#than it is for you to turn on your console

[lokidjarin-7567]

I Hate It Here

Kang Dae-ho x Reader After joining a mysterious game of life and death, you find solace in the company of another player, one so vibrant and optimistic it draws your mind from the horrors that await you. fem!reader, fluff, usual content warnings for Squid Game, guns, language, death etc, obvious spoilers for Squid Game season 2, mostly edited, not perfectly accurate to the episodes but close enough 5k words Hi all! If anyone else is like me, I've fallen down the rabbit hole of Squid Game since watching season two, and wrote this piece on my fav this season! I still have a poll up on my page for what other characters I should write about (accidentally set it to a week rather than a day oops), so if you have any other requests, drop a vote there, and specific suggestions in my comments or asks if you have any. This also happens to be the longest fluff piece I've ever written, so I hope its ok! Will add another chapter if people like. Enjoy <3 TTPD Contents | General Masterlist | AO3

You hadn’t even considered that the weird guy who started shouting before the first game started would be telling the truth. That you could actually die here for money, or for entertainment, or for whatever the twisted fuckers who brought you here wanted. You figured he was just vying for attention, or trying to scare you all into backing out. Then you heard a gunshot.

After that moment, you followed every piece of advice he shouted out, satisfied he knew something you didn’t. You made it over the finish line, shocked and traumatised, thanks only to hiding behind someone a lot taller than you. You immediately collapsed on the dirt panting with exhaustion, a few tears falling from your eyes. What had you gotten yourself into?

You were relieved when Player 456 called for a vote to end the games, and even more relieved at the realisation that his number was only a little after your own. He was called to vote first, red X marking his jersey, and you followed suit just after him, lucky as Player 452 that you could get your voting over and done with quickly. He smiled at you, bowing his head slightly in acknowledgment, and you returned the favour, moving to stand beside him. You quietly celebrated with him when a player chose your side, and you watched as he tried to talk to the remaining people, explaining how he’d played before. Then you consoled him when it didn’t work. It came down to the last vote, the stress almost too much to bear, but as Player 001 was adorned in blue light from his selection, you realised you were stuck here, and you were close to crying again.

Player 456 automatically took you under his wing. There seemed to be another player that he knew, so you sat with them as you ate the provided food, dejected at the outcome, but grateful to at least have found some allies. You were trying to ask a few subtle questions about the game, but other players kept approaching your group. You shrunk back a little, avoiding the attention that came with being around the previous winner of the games, listening as people spoke of their admiration for him, and grilled him for information as to what was happening next.

You hadn’t noticed at first - a voice speaking from behind you - and honestly, you didn’t want to turn around, still feeling shy and awkward. Eventually, though, the crowd dissipated, and the source of the voice jumped down from one of the bunks. He was tall and lean, shoulder length hair pulled into a half-up half-down style, strays falling around his temples and framing his face. His smile was infectious, carrying from his lips to his eyes, which were rich brown in colour and full of joy and enthusiasm. You were transfixed by him as he introduced himself as Kang Dae-ho, quickly bonding with the man Player 456 knew thanks to their shared military history. He was the antithesis of you - so outgoing, so enthusiastic, so full of optimism. Even down to the blue circle that adorned his uniform; on most, it was a bad look, voting to continue at the risk of others, but on him, it seemed courageous.

His chattiness was as contagious as his smile, and as he joined your group to eat, you found yourself immersed in conversation with him: about the game, about the other players, about the members of your little makeshift crew. Even watching on and cheering together as Player 001 took down a few bullies in front of everyone. He was comfortable to be around. A welcome distraction that helped you forget where you were, or what you might have to do as the days passed.

And it was working. Until, after a while, the conversation lulled momentarily, and you couldn’t stop your mind from drifting to darker places. What the game might be. What it would involve. If it would ever really get as brutal as Gi-hun said it might…

You felt a gentle nudge on your arm, snapping you out of your spell at the sound of your name falling from Dae-ho’s lips.

“You good?” He muttered quietly, a hint of concern on his face. You had been talking for a few hours now, and you had done everything in your power to keep up your positive front, to pretend you were happy to be here but it was fading fast.

“Yeah, I’m just…”

“Scared?” A sigh of relief fell from your lips.

“Yeah.” He smiled softly, glancing around to see where the others were, before leaning in closer.

“Me too, honestly. Just trying not to show it…” There was a sincerity in his voice, a vulnerability that you could tell wasn’t fake. He wasn’t just saying it to make you feel better.

“Dae-ho…” you muttered, gesturing to the blue badge that signified his vote, “why did you choose to stay?” He shrugged, glancing back at the crowd of people who were starting to prepare for lights out.

“I need the money, and honestly, when I voted, I didn’t know anyone here. I figured it’s not like I’m personally killing anyone. No harm no foul, right? It’s just the way a soldier thinks, I guess. You don’t know who you’re shooting, just that they’re in the way of your victory. But now…” he paused a beat, his eyes darting over to where Jung-bae and Gi-hun were sitting, deep in conversation, before landing on you, eyes scanning your face with a curious intensity. “I’ll do everything to keep my team alive.” You couldn’t help but laugh coldly. The sentiment was sweet, sure, but there were no guarantees.

“From what Gi-hun told us, it might not be a team game. It could be something completely out of our control…”

“I’m hopeful!” He exclaimed, the optimistic, puppy-like demeanour back as he grinned at you.

“I’m glad someone is.” The intercom informed you that it was 10 minutes until lights out, and you couldn’t help but let out a shuddering breath. You weren’t looking forward to that - trying to sleep in a dark room filled with hundreds of people you didn’t know. Desperate people.

“Let’s find our beds for the night?” Dae-ho prompted, standing and offering his hand to help you up. You took it, smiling at him thankfully and glancing around for the other members of your team, palm feeling cold when his touch left it. “Look, there are two next to each other just above where Gi-hun has set his things down. We can bunk close together so you know you’re safe. I’m a light sleeper!’ His constant proactivity in making you feel safe and comfortable was warming your heart, but simultaneously causing a bout of nausea and anxiety that rose from your gut. One of you might die tomorrow in these twisted games. He would betray you in a heartbeat to keep himself alive, regardless of his sentiments. And despite that, you're already starting to trust him.

He was right though; he was a light sleeper. A few hours in and you hadn’t slept at all yet, fear clouding every corner of your mind, and the only thing soothing you was the soft purr of his snores. Eventually, you couldn’t help but sit upright, a quiet but frustrated sigh escaping your lips as your hands ran across your face and through your hair. His voice muttered your name, and you glanced over in shock to see him slowly sitting up in his bed, his tired eyes raking over you with concern.

“What’s wrong? Are you ok?” You pulled your legs to your chest, nodding at him before resting your head onto your knees.

“Can’t sleep.” You muttered as a sorry excuse of an explanation, but it seemed to convey what you really meant, his head cocked in worry.

“Can I help at all?” You opened your mouth to reply, to tell him that you'd be ok, but he continued before you had a chance. “Maybe you should try falling asleep before me. I’m going to be awake for a while now anyway, I can keep watch.” You were going to protest, to tell him to rest up and keep his energy for tomorrow, but honestly… it might help you. Just knowing he was keeping an eye out could get you a few hours of rest at least.

“…would that be ok?” You asked timidly, but he nodded with his now signature enthusiasm.

“Of course! I told you I’d protect you, I’m keeping my end of the bargain.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Please, just get comfortable.” Your body instinctively laid down as close to him as possible, only the bars between the bunks separating you, curling up on the small bed and settling in. You closed your eyes, exhausted beyond belief, but the moment you did, panic overtook you. It was irrational, sure, but before, when you couldn’t see him, you could hear him snoring so you knew he was still there. Now, it was dead silent. Your arm reached forwards instinctively, avoiding the metal posts to meet the soft fabric of his uniform, fingers latching on securely. You blushed at your own response to fear, grateful to the dark surrounding you, but as you felt him shuffle closer, allowing you a firmer grip, all of your nerves dissipated, your body finally giving in to exhaustion.

You woke to loud classical music and the intercom announcing that the next game will be starting shortly. You blinked your eyes open, groaning already at the aches forming in your body and the speed of your heartbeat at the thought of the horrors today might bring. But then, you felt a hand softly close around your forearm, giving a gentle squeeze of encouragement. You glanced down to see where your hand was still clasped around the edge of his T-shirt, the back of your fingers grazing the warm skin of his stomach, his own arm draped atop yours from where he lay on your side. You blushed furiously, untangling your arm from his and sitting up as casually as you could manage, rubbing the back of your neck in an attempt to hide your red cheeks.

“Hey…” he muttered sleepily, shifting to sit up too, and your body automatically turned to him, as though after just a few hours of knowing him, you were programmed to seek his voice out and follow it. “Remember what I said, ok? Stick by me today. If it’s Dalgona like Gi-hun said, pick triangle, and if not, we’ll work it out.” You couldn’t do much but nod, nerves and fear clouding your senses. You just focussed on putting one foot in front of the other, climbing out of bed and lining up with the rest of the players in the centre of the room. When the guards starting walking, you followed wordlessly until you reached the game room, the only thing keeping you from breaking down was the knowledge that Dae-ho was right behind you.

Gi-hun’s confused expression when you entered the room confirmed everything you needed to know - you wouldn’t be playing Dalgona today. However, Dae-ho’s optimism from the day before was well-placed, as the speakers announced that players should arrange themselves into teams of five. It was an easy pick. At some point during the night or morning, Gi-hun had reconciled with Player 001, and he honestly seemed like a solid addition to the team. He had physical skill - you’d seen that during the fight - and he had a seriousness about him that made you feel confident.

They announced the games, and your heart dropped. As the only girl on the team, you knew they’d ask you to play gonggi, and it just wasn’t something you’d played. As the inevitable question came, you shook your head in shame.

“I’m sorry, I never had anyone to teach it to me.” Your heart broke at the disappointment on your teammates faces.

“I can play gonggi.” Dae-ho piped up from beside you, and you breathed out in relief.

“An ex-marine playing gonggi?” You heard Jung-bae pipe up, and you couldn’t help but frown at his comment. You could immediately hear the pride drain from Dae-ho’s voice as he replied, and you glared at the older man, hoping to quietly convey your disappointment in him.

“I have four older sisters, so I played with them sometimes.” Jung-bae started to backtrack and encourage him, but you couldn’t help but think about why Dae-ho felt like he had to defend himself. It was such an endearing trait - a softer side that you valued and trusted in an ally - and yet he was explaining why it was ok to be good at a kid’s game. It made you feel sad for him. You interrupted Jung-bae’s forced sentiment slightly harshly.

“I’m good at flying stone. I used to bet the boys in my class that I could beat them and won every time.” Jung-bae looked as though he was going to say something, but Dae-ho spoke up first with a wide smile that calmed your nerves.

“Perfect! We’re lucky to have an expert with us. What about the rest of you?”

The rest of the team decided their roles quickly, Jung-bae sarcastically stating if he couldn’t play flying stone like he wanted, ddakji was his next best choice. You just shrugged. Gi-hun settled on jegi, and Player 001 seemed happy with what was left to him, so now, all you had to do was wait.

The first race was awful. It felt like a car crash you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from as the second player in their team missed in flying stone over and over and over again. Your team were discussing strategies based on how they were doing, how missing the stone eats up time as you have to fetch it, but you just felt a lump form in the back of your throat. If you failed this, all of you would die. The timer hit zero as he finally struck the stone, and you ripped your eyes away just in time, covering your ears and staring at the floor as the sound of gunshots ricocheted throughout the room. You eventually opened your eyes as the pink guards carried large gift boxes into the room that you could only assume were coffins for the dead, and turned to glance at Dae-ho in horror. He wasn't looking at his surroundings, practicing his part of the game with some small stones, but there was a noticeable shake in his hands that hadn’t been there before.

It was hours before it was your turn, and you were already exhausted before even playing. Watching everyone else, being so invested in each and every person’s survival, constantly thinking about how you could improve on their methods for their own attempt - it had taken its toll. And now, it was finally time for you to do it. You looped your arms around Jung-bae’s and Dae-ho’s, ankles already bound together, and he gave you one last smile of encouragement before you set off. You moved in accordance to Gi-hun’s shouts, reaching the ddakji station before you knew it. It only took two attempts and it flipped, the excitement of your group palpable as you continued to the next game. Your turn.

Your hands were shaking as you took the stone from the guard, almost so much that you dropped the damn thing. You tried to breathe deeply, to calm yourself down, but your mind wouldn’t stop returning to that first race, to the player who missed over and over…

Warm hands surrounded your own, snapping you out of your thoughts and grounding you. Dae-ho spoke, and you looked up at him, fear etched into your features.

“Breathe. Remember how you used to do it. You’re just on the playground winning a bet. Steady your hands, breathe, and throw.” You nodded along as he spoke, breaths returning to normal just long enough to compose yourself, crouching slightly. Like a skipping stone. As it left your hand, you cursed quietly. You were worried that it was too high, not quite the right angle, but by some miracle, it caught the top of the stone, toppling it just with the lightest touch. You could’ve cried as the Circle guard raised his hands above his head to mimic the shape on his mask, relieved that you wouldn’t be at fault if your team didn’t make it.

Dae-ho’s arm was like a vice as you made your way to the next game, his own nerves now evident. He gathered the gonggi in his hand, feeling the weight of them, and you and Player 001 leant slightly away from him to give him the space he needed. Jung-bae started to speak, throwing some generic words of encouragement his way, but you shushed him quickly. He’d told you earlier that he concentrated better when it was silent, so you intended to make sure that he had the conditions he needed. You watched as he let out a breath in preparation, then began, moving with speed and accuracy that left you in awe. As he held out his fist to the guard, and they approved, you couldn’t help but quickly wrap your arm around him, a short celebration before moving to the next section.

It took Player 001 a long time to complete the Spinning Top. You couldn’t help but flinch every time he failed, glancing up at the time in worry as he cursed himself out over and over. Gi-hun set him straight, calming him down quickly and reminding him of everything at risk, and he finally succeeded. The last portion of the race passed in a blur of seconds, Gi-hun quickly completing Jegi with the help of Player 001 before stumbling over the finish line, unexpected tears falling from your eyes in relief. You had actually made it, all of you had…

Gunshots rung out in the room, and you screamed, instinctively ducking down, your hands flying to your ears. It wasn’t until your heartbeat returned to normal and the guards started to unlock your ankle restraints that you realised Dae-ho had wrapped himself around you, one arm pulling your face into his chest, your head nestled tightly in his hand and folding the rest of himself around you. You tried to move, legs now free, but he wasn’t budging. You could feel his heart hammering against his chest, breaths shaky as they fanned against your neck. You pulled your hands from your ears, pressing them to his chest and gently easing him back to standing. That seemed to snap him back to reality a little, but he looked confused, still shaking.

“Hey, Dae-ho…” you muttered, and his eyes finally settled on you, looking like a deer caught in headlights, “it’s ok, they didn’t shoot us. We’re alive, we’re ok…” You could almost see the cogs turning in his mind as you said that, the confusion and fear slowly giving way to relief, breaths steadying as his eyes frantically scanned your body for signs of injury.

“We’re ok?” He whispered, and you nodded.

“We’re all good. Nobody got hurt. We did it.” He nodded, the gravity of what you said finally hitting him. He smiled, but his eyes still looked far away, like he wasn’t quite grounded yet. “Let’s go back to the dorms, yeah? Then vote to get the fuck out of here.” He just nodded again, and you led him from the room, following the rest of your team, who kept glancing back at him with a concerned expression.

By the time you got back to the main room, though, he was back to his usual enthusiastic self, excitedly discussing voting plans with the rest of your team, and encouraging everyone on their prowess in their individual games. Despite your victory, it seemed that you all wanted to leave, happy with the money as it was and wanting a fresh start outside of this hell. But as the voting commenced, it didn’t take long for the O side of the tally to tick up, and by the time you and Gi-hun got to vote - the last out of everybody - it didn’t matter. The circles had already won.

Dinner was a silent affair: Gi-hun, Player 001 and yourself eating quietly while Dae-ho kept guiltily glancing to where Jung-bae had extradited himself, his traitorous blue badge burning your eyes as though it was a bright neon sign. Eventually, he stood, pulling the older man almost by the scruff of his neck over to where the rest of you were and having a quiet, frustrated conversation with him. You sighed as Dae-ho dragged him to stand in front of you all, looking at you expectantly as Jung-bae just looked sheepish. You sighed. No point losing an ally over something you couldn’t change now.

“It’s not like you voting to leave would have changed a whole lot, we were outvoted by more than one person…” The subsequent onslaught of thanks almost made you want to take it back, but the joy and pride in Dae-ho’s face made it worth it.

While you pretty much knew each other’s names already, he decided this would be a good time for everyone to introduce themselves properly, starting with himself. He explainied that his name meant ‘big tiger’, and it made you giggle. It was fitting - a hard and brutal exterior when needed, but ultimately a softy beneath it all. You heard everyone else’s, finally learning that Player 001 was called Young-il, just like his number, but when it got to you, you had to explain that you weren’t sure what your name meant.

“We could always give it a meaning,” Gi-hun piped up, and you laughed.

“Like what?”

“Maybe… good at throwing.” You laughed again as his face crumpled in shame at his own attempt, the others chiming in to better him.

“Loud snorer!” Jung-bae exclaimed, earning an offended ‘hey’ thrown in his direction.

“Good teammate?” Young-il said, and Gi-hun scoffed.

“That one’s just lazy! What about pretty hair?”

“You don’t name someone after their hair!”

“Kind angel.” Dae-ho said proudly, and you honestly felt close to tears as everyone else stopped bickering to agree with him. You smiled thankfully as his eyes met your’s, laced with warmth and care. Maybe it would all be ok if you stayed a little longer.

"Ok, big tiger, kind angel it is."

“When we survive the next game and finally get to leave this place…” You had been talking for well over an hour now, and you had given up correcting his ‘when’ statements to ‘if’. His optimism was so sweet it hurt your teeth, but if it helped him cope with being in here, then they could rot for all you cared. “What do you want to do?”

“Well, I want to pay off my debt first…”

“Obviously.” He said with a laugh. “I mean fun stuff.” You smiled sadly, staring at your shoes.

“Honestly? I’ve been in survival mode for so long now I haven’t thought about fun stuff since I was young.” You paused a beat, glancing back up at him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bum you out.” He just shrugged.

“That’s ok, I know what you mean. But you should. Think of something fun, I mean. Might help you get through this.” You couldn’t fault his logic, but it took you a minute before you could remember anything.

“When I was a kid, I read about the Bahamas being a magical place where there were black and pink sand beaches, and that you could swim with pigs in the sea there… it sounded so peaceful and picturesque. I think I’d like to visit one day.”

“That sounds amazing…” he replied, wistfully looking at the ceiling. You were keeping watch together, your team peacefully sleeping under the beds behind you, and the silence their absence left seemed to be goading you to keep talking.

“We could go together. A few weeks, no stress, just sunbathing and swimming and…” It had slipped out before you could stop it, and you could feel the sentiment bouncing around the room, loud and weighty. There was a charged moment of silence, his eyes drifting from the ceiling to you, scanning your face for signs of insincerity. He wouldn’t find any.

“That would be perfect.” You smiled in relief, but it was short lived, both of you whipping your heads to the door frantically as you heard a knocking echo in the dark space. You found the source of the noise quickly though - Players 120 and 149 requesting to use the bathroom. You watched the scene play out quietly, smiling at the older woman’s dramatic display as they were finally let through by the guards, and the space fell into a stifling silence once again.

“What are you going to do when you get out of here?”

“We.” He corrected you quickly, and you blushed.

“Fine, when we get out of here.” He paused, fiddling with the collar of his jacket and pulling it up to cover the lower half of his face, fingers twirling the zip as he pulled his knees to his chest.

“I want to take you to see my hometown. My family still live there, and I know my sisters would love you. They could even teach you gonggi too, if you wanted.” A tear fell to your cheek, the tenderness of it all hitting you quickly. “Maybe buy a little place there and one in Seoul, so I can visit them as much as I want. Spend weekends by the water there. Not as exciting as the Bahamas, granted…” You rested your head on his shoulder, blinking back the tears and swallowing hard to clear the emotion from your voice. It didn’t work.

“That would be perfect.”

It scared you how much you trusted him so quickly. It hadn’t even been two days and you found yourself daydreaming of a future with him. A future where you didn’t have to do shit like this for money. A future where you both found good jobs, earning enough to keep you comfortable. A future where you could start over with the help of the money you earned here. A future worth living for. You’d always been sceptical, but maybe trauma bonding was a real thing after all.

“Dae-ho?” A sleepy voice behind you muttered, and you both turned to see Gi-hun shuffling out from beneath the one of the beds. You had all decided to make doubles when you were setting up earlier with the bunks that were already next to each other, sliding two mattresses together and having a buddy to make it safer, Jung-bae opting to sleep alone in shame. Young-il followed him out, yawning dramatically and rubbing his eyes. “You guys have been up for a long time, let us swap out for a while.”

“Are you sure?” You asked, but Young-il yawning had set you off, following suit even though you tried to suppress it. They just gave you that look dads use instead of saying ‘I told you so’. “Yeah, yeah, ok fair enough.”

Dae-ho shuffled in first, and you followed. It was cramped, sure, but there was just enough room for you to sleep on your side or turn over, so you didn’t feel claustrophobic. As you made your way in, you realised how dark it was, evidenced by the fact you only found where Dae-ho was when you bumped into him, your arm pressing into his. A few moments passed and you stayed like that, finding comfort in the warmth he provided you with, and the soft sound of his breathing. Then you felt it. One of his fingers delicately tracing a line up the back of your hand. Your breath hitched, then evened out as the patterns he drew soothed you, and you couldn’t stop your head from lulling towards him to rest on his shoulder once more. Wordlessly, he withdrew his arm from beside yours and slid it underneath your neck, his hand falling to your shoulder, gently pulling you closer without being forceful. You allowed him to move you however he wanted, following his guidance and twisting until you were on your side, letting your leg drape over his and your hand fall to his chest. Your head ended up nestled into his neck as his arm kept tightening around you, hand eventually resting on your waist. You settled further into him with a contented sigh, his other hand meeting yours and enveloping it, the warmth and comfort alongside the rise and fall of his chest almost sending you straight to sleep.

It was a few minutes before you heard him speak, and even then you couldn’t be sure it was real. You were so close to drifting off, and his voice was barely audible, lips ghosting across your scalp.

“Promise me…” he whispered, quiet and vulnerable, “that we’ll make it out of here?” He sounded so broken. You lifted your entwined hands to your lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles that you hoped conveyed reassurance before tucking your joined hands close to your body.

“I promise.” His own lips found themselves on your forehead, the lightness of the touch leaving your skin tingling and a content blush fanning across your cheeks. His hands squeezed yours tighter as exhaustion began to pull you under, and all you could think was how badly you’d fucked yourself over. That even if you somehow made it out of this place, if it was without him, it would feel worthless.

"Goodnight, kind angel."

[gravedwe11er]

Some more texaid for the @keferon mecha au! Comes after part one and part two, though it can be read on its own with just the knowledge of the AU itself.

Cw: Vortex, a bit of innuendo and semi-graphic descriptions of violence and death

A new point of view on recent happenings in the shatterdome, and also Felix.

Or: Vortex is here, and he has Opinions.

Vortex really likes Felix.

