#the fbi wants to silence me because i know the truth

[hawkeyeslaughter]

burdened with forbidden knowledge that hawk would chomp jolly ranchers . the swamp would be completely silent ( for once ) and there’d be a loud cracking sound from hawk’s bunk and gleeful giggling while charles berates him for doing it

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 You Says.

Post prison Reid x Reporter!reader

part one

Summary: After a rough night and some misunderstandings, Spencer needs to do everything he can to make things right with you and get his relationship back on track. The problem is, things aren't so easy for you, and he's willing to do anything you ask, even take care of you when no one else will.

Words: 3,1k.

Warnings & Tags: mentions of crime and trauma. fem!reader. angst+comfort. reader gets sick (nothing serious, just a normal cold). second chance yep. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: Ok, I didn't think of doing a second part before, but reading my own work made me so sad😭 the cat deserves happy parents (we are the cat) but I warn you that I do not believe in magic apologies.

I. I Love You, I’m Sorry.

Spencer had been losing his mind since the last time he saw you in person, and it was all his fault. From the moment the door to his apartment closed behind you and the oven beeped, he began to feel the broken pieces of his heart that you had once held together unravel and shatter even more. He hated himself for letting his insecurities get in the way of the one good thing he had managed to have over the past few years, and for pushing you away when you didn't want to. You had been his exception among all the bad things that had happened in his life for as long as he could remember, the only one that didn't seem to want to be temporary and left him when he least expected it. And he himself had forced you out of his life, even when you didn't want to, begging him with tear-filled eyes for a little remorse that he didn't give you.

Just a few hours after the incident, he tried to go to work as if nothing had happened to clean up the mess the leak had made and put the killer in jail. He brought Penelope the promised cookies and your computer for her to examine because it felt right at the time. Part of him needed her to find real proof of your betrayal so he could stop feeling bad about making you cry and saying such ugly things to you.

Then he found out that you were telling the truth and that your computer contained nothing but photos of the two of you, all the articles he had ever written or been mentioned in your searches, and a few writings in which you poured out all your love for him in the cheesiest and most poetic way possible. You loved him, you really did, and there was no evidence to the contrary, because even Garcia could later assure him that the information had come anonymously and had been bought for five hundred dollars. But it was too late, because he had given you a conviction without even knowing it.

That's when he started to fixate on making amends for what he'd done. Every time you left work, bouquets of your favorite flowers with notes asking for forgiveness and wishing you a good night began to appear in your car. He also made a point of stopping by to talk to you and repeat how sorry he was. You knew this would happen when he realized his mistake. You had told him before you left, and that's why you refused to see him. It was good that the security guards at your workplace didn't let him in, even with his FBI credentials. The tricky part was your building because the doorman already knew him and let him in normally thanks to the excuses Spencer made up, even though you said a thousand times that he shouldn't have.

And that was happening again, for the fifth or sixth time in the last few days.

“Please, just let me talk to you and tell you how sorry I am. Listen to me for a moment.” You could hear Reid's voice from the other side of the door.

You didn't say anything. You just sat with your back against the door and one hand on your heart, as if you were trying to hold it. It didn't even cross your mind that he was in the same situation.

“Just a few minutes, please."

Once more, you remained silent.

Silence was the worst answer someone could give. You knew it, and it hurt to have to do it with him. But you had no choice because you knew that by looking into his eyes for just a few seconds, all the bad things would dissipate and maybe you would even forgive him without thinking just because of the love you had for him. You didn't like being this vulnerable and having so many feelings for someone who didn't trust you.

Lately, you've been spending every waking moment wondering what you could have done to make him believe that you were really capable of betraying him in such a cruel and selfish way. You were the one who woke up in the middle of the night to try to comfort him every time he had a nightmare or couldn't sleep. You drove to his apartment no matter what time it was to make sure he was okay. You lost your breath repeating that he was safe with you. You drank many cups of coffee the next day so you wouldn't fall asleep on the job every time the situation repeated itself. That's why you started sleeping in his apartment, wrapped in his arms because he said it made him happy to wake up and see you. And even with all that, Spencer was able to believe that you didn't love him.

