of what a human would call heaven, but upon tasting her, you think you could get behind it. Sheâs warm and sweet. You flatten your tongue and drag it along her slit just to collect a better taste of her. Agathaâs hand presses you in harder as she moans.Â
Without the use of your fingers, you have to use your tongue well. You stiffen it as much as youâre able when you delve inside her and hope it is even slightly close enough to satisfy. The pathetic sounds reaching your earsâbreathy moans, sweet whimpersâtell you that youâre doing fine.Â
âGood girl.â Agatha breathes out.Â
You clench around nothing. Youâre sure that youâve ruined your undergarments thoroughly from how wet you are.Â
Eager for more praise, you direct your attention to that small, fleshy bundle of nerves begging for your attention. You swirl your tongue around her clit and her hips stutter, before they grind against your face with a renewed sense of purpose. You smile.Â
âYesâthere, moreââ Agatha stutters.Â
You were born to do as she commands. All you want is to make her happy. Following her directions is as easy as breathing.Â
The tip of your tongue alternates between circling her clit and flicking it. Every flick earns you a high-pitched oh! and a firm grinding of her hips. Her thighs are tightening around your head, but sheâs putting up a good fight. Her legs quiver.Â
âThereâthereâIâm going toââ Is all the warning youâre given before Agatha shrieks and comes while rutting against your mouth. You lap up every drop of her wetness you can get with glee. You did this, you brought her this pleasure; the knowledge sends a happy jolt through you.Â
Agathaâs grip on your hair releases and you lean back, taking in big lungfuls of air. She stares down at you with a thoroughly fucked-out expression that makes you preen.Â
Then she leans over and pulls your lips to hers. She moans against the taste of herself on your lips, tongue collecting the flavor from your lips. You throw every ounce of love you possess into the kissâwilling her to understand the longing you felt, the thousands of hours you spent watching her lifeline just to make sure she was safe.Â
âGood girl.â Agatha murmurs, pressing little kisses all over your face, âMy good girl.âÂ
âAll yours.â You agree.
She laughs, low and smooth, âThatâs not quite the truth, is it?âÂ
The two of you turn to regard Rio in unison. She remains in the position Agatha left her in, kneeling and bound. You admire her restraint at not breaking the bindings. Though you guess Agatha wouldnât take kindly to that.Â
Rioâs eyes are black with desire. They dart between the two of you. She takes in the wetness on your face, licking her lips. You can feel her eagerness for a taste.Â
Sheâs writhing a bit in her restraints, pressing her thighs together and wiggling, looking for any source of friction she can find. Agatha tuts and she stops. If it were up to you, your face would be between her thighs, ears enjoying every sound she makes. But it isnât up to you.Â
Agatha scoots back up the bed until sheâs sitting against the headboard. Thatâs when you feel the restraints on you fall away. She beckons the two of you with a finger and you both follow the command, eager.Â
âCome here.â Agatha urges you specifically, patting her bare thigh.Â
You obey and straddle the appendage, shuddering against the feeling against your throbbing clit. Thereâs a split second where you think of just grinding down and taking what you want. But you donâtâyou have to be good.Â
Words pass between Agatha and Rio during your silent struggle. When you look, sheâs lying along the length of the bed, legs bunched up and spread wide next to you.Â
âWhat am I going to do with you both?â Agatha muses.Â
âFuck us?â Rio drawls.Â
âYou, my good girl,â Agatha says, ignoring Rio as she soothes a hand through your hair, âare going to use me until you come. And my bad girl isnât going to come until I tell her she can.âÂ
You shudder, whimpering, while Rio whines next to you. Agatha kisses your forehead while dealing a slap to Rio that makes her groan.Â
A hand settles onto your hip and begins to guide you through the motions of grinding against her. The friction is difficult to attain with how wet you are, but you do what you can, crying out everytime the pressure is just enough to make your toes curl. It wonât take long for you to finish.Â