Has liked him ever since he saw this quiet, boring-looking little doc sneak around the base at night, and instead of going to hook up with someone - like a normal fucking person would - breaking into the research lab and messing with quint corpses. At first, he thought it might have been an op of some sort, but no! The guy just really liked cutting the things apart. Which- Tex could relate, honestly.

Seeing Felix bumbling about in the dark and excitedly muttering to himself through the cams quickly became the highlight of his mind-numbingly boring days. And then, to absolutely no surprise, the man got himself caught, and things went from good to great real fast.

As he watches little Mr. First Aid dig dried blood out of his crevices, with a stolen butter knife of all things, he really has to applaud himself for how well it all turned out.

Here’s one thing about Vortex – he likes violence. Always has - it’s one of the very few fun things that was never in short supply during his life, and the same goes for his after-life. And now that his other sources of entertainment are largely, hah, dead in the water? He very much likes to indulge.

Despite that, the first pilot he killed actually was a complete accident. He’d been pretty freshly dead, floundering around in his new body, when whatever control he’d manage to wrangle from the mech had been ripped out from under his hands. In his horrified flailing, he somehow managed to jerk the guy’s seat so hard he cracked his skull open on the console, and that was that. Only once he felt his death throes through the neural link had Vortex even realized what had happened.

And fuck, was he livid! Now, let’s be honest, Tex could absolutely get behind some rough manhandling of his person in the right situations, but this was outright violating! And like hell was he just going to put up with it.

Here’s another thing about Vortex – he hates being told what to do. And gee-whiz, it really doesn’t get any more being-told-what-to-do than some tiny fuck crawling into what is now your actual head and moving you around like an overgrown puppet.

So, he kept pushing. The next few casualties were only partly accidental, him testing out his range of motion, so to speak. And once he figured out how to establish himself as the dominant consciousness in the mech, even with a pilot plugged in-

Hah, let’s just say they definitely weren’t accidents after that.

It was part spite, part entertainment, and part just wanting those bastards out, their minds grating against his consciousness and giving him the closest thing he has to a headache nowadays. And what fun it was! He’d never really gotten to kill people before, not on purpose at least – his minders always kept him on too tight a leash - and damn was it great to see those uppity little shits turn to red mush in his gears.

For a while, at least. Look, he’s a creative guy, but there’s only so many ways to kill a person with no opposable thumbs available for the job! Not to mention, he was sorta hoping they’d get the hint eventually. He thought if he showed his ability to function on his own and his inability to tolerate pilots, they’d kinda just- leave him to it.

But of course not – that would require those bastards in command to actually give a shit about their people. They never did while he was under their tender care either, so he shouldn’t have been surprised. Kinda stupid of him actually, but excuse him, he’d, hah, rather recently lost all his braincells. Still, it was a problem he needed to figure out.

Then the solution waltzed into his cockpit, first aid kit in hand and doing his darndest to resuscitate the latest thoroughly dead pilot, and Tex started having ideas.

Here’s one thing about Felix – he’s a real gentle, meticulous sort of guy. He’s seen it in the man’s treatment of his patients, in the way he always tried to check on the vital signs of Tex’s broken toys, even when it was super fucking obvious they’ve long since kicked the bucket. Even now, as he’s poking around in the seams of Tex’s pilot seat with a rag, he’s still displaying a level of care in it he hasn’t seen from any of his actual technicians. It’s pretty nice, being treated like an actual person for once.

And damn, it’s times like these he really misses having a human body. Having this pretty man on his knees and all up in his business like that would have been a lot better if he could properly feel it. Vortex-the-mech has sensors for pressure, temperature and structural integrity, but it doesn’t come anywhere near to what he was used to when he was alive. No sense of pain either. Boring!

But oh well; he’ll take whatever fun he can get. Aaand speaking of fun-

As Felix sticks his hand in one of the seat’s movable joints, Tex mentally reaches for the mechanism and jerks it back – easily slow enough to avoid, but more than fast enough to make the man jump.

Here’s another thing about Felix – under all his outwardly softness, the man’s got teeth.

“Fuck!” he shouts, and Vortex cackles, the mech’s internal vents clicking and hissing to convey his glee. “What is your problem?!” Holding his – completely unscathed, mind you – hand to his chest, Felix looks at the screen, awaiting some sort of answer with just the most hilarious looking scowl on his sharp little face.

Mentally kicking his feet, Tex sends his words out to display on the red glass.

JUST PLAYING, BABY

GOTTA KEEP THOSE REFLEXES SHARP!

Felix huffs, relaxing a little now. “How nice of you,” he says, snide as all fuck, reaching for the rag he dropped when trying to avoid getting his fingers pinched, “but let’s keep the fun to a minimum, please.”

Then he pauses, giving Tex’s screen a considering look. “But seriously, should I not be touching that?” he asks, concern twisting his features. “Does that hurt? Or tickle? I don’t really-“ he waves his hand in an ambiguous gesture, “-know anything about how all this works. Suppose that’s something I should look into…”

Aaand off he goes, lost in his own head. Actually worrying about him. Fuck, when’s the last time someone cared about Vortex that openly? Huh, long before he was ever called that, he’d say. Hard to remember. These days, Vortex is fifty tons of stainless steel killing machine, very much not a squishy human patient for the soft-hearted doc to be fussing over. And yet.

Damn, what a weirdo. What an odd little freak.

Vortex really fucking likes Felix.

Thank you for reading, and many thanks to my beta @jayden-writes for the help!

[luvserie]

SKZ Reacts to Someone Flirting With You

Maknae Line

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, suggestive content, mentions of MDNI and NSFW content, swearing, mentions of violence

HYUNG LINE

Bang Chan 🐺

As we all know, Chan struggles with self-hate. That's why, contrary to popular belief, I don't think he would be that assertive in his attempts to get someone away from you.

I'm not saying he wouldn't be assertive, but just not in the guard dog or bodyguard kinda way, y'know?

Let's say you're at a party and Chan sees you laughing it up with another person at the bar. I don't think he'd walk right over there.

If I'm being honest, I believe Chan would probably overthink the interaction, sadly sipping his beer for a couple minutes before sidling up to you and introducing himself to the stranger as your boyfriend.

If that doesn't get the message across, he'll hug you from behind, pressing soft kisses to your neck and jawline, only half listening to you as you ramble on about whatever you're talking about.

"Mhmm...mhm...babe, can we go somewhere else? I wanna introduce you to some friends of mine..."

For sure feels a sense of pride when you agree, letting him drag you away so he can have you all to himself.

Lee Minho 🐰

This man is canonically possessive. I mean, have you heard of Minsung?

This time you and Lee Know are at a wedding, and you're at the salad bar when a man comes up to you, complimenting your dress.

Lee Know is by your side in less than a second, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder.

"Who's this, baby?"

Lee Know is glaring daggers at whoever had the AUDACITY to try and speak to his partner the whole time you three are talking.

At some point, the rando gets the hint, awkwardly shuffling off back to his friends.

You turn back to Lee Know and wrap your arms around his neck, laughing about how the man looked as if he'd seen a ghost.

"Kitten...you're mine forever whether you like it or not. Don't insult me by even trying to have coherent conversation with worms like him."

Definitely reminding you who you belong to when you get home. After you catch the bouquet, of course. 💐😏

Seo Changbin 🐷🐰

Changbin, in my head, is a chihuahua. This man is a chihuahua that barks at you because you got to close to their owner.

It's your anniversary and Changbin took you for a day out, ending it off with a sunset picnic. You see an ice cream truck and ask Changbin for money to go get some.

As you're heading back to the blanket and your boyfriend a tall, handsome man approaches you and asks for your number.

Changbin doesn't hear what you say, but he sees you sheepishly point at him, before heading towards your boyfriend.

The man harshly grabs you wrist, forcing you to drop one of the ice cream cones. That's the breaking point.

Changbin marches over to you two like a small blazing ball of fury, shoving the guy back, away from you.

"Yo, is your guard dog okay?" The guy asks, laughing.

"I will be once you stop fucking touching my girlfriend. Hands. Off. Now. Or I'll beat you up myself."

Changbin stares your assailant down(or up, due to his height) until the latter leaves, then lead you back to the blanket.

Massages your wrist where it's red, consoling you about the lost ice cream.

Offers to pay for another, settling down with you once he gets it just in time for the sunset you two came here for.

Hwang Hyunjin 🦙

You two are attending an event. You're dressed to the nines, and Hyunjin can't keep his eyes off of you.

That's how he sees a man sidle up to you, striking up a conversation.

Now, I think, that when it comes to you, Hyunjin is either all in or all out. He's either fine with guys talking to you when he's not there or he's not. No in between.

This is one of the "not" days.

Hyunjin wraps his long arms around your shoulders, tilting his head and staring at the man opposite him coldly.

This man waits for a grand total of two minutes before beginning to roll his eyes and pout.

“Hey, can you…like, leave?”

ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY rubs it in the stranger’s face once you two leave. Side eyed him, flipped him off, stuck his tongue out. The whole package.

“Sweetheart…don’t talk to him again, okay? For me.”

[schlatt-love-bot]

yuck! part 1.5 - schlatt x reader

So, as I went to begin writing part 2 of Yuck!, I realized I had written a whole one-shot about being friends with benefits with Schlatt and literally included zero smut…it’s unacceptable. Here’s a little smut to hold you all over before I continue and complete part 2 :) 

NOTE: For the purpose of this part, the reader is female and goes by she/her. I know in the original part I left it rather gender neutral…I just haven’t really written much smut that’s not from a feminine perspective, it’s what I’m most comfortable with! Hope you enjoy :) 

IF YOU ARE A MINOR, DO NOT CONTINUE READING! NSFW CONTENT!

The car ride to the cabin was tensely silent. You could tell by Schlatt’s lack of small talk as you drove through the mountain scenery that he was truly thinking hard about something—what exactly, though, you weren’t sure of. You had your hand lazily placed on the center console, and every so often Schlatt would take one hand off the wheel and give it a light pat, signalling to you that he was okay, just deep in his own thoughts. Bored, you began to look him up and down, thinking about all of the things you could get yourself into once you had gotten to the secluded cabin. As your gears got to turning…why did you have to wait that long to get things started? 

You reached your hand over the console and into his space, your fingers lightly grazing up and down his thigh, ever so slowly making your way towards his groin. You saw his eyes begin to widen, never leaving the road, though, as a rosy blush began to creep from his ears across the rest of his face. 

“Woah, what’s this bright idea, toots? I’m drivin’ ‘ere…need to concentrate…” He grumbled, feeling as you began to put more pressure on his semi-hardened member, causing you to giggle at his flustered state. 

“Mmm, well we’re getting really close to the cabin…and I don’t know how much longer I can keep my hands off you, Schlatt…” You said coyly, gazing up towards him with hunger in your eyes. He scoffed, continuing his steady watching of the road in front of him.

“Yeah, yeah…sweetheart, the more impatient you’re gonna be…the worse off it’ll be for you later…” His voice became strained the longer you kept your fingers on his now-hardened member, groaning at your touch. Giggling, you looked up, seeing the cabin slowly coming into view. 

“Fine, fine…you’re lucky we’re close to the cabin, otherwise I would’ve sucked you off while you were driving…” Your voice trailed off, as you sat back in your seat, looking out the window. You heard him sigh as he continued to drive, leaving you in a bit of confusion. What was this attitude for? He normally would never decline your advances, especially when it was in a…risqué location. 

Pulling out front, Schlatt put his car into park, not saying a word as he unbuckled his seatbelt, grabbed his phone, and made his way out of the car and to the trunk, where you had kept your bags. Stepping out of the car yourself, the cool winter air nipped at your skin, leaving you with more goosebumps than Schlatt had been giving your lately, walking to the trunk to grab your own bag when it was snatched out from your hands. 

“Hey!”

”Listen, toots…you may have been a brat on the way up ‘ere…but you’re lucky I’m still a gentleman. Not lettin’ you carry this in there, let’s get inside…” He grumbled, throwing your bag over his shoulder as he picked up his own, heading towards the door of the cabin. You sighed, quietly following behind, following him into the cabin. It was still rather cold inside, the wood fire stove not being on yet caused the inside of the cabin to feel closer in temperature to the winter weather outside. You gently placed a hand on Schlatt’s shoulder, walking in front of him to grab your bag. 

“Here…let me take these to our rooms…do you mind startin’ up the heater? It’s cold in here…” You voice trembled slightly due to the chill you were feeling, as Schlatt handed you the bags. 

“No problem…don’t need sweetcheeks to get frost bitten, right?” He chuckled, heading over to the wood stove to see how much firewood was there, and how much he would need to add to kindle the fire. You retreated up the stairs to find two separate bedrooms–even though the two of you were frequently sleeping with one another, you still slept in separate beds, unless the fun times tuckered you both out so much that you felt the need to sleep immediately. Those softer moments, waking up in Schlatt’s arms after a long, tireless night were the moments you found yourself craving, needing his touch in softer, more loving moments, rather than just the sexual ones. You sighed, opting to give Schlatt the larger room, placing his bag down on his bed as you made your way across the hall to put your bag down in your own room. Peering over the banister, you could see a dim flame coming from the heater, realizing he was able to start the fire quickly. Heading back to the entryway, you took your heavy winter coat off, feeling the semi-cool air beginning to prick at your skin as the room hadn’t gotten all the way warm yet. Walking closer, you watched him as he began shoving more firewood in, the flames ever so slowly becoming larger. 

“Nice work, big guy…” Your voice trailed off as you reclined on the couch, eyes watching him like a hawk. He slowly turned to face you, shrugging his own jacket off his shoulders as he eyed you up and down, immediately spotting your lack of a bra through such a tight shirt. 

“Toots…what the fuck are you doin’...” His voice got darker, deeper with lust as he placed his jacket down on the couch beside you, towering over top of you. Arching your back, you began to play coy, needing his touch after a long, desperate car ride. 

“Mmm, don’t know what you’re talking about…” His hands quickly latched to your hips, swiftly picking you up and placing you down on top of his lap as he sat on the couch in front of the fire. 

“You…you know exactly what you’re doin’...such a little brat…teasin’ the whole ride here, sittin’ here looking all perfect with that tight top on…” His words grumbled in your ear as his hands snaked their way up your sides and under your breasts, squeezing lightly. You let out a small yelp of pleasure, causing Schlatt to smile, knowing you were about to become undone with pleasure. 

“Name…name me one good reason why I should fuck you right now, sweetheart. You’ve been playin’ real dirty…really teasin’ me, testin’ me, here..” He growled, nipping at your earlobe as his hands began to massage your chest through your shirt, making you groan—you needed his touch on your bare skin, not like this. 

“Mmm, please…I’ve been as good as I could be…need to feel your touch…” You groaned, pressing yourself lower into his lap, snaking your own hands behind his neck and to his hair, giving him a light tug. He smirked at your neediness, feeling you begin to melt into putty in his hands.

“Use your words, darlin’...tell me…” 

“Fuck…need your hands…on my skin…all over…please…” You panted, through your hooded eyes you could see Schlatt’s shiteating grin begin to widen. He tugged at the hem of your shirt, slowly peeling it off your now-sweaty body, due to a combination of need for him and the intense heat of the fire besides you both. Leaning down, you connected your lips to his, swiping your tongue across his bottom lip before slipping it in as he began to laugh at your state. He gripped at your bare back, soaking in the moment.

“Look at you…at these. Perfect. Fuckin’ perfect..” He growled, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses and bites down your jawline and neck to your breasts, peppering the surrounding sensitive skin with sloppy wet kisses before looking up at you once again. 

“Words, princess…” 

“Mmm, fuck…Schlatt…please…” You groaned, head thrown back in pleasure.

“Please, what…? Words…” He ordered, hovering above your peaked nipples. 

“Mm, suck them, please….pleasure…needed…” You managed to get out before pulling his hair with one hand, forcing a connection between his mouth and your breast. He began going to town, lightly tugging on your fleshy mounds with his teeth, feeling the warmth between your legs beginning to grow in his lap. 

“Shit!! So…so fucking good…” You moaned, fingers tightening your grip on his flowing locks. You felt him hum against your breast, sending chills up your spine. 

“What now, toots?” He panted, looking down at the marks he’s now left painted all over your chest. Your groan spoke of levels of dissatisfaction, missing the warmth he was providing your body.

“Fuck…shit…need you…need you in me…” You begged, grabbing at his wrist to force his hand to your waistband. He snapped his hand back, laughing at how badly you needed his touch. 

“Now, now…you know better…nice and slow, toots..” He said, ever so slowly unbuttoning your jeans before beginning to peel them off of you. You lifted yourself as needed, connecting your own mouth to his neck to pepper him with kisses and hickies as he worked to unclothe you. He growled, pulling at your hair to separate you from his neck. 

“Nu-uh, you know better, princess…no touching, no kissing unless I say so. Got it?” He said, not giving you a chance to respond before his fingers began sliding around your slick folds, laughing as he felt how wet and pathetic you already were for him. 

“So wet already, hmm? How long have you been this needy for me?” He groaned in your ear, sounds of his fingers in your slick filling the air around you.

“Fuck…since…since we were at the apartment…talkin’ about coming here…” You groaned, burying your head in his neck. He let out a laugh, realizing just how long you were waiting for this.

“Mmm, maybe you were more patient than I thought, toots…” His fingers finally connect to your sensitive clit, causing your mouth to pour out a string of obscenities. He smiled at the sight, knowing just how close to fully coming you were. He drew soft, quick circles on the sensitive nub while leaving your neck with more kisses and bites, truly putting your senses to work overtime. 

“Schlatt..fuck! Feels….so..so good…let me cum?” You whined, managing to ask for permission before your release. It was something that the two of you had eventually added to your ‘friends with benefits’ contract a year ago, when Schlatt was growing frustrated with the amount of times you’d come without him. 

“Wait…wait a little longer. Can’t be coming without me…” He groaned, bringing his fingers to his lips to get a taste of your juices he had oh so missed. Your eyes never left his as he sucked his fingers dry, finally taking his hands down to his lap to undo his jeans, sliding them down slightly until his already-hardened member slapped up at his stomach. You let out a groan of desire, licking your lips before looking back at him. 

“Stroke me off, princess. I need to…need to get as close as you are…” He ordered, taking your hand and placing it on his shaft, hissing at the sudden connection. You hungrily nodded your head, stroking your hand up and down, using your fingertips to slide his precum down the rest of his shaft like lube to quicken your pace. Feeling your fingers on the redden tip of his dick made him hiss once more, throwing his head back. 

“Shit, (Y/N)...don’t know how you do this so well…so good…” He moaned, hands tugging at your hair. You knew the quicker you got him to his edge, the sooner he would fuck the living daylights out of you, and with that, you quickened your strokes. Once he began to buck his hips involuntarily towards your hand, he grabbed your wrist, signalling you to stop. Without a word, he lifted your hips, gently placing yourself back on top of him, lining his tip up with your entrance. 

“Words…use your words…” He growled, making eye contact with you, hungrier than he has ever been. 

“Fuck me! Fuck the shit out of me..” You groaned, as he began to sink your hips down on his length before you finished your sentence. Your moans came out together, as you began to arch your back as you bounced on his lap, his hands tightly grasping at your hips. 

“So good…such a good girl…bouncin’ on my cock like the little slut you are…” He groaned, bucking his hips up as he used his hands to forcibly bounce you even harder down on him. Your overwhelmed senses became too much, unable to voice your pleasure in cohesive statements. 

“Shit…shit..Schlatt…gonna…cum…” You managed to get out, fingers once again laced in his hair, tugging in ecstasy. 

“Hold tight, princess…not yet…” He said, snaking a hand back down to your folds to play with your clit once again. You moaned at the touch, totally losing control of all your senses. Seeing how completely at his mercy you were, his edge was coming near. 

“Come with me, toots….cum…” He groaned, his last few bucks getting sloppy as he felt his cock twitch within you, seed spilling into your pussy. Feeling full, the pressure finally tore open through your body, moaning like you never had before as your juices began to flow around his cock, spilling onto his thighs. Despite hitting your highs together, he still bounced you up and down for a few more moments on his lap, before disconnecting you from him, still sitting on your lap as he placed his forehead on yours. 

“You did so good, princess. So needy…” He managed to say, still catching his breathe. You mumbled, still unable to find your words.

“Thank you….thank you..” You meekly said, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. After a few moments of recollecting yourselves, you gave him a knowing look. 

“So…what other part of the cabin should we break in, now…?” 

“Mmm, you tease…I like that idea…let’s figure it out…” He growled, snaking your legs around his waist, heading for the spacious kitchen bar with a large window view of the woods outside your cabin. This was going to be a nice, long trip…

[wandering-pirate]

When the moon fades, the stars guide

Part 1

Part two of "How does a moon lose its shine?"

Summary: When the chaos went down, what led up to it? And what will happen next in the dark, metal casements of the Tulpar?

Pairing: Father figure! Swansea x reader

a/n: ask and you shall receive~ thanks for y'all's patience!!

Trigger warning: Depictions of sexual abuse and violence. There are no explicit scenes of the rape itself but the trauma and experience of y/n is very much described. Please take care of yourselves while reading <3<3

Day of Departure

The Tulpar’s engines hummed steadily, a sound you came to think of as the freighter’s heartbeat. Three years on this ship, and it started to feel like a second skin at this point. But still, every haul gives you that faint, familiar buzz of excitement, like the thrill of stepping into something bigger than yourself. Responsibility.

You leaned against the inventory console, triple-checking your clipboard. Rows of numbers and codes blurred together, but the satisfaction of seeing everything in order made the strain worth it.

"So, you’re the famous Y/N," a voice chirped behind you.

You turned to find Daisuke, the new mechanic intern that Curly told the crew about. He looked barely out of his teens, his uniform covered with a bright yellow hawaian-patterned shirt that he somehow managed to smuggle and had a grin a little too wide. Newbie's buzz, you thought.

"And you’re the new grease monkey," you teased, extending a hand.

"Mechanic-in-training," he corrected, shaking your hand with exaggerated seriousness. "Big difference."

Swansea scoffed from the other side of the utility room, tinkering away with a coolant valve. "Big talk for a kid who just learned what a carburetor is."

"I thought it was a coffee maker for cars," Daisuke mumbled to you, pouting.

Biting back a laugh, you shot Swansea a grin that practically dared him to roll his eyes. He didn’t disappoint.

Jimmy entered the room, clipboard in hand. His presence had always been grounding, his confidence infectious. He nodded at you as he passed. "Inventory’s in good hands, as usual."

"As if you’d trust anyone else," you replied, your tone light but your chest warming at the compliment. He smirked, tapping the clipboard.

The ship’s intercom crackled to life. "Alright, folks," Curly’s voice boomed. "Buckle up, we're launching at five."

Your hand froze on the console. No matter how many times you’d done this, the Tulpar's jump during the launch always lit something in you. The co-pilot once commented how you're like a puppy with a treat dangling in front of you.

As a kid, you’d been obsessed with the idea of outer space. Not in a “memorizing star charts” kind of way, but in a way where you just admired them every night that you gazed at the night sky.

Whenever you see pictures of galaxies, stars, or any heavenly body, it was like looking at something familiar, something that made sense to you. The outer space wasn’t just an escape; it was home.

Anya appeared at your side, her medical bag slung over one shoulder. She flashed a small smile, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "Let me guess," she said, her voice relaxed. "Gonna watch the Earth fade away again, huh?"