You were running your hands through your hair and sighing, trying to block out all the thoughts running through your head, when you heard his phone ring. You could tell it was important by the way he spoke and changed his tone of voice, so you got up from the floor at the same time he did to put your ear to the door.

“I really have to go now, but could you open up a little bit so I can take a quick look at you?” He asked in a pleading tone after hanging up the call. “Please, I know you can hear me. I can see the shadow of your feet under the door.”

You really thought he didn't know you were there, feeling like a fool for listening to every word he said.

“If you want to see me, turn on the TV.” Your voice finally reached Spencer, and it gave him a glimmer of hope. It was the first time you had spoken to him since that night, and even though there was a door between the two of you, you were talking to him.

“It's not enough.”

“And it's not my problem.”

That was more hurtful than your silence.

“I know, it's mine.” He replied after a couple of seconds, trying to process everything. “And I will do everything I can to fix it...I have to go now, but take care of yourself. The nights have been getting colder lately, so wrap up warm.”

You knew it was a bit silly to think of that now, but his attention to detail was impressive. Since you did the evening news, you used to get off work very late, and the change from air conditioning to the city cold was quite a lot. Spencer had cited scientific studies to you many times to make you aware and know what kind of clothing materials to use to avoid a cold. You missed that a lot.

If he had the same attitude as the night of the conflict, it would be easier. You could hate him and stop loving him so strongly.

“I love you, William misses you and so do I.”

You frowned because you didn't know anyone by that name.

“William?”

“Our cat.” He answered simply. “When we talked about how we would name him, you said that a lot of people name their pets after their favorite characters. You love the movie ‘Notting Hill’ and whenever we watch it, you always say you like Hugh Grant's character named William. It also means strong-willed warrior. I just thought you would like it.”

You didn't say anything at the time because you had to cover your hand with your mouth to keep from doing so, but you liked it and you liked it too much. Once again, he focused on the details.

“You can change it if you want because I don't know if he likes it, but what I do know is that he misses you. He lies on your blanket and starts meowing, and he also looks at the door. I certainly think that every time I come home he expects it to be you.” He kept talking as he received no response from you. “It sounds like I'm talking about myself. And it's true because it happens to me the same way.”

When he paused, a tear escaped and fell down your cheek. It wasn't fair for him to say those things now.

“If you want to see him and me not being there, you can send me a message...but I'd really like to be.” He paused again, as if searching for the perfect words.

What did it cost him to have searched for the perfect words the night he distrusted you?

“I must go, I love you.”

The last thing you heard before he left was Spencer's footsteps heading towards the elevator.

II. I Miss You, I’m Sorry.

Just two weeks later, you realized that maybe you should have listened to Spencer when he said the nights were getting too cold. If you had, now you probably wouldn't be lying on your bed with an unbearable flu and no one there to bring you soup or a cold washcloth for your forehead because your mother was taking too long to get to city.

When you were younger, you thought it was a great idea to get as far away from your hometown as possible. Now, however, you realize that you need a familiar face to take care of you because you can't do it alone all the time.

You felt a sense of relief when you heard the door to your apartment open.

“Mom? I'm really hungry and the soup is all gone.” You spoke in a tired tone as you heard footsteps approaching. But at that moment, you watched as the cat you shared with Reid jumped onto the bed and started purring at you.

You thought you were hallucinating from the fever until you saw Spencer walking into your room with a couple of bags.

“I know you were expecting your mother, but we brought you soup and medicine.” He said, sitting up in bed to look closely at you and put a hand on your forehead. “You're burning up.”

“What are you doing here?” You asked, trying to pull away from his touch.

“Your mother called me because she couldn't find a flight today and was very worried. She asked me to take care of you.”