Your face is buried in Agathaâs neck, where you press loving little kisses to the flesh. As a result you cannot see Rio. But you hear her; every movement of Agathaâs deft fingers through her wetness, every growl and keen of desire, every slap of Agathaâs hand when she gets a bit too eager. She wonât last long either, from what you can tell.Â
The image of Rio and Agatha in your mind is enough to push you toward that delightful little taste of death. Your hands tighten over Agathaâs shoulders.Â
âAgatha, can Iâplease?â You plead.Â
âSo obedient, asking for permission even when you donât need to.â Agatha praises, âGo on, darling.âÂ
With her hand guiding you and her voice in your ear, you come so hard you see stars behind your eyes. Youâre not sure what sound leaves your lips, only that your throat aches afterward.Â
You tune back in to hear a brutal slap of flesh on flesh. Rio snarls.Â
âBeg.â Agathaâs voice commands in your ear, though you know it isnât for you.Â
Rio stays stubbornly silent.Â
The sounds of Agatha toying with her come to an abrupt halt. You donât have the strength to lift your face from your refuge, but you can imagine that stubborn, yet pleading look in Rioâs face; wanting so deeply but not willing to give up what is required.Â
âIf you donât want to behave, she can have your pleasure instead.âÂ
âNo! Iâllââ You hear Rio grit her teeth, âPlease, Agatha. Please let me come.âÂ
Agatha laughs.Â
âThat wasnât so hard, was it?â She coos.Â
Secondsâor maybe minutesâbefore Rio wails. Thereâs something primordial and animalistic wrapped inside it, almost like a growl. It makes you shudder. Then all that's left in the room is the sound of breathing.Â
You spent so long aching for something just like this. Itâs beautiful, though you know it canât stay; all three of you are far too ambitious to live a domestic existence, but itâs nice for now. You missed them. The heart in your chest feels complete again, filling to the brim with affection.Â
Tears seep from your eyes and you pull back before Agatha can question it, though you do feel her stiffen. You press kisses to her neck, her sternum, the inside of her wrist; then you grab Rioâs hand and press kisses to every pad of her fingers.Â
With every kiss, you murmur I love you.Â
--
2027Â
âIf you donât sedate him at least a little bit, his heart is going to give out.âÂ
Rioâs sudden voice next to you isnât surprising. Youâve grown used to her coming and goingâDeath waits for no one, after all. Her lips press to your cheek and you accept the affection.Â
âShe did sedate him. Three times.â Agathaâs voice calls from the next room.Â
âOh, I see.âÂ
Rio leans over to examine the man on your table with no shortage of interest. He stares back, eyes impossibly wide. His heart rate picks up.Â
âWhat is he?â She asks.Â
âNot sure. Rapid regeneration, odd capabilities. Mutant, maybe?âÂ
âHeâs certainly not a witch.â Agathaâs leaning against the doorway now, arms folded over her chest, âThough it is taking a fair amount of magic to keep him subdued.âÂ
âHeâs no match for you, naturally.â You compliment.Â
Both Agatha and Rio grin at that. The former comes up behind you, hands settling on your hips. Her lips press against your neck. Then, she leans over and steals a kiss from Rio, who is all too eager to meet her halfway.
You smile. The heart in your chest threatens to burstânot unlike the specimen in front of you.Â
âWell, arenât you sweet today.â Agatha comments.Â
âAiming for a reward?â Rio asks.Â
Rio kisses her way up the flash of skin available to her eyes, making you sigh, leaning back into Agathaâs hands. Then Agathaâs lips fasten to the other side of your neck. Your head falls back and you laugh. Then you moan.Â
The experiment on your table is forgotten as youâre dragged into the next room and bent into all sorts of shapes you couldnât even imagine on your own. Oh, well; if he dies before the six hour mark, you can always just find another one. The same cannot be said of the witches bracketing you. And oh, how beautiful that is.Â
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