"Every. Damn. Time." You nudged her playfully, earning a laugh.

"Swansea's really rubbing on you with those words."

When the Tulpar lurched, you gripped the edge of the console, your gaze already flicking toward the viewport. For a moment, the universe stretched out in every direction, infinite and vast. You couldn’t help the grin on your face.

Out here, it all felt right. The stars, the ship, the crew… they all came together in a way that felt as natural as breathing. For now, at least, you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

One Month After the Crash

When you thought things were about to get better the night you broke down, helpless, at the lounge... you were desperately wrong. Somehow, the man who betrayed you, the monster you treated as a friend, a mentor—hell, even family—claimed Curly's title and is set loose.

And now? You were cowering at the corner of the utility room, covering your ears as the voices outside grew louder with every passing minute. Funny how one voice made you gag and the other made you feel secure.

“Come on, Swansea. I told you, I’m not gonna hurt Y/N, alrig—”

“If you’ve got a death wish,” Swansea’s voice, low and bristling, cut through the tension. “Keep yappin’.”

It had been a month. A month of watching your back. A month of slipping between rooms, dodging Jimmy’s shadow, a sick game you were forced to play with him. But it was also a month of being under the mechanic’s wing, always having him or Daisuke by your side when checking inventories, because almost facing your deaths just days ago wasn’t enough reason to stop your job. Or being in the locked medbay with Anya when both your guards were busy.

“Look, I just wanna make things right,” Jimmy said, his tone too smooth, too practiced. “Curly’s out of commission, and now, as captain, it’s my job to take responsibility for what I’ve done.”

For a second, your stomach twisted at the pause. Would Swansea actually believe him? Could he? You strained to hear the older man’s reply, then there it was.

It started weak, the soft wheezing sounds went through the metal wall. It grew louder, rougher, until it was a full-blown, bitter laugh that rattled the air. Guilt filled your chest—why would you even ever doubt him after all he's done?

"What a fuckin' joke. Know what? If yer that desperate to play captain, wanna tell me how the ol' Tulpar really crashed?"

Silence. Not even a breath from Jimmy. Then, heavy, angry stomps faded down the hall.

For a solid ten minutes, you stayed frozen, your pulse loud in your ears. The air in the utility room felt thick, clinging to your skin. Then the door hissed open.

“That roach’s got some nerve,” Swansea muttered, stepping inside. His face was carved with exhaustion, but his sharp eyes softened when he met yours. He offered a tired smile, and you returned it, grateful.

"You shouldn’t be out here," Swansea grumbled, his eyes scanning the corridor as he steered you back toward the medbay.

"I’m fine." You tried evading him, but given his bouncer-like body, he placed a hand on your shoulder.

"Sure, and I’m the swan princess from that pink doll kid's show."

The Tulpar floated through infinite space, a shell of its former self. It wasn’t one of those massive freighters like the newer ones Pony Express had, but a running old freighter is infinitely better than a broken old freighter. Supplies were low, tensions were high, and the Tulpar's once-familiar corridors felt more like a prison than home.

When the asteroid hit, or so Jimmy claimed, Curly had supposedly saved everyone by making a split-second turn to minimize the impact. It was a story that gave the crew a shred of hope, something to hold on to.

But cracks already started to form in Jimmy’s tale. The damage didn’t match the trajectory of any known asteroid paths. The ship’s logs were corrupted, erasing any evidence of what really happened.

It wasn't farfetched to believe that Jimmy didn't stay put at his quarters when the crash happened.

Swansea has his suspicions. So did you. But neither of you said it out loud. The truth was a dangerous thing aboard the Tulpar now, fragile and very explosive, just waiting for the right moment to destroy whatever was left.

"Kid," Swansea’s voice broke through your thoughts. You hummed, "Don’t go doin’ that thing where you stare off into space like a lost puppy."

You managed a weak smile. "Can’t help it. Space is kinda my thing."

He snorted, but his eye-roll was absent. He didn’t let you go until he was sure you were back in the medbay, under Anya’s watchful eye and the door's lock.

2 Months before the Crash

Jimmy’s compliments had always felt harmless. You were used to his jokes, his easy smiles, and the way he called you "kid". It was comforting, in a way - until recently.

"Nice shirt," he said one day, leaning casually against the inventory shelves as you logged spare parts into the system.

You glanced down at your standard-issue disgustingly yellow t-shirt, streaked with dust and grease from helping Swansea earlier. "Uh, thanks? Didn’t know grease-stained chic was trending."

He laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "You pull it off, though."

You gave him a half-smile, feeling like the co-pilot has something more to say than he's letting on. His tone felt... heavier. You chalked it up to overthinking and turned back to your work. Jimmy was your friend, someone you’d always trusted.

But somehow, the comments became more frequent, more pointed. A hand on your shoulder lingered too long. Always looking at you when he laughs.

The next time it happened, you were helping the mechanic in the engine room. You crouched next to him, handing over tools as he muttered under his breath about "cheap replacement parts." The rhythmic clank of the wrench echoed in the space while Daisuke watched because the last time he helped replace something, he had to receive 3 stitches from Anya.

"Careful not to scratch the paint off," you teased, smirking.

Swansea snorted, rolling his eyes. "Look who's talkin', Ms. 'I-can-make-any room-look-like-a-fukin' junkyard' with all the shit you leave laying around."

"Ha! Boss' got you there Y/N!" You poked your tongue out at the intern.

Swansea gave you a sideways glance, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You wanna talk about paint? Maybe start by remembering where you put all yer inventory sheets before I have to staple ‘em to yer forehead."

You laughed, wiping your hands on your coveralls, when Jimmy walked in. His gaze lingered too long as he leaned against the doorway.

"Got the inventory finished?" he asked, his voice casual.

"Mostly," you said. "Swansea needed a hand, so I figured I’d multitask."

Jimmy’s eyes narrowed briefly, just a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place. His smile returned, too quick to feel natural. "You’re a real team player, kid."

Swansea grunted in agreement, not looking up. "She’s handy, I’ll give her that. Saved me a headache with these damn filters."

"Hey! I'm here, to--"

"Tell me what happened to yer forehead with just a screwdriver, boy." That seemed to silence Daisuke up.

Jimmy’s jaw tightened, his hand gripping the edge of the doorframe, though he quickly masked it with a chuckle. "Better not let her show you up, old man."

"Not a chance," Swansea shot back, oblivious to the tension.

But you felt it. The way Jimmy’s smile didn’t match his eyes, the way his presence filled the room like static. Something about it was off. You wanted to brush it aside, but the feeling lingered.

Later, in the lounge, Curly tossed you a cup of coffee. "Heard you’ve been pulling double duty with the inventory and the utility. You gunning for my job or what?"

You smirked, shaking your head. "Dream bigger, Curly. I’m aiming for Swansea’s."

Curly laughed, but his attention shifted behind you for a moment. You glanced over your shoulder to see Jimmy standing in the doorway again, watching. His posture was casual, but his knuckles were white where he gripped the edge of the counter.

When you turned back, Curly raised an eyebrow. "Jimmy’s been hovering a lot lately. You notice that?"

You shrugged, trying to sound casual. "He’s probably just bored."

But deep down, you weren’t so sure. You sipped your coffee, forcing a laugh. "One more compliment from him? I’m charging him rent."

Curly chuckled, but his smile faded slightly as he glanced at Jimmy again. "You should tell him that. See what he says."

You smiled weakly, staring into your coffee as the unease settled in your chest.

One Month Before the Crash

Jimmy’s words echoed in your ears, wrapping around your thoughts like a noose.

"I don’t want to hurt you," he said, his voice trembling, his breath uneven. "But I can’t stop thinking about you."

You remembered the way his hands shook, how his eyes flitted between you and the walls, never meeting yours. He looked like he wanted to convince himself as much as you. But it wasn’t the shaking or his words that lingered in your mind, it was the suffocating fear, the way the air in the room thickened, pressing down on your chest until you couldn’t breathe.

You fought back, kicked, punched, scratched, used everything in your disposal, but it wasn't enough.

In that moment, the world felt unrecognizable. The Jimmy you looked up to, trusted, and even laughed with, was gone. Or maybe he had never been real.

And you felt something within you... break.

You didn’t cry. Not then. The betrayal was too sharp, cutting through your chest like shards of glass. You couldn’t feel anything but the raw, jagged edges of shock and pain. It was never-ending, it was unforgiving.

Later, when it was over and the room was silent again, you sat on the floor, knees pulled to your chest, staring at the dull metal wall. The memories replayed in your head, over and over, a loop you couldn’t escape.

"Why didn’t I stop him?"

"Why didn’t I fight harder?"

"Why didn’t I say something?"

The questions bit you, each one sinking its sharp fangs deeper into your guilt, into your body, mind, and soul.

Jimmy’s voice broke through the haze of your thoughts. You remembered how he sat across from you, his voice low and soft, as though he were the one wounded.

"I didn’t mean for it to go like this," he’d said, his tone almost pleading. "You don’t have to hate me, you know? I care about you. I just… I just couldn’t hold it in anymore."

Each word sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through you. The confusion was unbearable. Was he sorry? Or was this another lie? Another betrayal? It didn’t matter. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him or yourself anymore.

And from that night on, everything you loved about your life on the ship, the crew, the stars outside your window, even your own reflection, felt like it died.

You went through the days like a ghost. Your laughter was gone, replaced by silence. Meals went untouched. The inventory, your pride and responsibility, piled up unchecked.

The crew noticed. How Swansea’s gruff teasing didn’t make you laugh anymore. How Daisuke’s bad jokes only entered your ear and exited the other. And every time Jimmy walked into the room, your body froze, your skin crawling as though his gaze alone could trap you again.

Anya, however, never pried. She saw through the silence, the robotic movements, the emptiness in your eyes.

One evening, she's nursing you. You sat on the cot, staring at the floor, your hands limp in your lap. You passed out from hunger earlier and Dasiuke had to carry you to the medbay, sweating and frantically assuring himself more than anyone through panicked mumbles.

She approached quietly, a tray of tea and biscuits in hand. "Y/N," she said softly, placing the tray beside you.

You didn’t respond.

Anya pulled up a chair and sat down across from you, her gaze steady. "You have to eat."

"I’m not hungry," you murmured, your voice flat.

She didn’t push. Instead, she reached out, her hand resting gently on your arm. Her warmth cut through the cold numbness you’d wrapped yourself in.

"You know, it’s okay to feel like this," she said quietly. Her tone wasn’t pitying, just kind. "But you don’t have to do it alone."

You didn’t react. You couldn’t. Her words were like waves breaking against a stone, unable to reach its core.

Anya stayed with you anyway. She talked softly, about nothing in particular, old stories, small jokes, telling you how Daisuke stole Swansea's snacks and having to say I'm sorry for a hundred times as punishment. She didn’t expect you to respond. She was simply there, filling the silence with her presence.

Even when you retreated deeper into yourself, Anya never gave up. She left food by your workstation, tidied your quarters when you weren’t looking, and covered for you when Curly asked too many questions.

One night, as Anya walked you back to your quarters, she stopped just outside your door. Her voice, usually gentle, held a weight you hadn’t heard before.

"Y/N," she began carefully, "I’ve been where you are."

Your steps faltered. The numbness you carried didn’t lift, but her words sent a faint ripple through the sea of numbess. You kept your gaze fixed on the floor, your hand tightening on the doorknob.

"I know what Jimmy did to you," she continued softly.

The air in the hallway felt suddenly heavy. Anya hesitated, then added, "It happened to me too. Weeks ago."

The words were like a thunderclap in your mind, sharp and deafening. You turned to her, your eyes wide with disbelief.

"You knew?" Your voice was barely above a whisper, raw and cracking. Anya went through the same thing yet here she is, stronger than you, caring for you. Your stomach churned in guilt. "You—why didn’t you tell anyone? Tell me?"

Anya’s expression didn’t falter, but her shoulders tensed as though she’d been bracing for this. "I told Curly," she admitted, her voice quiet but steady. "But… nothing changed."

Nothing changed.

The words hit like a sledgehammer, shattering the fragile threads of hope you’d been clinging to. Your chest tightened as anger and despair fought for control.

"You told him," you whispered, the words trembling with a pain that reached far deeper than you’d let anyone see.

Anya didn’t look away. She didn’t try to explain or justify it. "I thought it would help," she said, her tone even. "I thought it would stop."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, sharp and hollow. "And now it’s my turn, right? Cap kept quiet and hoped it wouldn’t happen again?"

"Y/N--"

"Now what, Anya?" You snapped, your voice rising despite the lump in your throat. "What was the point of telling him if it didn’t change anything? He was supposed to be the captain, he was supposed to protect his crew. And no it didn’t stop tha--"

Your words broke off as your breath hitched. The weight of it all, Jimmy’s betrayal, Curly’s silence, Anya’s quiet endurance, crashed down on you like a tidal wave.

Anya reached out, her hand brushing against your arm, but you pulled away.

"I can’t—" you choked out, shaking your head as tears blurred your vision. "Sorry Anya, can I be alone for a moment? Please, don't look for me."

The hallway felt too small, the air too thick. You stumbled back, your legs moving on instinct as you fled toward the lounge, where the empty silence swallowed you whole.

This was where it all unravelled like a predator ripping meats of its prey piece by agonizing piece.

The knife in your trembling hand, the memories replaying in your mind, the feeling of the world collapsing around you, all of it led back to this moment. To the truth you could no longer ignore.

The one person you thought could protect you knows - and he did nothing.

Two Months After the Crash

The cargo bay was dimly lit, the faint hum of the ship's remaining systems filling the silence.

Jimmy had been relentless over the past week, pestering Swansea to let him talk to you about the cargo. Why? Well unlike any other facilities of the freighter that's unlocked by codes visible through the Captain's flashlight, the cargo bay can only be unlocked by a code held by two crewmembers - the captain and inventory officer. Obviously, with Curly laying helpless in the medbay, Jimmy only had one person left to disturb. And the man grabbed the opportunity to talk to you again.

Exhausted, that’s what you were. Tired of Jimmy's persistence, of how he kept shifting from casual then cutting sharper the next. And all these bugging went straight to Swansea. As much as you didn’t want to give the bastard the satisfaction, you knew there was no way around it - you gave in, but not for Jimmy. You did it for the mechanic.

“Are you sure about this?” Swansea asked earlier, his voice low but heavy. The lines on his face deepened as he watched you wrestle with the decision.

You nodded, though your stomach twisted at the thought. “Jimmy’s not going to stop bugging you about it, and you’ve got enough on your plate. I’ll deal with him.”

The mechanic grumbled something under his breath, shaking his head. “I don’t like it. You shouldn’t have to deal with him at all.”

“I know,” you’d said softly. “But he’s not going to stop. And… I’ll have you and Daisuke with me. It’ll be fine.”

Swansea did not looked convinced, but he eventually relented, only after you promised he could stay nearby, just in case.

Now, standing in front of the cargo bay's doors with Jimmy pacing in front of you, you were keenly aware of Swansea’s presence by the door. A silent guard, his watchful eyes never leaving the co-pilot. Daisuke was at your side, arms crossed and radiating quiet protectiveness, like a little brother who didn’t care how big a fight he might have to pick if it meant keeping you safe.

Jimmy, oblivious or indifferent to the tension, took a step forward, his movements quick but not careless. “Y/N, I know you’ve been keeping tabs on the cargo. But it’s been two months. We need to know what’s in there. It could help us—”

“It won’t,” you interrupted, your voice steady but firm. “I’ve told you before, Jimmy. It’s nothing important. We'll just waste our time."

Jimmy’s jaw tightened. “Leave that up to me to decide whether what's in there is important or not."

Swansea cursed under his breath and your lips pressed in a thin line, but the man's gaze didn’t waver.

Daisuke took a step forward. “She’s not wrong. Y/N wouldn’t hide anything if it could help. She knows what she’s doing, Jimmy.”

Jimmy scoffed. “I’m just saying—if there’s even a chance, we should check. We’re running out of options here.”

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “Fine,” you said, exasperated. “You want to see it so badly? Go ahead. Open it. But when you'll find out I’m right, I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

Daisuke frowned but didn’t say anything, glancing at you like he wanted to intervene but knew better than to push. Instead, he stepped closer to your side, his quiet presence grounding you.

Jimmy’s shoulders relaxed slightly, as though he’d won some kind of victory. “Thanks, the code?” he muttered, moving toward the cargo bay doors. Swansea was already there, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, his sharp gaze locked on Jimmy.

“She said yes,” Jimmy said defensively as he approached, but Swansea didn’t move.

“She shouldn’t have to,” Swansea muttered under his breath, stepping aside only when you gave him a small nod.

"4517" The pad beeped with each number you tell him. The entrance hissed open, like a dragon waking up from its deep slumber.

The cargo bay was dim, the rows of hundreds of boxes towered over all of you. You followed Jimmy inside, Daisuke sticking close to you while Swansea lingered by the door.

The co-pilot walked straight to the nearest box, his movements quick and eager. “Let’s see what’s so ‘unimportant,’” he muttered.

As the box was pried open, the sharp, clinical smell hit instantly.

Mouthwash.

Jimmy froze, staring down at the neatly packed bottles as if they might suddenly transform into something else. Daisuke peered over his shoulder, his eyebrows raising. “Huh. Well, that’s… useful,” he said.

Jimmy’s face burned as he looked back at you. “This is it? You’re telling me this is all we’ve been hauling?”

“I told you. Nothing important. But you couldn’t take my word for it, could you? You know what's funny, Jimmy?" You balled your hands on your sides, "I should be the one not trusting you, after what you've done."

Jimmy stood there, eyes narrowing and jaw clenched. For a moment, it looked like he was gearing up to argue. But it was all so painfully obvious, the desperation in his stance. He wanted to paint himself as the victim, again, to make excuses, again, as if he wasn’t already a pathetic excuse for a man.

You glanced at the box, the sight of the neatly labeled bottles almost comical in its absurdity, mocking the co-pilot. Then your eyes landed at him, his confidence snapping under the weight of his proud insistence.

“Satisfied now?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the tension like a knife. Without waiting for an answer, you turned your back. “This is your answer, Jimmy...”

For the first time since the crash, you felt something crack open inside you, not fear, not guilt, but anger. Controlled, righteous anger.

"We don’t survive by hunches or waiting for some fucking miracle," you spat. "We survive because people are actually out here making sure the Tulpar doesn’t fall apart."

Your eyes met Swansea's, then to the ground.

"Everyone pitches in, does what needs to be done, no matter how much of a death trap the job is. But if you’re too busy playing pretend captain while the rest of us are holding it all together, maybe it’s better that you step back and let the people who actually know how to keep this mess running do their thing."

You didn't wait for a response, not even tried to gauge his emotion. You left the cargo bay, going into the only place that gave you comfort, utility room.

Swansea appeared in the doorway. Before he could speak, before you could even gather your thoughts, you found yourself moving toward him. The words caught in your throat, but your legs carried you anyway, and in one swift motion, you collided with him in a tight hug. The kind you hadn’t realized you needed until the warmth of his body pressed against you.

“Thanks for everything," You paused, and before you could stop it, the words slipped out. "...dad."

For a moment, everything went still. The hum of the damaged Tulpar only filling the air, and for one fleeting second, you feared you said too much. That you crossed a line, said something you didn’t have the right to say.

But then, without a word, his arms wrapped around you, solid and sure, holding you like he was never going to let go. The tension in your chest slowly released and a stray tear rolled down your cheek.

“Always, kid.” His voice was low, thick with meaning, and at that moment, it held everything you needed to hear.

[0mg-bird]

How Did It End?

Post Prison! Spencer x Fem!Fiancee Reader

Summary: Almost four months since Spencer came home and the fairytale that once was your life has come crashing down around you.

Warnings: ☹️ ouch. Angst. PTSD. Taylor Swift ‘How did it end?’ coded. hurt/comfort. this hurt to write, don’t hate me. Reid my poor baby has some stuff to work out.

W.H. Auden once wrote,

‘Were all stars to disappear or die, I should learn to look at an empty sky and feel its total dark sublime, though this might take a little time.’

Poetry was something you were no stranger to, given the fact you taught an advanced creative writing class at the local high school.

You once enjoyed poetry.

But now, when the words feel like knives aimed at you, you can’t bear to indulge in the afternoon readings like you used to.

Instead, afternoons are spent in an apartment that somehow lost its warmth. Before, you’d claim it’s because Spencer was gone, that things would be brighter when you brought him home. He’s been home for three months, a little longer, the weather has begun to change, warping into a melancholy winter. You sit at your desk, staring at your computer screen, spinning your engagement ring around your finger.

You’ve been trying to get back into writing, trying to revisit your archived story. Though, it’s hard to revisit a fictional romance mystery when there’s nothing to inspire it.

Groaning, you delete half of the last paragraph you’ve written and try to type something that isn’t cliche. Pushing through the urge to stop, you write until the words flow thoroughly and there’s a key turning in the door.

There he was, the love of your life.

Spencer trudges into the apartment and drops his bag by the door, his shoes find a home beside it. The circles under his eyes are darker than they were this morning when he left, he runs a hand through his hair and glances over at you when you stand with a grin.

“Hi.” You do your best to beam, conveying just how much it excites you to see him.

“Hi.” He mumbles, tossing you a tight lipped smile as he walks towards the bedroom.

Trying to push away the sick feeling in your gut, you turn back to your blind optimism and take your glasses off.

It takes eight steps from the bedroom door to the closet, it takes him three steps to pace and grab casual clothes. In about a minute, he takes off his day clothes and pulls on something that doesn’t feel constricting. You memorized every foot step he makes in this home, it’s easy to focus on when you spent some time not hearing it.

By the time he comes back out to retrieve his bag and sit on the couch, you grab up your laptop and sit on the other end of the sofa.

Paperwork and files soon lay on the coffee table and you watch him organize and complete end of the day tasks. Patiently waiting your turn, when Spencer finally relaxes back into the cushions, you slide closer.

“How was your day?” You ask.

He grunts. “Nothing worth talking about. Oh, I’m going to Connecticut next week to do a seminar, I’ll be gone two days.”

You nod. “That’s exciting, right?”

He shrugs, then there’s silence.

You scoot closer. “I was working on some things, I think I’m finally getting back into the groove of it. You want to read the last chapter I made?”

He motions to the coffee table. “Yeah, just leave it there and I’ll take a glance later. I’m debating on if I want to shower before dinner or after.”

“I was thinking we could go out for dinner, we haven’t in a while.” You offer with a hopeful smile.

Spencer frowns. “I’m not really feeling a social scene right now.”

“Oh, yeah, no, of course.” You quickly say. “We could do take out then, Italian maybe?”

He shakes his head. “We shouldn’t do take out anymore, it’s basically inviting a serial killer into our home, giving him some place to come back later when I’m not around.”

Right. The paranoia.

You knew things were going to be different when Spencer came home, and you did your best to adjust with an open mind. Sleepless nights consoling him, countless days spent trying to pull him from his own mind. Through tears and breaking points and a few instances where he utterly scares you, you know he’s still your same Spence, but just a little hardened now. He’s still the man who spent too much on a ring, still the dorky guy you fell for those years ago.

Things are just…a little rough.

“Okay.” You say to his statement. “I’ll whip something up then.”

At the sight of your willingness to give something up, he feels immensely bad.

“No.” He sighs, shaking his head. “No, I’m being stupid. Italian sounds fine.”