Of course she did, because she adored him and didn't know that things were bad between you two.

“I don't need you to take care of me.” You barely settled into bed and petted the cat. “Go to work, make sure no one leaks information.”

Oh, that was a low blow for him.

“I asked for a few days off because you have a high fever and someone needs to take care of you.”

“You don't have to...”

“I want to.” He said, interrupting you and putting a cold cloth on your forehead.

“Just because you're looking out for me doesn't mean I'm going to forget everything and forgive you.” You clarified right away, trying not to lose focus because of the relief you felt thanks to the cold compress.

“I know, and I don't expect you to. Just let me take care of you now, forget you hate me until you get better. I won't take advantage of this, I swear.” He looked at you with a serious gaze, as if he were swearing an oath. “Please.”

God, not puppy dog eyes now.

You used to love it when he looked at you with those sparkling eyes. Now, though, you felt manipulated by it.

“Fine, give me the soup.” You finally agreed, knowing you didn't have much of a choice. “Just a warning, please don't answer any calls near me. I can listen in and use the information to hire a nurse.”

He ignored the comment and didn't bring it up to make you uncomfortable. He sat on the edge of the bed, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. His touch was light, and his eyes searched yours as he spoke.

“Is there anything else besides soup I can bring you? More tissues, or maybe some medicine?” He asked in a soft, soothing voice.

You shook your head, still a bit dazed by the situation and your stomach rumbling. You watched as Spencer disappeared into the kitchen, and you could hear his footsteps echoing throughout the house, followed by the clatter of pots and pans and the sound of the stove being turned on. You could only lie back on your bed, feeling a wave of tiredness wash over you.

A few minutes later, he came back with a bowl of chicken noodle soup and sat down next to you on the bed, being careful not to spill anything.

“Are you planning to feed me soup?” You asked, with a hint of irony in your voice, as you watched me hold the spoon and watch you.

“If you wish, I'll be happy to.” He replied simply and brought the spoon gently to your mouth.

“I'm not a baby.”

Especially not his baby.

“You hate me, I know. But I really want to take care of you, and I won't leave until at least your mother arrives.” He paused for a second, as if to catch his breath. “If you don't want me around, that's okay, I'll just sit in the corner of the room or in the living room in silence. It hurts, but I'll take whatever you want.”

You remained silent for several seconds, dedicating yourself to stroking the cat to avoid Spencer's gaze.

“I don't hate you.” Was the only thing you could say at the time.

Something inside you was expecting a more exaggerated reaction for letting your guard down a bit, or maybe you were just too feverish. The thing was, he had only given you a small, almost non-existent smile.

“I know.” He finally spoke and gently adjusted the cold compress on your forehead. “And that's why I hate myself.”

At that moment, while you were trying to make sense of how things had changed so much in just a week, he was watching you.

Spencer was waiting for you to explode, to tell him how sorry you were for getting involved with him and his complicated world, that it was all one big mistake that you would regret forever. He was expecting disaster, pain, tears, and a lot of chaos.

But you didn't give him any of that.

Just a sweet nothing.

He could tell at that moment that even though you were in a feverish state and had many reasons to be cruel, you would not be. He realized that you would never yell at him or do anything to hurt him, that the most painful thing you could give him was your silence. And it was then that he confirmed that you loved him the way he thought he did not deserve to be loved: honestly and genuinely.

“Why?” You whispered after a few minutes of silence. “Why are you with me if you don't trust me?”

“I trust you.” He looked you straight in the eye as he spoke, trying to show that he was being completely sincere. “I just don't trust myself.”

You frowned and let out a groan from the discomfort in your forehead. You weren't sure if you were hallucinating because of the cold or if Spencer was really shivering.

“I don't think I'm good enough for you, or deserve you, or that you love me because you want to.” He finally admitted, his voice slightly shaky. He seemed to be in a worse state than you. “It's silly because you've never given me a reason to distrust you.”

“I know you thought I was going to leave. But I didn't want to leave until you asked me to.” You were close to crying, so you pretended to sneeze to hide your watery eyes. You didn't want to show how vulnerable you were. “It was easier to distrust me and blame me like I was just another bad person you catch.”

“Yes, but...” He replied, trying to answer your question.

“Don't talk. It's my turn.”

He nodded after a few seconds, watching you with concern. “Just be careful, you're still sick.”

You already knew how sick you were and how deplorable you probably looked, but you wanted to say it all and stop feeling a lump in your throat.

“You say you trust me, but you really don't, and I've been trying to understand you for almost a year, Spencer. It's been eleven months of trying not to invade your space, avoiding topics that make you tense or your eyes glaze over.” You had to stop to catch your breath and drink some water with his help. “And you think I don't understand you or really know you, but I do. I know how all your dishes are arranged, I know how you like to fold clothes and eat toast, I know that chess reminds you of someone because your eyes get watery every time we see a board, I know about the book signed by Maeve that you hide in your closet and about which you tense up every time I'm near, I know about your nightmares about prison that you don't like to talk about, and about your mother's favorite colors that change every day. I know so much about you, and yet you think I know nothing.”

Once more, there was a long, quiet pause.

“I'm so sorry.” He held your hands as he repeated the same thing, this time with a truly sincere tone. The whole room was still tense as his knees touched the floor, and the apology he gave you seemed like a plea. “I'm really sorry. I know you don't want apologies, you want trust, and I'm going to show you that.”

You didn't say anything as he sat down next to you on the bed.

“I trust you, that's why I always tell you about my cases. And I will tell you about all my past, if you want, because for me you are my present and my future...of course, only if you still want to.”

The eyes of both of you were fixed on the cat you shared, who was purring and lying very comfortably in the middle of the bed. It was nice to know that at least one of the three of you was happy.

“Tell me.”

And just as you asked, he told you everything because he wanted to show you that he trusted you.

This time he really trusted.

[augustjoy]

Those Were Brand New!

Sneak peek: You and Hotch attend a wedding together – Not together, together…carpooling just made sense, right? Things between you change, resulting in a ripped pair of tights.

Aaron Hotchner x (Fem) FBI Reader

Smut/Fluff

Word count: 747

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited, please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!! My blog is 18+, minors DNI, no use of y/n, no physical description of reader other than she/her pronouns and female anatomy, explicit language, sexual themes, P in V sex, unprotected sex (Don’t do this!), sex on the kitchen counter, Let me know if I missed any!!!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

His eyes had been on you all evening, since the moment he picked you up for this wedding. You had left your apartment in the most beautiful deep green dress. The velvet rested just above your knees and beneath it, your legs were adorned in black lacy tights, your feet tucked gently into a pair of stilettos.

As the wedding festivities died down, the chill in the air had increased. You had drifted closer and closer to Aaron, trying to regain some of the warmth that had slipped away throughout the evening.

“Why don’t we go say goodnight to the happy couple? That way I can get you out of the cold.” He suggested.

“That sounds good!” You shivered.

--

Music was playing quietly, filling the otherwise silent vehicle. This happened a lot when you drove with Aaron, you’d fall into comfortable silence, only chatting when it was needed. Truth is, you were just so comfortable around one another.

“Thanks again for driving me Aaron, I really appreciate it.”

“Of course, sweetheart. Let me walk you up.” He offered.

You nodded in thanks, knowing it was no use arguing with him – he’s the most stubborn man you know.

--

“I uh, I had a really good time tonight. It was nice to see you let loose Aaron.” You teased.

“I had a great time too. I enjoyed spending time with you.” He returned.

You shared a look, only this one held more weight than usual…this gaze felt charged. Which you both must’ve realized because your lips quickly met in a heated kiss. Aaron had shifted the two of you, so your back was pressed against your door, his lips shifting to your neck, allowing you to fumble for your house key.