The bad habit of being too harsh on himself has been hard to kick, but it’s getting better… you think.

So you order Italian and eat in front of the television while Spencer fact checks what the characters are saying, criticizing the antics of these fictional people. It feels so normal, the whole situation, it makes you momentarily have amnesia, as if the two of you are exactly like before. You lean into his side and laugh at the sitcom, thinking that this Spencer hasn’t experienced what he has, that everyone around the two of you still feel the happy affects of your love, that you test wedding cakes and look for a bigger place. A place the two of you can buy together and start a family.

“I’m gonna shower.” He says, rubbing your shoulder.

Looking up at him, you smile playfully. “Want company?”

There it was, that reminder that things weren’t like before.

He kind of just shakes his head with a smile and leaves without anything else.

You know he doesn’t mean to, but sometimes he makes you feel about an inch tall. He used to look at you with this heavy gaze, something needy, something that never failed to make you feel like the prettiest girl in the world. His hands would find a home on your skin, he used to kiss for fun.

You don’t remember exactly when he last gripped you in a way that wasn’t just polite.

You know he has fears, he has it in his head that he is a danger to himself and you, that his hands are murderous, but it doesn’t feel the best when you’re constantly rejected by the man you’re going to marry.

Rubbing your eyes, you clean up the dinner mess and then go to the bedroom to slip into pajamas. The floor length mirror shines your reflection, you stop to stare.

Maybe you weren’t the first pick, maybe you hated what you saw sometimes, but the thing about Spencer was he was so sure that no one could ever do it like you. A slew of compliments he’d give you, the fever of his love was scorching.

You give the girl in the mirror a smile, then comb her hair with your fingers and smooth your tank top.

Silly enough, you turn to the side, wrapping your arms around an invisible bump, and you smile fondly at the thought. Two kids. A boy and a girl. Little geniuses. That’s what he and you would talk about. The next thing after he marries you, the next thing he’d do was give you a baby. He swore up and down at night when you laid with your head on his beating heart, he’d give you the family you craved and your face would hurt from smiling so much.

All plans are at a stand still now.

And that’s okay, wasn’t it? This was a rough patch and you’re helping Spencer get through it because you’d help him with anything-

The bedroom door opens, Spencer walks in and you step away from the looking glass.

“I’m going to get ready for bed.” You mumble, walking past him, cheeks burning red.

To say the least, Spencer feels horrible. Here you were, giving him your undying loyalty, holding his hand through all of it, and he’s the reason life has stopped. You’re so brave about it, always patient and understanding.

He hates it.

You should be angry, you should be arguing. He knows his bad moods kill you, he knows you’re waiting for things to be normal again and they won’t. You get up in the middle of the night when he’s asleep and put on your wedding dress, just to smile at yourself and promise that soon, it’ll be better. You think he doesn’t realize, that he’s passed out, but from the bed he watches you turn in front of the mirror and bite your lip, the way you always do when you’re too pleased with something. Then he sees you cry, softly, hand pressed to lips so you don’t make any noise and inconvenience him. You only let the break happen for a fee minutes, then you wipe your tears, take off the dress and tell yourself that it’s all alright.

Things will be okay.

What if they won’t?

What if it all just crumbles, every wall of the castles built?

It’s not a matter of ‘what if’s’ anymore, is it? Not when the two of you argue into the morning about things. You’re trying so hard to give him the benefit of the doubt but when he isn’t giving you anything at all, it makes for situations like this one.

Head in your hands, you pause for a brief moment and breathe before looking back up at Spencer. The two of you have been at this for about an hour and a half, all because you mentioned how unfair he’s being. Here you were, taking the scraps he throws to you like you’re a dog, and he’s saying it’s you who is unfair.

“I know you want things to go back to the way they were, but it’s not gonna happen.” He says in that bitter tone you hate, looking down at you, sitting on the mattress.

“I know things are different, Spencer.” You claim. “But I didn’t think I had to be okay with you hardly looking at me, or-or not baring to ask me a simple question like how my day was.”

He scoffs at you, running a hand through his unruly hair. “I’m sorry if my attention isn’t devoted to you now.”

You stand to match his position. “Don’t make me seem selfish.” You shout.

“I’m- you’re not selfish, I just…what do you want from me?” He questions, throwing his arms out and staring at you with absolutely no love in his eyes.

“What do I want?” You reword. “What I want is some progress. Every day I wake up, and I do my best to convince you that you’re not something evil, that these unforeseen circumstances don’t define you, and it’s like I’m stuck in a loop. I can’t help you if you don’t help yourself.”

A lump forms in your throat, your eyes burn but you can’t find it in yourself to let those tears fall.

“That’s the problem!” Spencer shouts. “You’re looking at me like I’m some sort of sick animal and I can’t stand it!”

“You’re looking at me like I’m not the love of your life anymore, so I suppose some things change.”

Silence.

Spencer’s at a loss for words.

Your tears start falling now. You wipe at them with fever.

“I’m trying to give you time, Spence.”

“Angel-” He tries to interrupt, only to be stopped with the movement of your hand in the air, halting him.

“Don’t. Don’t be like this. I know this hasn’t been easy for you, but I have felt so alone.” You say with a squeak. “And you just… don’t care.”

He shakes his head, demeanor changing. “Of course I care!”

“Really? Because it feels like you gave up on me when you gave up on yourself.” You gasp lightly, trying to calm your shaking hands. “And that’s mean, baby. I know you have been through so much and you lost the game of chance, and I’m sorry- I am so sorry, but you can’t toss me aside like I haven’t formed my whole life around you!”

It’s strange, standing in a room that once knew laughter and the warmth of your escapades. Only now, it’s ghostly and tired and blue. Spencer wants to defend it, wants to shout that you’re just not understanding him but it’s wrong. You understand him better than anyone ever has, and you’re immensely right, he’s abusing the situation. He knows all of this and can’t help but back peddle like his life depends on it.

“I’m not trying to toss you aside, I’m sorry.” He says, reaching out to grab you, deciding his touch can’t be your downfall.

But you side step him. “But you are, do you not understand? Use that smart head of yours to realize the instance here.” You plead. “If you’re done trying, then I am to because I have no more to give. I’m empty, you took it all from me, Spence. What do I get in return? Nothing, not even a fucking marriage.”

There’s a certain level of hurt that mixes with the anger and creates something crazy in your brain, makes it malfunction and all your repressed thoughts come out.

As you go to leave the bedroom, Spencer follows after. “What does that mean?” He asks.

You need to get out, these walls are whispering with your promises of a future, they’re getting louder.

“You aren’t going to marry me.” You state, searching for some place to hide and sink away.

“Of course I am.” He claims, calling your name to stop you.

“You can’t even pretend like you love me, Spencer, you aren’t going to marry me.”

A hand catches your arm and spins you to face him. His eyes are confused and reeling.

“I do love you, I always have.”

There’s a waver in his voice, is there?

I swallow. “Say it again. With feeling.”

“I love you!”

As the air leaves your lungs in a death rattle sort of way, you just can’t feel the warmth. It makes sense, ghosts have no heat, no matter how beloved they are. You know he expects you to give a different statement than what you do, and it hurts when you tell him the truth.

“I don’t think that’s enough now.”

“Don’t say that.” His tone comes out angrier than intended.

“I just did.”

One might describe him as a scared dog, one who lashes out now like he never used to.

“It’s not enough? Then why don’t you just spare yourself?” He spits, resembling a man you’ve never known, tossing your arm aside, probably too harshly.

The knife twists in your chest, you’re convinced you’re bleeding. Slowly, you nod. The ring seems to hold on for dear life, but you still pull it from your finger and offer it forward.

Everything inside of him feels sick as he reaches out his hand, watching as you drop the diamond into his palm.

With your heartbeat in your ears, you go to the door, sliding into your shoes and grabbing your heavy coat to brave into the weather. With Spencer calling your name, you shut the door on his impending questions of where you’re going.

Spencer stares at the door, and for a moment he can’t believe it all happened like it did. But he said the words and you followed his lead like the faithful partner you are and now you’re gone.

It takes him twenty two minutes before he begins to really panic. What if you’re gone forever? What if some force is going to take you now? Where did you go? Are you cold?

And if you left, that meant he’s alone for good, alone like he’s always been. How could he do this to you? He’s horrible, he’s a monster, all of those things he’s thought about are true.

He sets the ring on the counter, then throws the dirty coffee mug into the sink with such force, it breaks.

He paces the apartment while you stand at Penelope’s door, your dearest friend you only know because of Spencer, trying to hold it together until she comes to find you.

“What happened?” She asks, taking in your appearance.

“I don’t– know.” You sob out.

Two weeks later…

…

…

…It’s a weird feeling, having your spine split in half from carrying so much weight uphill for so long. You know a lot about weird feelings now, that empty space in your chest, Spencer sized, that’s your new lover.

Penelope sets a duffel bag by the pullout couch where you hardly move from, she’s been making trips to the apartment over the days to retrieve what you need.

“Hey, lovebug.” She coos softly, sitting by your knees, petting your mess of hair. “How was work?”

You open your mouth to tell her it was fine, that today was actually a good day, all the way up until Spencer texted you and asked if you wanted to move all of your things out.

A strangled sigh leaves your cracked lips.

This sums up how the last two weeks have been, and you wonder if Pen is a little embarrassed for you yet, the way you can hardly get out of bed.

“Emily and JJ and I are going out…why don’t you take a shower and come with us? It’ll make you feel better.” She says in such a gentle tone, one she’s learned that can get you to do anything.

It drags you to the shower, where you sag against the wall and do your daily crying. Then you get dressed and tame your hair and somehow make it to the bar.

Emily and JJ look at you with pity and you have no energy to be upset.

“Reid’s not enjoying it either.” Emily offers in a corner booth, because the conversation has turned to discussing the loss of your life.

Pen and JJ nod in agreement.

The BAU feels like they’re going through this break up at the way Spencer’s moods affect all of them. They’ve never known his anger like they do now, how he’s quick to snap, how the littlest thing sets him off. They’ll spare you, they won’t tell you how he swiped the picture frames off his desk, the ones of you and him. They won’t mention the fact that he hasn’t smiled once, that he looks like he doesn’t sleep.

They won’t tell you any of this but they’ll offer words of condolence or comfort, neither work.

“It’s going to be alright.” Emily encourages, squeezing your hand from across the table. “Heartache doesn’t stay forever.”

JJ nods like it’s going to fix the way you’re as empty as a drum.

“We all know how you’re feeling, don’t worry.” She says, her perfect, Barbie doll smile.

It makes you sick. You really shouldn’t take the anger out on anyone, but you do because there’s so much of it and you can’t stop it from flowing.

“You know what I’m going through?” You question her.

“Yes, I’ve had heartaches too.”

You suddenly can’t stand being here, you need to leave.

“You can go home to a husband, Jennifer, you don’t know how I feel.”

With those as your parting words, you flee, you tell Penelope you need air and you’ll see her at her apartment.

While you brave the cold city, the three women ask themselves how it could have possibly ended like this, with the greatest love of all in shambles. JJ calls Reid, of course she does.

“You need to fix this.” She tells him.

“…How is she?” He asks, sitting on the sofa, eyeing the framed pictures on the wall.

“She’s…lost. She’s ghostly, she-…Spencer, she loves you and she can’t stop. Fix it.”

“I don’t know how.” He says, monotone.

“How did it end, anyway?” She asks, seeing Emily and Penelope return with more drinks.

Spencer sort of sighs, though it’s sad and broken.

“I don’t know.”

- - - -

The air bites, it’s as cold as you feel, makes your bones ache. You wander in hopes of getting lost permanently, but to no avail, you know your city. Your city that feels so harsh and cruel, it’s one big reminder that you used to not walk the sidewalks alone, that you once stole kisses under streetlights. And as you’re walking down fifth avenue and memory lane, your feet drag you to the place you really want to go. In the time you left the bar and got frostbite from the early stages of falling snow, you’ve worked yourself up enough to believe you could stand your ground. Your anger has made a platform to stand on, you’re at the top of the fucking podium by the time you knock on the apartment door.

Why are you knocking?

Your name is on the fucking lease.

You shove the key in the lock and barge in, mouth agape, ready to fire.

And then you see it.

The bedroom door is only halfway shut, but you see movement. In the room that is gray and sullen, Spencer stands with his back to the door, staring at the cascade of white that he has laid on the bed like a memorial, like it was an open casket viewing.

Your podium shrinks.

“I was going to wear my hair up.” You say, causing him to turn and face you.

He’s tired, hair messy, unshaven, and those round brown eyes are the saddest things you’ve ever seen.

“I like your hair up.” He says, the words echo off exposed brick walls.

Heart beats pass, ba-bum ba-bum in your ears and you quickly huff and bush melted snow through your hair.

“I’ll get my things out now, if you want.” You say, choosing words carefully, eyes watching the way his avoid you.

“I don’t have any boxes.” He says, fingers brushing satin and lace before he picks the dress back up, puts it in the dust bag and death marches it to you. “You would’ve looked beautiful…you always look beautiful.”

How is it he can be so blissfully unaware? The smartest man you’ve ever known and he’s saying things to break your heart, with no clue that he’s doing it. You take that dress- that beautiful, vintage gown with the hundred fabric buttons running down the back, and lay it over your arm, then rock back on your heels.

“I can grab what I can and come by when you’re at work to get the rest.” You offer, wishing he’d say all the things you want him to say, like stay and I’m an idiot and I love you.

Spencer only nods. “Yeah. That works.”

“Okay…” You whisper, then drape the dress over the reading chair in the corner, the one too small for the both of you. You used to curl as small as possible on his lap with your legs over the arm and your head on his shoulder.

Every corner of this place is haunted.

In the closet, you pull the string and the lightbulb burns orange. You grab the two handheld suitcases, the ones you came home to find on the bed one day with Spencer telling you he was taking you to London while your school was on Spring Break.

When you come back out, Spencer’s left the room. There was no way he could watch you pull open the drawers where your things sat beside his.

With a knot in your throat, you fold and place things neatly and keep your cool like the mature adult you are.

That is until you grab the MIT t-shirt you’ve worn in. It’s a light gray color now, the neckline stretched so it only hangs right on you and not Spencer. Holding the ratty shirt you refuse to let him toss, that’s when you decide you don’t want to be a mature adult.

You’re a teenager with a broken heart is what it feels like, the world is ending and your soul has been split in half.

One tear comes, and then another, and one more until your face is soaked with your desperation and mourning. You ball that silly t shirt up at toss it away, and decide those suitcases are insufferable and onto the floor they go.

You stare at them, the clatter they made did nothing for comfort. With a raspy sigh, you sink to your knees to put everything back inside, and your blurry eyes drift to Spencer’s socks that appear in front of you after he hears the bang.

Wordlessly and gentle, he lowers his tall frame to crouch in front of you. The look in his eye is fools gold, it makes you think he’s the Spencer he was before everything.

You look at him, sure you look like a mess but you don’t care. Your chapped lips part and he’s prepared for the scolding, for your temper.

It doesn’t come.

“We were supposed to grow old together.” You sob out. “It was gonna be you and me, Spence, wearing matching outfits when we’re eighty, going to senior discount days at the theater.”

Those are the words that bring him back to reality, and the fall is harsh and he’s mortified that he’s done this to you.

You hiccup for air, pushing his hand away that tries to grab the suitcase. “I was going to walk down the aisle to an instrumental version of Heartbeat by The Fray, it’s unconventional but it’s my favorite song.”

“I know.” He whispers sadly.

“We didn’t make a deposit on that little venue with the pond, they gave our spot away but that’s okay, we were going to figure it out because we always do. We always do, Spencer.”

You’re not even sure you’re making sense but he understands, you could go mute completely and he’d understand because you’re his person, who he’s ruined.

“I know. I know, baby, I know.” He keeps repeating, adjusting to pull you away from the mess and into him.

With no strength left, you have no fuel for the fight. You fall into him, face in his chest as he sits against the bed and hugs you like he’s not seen you in years. It’s what it feels like, he hasn’t had you this close in too long. His fingers press into your skin, the warmth is almost groundbreaking in feeling, makes him unsure of where to hold you because he wants to touch everywhere, all at once. A lifeless frame full of hunger, you can’t move as you feel his caring grip in your hair, his lips to your crown as you can’t seem to get a solid breath in.

“Don’t make me leave you.” You plead, curling into him like a whimpering dog, clutching his chest to make sure there’s still a heart in there that beats for you.

Spencer’s crying now, the familiar feeling of fear in his lungs that don’t want to expand if you’re not around. He drags hair out of your face and presses his forehead to yours.

“I don’t want you to leave. Don’t leave me, don’t leave me.” He says with the emotion of the man before.

And just like that, you waltz right back into each other, you know the steps. Sitting in your fairytale, on the cold hardwood floor, listening to the steady beat of his heart, you both determine this isn’t the end of the greatest love affair they’ve ever seen.

You’re not sure how long you stay like this, in his lap, face red and salty as you stare at your bare left hand, but eventually the tears stop for the both of you. Spencer is the first to speak, he gently shifts, his hand sliding up your arm and shoulder to rest on the side of your neck, as if he’s checking your pulse.

“I’m sorry.” He rasps. “I’m sorry for everything, all of it, every single thing I did and said and ruined. I’m an idiot, angel, and you don’t know how lovely you are.”

Like water to a flame, those words are cooling. The grief and remorse in his tone makes you grab that hand checking your lifeline, and hold it.

“I’m sorry too.” You say. “For everything that went wrong and the fact I couldn’t do anything about it.”

His chest shudders, he leans down and kisses your forehead. “It doesn’t matter, it’s over now.”

You tilt your gaze up to meet his eye. “Is it?”

Bless you and the ground you walk on that he should worship better. Spencer gently runs his finger down your cheek and across your jawline. He nods then. “Yeah, baby, it is.”

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (10 - Welcome Home)

Chapter Summary: “No,” you shake your head firmly. Wanda wouldn't do that to you, wouldn't impose her will on you, let alone on thousands of people. “I'm sorry,” Darcy murmurs, her voice low. “I know it’s a lot to take in. I wish I was lying, but I swear I’m not.”

“Prove it,” you demand, in a last, desperate attempt to cling to the life you've built here with Wanda, to preserve the trust you've placed in the person who means the world to you.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 6.1k+ | Chapter Tags/Warnings: None

A/N: We've reached the end of Part 1! If you've noticed the updated series masterlist, I removed the dates of when the Part 2 chapters will be published. I've decided to take my time as I've started Law school. Rest assured this series will be completed, as I have a feeling this will be my last for this pairing/fandom // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

It's getting late. Families are beginning to pack up, hauling sugar-fueled, weary kids back home, as the Halloween crowd dwindles to a few costumed stragglers. One by one, the booths start shutting down, their owners announcing fifty percent off final sales in a last-ditch effort to clear their stocks. You haven't returned from your patrol, and Billy and Tommy are nowhere to be seen. 

You should've been back by now. The boys, too. 

Wanda’s anxiety is creeping up again. She scans the square, searching faces, but none of them are yours. None of them are Billy or Tommy's. 

“Have you seen my kids, Billy and Tommy?” she asks a passing neighbor.

“Can't say I have,” he shrugs, moving along.

An uneasy feeling crawls up Wanda's spine. Where’s her family?

Then she spots Agnes, effortlessly holding court with a group of volunteers by the cotton candy stand. She hesitates, knowing full well that getting Agnes' attention usually means signing up for more than she bargained for. But if anyone has a handle on everything happening tonight, it’s her snooping, ever-present neighbor.

“Agnes!” Wanda calls out, weaving through the remnants of the crowd.

Agnes turns, eyes gleaming, her mouth already stretched wide into a blinding smile. “Wanda! What can I do for you?”

“Have you seen the boys? Or Y/N?” Wanda tries to keep the edge out of her voice.

“Oh, the boys are at my place! They heard I got a new gaming console for Ralph and just couldn't resist. Begged me to let them try it out.”

Nothing about what Agnes said makes sense. “They went to your house? Without asking me?”

“Oh, you know how boys are with their toys,” Agnes rolls her eyes. “They were so excited, I didn't have the heart to say no.”

Wanda frowns. She knows her children well—they're adventurous but always inform her or you before taking off. “They should've asked for my permission,” Wanda says.

Agnes waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, don't be such a stick in the mud. They're safe and sound, having the time of their lives.”

“That's not the point,” Wanda snaps.

Agnes laughs, head thrown back, and it makes Wanda's skin prickle. “Come on, dear. It's Halloween. Let them have a little fun.”

Wanda takes a deep breath. “It's getting late. I'd like to bring them home now.”

“Of course, of course,” Agnes says softly, her hand resting briefly on Wanda's arm. “I’ll drive you over.”

Wanda climbs into Agatha’s car, her eyes still darting around, the unease in her chest growing tighter despite having an answer about where her kids are.

“Have you heard from Y/N?” Wanda can’t help but ask again, as if hoping for a different answer this time.

Agnes glances at her sideways. “Probably still on patrol. Dedicated, that one.”

Wanda nods, but it doesn’t ease the tightness in her chest. The streets feel longer than usual, stretching out like a labyrinth. Wherever you are, she hopes you’re doing okay, and that you’re nowhere near the boundary.

They arrive at Agnes' house shortly after. Wanda’s expecting the noise of video games coming from the living room, but the house is quiet and poorly-lit. 

“After you,” Agnes says, opening the door.

Wanda steps inside, a cold breeze hitting her on the face almost immediately. 

“Boys? Billy? Tommy?”

But there’s not a sign of them. In fact, there’s no sign of anyone in the house. The gaming console sits untouched near the television, controllers neatly arranged. The silence is too loud. 

Wanda spins around to face her. “Where are they?”

Agnes closes the door behind them. “Oh, they might've wandered downstairs.”

“Which way?”

“Just through the kitchen and down the stairs,” Agnes points. 

Wanda moves toward the basement door, her footsteps muted by an old rug. She opens it and descends the creaking wooden steps. 

“Boys?” Wanda calls out.

The further she goes, the cooler the air becomes. Reaching the bottom, she finds herself in a space that doesn't match the rest of Agnes’ home. 

The basement is expansive and ancient-looking, with stone walls draped in vines whose origins Wanda can't discern. There are candles spread around, making a circular enclosure of the empty spot in the middle. The room is filled with strange artifacts—old books, glass jars containing unidentifiable substances, and objects that seem out of place in a suburban home. 

But none of that catches Wanda’s attention more than the fact that her kids are nowhere to be seen.

She turns back toward the stairs but Agnes is there, blocking her path.

“Looking for something?” Agnes asks innocently.

Wanda takes several steps back, her fists balling at her sides. “Who are you?” 

Agnes looks pleased by that question. “The name’s Agatha Harkness. Lovely to finally meet you, dear.”

—

As soon as Darcy mentioned mind control and fabricated reality, you had to get out of the car. Darcy follows suit, and you wait for the punchline, but it never comes. It sounds crazy, but then, this town has always made you feel crazy. Maybe it's not so far-fetched after all.

But what’s inconceivable is Wanda being behind all this madness.

“Wanda? My wife Wanda?” you ask weakly, knowing there’s no one—perhaps no one within a thousand miles—who shares her name.

“Yes, but not exactly,” Darcy says. “She's manipulating everything—people, places, even time. Including you.”

Including you? You don’t feel like you’re being manipulated—not exactly. But whatever this is, it’s starting to wear thin, grating at your patience.