Once you had the door unlocked, Aaron’s lips found yours once again. He was gently leading you to your kitchen, only stopping when your ass met the edge of the counter. His hands dropped down to the back of your thighs, lifting you to sit on the edge of the counter.

“You look so beautiful.” Aaron breathed.

“So are you.” You gasped.

His hands slid under your dress, grasping your thighs, as his mouth moved to your neck, sucking harshly, sure to leave marks. A fact you couldn’t care less about in this moment.

“I have wanted this for so long.” You confessed.

“Me too sweetheart, and as much as I want to take this slow…I need you. You have to tell me if you want to stop.” Aaron was breathless.

“Don’t stop.”

Aaron’s hand moved further up your dress, his fingers gripping the material of your tights. Your head fell back, and his lips started their descent further toward your collar bones. The room was filled with the salacious sounds of his wet kisses and your hands ruffling his hair…until a tearing sound cut through the kitchen.

“Aaron! Those were brand new!” You gasped. Taking in the fact that Aaron had just ripped your tights open to give himself access to your soaked heat.

“I’ll buy you a new pair.”

One of his hands moved to toy with your center while the other pulled your sleeve down enough to expose your lace covered breasts. Aaron’s mouth closed around your pert nipple while his fingers circled your clit.

You brought your hands to the waistband of his slacks, pulling them open and releasing his throbbing cock and guiding it to your entrance.

You both understood that there would be another time for slow and sensual…but right now you were both desperate for this.

--

He thrust into you in one quick fluid motion, stealing the breath from your lungs. Aaron’s arms wrapped around you, one around your waist and the other reaching up to grip your shoulder as he pounded into you. Your body was leaned back against the counter, arching up into his embrace.

With every thrust, Aaron’s tip kissed your cervix, and you could feel your climax quickly approaching.

“Aaron I – I’m so…” You let out in short gasps.

“I know baby, let go for me.” He replied, kissing you once more.

After a few more thrusts, your orgasm ripped through you. In your hazy state, you could feel Aaron’s pace faulter, signaling how close he was.

“Fuck I…”

“Let go baby.”

With a final thrust, Aaron filled you. Collapsing onto you, allowing himself to relish in this moment with you, Aaron thought about all the exciting things a future with your would hold.

[casedclosedbye]

Autumn

Aaron hotchner x female reader

C: angst

Word count: 1.1k

Summary: Aaron Hotchner's dedication to his FBI work strains his relationship with his partner, who feels neglected and invisible.

Aaron Hotchner never seemed to stop. There were always cases to solve, lives to save, and people who needed him. But as much as he wanted to help the world, he was losing grip on the one thing that mattered most to him—the person sitting across from him in their dimly lit apartment.

She sat at the small kitchen table, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of her coffee cup. Her eyes, which once sparkled with life and warmth, now felt distant, clouded by frustration. She knew who Aaron was—the man who was always there for everyone else, always putting the Bureau and its cases first—but she had never anticipated how that would make her feel like she was living in the shadows.

Aaron stood by the counter, his jacket still on, his tie loosely hanging from his neck. He had just come from another long day at the office, the weight of the day’s work heavy on his shoulders. His eyes were tired, his jaw clenched as though he was carrying the weight of the world. But when his gaze met hers, it was clear—he knew something was wrong. She had pulled away, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to reach her anymore.

“We need to talk,” Aaron said, his voice low, tinged with the exhaustion of a man who had been running on fumes for far too long.

She took a long breath and looked up, her lips tight. “We do,” she replied softly, the sadness in her voice evident. “But I don’t think either of us wants to hear it.”

Aaron furrowed his brow, stepping closer, his gaze softening. “Talk to me,” he urged, his hand resting on the table in front of her. "I can’t fix this if I don’t know what’s wrong."