“Is this some kind of prank? Did Agnes put you up to this?”

“I wish it were a joke,” she bemoans, sounding like she means it. “Think about it. Do you remember anything before Westview? How you got here? Your life before this?”

“Of course I do,” you insist, but as you try to recall specifics, your memories blur—faces without names, events without context.

“What's your last clear memory before moving here?”

You try to answer, but your mind keeps drawing a blank.

“Exactly,” Darcy says gently.

You shake your head. “No, this is ridiculous.”

“I know it's hard to accept, but you have to believe me. Wanda is controlling everything, and you're a part of it.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you might be the only one who can stop her. The only one she'll listen to.”

“Why me?” you ask, heart pounding. “Do you even know me?”

Darcy shifts her weight under the streetlamp. “I’ve… read about you. You're Y/N, an Avenger, just like Wanda was before... before all this.”

“An Avenger?” You frown, the word sounding not entirely foreign to your tongue. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Darcy raises a brow. “You seriously don’t remember the Avengers? Earth’s mightiest heroes? You were part of a team that saved the world—multiple times.” She says it like it should trigger something, like the name alone should spark recognition. But it doesn’t. And already, you don’t like the sound of it.

You shake your head, lips pulling into a faint grimace. “Sounds like a PR stunt. If these so-called heroes are real, they shouldn't be worshipped like celebrities.”

Darcy chuckles softly. “You know what, you have a point there. But considering one of them is literally a god, it kinda leaves me, I mean us—with, you know—no choice.”

“One of them is a god?” 

“Yeah, Thor. Tall guy, wields a hammer, controls thunder. Ridiculously hot. Ring any bells?”

She might as well be describing a cartoon character. You run a hand through your hair before grabbing a fistful of it in frustration. “This is crazy.”

“It is,” Darcy agrees. “But that’s our world now, apparently.”

You take a deep breath. “If what you're saying is true—”

“I swear it is,” she insists.

“Then how did I end up here? Why would Wanda do this?”

Darcy sighs. “It’s a long story.”

You glance at your watch. It’s 11:05 in the evening. Wanda will be looking for you anytime soon.

“You have five minutes.”

—

“Where are my children?” Wanda demands, her eyes flashing dangerously.

“Where are my children?” Agatha imitates her like a parrot. “My, that accent does like to play hide and seek, doesn't it?”

“Where are they?” Wanda yells, throwing her hands up in front of her, ready for the offense. She summons her powers on Agatha, but nothing happens. The shimmering crimson she relies on fails to appear. Agatha relishes in it, letting out a boisterous giggle.

“Oh, your magic’s no good here,” Agatha reveals. 

Before Wanda can react, Agatha lifts her hands, and from her fingertips erupts a swirling purple energy that crackles through the air. In an instant, the magic lashes out, snapping around Wanda's wrists and ankles. With a sharp pull, Agatha yanks her forward, the force dragging Wanda off her feet and toward the center of the room. The bindings constrict, holding her limbs in place painfully, causing Wanda to squirm.

“Didn't you notice?” Agatha smirks haughtily. “On the walls? Basic protection spell. No? Nothing? These are runes, Wanda.”

Wanda glances around, her gaze falling upon the glowing inscriptions etched into the stone but they mean nothing to her. She struggles against the magical restraints, but the more she fights, the tighter they grip.

Agatha circles her, looking very much proud of herself. “In a given space, only the witch that cast the runes can use her magic. How do you not know the fundamentals?”

Runes? Fundamentals? Wanda narrows her eyes at Agatha. “Who are you?”

Agatha smirks, tossing the question back like a live grenade. “Who are you?” she challenges, staring down the bewildered, clueless witch before her.

Confusion flashes across Wanda's face. “What are you talking about?”

Agatha starts circling her, slow, like a vulture. “You've been pulling off magic tricks that take lifetimes to master—casting illusions, transmutation, hijacking minds. All on autopilot. Without any damn training. You will tell me how you did this.”

“I didn't do anything,” Wanda protests. “I'm not—”

That seems to shatter Agatha’s last ounce of patience. She flings Wanda back and forth like a ragdoll, each toss violent and jarring, until Wanda is back where she started, gasping for breath.

“I tried to be gentle, to nudge you awake from this pathetic daydream. But you'd rather fall apart than face your truth.”

Wanda clams up, unable to refute the other woman’s words. All of a sudden, Agatha yanks a hair from Wanda's head.

Clutching the strand, Agatha murmurs, “Revelare vitae memorias.” A purple aura envelops the hair as she weaves her spell.

Wanda tugs against the magical restraints binding her. “What are you doing?”

Agatha shrugs off the question, focused on completing her spell. She conjures a door on a previously bare wall, the surface pulsing with her energy. She flicks a strand of Wanda’s hair towards it, watching as the door swallows it and burns even brighter.

“Time for some real reruns.”

—

Darcy's theory seems just as absurd with the revelation that Wanda has been controlling the entire town this whole time.

“Faking my death and not being there for Wanda when she comes back just doesn't add up,” you say, kicking a stone as you pace in circles. Darcy sits on the pavement, watching as you wear a path in the ground.

“Why not?”

You stop pacing and look Darcy squarely in the eye. “Because I love her. She doesn't need to ‘kidnap’ me to stay with her.”

Darcy throws her hands up in exasperation, looking as lost as you feel. “Look, I don't know why Wanda brought you here! I don't know why you couldn't just be together in the real world or why she did this to Westview,” she walks closer to you. “I'm just as in the dark as you are.”

Her uncertainty only adds to your doubt. “Who are you anyway, Darcy Lewis? How did you even end up here?”

Darcy sighs, realizing she hadn't properly introduced herself or explained the situation right. “Okay, yeah, sorry. I'm…an astrophysicist. S.W.O.R.D—it’s a US government agency—contacted me more than a week ago about an anomaly in New Jersey. I was outside the Hex—this red barrier enclosing all of Westview—trying to figure out what's going on here. And then I got sucked in.”

“Sucked in? How does that happen?”

Darcy hangs back, weighing what's appropriate to share and what isn't. The image of you dying mere seconds after you emerged from the barrier seems to straddle both categories, but given the incredulous way you're looking at her—as if she's sprouted ten heads—signals your dwindling trust. If she doesn’t talk soon, she might just lose this rare opportunity to get you to their side.

She signals you to take a sit on the ground first, but you merely stare at her, waiting.  “Well, it's complicated,” Darcy starts. “But before I ended up here, I saw something you need to know.”

“Go on,” you say cautiously.

She takes a deep breath. “You were dying.”

Your eyes widen. “What?”

“Last night, you tried to cross the boundary of the Hex,” she explains. “But as soon as you did, you started disintegrating—turning into dust.”

You stop cold. That dream where Wanda was vanishing—

Was it you all along?

Darcy continues, “We didn't know what to do, how to help you. But then the Hex started expanding—fast. I couldn't escape, and now here I am.”

You barely register her words as you try to piece together your memory of last night. Is that why you felt déjà vu on the way here? Because you've been here before? Because you've actually been outside?

Could Wanda be the reason you can't recall what Darcy claims happened last night? Has your wife really been manipulating you? Using her powers to deceive you?

“No,” you shake your head firmly. Wanda wouldn't do that to you, wouldn't impose her will on you, let alone on thousands of people.

“I'm sorry,” Darcy murmurs, her voice low. “I know it’s a lot to take in. I wish I was lying, but I swear I’m not.”

“Prove it,” you demand, in a last, desperate attempt to cling to the life you've built here with Wanda, to preserve the trust you've placed in the person who means the world to you.

“Fine,” Darcy exhales sharply, pausing to think for a moment. “I got it!”

You cross your arms, waiting expectantly.

“Do you remember your assistant, Geraldine?” she asks.

The fact that Darcy knows about her already turns your stomach. It means she wasn't lying about the broadcasts outside, where people have been monitoring the situation all this time.

You nod, unable to speak. The fear grips you so tightly you worry you might lose the dinner you had just an hour ago.

“Geraldine isn't who you think she is. Her real name is Monica Rambeau. She's an agent from S.W.O.R.D., sent here to investigate what's happening inside Westview.”

“That doesn't make sense. I've known Geraldine for months—”

“Have you?” Darcy counters gently. “Think about it. Can you recall anything about her life outside of work? Her family? Where she lives?”

You open your mouth to respond but realize you can't summon any details. It's as if those memories are just... missing. 

Just like every other little detail in your life.

“I… I can’t—”

Darcy nods sympathetically. “That's because you’re all just playing a role here. Monica tried to reach out to her, to help her see what's real, but Wanda forced her out of this reality.”

Geraldine's resignation is a vague memory, nothing more. If Wanda has been pulling the strings, she's been selective with the memories she's allowed you to keep. That much is certain.

And you’re conflicted. No, that’s not quite right—you’re overwhelmed. You feel betrayed, most prominently. But beneath that, there’s guilt. Deep down, you’re troubled by the thought of how much pain Wanda must have endured to go to such lengths. It pains you too, knowing she suffered so greatly. If this isn't going away anytime soon, that means she's still hurting. And if you're going to agree to help Darcy figure this out, you’re going to do it for Wanda’s sake, not theirs.

Making this decision would be simple if not for—

You look down, your voice barely above a whisper. “And our kids? Billy and Tommy?”

Darcy looks away. “We couldn't find any records of them,” she says. “They're not documented anywhere in Westview.”

A sinking feeling grips your chest. “They're our sons—they're real.”

Darcy doesn’t say anything. Your eyes begin to sting as you walk into the middle of the deserted road.

You're not sure how long you stood there, contemplating the plight of these innocent people and the dangers looming over your family beyond this town. You gaze at the wedding ring on your finger. Being Wanda’s wife brought you nothing but joy. Being a mother to your two boys made you feel whole. Can you really let all that go?

Just as Darcy is about to check on you, having waited a while, you catch her off guard by walking back.

“What do you need me to do?”

—

Wanda's eyes dart around. “No... not here,” she whispers, recognizing her childhood home.

She thought those memories were lost—how a seemingly ordinary evening spiraled, altering her life forever. Seeing her mama and papa’s faces is a miracle in itself. Wanda had forgotten their features, unable to carry even a photograph of them for so long.

And Pietro—god, how she's missed him. He was the last sliver of Sokovia, the last piece of home she clung to before becoming an orphan in every sense of the word.

Life was simple then. It wasn’t always comfortable or peaceful, but they were happy as long as the four of them were together. 

Wanda watches on, a helpless spectator as the mundane scene before her—an evening of sitcoms on the living room floor—is shattered by an explosion before the screen cuts to black.

She squeezes her eyes shut. When she dares to look again, devastation greets her. Her younger self and Pietro huddled under rubble, a Stark Industries missile mere feet away, its ominous beeping the only sound in the deafening silence.

Agatha muses, “You stared at that bomb, waiting for it to go off. Did you use a probability hex?”

“No, I…” Wanda blinks, her mind reeling . “It just never went off. It was defective. We didn’t know that. We were… we were trapped.”

“For how long?”

“Two days.”

Agatha hums, sizing up whether this incident had any real impact on Wanda’s recent exploits.  Despite the trauma Wanda has endured, Agatha remains skeptical, and she steers them down another bend in memory lane.

From afar, another room takes shape—the Hydra facility, where she first encountered the Infinity Stone. 

“I don’t want to go back in there.”

“The only way forward is back,” comes the terse reply.

—

Jimmy and Monica sit side by side on a surprisingly comfortable pile of hay inside one of the supply rooms of the camp, their wrists shackled behind them with cuffs this time.

“Well, at least Hayward splurged on the good hay,” Jimmy attempts at a joke, trying to twist his wrists free.

“Yeah, cause the next time I see him, I’ll be shoving them up his—” Monica bites her lip. Now’s not the time to think about all the ways she’ll make Hayward pay. Right now, their priority is getting out of these cuffs.

Reaching into his sleeve, Jimmy fumbles for a hidden pin. “Got a lockpick here. Just give me a sec—almost…”

She watches as he struggles to maneuver the pin into the cuff's lock, his fingers slipping. After several failed attempts, he lets out a frustrated huff.

“Here, let me try,” Monica says, scooting closer.

“Be my guest,” Jimmy says, sliding over the pin.

Monica grabs it, fingers deft and sure. A soft click follows. In a flash, she's free, reaching over to unlock Jimmy's cuffs.

“Impressive,” he remarks, rubbing his wrists.

“Years of field training.”

Jimmy fishes out his cellphone. “Guess they missed this in the pat-down.” He punches in a number. “Calling for backup from Quantico.”

He steps aside, murmuring into the phone, while Monica edges towards the door. She presses an ear against the rough wood, listening hard.

“Any luck?” she murmurs as he ends the call.

“They're sending a team, but we're on borrowed time,” he whispers back.

“Listen,” Monica says suddenly, holding up a hand.

Silence falls. There’s a muffled sound of chaos outside—high-pitched voices, scrambling footsteps, panicked commands. 

“Is that... fighting?” Jimmy's eyes go wide.

“Sounds like it,” Monica says. “But who would be engaging Hayward's agents out here?”

“Maybe another S.W.O.R.D. team?”

She shakes her head. “Unlikely. They trust Hayward too much to send more scouts.”

The clamor grows—a cocktail of grunts, barked orders, and the dull thud of bodies smacking the ground. And then guns firing off nearby.

“This is bad,” Jimmy mutters. “We're sitting ducks. Unarmed ducks.”

Monica's gaze sweeps the area. “We need to find something to defend ourselves.” She snags a rusted metal rod from beside a stack of crates and hands it to Jimmy. “Here.”

He grabs it, his grip firm. “Better than nothing.”

She hoists a solid-looking plank. “Stay alert.”

Suddenly, the outside noises cut off, dropping the world into unnerving stillness.

“Why did it just go quiet?” Jimmy whispers.

Monica takes an offensive stance. “I don't know, but I have a feeling we're about to find out.”

Footsteps draw near—steady, unhurried. The door handle rattles slightly.

“Get ready,” she says, positioning herself beside the door.

Jimmy nods, holding his makeshift weapon at the ready.

The door creaks open slowly, and a sliver of light spills inside. They hold their breath as the door swings wider.

A shadowy figure looms at the threshold, silhouetted against the harsh daylight. Without waiting to see if this was a friend or an enemy, Monica lunges forward, swinging her plank toward the intruder. Jimmy follows suit, thrusting his metal rod in a coordinated attack.

But the figure dodges their attack like they're made of smoke. With a fluid sidestep, you evade Monica's swing, the plank slicing harmlessly through the air. Simultaneously, you pivot gracefully, ducking under Jimmy's thrust. In one seamless motion, you sweep your leg, knocking the rod from his grasp and sending it clattering across the floor. 

Before they can regroup, you're behind Monica, coaxing her wrist until the plank clunks to the ground with a dull thud. Both agents stumble back, dumbstruck.

Monica’s about to charge again when you raise your hands. 

“Easy,” you say hurriedly. “I’m not here to fight.”

Jimmy looks at you with utter shock and awe. “How did you—”

You smile thinly. “No time for explanations.”

Monica squints, peering harder. Something clicks. “Wait... Are you Y/N?” she murmurs in disbelief.

Recognition dawns on Jimmy’s face too. “It is you!”

You nod slowly. “I am.”

Monica keeps searching your face, like she's double-checking if it's really you. There are small differences between this you and the one in the Hex—your hair's shorter, framing a face that's sharper with…age. The lines around your eyes are deeper, and there's a hardness in them now that wasn’t there before.

“Wait, how did you escape the Hex unharmed?” Jimmy asks. “The last time you tried, it looked like you weren’t going to make it…”

You shake your head. “I didn't escape from Westview.”

“What do you mean?” Monica asks. “You're inside the Hex with Wanda, aren't you?"

“No,” you reply evenly. “That wasn’t—isn’t me.”

Just then, footsteps approach from behind. You spin around to see Clint, his bow slung casually over his shoulder.

“Well, that was quick,” you note.

He smirks lightly. “It would've been quicker if I weren’t so rusty.”

“Clint, is it true what she's saying?” Monica asks.

Clint nods solemnly. “Yeah. I made a rookie mistake by not considering the possibility that the Y/N in Westview and out here in the real world aren’t one and the same.”

Jimmy looks baffled. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“When I saw Y/N on that broadcast, I assumed she was inside the Hex. But when we saw the one from Westview disintegrating after she emerged from the barrier, that’s when I realized that something else was going on here.”

Jimmy's face screws up in confusion. “Then who was that?”

You lean back against the wall, a wistful look in your eye. “Based on what Clint told me, she's both me and not me.”

Jimmy throws up his hands. “I'm getting confused.”

“That's Wanda's version of me—the person she left behind five years ago,” you say.

Monica's eyes stretch wide as the penny drops. Is Wanda that powerful to be capable of what you’re implying?

“When you say she's Wanda's version...” She trails off, not confident to finish the thought.

“Wanda created her,” you say, as casual as if you were commenting on the weather. “Wanda doesn't know I'm still alive.”

—

“Exposure to an Infinity Stone,” Agatha muses, eyeing the memory of Wanda clad in a grimy gown that the Hydra facility dressed her into. She grimaces slightly. “That explains some of it, but not all.”

With a subtle gesture of her hand, another door materializes—a portal to another place, another time. Another memory—but this time, not a painful one. Wanda doesn't hesitate this time and walks towards it. There’s no choice in the matter, really. Might as well get it over with.

Behind the door is a well-lit kitchen. The countertops were sleek and clean, aside from an open jar of peanut butter and a half-empty jar of jelly sitting next to a loaf of bread. A butter knife rested on a plate smeared with both spreads, and a glass of water sat nearby, condensation pooling in a faint ring on the stone surface.

You were standing at the large kitchen island, carefully cutting the corners of your sandwich when Vision phased directly through the wall to your left.

“Jesus!” you yelled in surprise, the knife slipping from your hand and clattering against the plate.

“Well, well,” Agatha drawls, leaning back with an amused smirk as she turns to Wanda. “I must admit, I never pictured her as the type to take the Lord’s name in vain. Your wife looks like such a proper lady here in Westview, dear.”

Wanda remains motionless, her entire focus on you as this memory comes rushing back to her.  You weren’t even friends yet, and Wanda had already noticed how distant you kept yourself from her. It wasn’t hostility, exactly, but it was clear you didn’t like her much back then. And she couldn’t blame you.

“My apologies,” Vision said.

You scolded him for announcing himself that way before he formally introduced himself to you. With a sigh, you told him you already knew who he was. Without missing a beat, Vision asked what food you were preparing.

“It's a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

“The coloration is intriguing,” Vision noted. “I haven't encountered many purple foods in my lifetime.”

To Agatha, the exchange seems utterly trivial—and not to mention, boring. Yet, it only makes her more curious about why this particular memory has surfaced.

“Speaking of food,” Vision began, “Miss Maximoff hasn’t eaten. Nothing in over twelve hours.”

You were just about to take your first bite, but the mention of Wanda made you freeze.

“And why is that my problem?”

“Given that her quarters are adjacent to yours, I thought you might be concerned,” Vision said.

“Concerned? About the person who messed with my head? Hard pass.”

“Oh,” Agatha chimes in, continuing her unsolicited commentary. “Was your wife not particularly fond of you in the beginning?”

Wanda shakes her head slowly. “She hated me.”

Agatha’s grin widens. “And that drew you to her? Well, aren’t we a little kinky.”

The memory continues with Vision gently reprimanding you about the poisonous effects of resentment. You brushed it off with a sharp retort, making it abundantly clear just how little you cared.

Vision didn’t press the matter further. “Very well. If you’ll excuse me.”

He turned to leave, this time opting for the doorway instead of phasing through the wall. 

“Wait,” you called out, piquing Agatha’s interest.

Vision stopped, looking back at you expectantly.

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “Look, just... take her something to eat. Here.” You shoved the sandwich plate toward him.

“It might be more meaningful if you delivered it yourself.”

“Yeah, that's not happening.”

He accepted the plate. “I will relay the gesture.”

“Don’t,” you rushed out. “I mean, don’t tell her it’s from me.”

Agatha scoffs like she’s watching a bad rom-com. “Enemies to lovers. My personal favorite,” she says, smirking. “Two people who can’t stand each other but still do nice things behind each other’s backs. Adorable, really.”

“She didn’t know I was there, watching the whole exchange,” Wanda says softly. “I went back to my room that night, eagerly waiting for Vision to bring me that sandwich. I was so hungry.” Her voice grows even quieter as she adds, “Y/N was the first person to do anything for me after my brother died. And she didn’t even like me.”

Agatha snaps her fingers, then gives Wanda a hard look. “Here’s the punchline, honey: you come back from the Snap—five years gone in a blink for you—and guess what? Y/N didn’t make it.”

Wanda looks stunned by the reminder that in the five years she was gone, she couldn’t shield you, couldn’t stop your demise. Clint kept silent on how it happened, and even when Wanda defiantly probed his mind, she found no clues about your death.

“She was gone,” Agatha says, circling around to meet Wanda's gaze. “But you wanted her back.”

Almost reflexively, Wanda nods. “I did,” she murmurs. “I wanted her back.”

The segment shifts seamlessly to a serene lakeside setting. It's a somber day—the day of Tony Stark's funeral. Wanda of this memory stood alone, gaze lost on the serene water, while members of the Avengers paid their subdued respects to Pepper Potts in a slow procession.

It’s Clint who noticed she’d been standing there a long time already. 

“Hey,” he murmured, the nippy weather forcing his hands in his pockets as he joined Wanda’s side. “You holding up okay?”

Wanda smiled faintly. “As well as can be expected.”

He nodded, sharing her view of the gray lake. “It’s tough, losing someone like Tony. Feels like we’ve been bleeding pieces of ourselves.”

Wanda sighed. “But it's not just Tony, isn’t it?” This funeral should’ve also been for everyone they lost. Natasha, Vision…

You.

“Counting our losses would just do us more harm than good, kid,” Clint said.

She gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug. “I just... I miss them.”

Clint's hand found her shoulder. “I get it. I miss them too.” 

Wanda drew a ragged breath, but these days, it felt like no amount of air was enough.  

“All I've ever known is loss,” she whispered. “You'd think I'd be used to it by now, that it wouldn't hurt as much as when I lost my parents, or Pietro. But this…” Her voice faltered. “Losing Y/N cut the deepest.”

Clint squeezed her shoulder. It’s meant to be comforting but Wanda felt nothing. 

“I’m sorry, kid.”

“I shouldn’t have been brought back,” Wanda said, stepping back, causing Clint’s hand to fall away.

“Don't say that. Y/N would've done everything for you to come back,” he said.

She turned to him, tears brimming in her eyes. “And I would've done everything I could for her to still be here—with me.”

Wanda watches herself in the memory, turning her back on Clint without a word. She didn’t say goodbye to anyone. Didn’t pay her respects to Stark’s widow. She slipped into the driver’s seat of the car you used to own after Clint turned it over to her.

The road led her to a quiet cemetery not too far away. She parked along a gravel path and walked among the rows of headstones until she reached yours. Seeing your name etched in stone brought a fresh wave of grief crashing over her.

Dropping to her knees, Wanda was wracked with sobs, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. She cried until the tears refused to come, her body spent from the depth of her grief. Hours seemed to pass before she finally rose, shaky and streaked with tears. She wiped her face with the back of her hand and headed back to the car. Slumping into the driver's seat, she allowed herself a few more moments of inaction. In search of some small comfort, she flipped open the glove compartment and fished out your favorite CD.

As she rummaged through the assorted items, her fingers brushed against an unfamiliar envelope tucked at the back. Intrigued, she pulled it out and examined it. Her name was written on the front in your unmistakable handwriting.

With hands that trembled like leaves, she tore it open. Inside, there was a simple, elegant ring—the one she bought for you—and a folded brochure. It’s a map of a small New Jersey town. A plot of land was circled in aggressive red, and in a heart-shaped scribbled below, you've written, Where Maximoff will torment me for the rest of our days.

A smile, bittersweet and crooked, crawled its way to her face. The idea of a future you’d dared to dream together flooded her with both joy and heartache. 

Compelled by a sudden urge to see this dream firsthand, Wanda started the car and set off towards New Jersey. The journey passed in a blur, her mind occupied with thoughts of what could have been. Hours later, she arrived at the ghostly town, its structures forgotten in time, lagging behind the rest of the world by at least a decade.

Following the map, she drove to the marked lot—a field overrun with wildflowers and framed by a quaint white picket fence. She walked to the center of the lot, your ring clenched tight in her fist. As the sun dipped low, it draped everything in a golden light. Right then, the full weight of her pain hit her like a freight train.

And when it happened, it started with a tingling sensation at the back of her neck, a subtle prickling that grew into an all-consuming fervor. Beneath her, the earth whispered of transformations, subtle yet insistent, as reality bended, acquiescing to the sheer force of her will. 

Her powers gradually rose, a resurgent tide swelling from the emptiness that had, until this moment, consumed her. She released a primal scream as she unknowingly reshaped her surroundings—houses and streets morphed, relationships and identities changed—all molded from her memories and desires. Even the very colors of reality altered around her.

But she paid no heed to the unprecedented heights of her abilities. Her only focus was the release—the desperate emptying of her being, striving to purge the agonizing pain she’d felt since discovering you were gone.

With each exertion, she felt a piece of herself ebbing away, her essence—bright and golden—intertwining with the magic, seeping into the reality she molded. The pain was exquisite, an acute contrast to the numbness that had pervaded her existence since her return. She welcomed it, the pain confirming her existence, her agency, her power after so much had been taken from her.

As the final tendrils of red weaved the last of her into this new Westview, she felt a climactic release, as if she’d finally exhaled a burden she could no longer bear. She collapsed, the world spinning dizzyingly around her, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. The town pulsed—tentatively, like the first steps of a newborn—with life, a life that was both not hers and wholly of her making.

She lay on the ground, which had metamorphosed from the soft, dewy texture of soil to the cool, smooth tiles of a pristine living room. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, bracing for the afterlife, when—

Wanda gasped, her eyes instantly watering at the sight of you, unchanged, just as she remembered before the snap, before the world fell apart. Disbelief coursed through her, yet she couldn’t look away from the miracle of you, standing there within her reach.

“Wanda,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath. Extending a hand, you helped her to her feet, her left hand—adorned with a simple gold band—shaking as it met yours. 

“Welcome home.”

A fragile smile began to trace her lips for the first time since her return. With your hand in hers, she stood at the threshold of her new home, crafted from all of her pieces.

[smallestapplin]

Hellooo! Good evening or um good morning so yea I was watching G1 transformers and canonically mirage is like loaded like he's from the upper class. So I um immediately thought that he's sugar daddy material. Like man only picks the finest/expensive cars even from G1. So I'm asking for like um sugar daddy mirage with a human female reader and since he doesn't know how to woo her, he practically buys her attention and time. Like he enjoys watching her spend his money. Casually suggesting that a top that he sees while she's scrolling on her phone and says that it would fit her and that she should buy it. Coincidentally, the color of the top matches his paint. Omg I've made this long huhu now I feel shy. 😿😿

Wait this is actually so cute and funny, I love it. I hope I did this right for you!💖

-

-

Mirage isn’t use to human ways of living and courtship, but he tries so hard to be friendly and welcoming, he wants you to know he’s safe to go to for anything! But falling for you wasn’t on that list, you’re such a tiny thing compared to him, he’s worried he’ll hurt you.

But how could he not? You’re so funny, so kind, always helping him learn more about your culture and Earth in general, even if that means he won’t ever live down calling a trees ‘organic speed stoppers’, but your laughter made it all the more worth it to embarass himself.

Mirage isn’t sure how to court you the human way, so why not his way? It’s not like he can ask anyone either, lest the tell you or make fun of him for falling for a human.

He shows off, racing Sunstreaker and Sideswipe often, doing dangerous stunts, taking sharp turns, making sure he’s flashy enough for you in his alt mode. He lives for your cheers, lives on your priase. The twins know what he’s doing, it’s what ever racer does to gain the affection of someone.

Yet you don’t pick up on that, you gush over him sure, telling him how cool that was! How cool he is! But it doesn’t seem to click, not that Mirage can fault for you that, you’ve never had anyone court you like that.

So, why not gifts? Gifts are a universal love language that can’t go wrong!

“Mirage, you really didn’t have to get me anything, being with you is more than enough.”

How you have him wrapped around your tiny organic digit, making him swoon and spark pulse.

“It’s no problem, really! I wanna show you how much I care about you, so it wasn’t difficult to find a way to buy things for ya!”

He’s too kind, even bought everything himself after hacking (very easily) into your phone and used his own funds to spoil you. Until he got a com from you the day all the packages arrived.

“How many things did you buy me!?”

“Eh, it wasn’t costly so I don’t really remember.”

“Wasn’t costly? Mirage, this must’ve cost my life’s savings!”

You thank him over and over and over again, but he doesn’t mind, always smiling at you and simply asking if you liked what he bought you. It makes your cheeks burn when he does that, asking so sweetly, honestly you might think he’d have an ulterior motive.

The skirts, the dresses, the tops all ranging fm cozy to cute to flirty, pants much the same, he’s even bought you expensive consoles, games, and even things you complained about needing to replace or needing in general.

Each time you cry he doesn’t need to buy you anything, yet the large bot just looks at you with hearts in his optics telling you it’s fine.

Soon nearly sixty percent of your outfits are all things he’s bought you, like a silent claim over you, you can’t move in your home without being reminded of him.

But then that top came in, the one he had been waiting for, and once it did he didn’t bother trying to hide his want to see it. He sits in your drive way in his alt mode, awaiting to see how you look, and by the all spark he’s nt disapppointed.

“Does it look okay?”

You aren’t exactly a big fan of crop tops, but the high waisted jeans you are wearing cover you enough to feel comfortable. The crop top itself is loose and flowy, honestly you could see yourself wearing it around more in the house.

It’s mainly blue with tie dyed black, white, and red, matching his colors perfectly.

You look stunning.

You jump a little, hearing his engines rev loudly. You laugh softly at the display.

“I take it you like it?”

“Remind me to get you a sporty top in those colors.” He sounds near breathless.

“My, Mirage, if i didn’t know any better I’d say you just want us to match.” You tease, laughing at how his engine outright purrs at your words.

Oh, if only you knew how right you were.

Matching, like a couple, like the couple he desperately wants you two to be, loudly claiming you as his.

[vigilskeep]

7 and/or 30 if either take your fancy?

7. something written by a character from a previous game about rook

To the Hero of Ferelden, Arlessa of Amaranthine, Warden-Commander of All the South, and bearer of many other such absurd names,

First, I regret that I could not come to you in person. The Inquisitor has promised to deliver this missive. Allow me to remind his agents that should they read any farther, I will have no recourse but to turn their grasping fingers into spiders’ legs, and their prying eyes will fall out within the week.

Minerva, I write lest worry distract you from the task at hand. I have met Tethras’ apprentice. They are young, but we were younger. They possess a somewhat concerning degree of confidence in their abilities, but you and I ought to remember that no-one attempts such quests without some foolhardiness. Their skill cannot be doubted, and they lead their team admirably. Think not of a replacement. It is too late to be done now, and you know where you are needed. If it is of any consolation, they expressed some interest in the history of the Fifth Blight, with all appearance of admiration for your role. I am never to be free of Fereldans, it seems. They claim to be one, despite their allegiances.

In regard to your questions on that matter: they were addressed as a member of House de Riva by their fellow Crow companion, who is himself some heir or other of House Dellamorte. Doubtless you know more than I of what import these names hold. Nevertheless, I suggest you withhold your interest in Zevran’s crusade. When the work is done, do with these two what you like, but at present they display the fabled Crow commitment to a contract of which we have seen so little. Have the trust in me that you promised, and believe that the gods, for now, are the only enemy that matters.

Do not concern yourself further with me or the changes I have undergone. I am well. I am myself. I remain your eyes in the North, though I leave it to the Inquisitor to discuss the rest, for I confess he knows more of war strategy than I. Remind both your son and mine, if you please, to attend their lessons, for whether our world is lost or no, there will be a test of their skill in glyphs before Summerday comes.

Yours,

Morrigan

[genesisami]

Hiiidieieisiikaioiiii PLEASEEEEEEEEE MAKE A PART 2 FOR YOUR FIRST POST make the reader lowk fall for rin😭😭😭😔😔

No problemooo! I hope it’s to your liking :3

I can tell some of y’all needed closure after the first one 😅

CW: Pretty much the same as the first some nsfw, aged up characters, Rin might be a lil ooc

As the months went by your relationship with Sae began to falter.

You no longer felt the pleasure and joy you used to when the two of you had sex.

He never did any aftercare, just typically getting up the next morning, cleaning himself up and leaving without another word.

Thats when Rin stepped up, the two of you still had an occasional situationship, when Sae was out of town having a football match or when the two of you fell out.

Rin was always there for you, he tries not to show his desperation when you come around sobbing to him. Saying how much of an asshole Sae is, all he does in return is quietly console you.

To him this felt like a dream come true, were you finally starting to realise how good you and him would be together?

Your and Itoshi Sae’s relationship seemed nothing too far off from typical relationships, is what anyone from outside would assume.

Sae wouldn’t muse you with that lovey dovey shit, he wasn’t a physically affectionate person at all. The most non sexual intimacy you two would have would be when he has an interviews, occasionally holding your hand while the press snapped photos of the two of you.

When it came to private, Sae would begrudgingly amuse you, when your begging became exceptionally annoying he would carry you up to your shared bedroom.

When he fucked you he would just stare at you with that blank gaze of his, maybe occasionally letting out a groan or sigh when your body squeezed his. It never felt like you were both enjoying it, only ever you haphazardly orgasming after he slammed into you enough times.

One day you had enough of his dismissal and broke up with him. Tears welled up in your eyes as you grabbed your belongings from his home, trying not to focus too much on the pink haired male who stared at you. “Just calm down [name],” Sae spoke in an irritated tone as he grabbed your wrist, but you snatched it back just as quickly.

“No, Sae. I’m tired of this one sided relationship!”

His eyes widened for a moment, ever so briefly, before going back to his half lided manner and turning around. “Whatever,” Was the last thing he said to you before you slammed the door shut.

Time had passed since then, Sae hadn’t even left you the occasional weekly message that ex’s usually did. You couldn’t help but break down and cry often when you thought about him, all those years you crushed on him, just to finally realise how much of an ass he is.

You didn’t have to look far for comfort, Itoshi Rin always being there to support and comfort your needs. Your relationship with him bloomed from just one night stands, he still loved pumping you full with his love but also found it comforting when you would share your problems with him.

When you were feeling significantly down, Rin would always offer to try out something new with you, whether it be a new position in which you can be in control or even just going bowling.

You no longer pretended that he was Sae, instead seeing him for his own person. His hair, his body, his voice and his tantalising sapphire eyes.

You also began to notice the amazing physique he had, when his chest heaved above yours while he demonstrated his stamina. Was he always this fit?

Or when he hit that one spot that made you swoon, causing you to make a lewd face at him as you locked your legs around him, something you almost never did. Was he always this good?

He would bring you to a nice restaurant one day on your birthday, gently easing you in rather than artificially love bombing you Sae did. You began to fall for him, finding comfort in his presence.

One evening after a particularly erotic night in bed, Rin confessed to you. He poured out his feelings for you and how you used to make him feel, his towering figure ontop of you making you feel very aware.

“[name].. I feel so drawn to you. We make eachother feel so good, don’t we? How you moaned my name just now, I can tell you feel it too.. Seeing you with Sae… it made me feel pathetic. I just want to be the one for you, the only one.”

After he spoke he waited for your response, his eyes analysing your face for a shift in expression.

“Rin.. why couldn’t you have told me sooner?” Your eyes closing slightly as your lips spread into a gentle smile. Rin, feeling his heart for once, his feelings, acknowledged, brought him relief. He whispered a low “I love you” before connecting his lips with yours, bringing a hand up to squeeze your chest and causing you to moan, letting him slip his tongue into the kiss.

The two of you stayed in this moment for what seemed like hours, his hands caressing your body in a tenderness that you’ve never felt before and his tongue exploring you like he wanted to devour you whole.

With your newfound love and relationship with Rin you felt happier than ever, moreso than both Your makeshift relationship with Sae and Rin combined.

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

tl;dr smoking a bowl outside with stoner!suguru getou

(hood!toji gets everyb caught up) [prev]

“Suguru, I swear I’m not mad… just curious how a romantic picnic date turns into a group affair.”

You lean into the phone camera, raising a skeptical eyebrow at Suguru’s sheepish expression. He avoids your gaze, moving his phone away as though shielding himself might lessen your scrutiny. You hear him inhale sharply.

“Hold on,” he says, voice low. “Let me go to my room.”

The screen shifts as Suguru walks through his apartment. The lighting dims, and soon his room comes into view. He sits back against the headboard, deftly tying up his hair before meeting your gaze again.

“Well…” he starts, dragging out the word. “I had all the food laid out in the kitchen to prepare—when Gojo bust in.”

You can already tell where this is going, but you let him continue.

“He got all excited, assuming we were all going on a picnic. Said it would make his week since his car’s in the shop and he’s had two migraines in a row. I… didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise.”

Suguru gives you a knowing look, as if this explanation alone should suffice.

“Then,” he adds, rubbing his temples, “in true Gojo fashion, he invited Shoko and Nanami because, apparently, we haven’t all hung out in a while.”

You groan, setting your phone down to focus on your hair. “But we’re literally going today.”

“I know, baby. I promise I’ll make it up to you.” His voice softens. “Hey, if it helps: Nanami’s driving, Shoko’s bringing the weed, and Gojo made all the food. We’ll pick you up last, so be ready by 1, okay?”

Your arms cross as you narrow your eyes at the screen.

“Please and thank you?” Suguru adds, flashing you a guilty smile.

By the time Nanami’s flashy Lamborghini pulls up outside, you’ve decided to focus on the bright side: a picnic is still a picnic, and riding in a sports car doesn’t hurt. As you step out the door, the car horn blares obnoxiously. You spot Gojo leaning over the console, earning a sharp scolding from Nanami.

The passenger window rolls down, revealing Gojo’s grinning face. His white hair gleams in the sunlight, and he’s decked out in a crisp Burberry shirt with bold blue lettering.

“Hop in, twin!” he calls, waving enthusiastically.

The butterfly door lifts open, and you climb in, greeted by the lively chatter inside. Suguru, sitting beside you, pulls you into a quick side hug, while Shoko smiles lazily from the other side.

“Ready for some chill vibes?” you ask, settling in.

Shoko sighs dreamily, brushing stray hair from her face. “God, yes. Work’s been a nightmare, and Utahime’s visiting her family, so I’ve been suffering alone.” She holds up a clear backpack, revealing sparkly glass pipes and a mylar bag. “I brought some goodies—figured they’d fit the picnic aesthetic.”

Nanami grunts from the driver’s seat as the car pulls away. “Picnic aesthetic, huh?” he mutters, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “No wonder you’re so good at marketing.”

Shoko swats at him, laughing. “Damn right.”

Suguru drapes his arm over your shoulders, the soft fabric of his hoodie brushing against your skin. You peek at the GPS over the seat. “Gojo, you have the address to the nature reserve, right? I’ve been dying to see the pond. I think we’ll see swans!”

Gojo turns, flashing his signature grin. “Of course, sweetheart! You’re the best at picking scenic spots. And get this—Nanami’s trying a pipe for the first time. I’m thrilled.”

Nanami yawns, merging into the fast lane. “Just hope Gojo packed enough food for people other than himself.”

“Are you calling me big-backed, Nanamin?!” Gojo gasps dramatically, drawing a chorus of laughter, and the lack of response speaks for itself.

The trees are a deep, verdant green when you arrive. Sunlight filters through the canopy, casting golden streaks over the moss-covered ground. In the distance, you spot the pond, its still waters reflecting the sky.

Nanami parks carefully, muttering about the dirt ruining his tires. As everyone piles out, Gojo begins chattering about wild plants versus botanical gardens. You stretch your legs, joining Suguru at the trunk as he retrieves the picnic basket.

He grins, setting the basket aside before scooping you into his arms. “Let’s make this memorable,” he teases, lifting you effortlessly.

You squeak, clutching his neck as he carries you bridal-style. “Suguru!” Making good use of this vantage you squeeze at the flex of his biceps beneath your touch.

The group finds a sunny clearing near the pond, where Gojo unfurls a faded anime blanket.

“Is this… a Digimon blanket?” you ask, incredulous.

“Don’t shame me,” Gojo replies, flopping onto it like a starfish.

Shoko’s voice rings out. “Guys, there are mallards and swans! This spot is perfect.”

Suguru sets you down gently, his hands lingering at your waist. The group settles on the blanket, and Shoko begins unpacking the “tools.”

“Someone better have a lighter,” she says, pulling out a sparkly pink pipe.

Gojo raises a hand. “Torch incoming!”

Gojo grabs the pipe with a grin, packing it densely then handing it off to Nanami like a secret treasure. Nanami takes it with a steady hand, pressing his thumb over the carb and raising it to his lips. Gojo leans in, torch in hand, his elbow brushing your knee as he strikes it to life. The torch flares, a fiery orange that crackles sharply as it meets the bowl. Nanami inhales, his sharp cheekbones hollowing even more under the effort.

Leaning back onto his hands, he exhales a thick cloud, the smoke curling lazily upward before blending into the earthy aroma of moss and wood around you. It’s a strangely serene contrast—the cool, natural air swirling with the unmistakable musk of the smoke.

When Nanami cracks his eyes open, his usually stern face is softer, his posture visibly unwinding. He chuckles quietly, a rare, lazy smile creeping across his lips as his blond hair falls slightly over his forehead.

Shoko doesn’t wait long to snatch the torch from Gojo, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Watch this,” she teases, expertly lighting the bowl and taking a long drag. She exhales smoothly, her lips reddened from the pressure as perfect rings of smoke float into the air.

“Damn, Shoko, you’re too cool,” you murmur, enchanted as you wave your hand through one of the ghostly rings. It feels delicate against your skin before vanishing entirely.

“Shoko’s not the only one who can pull off tricks,” Suguru interjects, his cocky tone drawing everyone’s attention. He grabs the pipe, refilling it with deliberate care. With a smirk, he meets Shoko’s eyes. “I see your rings and raise you one.”

Suguru takes his hit, dragging deeply. When he exhales, his rings are massive, thick, and perfectly stacked, floating higher and wider than Shoko’s. The group collectively hums in impressed acknowledgment.

“Show-off,” Gojo mutters, his mock annoyance earning quiet laughter from everyone, including you.

When it’s your turn, you and Gojo, ever the chaotic duo, completely botch your hits. The smoke erupts in sharp, uncontrolled bursts as you both cough, doubling over in fits of laughter.

Suguru rubs your back in mock sympathy, unable to resist a sly jab. “You’d think you’d have learned something by now.”

It backfires quickly. A few rounds in, even the pros are struggling. Coughs ripple through the group as scorched lungs and parched throats demand mercy. The earlier finesse gives way to everyone wheezing and giggling uncontrollably.

The world around you starts to feel softer. The golden sunlight filtering through the trees feels warmer, the greens of the forest deeper. You breathe in the mingling scents of smoke, damp earth, and pine, savoring the strange but comforting mix.

Suguru’s fingers brush lightly over your forearm, sending a shiver across your skin. His soft hum is followed by a warm kiss pressed to your temple. You lean into him, feeling the weight of his presence grounding you.

“Guys! Guys!” Gojo’s hoarse voice interrupts the calm. He’s pointing wildly toward the pond, barely containing his excitement.

Squinting, you follow his gesture. Across the shimmering water, a pair of swans has landed. Their long necks intertwine gracefully as they glide across the surface, the image so peaceful it feels unreal.

The sight captures everyone’s attention, pulling a hush over the group as you all watch. The gentle rustle of leaves and the occasional call of a bird fill the space.

Amidst the calm, Gojo’s shuffling breaks the silence. He’s hunched over the picnic basket, digging through its contents with increasing urgency.

“’M already hungry,” he grumbles, drawing groans from the group as the spell of the moment breaks.

Gojo pulls out a charcuterie board, followed by a tray of croissant sandwiches, a vibrant fruit platter, and bundles of baby’s breath flowers. The spread is as picturesque as a painting, sunlight glinting off the delicate petals and golden pastries. Suguru, suddenly interested, reaches over to pick up one of the flower bundles, plucks a single bloom, and carefully tucks it behind your ear.

“These are for you,” he says softly, his smile warm and radiant, the corners of his eyes crinkling as his dark hair gleams under the sun’s rays.

Shoko fake gags, waving a hand dramatically. “Yeah, yeah, we get it. You two are hopelessly in love or whatever. Meanwhile, some of us have been abandoned by our partners.”

You chuckle and reach out to cradle Suguru’s cheek, pulling him into a kiss. His skin is warm and soft, and you resist the urge to linger longer.

Meanwhile, Gojo has wasted no time digging into the food. Bread crumbs dot his chin, and he shoves a forkful of fruit into his mouth with little grace, chewing loudly and making exaggerated moans. Normally, his antics would irritate you, but today they only make you hungrier.

You gesture to him, and he passes you a croissant sandwich. Flaky crumbs drift onto the blanket as you take a bite, the buttery crust giving way to a symphony of flavors. A dab of sauce trickles down your lip, and you swipe it away with your tongue before holding the sandwich out to Suguru. He leans in to take a bite, his lips brushing against your fingers.

If there’s one thing Gojo excels at, it’s setting the perfect mood with food. Suguru hand-feeds you sweet, tangy strawberries as you recline on the blanket, the pond glimmering in the distance and sunlight casting golden shadows over the lush greenery.

A speckled mallard waddles closer, eyeing the crumbs on the blanket with hopeful intent. Gojo notices and begins crumbling a croissant in his palm.

“Nuh-uh! Oh, hell no,” Shoko says, lunging to swat at his hand. “Feeding ducks is terrible for them—it causes malnutrition!”

Gojo dodges her attempt, smirking. “Yeah, yeah. One crumb can’t hurt. Besides, it’s already been subjected to secondhand smoke thanks to you, Sho’.”

Shoko winces, clearly torn between her environmental convictions and the undeniable truth of your earlier indulgence. Nanami, surprisingly, places a hand on her shoulder.

“Relax,” he says calmly.

Your eyebrows shoot up. Nanami, the usual voice of tension, diffusing a situation? Gojo notices too. He saunters over, dramatically wrapping his long arms around Nanami’s shoulders and burying his face in the blonde’s neck.

“Save me, Nanamin~” he drawls.

Nanami stifles a chuckle—his first real crack in composure—and it’s clear the weed is doing its work.

“Open up,” Suguru says, drawing your attention back to him.

He dangles a plump grape above your mouth, teasing you with a grin. You open obediently, humming with pleasure as the juicy sweetness bursts on your tongue. Suguru’s fingers are stained crimson from the berries, and he holds up a bright green slice of kiwi next.

As you savor it, the tangy flavor lingers on your tongue, and a random question pops into your head. “Mmm, juicy. Hey, Sugu, is kiwi a fruit or a veggie? I mean, it’s green, and most green foods are vegetables.”

He blinks at you, clearly caught off guard, his stained fingers hovering in the air. You reach out, grabbing his wrist, and pull his hand to your mouth. Slowly, you lick at his fingers, swirling your tongue around his forefinger before sucking it gently. The faint fruity tang sends a pleasant hum through you, and Suguru’s eyes darken with quiet amusement.

“Sweetheart… kiwi is definitely a fruit,” he says, cheeks tinged with pink as he carefully slips his fingers from your mouth. “It has seeds. That’s basic knowledge, y’know. Let’s blame this… lapse on the bud.”

“Mean,” you pout, batting your lashes playfully.

His smile softens as he leans forward, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. “At least you know I’d never lie to you.”

You smirk mischievously. “Wish you’d lie to me sometimes, Sugu.”

Gojo cuts in, pointing an accusatory finger at the group. “That goes for all of you, rude as fuck! Now come on—make it up to me by feeding the duckies!”

The high must’ve softened everyone’s resolve because, against your better judgment, you all comply with Gojo’s whim, trudging to the pond’s edge with croissants in hand. The sunlight filters through the trees, warming your skin as the dirt path crunches softly beneath your shoes. A pair of swans, their feathers pristine and white, glide toward the shore, their movement as graceful as a brushstroke.

“Here they come!” Gojo exclaims, his voice cutting through the tranquility like a slap.

The swans jolt, flapping their wings in alarm before settling again.

“And you’re so obnoxious,” Nanami mutters, casting a sharp look at Gojo. “You’re going to scare them off.”

Undeterred, Gojo grins while Nanami kneels by the water’s edge, cooing softly at the swans and sprinkling a few crumbs in front of his feet.

Shoko inhales deeply, a serene smile spreading across her face as she takes in the lush scenery. 

“This is… nice,” she says, her voice dreamy. “Fresh air, earthy smells. Feels good to be surrounded by actual greenery for once. Usually, the only plants I see are the ones we smoke.” She shakes her head, the ends of her golden-brown hair brushing over her shoulders. “It’s kind of sad.”

You squat down, carefully grounding yourself with one hand wrapped around Suguru’s ankle. Your free hand skims the pond’s surface, the coolness of the water sending a shiver up your spine.

“They say, ‘go outside and touch grass,’ like it’s a joke,” you murmur, glancing up at Suguru, “but maybe they’re onto something.”

He chuckles softly, the vibrations traveling down to where your hand rests on his leg.

A thought tumbles out of your mouth before you can stop it. “Hey, guys… is water wet?”

Suguru freezes, letting out a sharp cough as though choking on air. To your right, Gojo snorts so loudly it startles the swans again.

“You lost me.”

“Guys, this is a judgment-free zone,” you insist, shooting Gojo a pointed look. “I expect sincere answers.”

Nanami groans, clearly over the conversation, but continues feeding the swans in stoic silence.

Gojo hums thoughtfully, tapping his chin. “Okay, okay, I laughed, but now I’m genuinely stumped. I mean, water isn’t technically wet, right? It’s just… water. It only makes things wet. On its own, it just is.”

You perk up. “That’s what I’m saying! Water can make you wet, but that’s just the sensation. Objectively, you’re the one who’s wet.”

Suguru, exasperated, pulls his ankle free from your grip and hauls you upright, gripping your shoulders firmly. “You’re all ridiculous,” he says, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. “Of course water is wet. It’s a liquid. It has moisture. This isn’t up for debate; it’s basic science.”

“Smartass,” you huff, shrugging out of his grip.

Nanami clears his throat, his tone surprisingly contemplative. “Actually, Getou, I think they have a point. Wetness is about contact. Water itself isn’t wet—it’s what makes things wet. It’s all about perspective.”

Shoko throws her hands up. “What the fuck?! You guys are gonna give me a headache and ruin my high. Debate over. Full stop.”

You flick Suguru’s chest playfully. “Face it, we presented the better argument.”

Gojo sticks his tongue out in agreement, the obnoxious red muscle wagging in Suguru’s direction.

Suguru smirks, his grin teasing and wicked. “Funny because my argument came from someone intimately familiar with wetness. You might say I’m an expert in the field, after all.”

“Suguru!” Your face flames as you slap his arm, and Shoko groans in disgust.

Nanami doesn’t miss a beat, pointing toward the trail. “Getou, you’re done. Time out. Ten minutes. Go take a hike.”

Suguru raises his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. I was going to check out the trail anyway.” He turns to you, dark eyes glinting. “Coming?”

You sigh but follow, the breeze by the water starting to chill you.

As you start walking, you catch Gojo giving Suguru a sly dap and a slap on the back. Thick as thieves, those two.

Suguru quickens his pace to match yours, and when you swat at his arm in retaliation for his earlier comment, he catches your hand effortlessly. Linking his arm through yours, he pulls you close as the trail winds through wiry trees.

You stop at a wooden post where the dirt path climbs steeply over an incline of jagged rocks. You eye the trail warily.

“You’re kidding,” you mutter, already regretting following him.

Suguru presses a finger to your lips, his grin widening. “No complaints. You wanted to smoke outside, so we’re fully immersing ourselves in nature.”

Grumbling, you follow his lead, climbing carefully over smaller stones before tackling the larger ones. Your footing slips near the top, but Suguru’s hand steadies you, his grip firm.

“Careful there~” he teases, his voice tinged with amusement.

You shoot him a glare as you regain your balance, brushing dust and dirt off your clothes. He nudges your shoulder gently. “Look around.”

You do—and the sight takes your breath away. Behind you, the slope drops sharply, the rocks giving way to a sprawling field dotted with vibrant magenta and lemon-yellow flowers. Patches of lush green grass ripple in the breeze, framed by towering trees that crest the hilltop above. The golden afternoon light bathes the scene, and for a moment, it feels like a dream.

The soft click of a camera pulls you from your reverie. Suguru grins at you from behind his phone, his cheeks high, eyes crinkled with genuine joy.

“… Beautiful,” he murmurs, though you’re not sure if he’s talking about you or the view.

You raise a lazy peace sign, eyeing his hoodie, now dusty and frayed, with leaves clinging to the sleeves. “And you look cute, all dirty like this.”

He arches a brow and steps closer, looping your arms around his neck. “Well, that’s not fair,” he says, his voice low and teasing as his nose brushes your neck. “I’ll just have to get you dirty too.”

Suguru leans in close, his warm breath fanning over your lips, carrying the potent scent of weed, with traces of sweetness from the fruit. His loose bun barely holds back the strands of his hair that the wind has claimed, giving him an effortlessly ethereal look. You tilt forward, rising onto your toes to meet him, only for him to pull back with that signature, teasing grin, making you chase after him.

“Such a tease, Sugi,” you murmur, your thumb brushing along the short strands at the nape of his neck, the spot that always makes him shiver.

You trail soft kisses along his jawline, letting your lips explore, your tongue tracing the sensitive underside of his jaw. He hums, low and resonant, the sound vibrating through you. When your eyes meet his again, they’re darker now—his pupils blown wide with want.

Determined, you pout, pushing out your lower lip in a way you know will undo him. It works. Suguru closes the distance, capturing your mouth in a kiss that’s hot and insistent. His lips move against yours with a rhythm that’s utterly addictive, their warmth a striking contrast to the chill breeze that raises goosebumps on your skin.

His hands slide beneath your shirt, rough fingertips brushing your bare sides. The contact sends shivers through you, and you instinctively arch into his touch. When a moan escapes you—soft, needy, and unintentional—it catches you off guard, but Suguru seems more amused than surprised.

“You’re more eager than usual,” he teases, the husky rasp in his voice making your head spin.

“I’m always eager for you,” you reply breathlessly, threading your fingers through his hair. You tug just enough to make him groan, the sound like fuel to the fire building between you. “You drive me crazy—can’t think straight.”

His answering laugh is low, reverberating against your chest as his hands tighten on your waist. But the humor fades when you press closer, your voice dropping to a whisper.

“Sugi, I need you. Right now.”

You pull at his hoodie biting down on his collarbone, rough enough to draw a hiss from him, your tongue darting out to soothe the reddened mark. Your fingers thread deeper into his hair, tugging hard until his gaze locks with yours. The look on his face sends a shiver down your spine—his cheeks are flushed, his lips parted, and his eyes dark with hunger. He looks wild, feral, as if the thin thread of control he’s clinging to might snap at any moment.

You slide your hand down to interlock your fingers with his, tugging him toward a stocky tree just a few feet away. When you stop, mere inches from the cracked bark, you guide his hands to your waist. He doesn’t need more prompting, his grip firm as he pulls you flush against his body. His breath is hot against your neck, punctuated by kisses that trail down your nape, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin.

You press back into him, the loose material of his pants doing nothing to mask how hard he is. He grinds against you, and the friction sends a delicious ache pooling low in your stomach. His mouth works at your neck, nipping and sucking as if trying to mark every inch of you. You mewl as his teeth catch your pulse point, the sensation sharp and thrilling.

The pressure of his hips against the swell of your ass has you jolting forward, your hands flying to the rough bark of the tree to steady yourself. The sticky texture of the wood barely registers; all you can focus on is the heat building between your thighs. It’s overwhelming, almost unbearable. You’re already so close, and he hasn’t even—

“C’mon, Sugi,” you whine, sliding a hand under your shirt to tease your nipple. His large hand quickly replaces yours, tugging at the jewelry adorning it. His thumb brushes the cold metal, sending a shiver through you as he presses his erection harder against you.

Desperation takes over as your arch deepens, grinding against him with more urgency. His hand slides over the small of your back, and you glance over your shoulder, batting your lashes with a pout. “Please,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Need you.”

Suguru groans, the sound low and primal, as if your words snapped whatever restraint he had left. His hand grips your chin, tilting your face toward him. His dark eyes search yours, and when you nod, he exhales sharply, his resolve crumbling.

A minute later, you’re breathless as he yanks down your pants along with your panties in one swift motion, just enough to expose you. He frees himself, his cock bobbing up against his navel, thick and glistening with pre-cum.

He spreads your thighs with one hand, forcing you to press yourself further into the tree for support. The other hand returns to your nipple, his touch slick and wet, and then you feel him—his thick tip gliding along your folds, teasing. Your slickness mixes with his precum coating him easily, his head catching at your entrance before slipping up to brush your clit.

“Please,” you whimper, your voice cracking as you push back against him. But your words tumble out incoherently, your mind too hazy to form a proper sentence.

Suguru chuckles, his voice rough. “What was that, baby? Say it again. Clearer this time.”

You whine, frustration spilling over as you curse under your breath.

“Sugi, pu—ah!”

Suguru suddenly pushes into you in one smooth, fluid motion, your slick sucking him so deep you hear the soft slap of his hips against your ass. His cock stretches you, fills you completely, and you cry out, the sound echoing. Your head knocks against the tree as his chest presses against your back, his breathing heavy and ragged.

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice thick with arousal. “You’re so perfect, bent over for me.”

The sharp smack of his hand against your ass draws a yelp from you, the sting blooming into pleasure that makes you tremble. He pulls out slowly, the drag of his cock against your walls sending sparks down your spine. You push back against him, desperate for more, matching his rhythm as he thrusts deep, then slow, making you feel every inch.

“Feels so good,” you moan, your words slurring as you lose yourself in the sensation. “S-Sugi, you feel so good.”

His movements grow rougher, his hips snapping against yours with an urgency that drives you closer to the edge. The lewd sounds of your bodies meeting—wet, rhythmic, and desperate—fill the air, drowning out everything else.

“You’re so wet,” he pants, his lips brushing your ear. “So tight. Fuck, baby, you’re squeezing me so good.”

His hand finds your lips, and you instinctively suck on his fingers, coating them with saliva. When he moves them lower to rub tight circles on your clit, you gasp, your body jolting at the added stimulation. The dual sensations of his cock inside you and his fingers against your clit are too much, and you feel yourself spiraling.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he murmurs, his voice strained. “Fuck, I can feel it. So tight f’me.”

Your body shudders as his thrusts quicken, and his words push you over the edge. “Yours,” you manage to gasp, your voice breaking. “All yours—ah, Sugi!”

Your orgasm crashes over you, your walls clenching around him as your vision goes white. Suguru’s grip tightens on your hips as he drives into you, his breath hot and erratic against your neck. He murmurs praises in a husky tone, each word sending a shiver down your spine as he fucks you through your climax.

You remain clenched, your orgasm washing over you in waves, and you can feel his rhythm falter. Your mind is hazy, consumed by the need for more—an ache that only he can fill. Without thinking, the desperate words spill from your lips.

“Sugu… so deep, s’good—ah, come inside. Inside.”

As if compelled, his fingers dig into your flesh, leaving crescent-shaped imprints on your skin as he buries himself fully, shuddering. A guttural moan tears from his throat as he releases deep inside you, his warmth spreading, leaving you both trembling.

The sensation is intoxicating, his thick heat pooling within you as you instinctively push back, savoring every pulse and drop. His voice, raw and broken, murmurs your name like a prayer, and the way he groans against your ear is utterly intoxicating.

The chill of the air suddenly cuts through the heat radiating off your bodies, and you shiver, the reality of your surroundings creeping back. Suguru, noticing your tremble, seems to regain his senses. With a gentle, lingering touch, he eases out of you, carefully tucking himself back into his pants, his gaze soft as he steadies you.

The breeze is brisk, but the warmth of Suguru’s hands on your waist lingers, grounding you even as your legs feel weak and unsteady. You turn to face him, burying your face in his chest.

“Leed fan cee labe,” you mumble into his shirt, the words muffled and nonsensical.

“What was that?” he asks, his brows raising in confusion.

You lift your head, meeting his amused gaze with a sheepish smile. “Need a Plan B, babe.”

Realization dawns on his face, and his expression shifts. “Shit, you’re right.” His hands slide down to adjust your rumpled clothing, tugging your bottoms back into place. “Let’s head out now—we can stop so I can grab you one on the way.”

You nod, though the sticky discomfort between your thighs is impossible to ignore. A flush creeps up your neck, but you push the thought aside, focusing on the changing sky instead. The molten orange of the setting sun blends into hues of deep pink and violet, painting the horizon like a masterpiece. It’s breathtaking.

Suguru’s hair has completely fallen from its loose bun, the dark strands framing his face and catching the soft glow of the fading sunlight. He looks utterly spent, his lips curving into a lazy, content grin. You can’t help but smile back.

“Ready to head back?” he asks, his voice warm.

“Yeah,” you reply, even though your mind buzzes with the impending awkwardness of facing your friends. There’s no graceful way to rejoin them after what just happened, not when the evidence still clings to your skin. It feels like your secret is scrawled all over your face in bold letters.

The forest around you grows darker as the sun dips lower, the tall trees casting elongated shadows across the ground. When you reach the edge of the clearing, you spot the rest of your group by the pond. Gojo, Shoko, and Nanami are slapping at each other’s shoulders, giggling like some badass kids up to no good.

Suguru clears his throat, and Gojo spins around, his eyes narrowing playfully as he looks between the two of you. Suguru hooks his pinky around yours, the small gesture comforting.

“You two have been gone sus-pic-iously long,” Gojo sing-songs, dragging out the words for effect.

Your nose twitches at the strong, smoky scent of weed lingering in the air, and you spot the faint haze around them.

“And your eyes are suspiciously red,” you fire back, raising an eyebrow.

Nanami straightens, crossing his arms as if to feign sternness, but Shoko waves her hands dismissively, ushering the subject away.

“Fair enough,” she says, smirking. “Let’s call it even.”

Without further comment, the group begins gathering the picnic supplies—folding the blanket, collecting containers, and making lazy conversation about the sunset. The walk back to the car is peaceful, a comfortable silence. You feel spent, wrapped in the afterglow of your raunchy rendezvous with Suguru and the tranquil camaraderie of your friends.

But as you approach where Nanami’s sleek car should be parked, your steps falter. Instead of the vehicle, you’re met with two tire tracks imprinted in the dirt and an empty space where it once stood.

Nanami freezes, his jaw slack as he stares at the vacant spot. His face drains of color, and for a moment, no one says anything. It’s Gojo who finally breaks the silence.

“It can’t be… Did they tow it?” His voice carries a mix of disbelief and amusement like he’s caught between laughing and whining.

The realization settles over the group like a heavy cloud. You’re too tired to muster any real outrage, and your friends—still riding their high—seem similarly incapable of processing the situation.

Nanami buries his face in his hands, looking utterly defeated. Suguru, ever the calm one, pulls out his phone, typing rapidly.

“We just need to get back to the apartment,” he says, his tone steady. “My car’s there. I’m texting Toji to pick us up—he’s mobile anyways.”

You nod along with the others, eager to leave the wooded area before night fully descends. Suguru’s phone clicks shut, and he confirms Toji’s ETA. Relief washes over you at the thought of Toji’s reckless but dependable driving.

As you lean into Suguru’s chest for warmth, Gojo starts humming, then breaks into a loud, off-key rendition of Rihanna’s SOS. He’s halfway through the third chorus when the distinct roar of Toji’s car cuts through the air.

The Honda skids to a stop a few feet away, its engine revving loudly, headlights piercing the darkness. 

“Hurry, get in!” Toji’s gruff voice calls, leaning out of the driver’s seat, a smirk on his face that somehow screams both “here to save the day” and “brace for the worst.”

The five of you scramble into the car in a chaotic rush. Gojo claims the passenger seat after a brief, comical tussle, leaving Shoko, Nanami, and Suguru to squeeze into the back. You climb onto Suguru’s lap, shutting the door as the car lurches forward.

Perched awkwardly, you grip the back of Toji’s seat to steady yourself as the sedan jolts over uneven terrain. Toji glances back briefly, patting your hand beside his head. “Duck down if we pass any cops, would ya? Can’t risk another ticket.”

The sky outside deepens to a starless black, made even darker by the car’s heavy tint. Toji’s erratic driving tosses you against Suguru’s chest, each bump jarring you further. You focus on your breathing, willing away the queasiness creeping into your stomach.

Gojo hums some nonsensical tune, punctuated by bursts of loud TikTok videos from his phone. Shoko, meanwhile, has gone limp, her head lolling from Suguru’s shoulder to Nanami’s. Her soft snores are oddly soothing amidst the chaos.

Nanami, ever the skeptic, watches Toji’s movements with a wary eye, his body stiff. “Something wrong, Toji?” he asks, his tone heavy with suspicion.

Toji’s brows furrow as he spares a glance at the rearview mirror. His hands tighten on the wheel, and the car speeds up to cut off a vehicle in the next lane. “Nothing major,” he says, though his voice carries a hint of unease.

“Nothing major?” Nanami repeats, pushing a hand through his hair. “I’ll take you at your word—for now.”

Toji clicks his tongue, as if debating how much to share. “Fine. Just a little hiccup,” he admits. “I double-back on a wealthy guy I scammed—transferred a chunk of cash to my second account earlier today. Forgot to use a VPN, though, so my withdrawal’s traceable. But don’t worry. I’ve got it all handled.”

The car goes quiet as his words sink in. You sit up straighter, your breath catching. Nanami chokes on whatever he was about to say. “You… what? Are we safe?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Toji says dismissively. “Relax. The IP’s all messed up anyway. I use public Wi-Fi—it’s not like they can trace it straight to me.”

Suguru groans, exasperated. “We’ve heard enough Toji, don’t incriminate my friends. Just get us home.”

You close your eyes, resting your forehead against the back of Toji’s seat. The constant dinging of notifications coming from his phone hoisted on the windshield mount is grating, and apparently, Gojo agrees—he snatches the device and powers it off. Toji glares but says nothing, his focus returning to the road.

“I’m getting carsick,” you mutter, pressing the button to roll down your window. Cool evening air rushes in, washing over your face and filling your lungs. Relief floods through you as familiar streets and buildings come into view, signaling the end of this turbulent ride.

Toji maneuvers into a tight spot between a Jeep and a Benz at the end of Gojo and Suguru’s street. The car creaks to a stop, and Suguru’s arms, which had been wrapped around your waist, shift to your thighs, smoothing over your legs.

You spot a sleek car with its hazards on, inching down the road. Squinting, you lean forward. “Check it out, Sugu! It’s a Bugatti.”

Suguru leans with you, intrigued. The car’s deliberate, almost sluggish pace feels odd, and you jab his chest lightly. “Scoping out the scenery, huh?”

Your teasing dies in your throat when the car suddenly surges forward, erratic and fast. The window facing you rolls down, and your heart sinks as the unmistakable silhouette of a gun muzzle emerges from the shadows within.

“Shit,” Toji growls, his voice tight with panic. His hand shakes as he fumbles to restart the ignition, the lanyard holding his keys slipping from his grip and clattering to the floor. Suguru yanks at your shoulders, trying to pull you down.

“What the hell’s going o—” Gojo’s voice cuts off as a thunderous crack tears through the night, the car shuddering violently as a bullet slams into its side. The second shot comes too quickly, sharp and jarring, the sound ricocheting inside the confined space. Chaos ignites in an instant.

Instant pain blooms in your left shoulder, hot and unforgiving, like fire spreading under your skin. It steals the air from your lungs, and a scream bursts from your throat—raw, guttural, almost unrecognizable as your own. Your eyes drop to your arm, now streaked with crimson, blood dripping steadily down to your fingertips.

Gunshots. I’ve been hit. A bullet grazed me. What the fuck? If Toji isn’t dead, I’m gonna kill him myself.

The thoughts slam into you, disjointed and surreal, the world spinning as your mind struggles to grasp the gravity of the moment.

“Suguru, they—” The words barely make it past your lips before his hands are on you, firm but trembling as he grips your shoulders. His voice is frantic, his usually steady tone cracked with panic. “Get down—stay low!”

Toji’s curses cut through the chaos, sharp and biting. His fist slams against the dashboard as the engine sputters to life. “Hold on!” he barks, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. The car jerks forward, tires screeching against the asphalt, but the motion only worsens the dizziness clawing at you.

Your vision begins to blur, black spots creeping into the edges, stars flickering like dying embers. The muffled voices around you—Suguru’s urgent commands, Toji’s muttered expletives—start to fade, swallowed by the throbbing pain and the encroaching darkness.

Slipping under, the last thing you hear is Suguru shouting your name before unconsciousness claims you.

[taglist: @inthedarkshadows000 @saltyhansen @m0rgui @walq-chan @creative1writings @mentallyillcore @yourname-exee xoxo]

10/10 fanart by @murawya on pinterest

[hot-claws-420]

[AFTER ACTION REPORT]

[UPLOAD DELAYED BY: {29}DAYS]

[NOTIFYING COMMAND OF OPERATION: @albatross-lancer]

[GREETINGS. I AM OMA, ONBOARD MEDICAL ASSISTANT TO CALLISIGN {SINGED WHISKERS}. WHILE DOING ROUTINE MAINTENANCE, I HAVE PARTIALLY RECOVERED {1} FILES DAMAGED BY REACTOR STRESS DURING OPERATION {SIEGE OF ERDAF}. DESPITE THE DELAY, I AM REQUIRED BY MY DIRECTIVE TO RELAY THIS REPORT TO COMMAND {ALBATROSS}. NOTE, INFORMATION ON PILOT AND MECH STATUS IS OUT OF DATE AS OF NOW. PLEASE STAND BY FOR FILE UPLOAD...]

[CALLSIGN: SINGED WHISKERS; STATUS: ALIVE]

[MECH DESIGNATION: SLAG KITTY, ENKIDU UNIT; STATUS: DAMAGED, STRUCTURE FULL, REACTOR STRESSED {1} TIMES, SINCE STABILIZED]

...<UPLOADING MISSION RECORDING>

[An ever growing view of the side of Pirate Vessel "Direption." Its hull has been punctured by some manner of breach charge. More and more debris floating around the massive hole becomes clear as the mech rapidly moves closer. SLAG KITTY appears to be carried by another, mounted mech, boosting to build speed.]

Callsign Photon: Releasing you in T-15 seconds. Ready?

[RELEASING COMBAT STIMS DOSE ONE]

Callsign SINGED WHISKERS: HHRRRHMMMM fucking KILL!!!

Callsign Photon: That... sounds like a yes. Dropping. Slowing myself and covering your six. The rest are just behind us.

[CALCULATING TIME TO IMPACT...]

[10 SECONDS...]

[5...]

[4...]

[3...]

[2...]

[The vacuum devours the sound of impact. Metal silently bends, rips, tears. SLAG KITTY lands claws first on a pirate chassis with the speed of a missile. With the momentum, SINGED is able to halfway bisect the mech vertically as she crunches it against the ground.]

SINGED: HEY, HEY!!! AHAHAHAHAHEHEHEHE!!!

[A hail of gunfire rains in both directions as Albatross forces begin landing in her wake.]

Photon: Three hostiles pointed your direction, SINGED. Covering ya. Pick 'em off.

[Sparks shower the deck as SLAG KITTY and the remains of the destroyed chassis scrape along and bounce back up in the zero g. The enkidu leaps from the wreckage towards an incoming pirate mech armed with some sort of integrated chainsaw. The weapon is torn from the chassis in seconds as plasma claws rip across the machine's arm.]

SINGED: GRaAAHH!!!

[As the mech's arm is shredded, a war pike streaks past SLAG KITTY'S head, striking one of the remaining two in the shoulder and knocking the aim of its rifle off target from SINGED. She takes the opportunity to latch her claws under the head of the chassis and pull upward, tearing it from the body.]

Photon: Seems we scared them off.

[SLAG KITTY digs its claws into the deck to bring its momentum to a screeching halt and keep from floating off. SINGED turns to see the remaining two attackers fleeing towards a set of hanger doors.]

Photon: I say we pursue. If they call for reinforcements, that pulls guns away from our folks working towards the bridge.

SINGED: Aye aye! HeheHEE!!

[SLAG KITTY grips its claw into the deck of the ship and throws itself, floating in pursuit of the targets. The pair of pirates stop at the doors. An emergency light flashes yellow when the first of the two slams its fist onto the chassis-scale console. The door does not open immediately.]

Photon: It's depressurizing. There'll be two sets of doors. Looks like we have time to pick one of- t---- o-- f-- f-- f

[A pair of antennae atop one of the pirate chassis produce a series of blinks, and the sensors of the SLAG KITTY are occasionally interrupted by static.]

[REACTOR HEAT CAPACITY {16%}.]

SINGED: PPFFFT AHAHAHAHAAHHAHAAHAA!!!! U FUCKIN CALL THAT HEAT??? I BURN MY REACTOR HARDER THAN THAT CUZ ITS FUNNY!!!! WATCH THIS!!!

[SINGED gives a triumphant roar: the only thing audible over coms as there's a single, brief flash from the muzzle of SLAG KITTY. In an instant, the entire middle of the tech mech simply ceases to be, cockpit and all. The legs of the doomed machine begin to drift in either direction, just in time for the door to begin slowly opening behind them.]

[WARNING: REACTOR HEAT CAPACITY {97.8%}. STABILIZATION RECOMMENDED.]

Photon: Nice shot, kid.

SINGED: HEHEHAHA!! BYE BYE!!!

[The remaining pirate flees through the barely open doors, which close behind them. As they do so, SLAG KITTY pursues.]

[ENGAGING RAPID HEAT VENTING...]

[SLAG KITTY reaches the doors as it cools, immediately throwing itself against them and clawing like a caged animal.]

SINGED: Let me IN!! LET ME IIINNNN!!!!

[A Nelson, presumably Callsign Photon's mech, flies into frame on its mount.]

Photon: Kid. You just need to hit the button.

SINGED: Oh.

[Photon does so, and the yellow light begins flashing again. Eventually, they begin to open once more.]

SINGED: Hrrgh... Hmm... HRRGH GRRRR.

Photon: What are you doing?

SINGED: It's too SLOW!! My PREY'S gonna get away!!

Photon: Patience. We want them to get help, remember?

[SINGED growls again but says nothing, the enkidu staring at the doors like a cat staring through a window at a bird. After about twenty seconds, the door opens wide enough for the duo to get through, and SLAG KITTY immediately slams the next button. As the first set of doors seals behind them, SINGED begins clawing at the next set.]

SINGED: OPEN OPEN OPEN OPEN OPEN

Photon: SINGED. The chamber has to depressurize before that'll happen.

SINGED: I CANN MAKE IT GO FASTER!!!

[Before Photon can protest, SLAG KITTY has backed up, and another flash escapes the displacer in its maw. A large circular portion of the doorway is erased. Both mechs stagger backwards as the vacuum rips air from the next corridor into the chamber. With the doors behind the pair sealed, this lasts only a moment.]

SINGED: NO MORE FLOAT!!!

[She quickly scurries through the hole.]

Photon: Well, if it works it w-

...<ERROR. FILE DAMAGED. SCRUBBING VIDEO FILE FOR INTACT FOOTAGE>

[A number of short, disjointed clips follow, ranging on average from 1 to fifteen seconds. They show Photon and SINGED working through the ship, chasing the fleeing pirate, and SINGED subsequently tearing through mechs like a rabid beast. It seems that at some point in the chaos they engaged their second round of stims. Photon's plan was to draw fire from the main team, and the two certainly seem to have succeeded by that measure.]

[Finally, the footage begins to come in longer intact clips again. SLAG KITTY appears to have have just reached the end of a catwalk, before...]

Photon: LOOK OUT!!!

[Photon's mech slams into SLAG KITTY, bringing it out of the line of fire of a shotgun at the last second. There's hardly time to make out the shape of the mech rounding the corner before more gunfire sprays the catwalk from elsewhere.]

Photon: Intercepting long ranged hostile.

[Photon leaps over the side and into flight. More gunfire follows. SINGED's focus returns to the shotgunner. Examining the frame, it appears to be a modified blackbeard.]

SINGED: HeheEE. Get in CLOSE so I ca- AAUGH!!

[The blackbeard obliges, too quickly for the SLAG KITTY to tear into it with Primal Fury. The pirate slams the shotgun into her like a club, sending her flying a great distance backward. She claws into the ground to gain traction and retain her footing.]

SINGED: GRRRRrRR!!!

Blackbeard: Heheh.

[The pirate, looking over the SLAG KITTY, drops his shotgun, pulling from his back a long, two-handed axe.]

SINGED: OHhhh I like u. IM GONNA EA- GAHH!!!

[The pirate's grapple catches SLAG KITTY and reels him in close. AS SINGED takes a step back, caught of guard by the speed, the axe is brought down into the enkidu's shoulder.]

SINGED: AUGH!! GRRRRRAAA!!

[The pirate twists his axe, using the leverage to throw SLAG KITTY to the side and off of the catwalk. SINGED does her best to tuck and roll, but from the crunching sound of the impact, it's clear she isn't able to avoid damage entirely.]

[The blackbeard leaps from the catwalk after her, engaging a jump jet and descending upon her. Seeing an opportunity, her burning claws engage, and like a cat with a bird she latches them into the flying opponent.]

SINGED: GRRR GET DOWN!!!

[The plasma talons rip through the chassis, but aren't enough to stop it from landing atop SLAG KITTY and pinning it to the ground.]

Blackbeard: Time to put ya down, ya feral fuckin dog.

[He swings the axe overhead towards the ground, and SLAG KITTY has just enough time to move its head aside before it can chop through. Instead, it embeds itself in the ground. As the pirate pulls, it's not released immediately.]

[RELEASING COMBAT STIMS DOSE {3}.]

SINGED: I. AM A CAT!!! MRRAAAAAAAAHH!!!!

[SLAG KITTY's maw wraps around the pole of the axe and bites with all its might. Heat builds in the frame's mouth, and metal softens as teeth rend. The axe-head is snapped violently from the pole.]

[WARNING: REACTOR HEAT CAPACITY {86.4%}. STABILIZATION RECOMMENDED.]

SINGED: I DOTN CAREE!!! RAAAAAGH!!!

Blackbeard: Oh fu-

[The jaws' next target is the leg of the frame, and the teeth sink in just as deep, producing even more slag. In short order, the blackbeard is wrestled to the ground, leg mangled to the point of near removal.]

[WARNING: REACTOR HEAT CAPACITY {EXCEEDED}. POWER PLANT DESTABILIZED.]

SINGED: I SAID I DONT CARRRE AAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!!

[SLAG KITTY's claws rip into the chassis, leaving a wide, molten gash with each strike.]

...<ERROR. FILE DAMAGED. SCRUBBING VIDEO FILE FOR INTACT FOOTAGE>

Blackbeard: FUCK NO NO NO!!!

...<ERROR. FILE DAMAGED. SCRUBBING VIDEO FILE FOR INTACT FOOTAGE>

[The cockpit of the Blackbeard is torn open just enough for SLAG KITTY's head to fit through. SINGED gives a horrific roar, and the pirate inside goes ghostly white.]

...<ERROR. FILE DAMAGED. SCRUBBING VIDEO FILE FOR INTACT FOOTAGE>

SINGED: AHAHAHAHHHAAA

[SLAG KITTY looks over the unmoving wreckage of the blackbeard, then to Photon's side of the battlefield, which has gone quiet. Photon holds his lance trained on the remaining enemy frame, which was disarmed, raising its hands in surrender.]

Photon: Just got word, kid. We've taken the bridge. It's over.

SINGED: Wha? BUt. KILL. KILLLLL!!!!!

[RELEASING POST-COMBAT SEDATIVES]

SINGED: Wha... Wh... hrrn. eepy...

Photon: You did good, you little maniac. Get some rest. You've earned it.

...<RECORDING ENDS>

[the-universal-sun]

Okay first of all I love your first post was bonding to my ask but also I was wondering could I get some head cannons on Ford being the twins caregiver( the baby twins Dipper and Mabel)

@pinkyshy10 i want to make sure I get the notification that's why I'm tacking myself

Thank you for your ask, of course you can get some hc of Ford being Dipper and Mabel’s caregiver! I loved writing this request so much! The babies! ! I did talk about Stanley helping some, but this is all Ford caregiving for the twins! The three of them are such cuties!!! I hope it lives up to your expectations! I’m so sorry it’s so late, I’ve got a back log but I’m working through them! Please stay nice and warm this week!

I’ll tag you here so you can see it too, just in case: @pinkyshy10

As always, I’m always open for helpful comments and critiques!

Sending you all the loce in the world!

-_-_ -_-_ -_-_ -_-_ -_-_ -_-_ -_-_ -_-_ -_-_ -_-_ -_-_ -_-

-Ford never expected to be a caregiver to two small children, nonetheless children that regress, but he takes it in stride. He loves his niblings and would do anything for them, so of course he’s more than willing to watch over and care for them, letting the two of them crawl into his bed when they have a nightmare or two

-He’ll ease them back to sleep with the more happy tales from his time dimension hopping, telling them how cute they looked in that baby dimension. He’ll pat their backs and brush their hair-trying to remember how it was his mother and then Stanley consoled him. They snuggle on his chest and pass out near instantaneously once he gets them settled

-He did feel overwhelmed at first, but he has Stanley to support him and calm him down. It helps that the twins don’t always regress together, though it’s more often than not

-Ford would be a less stern caregiver for the twins than Stanley would be. Surprising everyone, but this is the man who gave a 12 year old a crossbow

-He’s stricter with what they eat and when they sleep, but for everything in between Ford has more of a “all long as nobody gets seriously injured” mindset

-They need nap time and semi-nutritious food. Nap time isn’t hard, but it’s not easy. The twins, energetic on the regular, are hyperactive when they regress, if they could bounce off the walls, Ford bets they would. To get them to take a nap, he’ll try to tire them out but chasing them, but when that doesn’t always work, he’ll wrap them up tightly in a big blanket, lay them down with some pillows in the floor, turn down the lights, and either play a really boring black and white that would him to sleep or roughly hum an old lullaby he picked up from someone, scratching their heads to lull them to sleep

-He uses their nap time to get some alone time, decompress and to breathe from all the energy he had been surrounded with, Stanley looking over the twins to give him brother a break

-Food is…another issue. Ford can make a mean sandwich and pour juice and milk, he can put fruits and veggies on a tray with some cheese or dipping sauce, but he cannot cook. Not well and not palatable enough for two regressed tweens, if they want edible Mac and cheese or pancakes, it’s either they don’t get any and Ford’s at the wrong end of sad puppy dog eyes, or he’s asking Stanley to make them

-He won’t let them eat Greasy’s when he’s caring for them, he thinks it’s too unhealthy for such young children (and he had such a bad experience there he never wants to go back)

-It took some getting used to, caring for Dipper and Mabel when they regress, but he does have help in the form of Stanley, who’ll act as a babysitter if Ford needs to have his attention elsewhere for a moment or two. Ford also learned the basics of caring for children from Stan, though he has to modify it to fit in with the twins’ smaller ages

-It surprised him to find out that Little Dipper (so Ford’s nickname for him now) is more talkative than a Little Mabel. She does talk, but she’s quieter, more content to observe, unless you bring up a topic she’s super interested in. Dipper, however will go on and on about anything and everything. He is a “but why” little, which, Ford loves how inquisitive Dipper is, always wanting to know more, but at the same time, when he’s been asked “but why not?” 10 times in a row, he needs to steer the conversation to something else

-He tries to set individual little time with the twins so he can engage with them one-on-one, it’s in these cases that Stan will watch the other twin. He does arts and crafts and tea parties with Mabel, sometimes putting together Lego sets if it’s one she seems interested in. Sometimes they’ll just cuddle and watch a movie if that’s what she wants. He very much likes gossiping with her stuffed animals at the tea parties, spreading the most juicy inter-dimensional rumors.

-With Dipper, they’ll do puzzles, put together legos, and paint. Dipper loves finger painting when he’s feeling small, Ford doesn’t mind that he gets everything messy even with a smock on, his boy doesn’t look anxious or tired, his eyes bright and lacking their usual bags. If he starts asking too many questions, Ford may sometimes turn on a kid friendly documentary to keep him distracted

-Dipper and Mabel both love it when Ford reads to them, he gets so into the characters and get super dramatic, making them laugh and squeal behind their pacifiers

-They both have pacifiers, Dipper because he keeps chewing on his shirts, Mabel because she wanted to be like him, but actually really liked how soothing it is

-Dipper’s nickname is the Little Dipper and Mabel is Ford’s Meteorite. He thinks the names are cute, no matter how much Stanley may tease him about it

-No Mabel Juice when they’re little. Never again.

-Even when regressed, these two love to chase mysteries and go exploring, getting into as much mischief as possible with Ford’s eyes on them. He does allow them to go on adventures in Gravity Falls with him, but only if they’re kiddie friendly and he has to keep an eye on them at all times (Stanley’s rules). He only goes about 50 feet into the forest, which is plenty fun for them, they love running around and picking up every shiny rock and cool stick they find, sometimes wondering off too far if something catches their eye.

-Ford almost had a heart attack when he couldn’t find Dipper one day, looking everywhere, while holding Mabel in his arms, only to find him further in the trees arguing with a gnome

-The twins now have backpack leashes for when they leave the shack while regressed. It’s safer for them and makes it less liable that their Grunkle’s have a heart attack

-Ford loves his niblings, he doesn’t mind caring for them whatever their headspace may be. They’re both such caring and lovable individuals, it brings a pleasant ache in his chest to know that they care for him, trust him so much, that they allow themselves to be vulnerable like this around him. He loves his little family so much

[stabbyfoxandrew]

Hiii

I'm on a mini-break from studying and seeing your wipw post cheered me up!

Both Mafia Restaurant and arsonist Neil/firefighter Andrew are having very interesting developments right now, so can I just ask for whichever gets the least requests? I can't choose I love them both ✨✨

Thank you and I hope you have a good week <33

WIP Wednesday (11/27) | Arsonist Neil / Firefighter Andrew AU (Part 269)

NEIL

Neil's entire world lights up with shades of orange and red and yellow. It's like he can feel the heat, hear the flames crackling as they eat up old wood. It's a rush like he's never known in his life. Almost as good as, no better than a bonfire. He never knew kissing could be like this. Not that he'd had a lot of practice. His experience is limited to one cheerleader giving him a taste of her lip gloss in high school.

Andrew is not wearing lip gloss. His lips are chapped a bit, Neil thinks. He doesn't mind. Hell, his own lips are in a state because he chews on them when he gets anxious. He moves a bit, tries to mimic what Andrew is doing. Then he makes a mistake.

He reaches for Andrew.

He's intercepted with a hand around his wrist and Andrew pulls back slightly to look at him with half-lidded eyes. Andrew turns his attention from Neil's face to his hand, hanging limply from his own, and stares at it for a few seconds before guiding it to the back of his head.

"Just here." Andrew's voice is rough and barely audible, but Neil nods vigorously.

"Okay," Neil breathes as he anchors his fingers in the material of Andrew's beanie. It's soft, so soft. And that was why he bought it but he hates himself for that now. He wants to touch Andrew, not some stupid fabric. Before Neil can find it in him to be truly disappointed, Andrew captures his lips again.

ANDREW

Putting his tongue in 10's mouth hadn't been on Andrew's agenda when he left his apartment. He's a fool. He should've had it written at the top of the list. He would've, had he known it was allowed. That it was wanted.

And it is wanted. Andrew can tell by the way 10's fingers keep tensing against his skull. Like he's trying to hold on, keep Andrew close to him. Andrew wishes he hadn't put this stupid hat on, wishes he could feel the scratch of 10's nails on his scalp. The mere idea of it makes him shudder.

When he opens his mouth to deepen the kiss, the arsonist gasps in surprise. A second later he's meeting Andrew's mouth with unveiled enthusiasm. There's a brief moment where Andrew considers pulling him over the console into his lap, but he thankfully stomps that thought out of his head. Instead, he bites 10's bottom lip and the arsonist makes a low noise in his throat in response.

Andrew allows his hand to slide down to cup 10's neck. He can feel his pulse there and it's out of control. Andrew imagines his own is just as wild and he hates it. But he can do nothing to stop it.

Eventually Andrew finally finds the willpower to pull away and 10's eyes are nearly black with the thinnest rings of ice around his pupils. 10 licks his pretty lips as if trying to savor the taste of Andrew on them and his chest is heaving when he croaks out,

"I definitely swing. For you."

[annrps]

"Oh, that's true. You humans can't read memories, unlike Hiro. Which is good in a way, because everyone would be a god in the human world~." something said this with a little sympathy, but it seemed to be mocking. A black figure appeared next to him, glowing red, it resembled a middle-aged woman, approximately close to Andras' age. Hiro? began to approach the silhouette:

"The one you saved from being robbed. The one who fell in love with you ~ And the one who eventually became your wife. ~ I meant her." The silhouette said and the smile on its face changed to a sympathetic face. He took the black figure's hand and turned it to Andras' face, quite gently. The black silhouette had already acquired more developed features, the body began to resemble Cheryl, before Andras was arrested.

"Poor, innocent soul~ She suffered when she found out what you did~" Hiro? said and Cheryl's silhouette changed to a more demanding one, she sat on her knees, lowering her head. Hiro? began to carefully approach the woman.

"Hair, like a broken nest. A thin body, like a skeleton will jump out of her." The silhouette said this with sympathy and slight drama, as if in a play and visually carefully stroking the woman's hair at the same time carefully touching the woman's right hand with his left hand. As if he was trying to hold her back. She raised her head and showed her face and neck: a mark from a rope. Tired eyes, as if she had lost the meaning of life, bags under her eyes:

"She thought she had found a way out. She decided that the rope would help her fly to the sky, and she almost flew. But... you will call it a miracle, and she will call it a punishment that she survived. She lost what she lived for, and did not understand why she was still here. She found out what you tried to do and what you did. And she lost the sparkle in her eyes after the terrible confessions." After these words, Hiro? dropped to his right knee, he carefully took her face in his right palm, as if he was trying to console her and turned Cheryl's face towards himself.

"Poor soul, the kindest and sweetest in the world, suffered from this darkness. Death was near, and she wanted to escape from the cruel pain."

After this monologue, Hiro? turned to Andras with a sad look, but his sympathy was more for Cheryl than for Andras.

"Answer: would you let death take her or would you let yourself fall into the hands of death, but save this soul?"

This dream was cold, cold as ice. It even seemed much colder than ice. You can compare it to the Arctic, but this place was colder than the Arctic. It was lonely, until a certain time...

"Wow, what an "icy" welcome. You clearly put some effort into it." Suddenly, a silhouette with a male voice approached you: his skin was pure white, like an albino. Rather, the color resembled pure snow. Gray hair, the right eye, no, the right half of the face and neck were covered by bangs, and the rest of the hair was long, except for the left front part. But surprisingly, the clothes were dark shades of blue and red. A brown cloak, like superheroes from children's cartoons or books, on the right hand a bright red glove. The shoes were even above the knees, surprisingly dark gray and light red-pink fasteners on the shoes. There was a smile on his face, and the left eye was temporarily closed. The height was surprisingly not small (It reached Roy's elbow, maybe even a little higher than the elbow, but not Roy's full height.)

"You surprise me....Under such conditions, and at such an age, to hold on to your strength in such cold....you are not afraid of the cold to such an extent that you are ready to freeze to death, right? I mean, no one can live long in such cold, can they?"

After these words, the silhouette opened its left eye: a gray iris, slightly darker than the hair and a black four-pointed star as a pupil, in the iris itself there was no hint of shine, but there was no darkening either. The silhouette's eye was open as if it was mocking you, although the smile did not show it. It was like a smile of curiosity, but the eye did not show curiosity. They began to wait for your answer.

(If anything, note this account: @annrps It will be me, just on a different account.)

A cold cell he laid in, months after his arrest. Not one of a comfortable one in the matter of facts, a retired teacher laid in a scruffy bed. Dreams were not easy to catch on, as his rest was rather limited.

But, alas, the blackhole finds himself in an place like the arctic, freezing against his skin. Andras huffs out an air of frost, crossing his arms for warmth.

The hell..?

[ivan-fyodorovich-k]

Kids watching youtube videos of other kids playing with toys and gamers watching streams of other people playing video games always baffle me and yet here I am watching videos of other people shoot rifles