She shook her head, her fingers still tracing the cup in a rhythmic pattern, almost like a nervous habit she’d developed. "You’re always fixing things, Aaron," she said quietly. "But you never fix us."

His heart tightened at her words, but he didn’t argue. He had always been good at fixing things—problems, cases, people—but when it came to his own life, it was as if the pieces never quite fit together. The team at the BAU needed him. His work consumed him. But what had that left for her? For them?

“I’m trying,” he said after a long pause, his voice cracking slightly. “I’m trying, but there’s always something else, something more urgent. I’m not trying to push you away. But I can’t stop, not when people need me.” She stood, a sudden movement, her eyes flashing with frustration. “And what about me, Aaron? Don’t I need you?” she asked, her voice rising, but not with anger—just hurt. “I know you love your job, but I’m here too, and I’m… I’m drowning.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, he just stood there, stunned. The truth had never been so sharp, so clear. He had been so absorbed in his work, in saving everyone else, that he hadn’t noticed how far apart they had drifted. “I didn’t mean to…” He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence, because he knew the truth—he had meant to. He had meant to give more, but somehow the balance between work and love had always been skewed.

There was always another call, another case, another life that needed saving, but in the end, he had lost her. “Do you even see me anymore, Aaron?” Her voice cracked as she looked at him, her heart breaking in two. “Do you see how much I’ve changed? How much we’ve changed? You say you’re trying, but you’re not. You’re here, but you’re not really here.”

He wanted to say something, anything to make it better, but the words wouldn’t come. His mind raced through the days, the nights he’d stayed at work, the calls he had ignored, the moments he had promised to make up for later. Later had never come. And now she was slipping through his fingers.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, a mere breath against the thick silence. “I never meant for it to be like this. I never meant to make you feel invisible.” She shook her head slowly, the weight of it all too much to bear. “It’s not just about you apologizing, Aaron. It’s about what you’re doing with that apology. You keep saying you’re sorry, but you don’t change. You think that being sorry will fix everything, but sometimes that’s just not enough.”

He stepped forward, reaching for her, but she stepped back, her eyes filled with a mixture of love and sorrow that tore him apart. “I can’t keep waiting, Aaron. I can’t keep waiting for you to come home, for you to come back to me. You promised me once that we’d find a way, that we’d be a team. But I’m not in this alone anymore. I can’t be.”

Aaron’s chest tightened, his breath shallow. He didn’t want to lose her. He had never wanted that. He had promised to always be there for her, but somewhere along the way, the job had become a wall he couldn’t tear down. “I love you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I love you more than anything, but I don’t know how to do this… how to make it right.” She closed her eyes, her voice barely a whisper. “I love you too, Aaron. But I’m not sure I can keep waiting for you to see me. For us. Maybe this is where we stop trying.”

The words felt like a death sentence, a final blow he had never expected. It wasn’t that they didn’t love each other—it was the overwhelming reality that love alone couldn’t hold them together anymore. The cracks had formed, too deep to ignore, and no amount of apologies could fill them.

Aaron stood in silence as she walked to the door, her heart aching with every step. He wanted to stop her, to beg her to stay, but the truth was, he had been living in a lie—thinking that his love for her could somehow fill the emptiness created by his absence.

“I’ll always love you,” he said quietly, watching as she turned the handle. "But I can’t make you wait anymore."

She paused, her hand on the door, but she didn’t look back. The silence between them was deafening, and all that remained was the sound of her heart breaking.

And with that, she walked out the door.

Aaron stood there for what felt like hours, staring at the door she had just closed. The weight of his choices hung over him like a dark cloud, but the truth remained—he had been too busy saving the world to save the one thing that mattered most. Now, he was left with nothing but regret and the haunting question of when he had stopped seeing her.

[jansqu]

FBI reader & scofeild ?!

Thank you for the request<33

Falling For A Genius (Michael Scofield X FBI!Reader)

The dimly lit FBI office buzzed with tension as you stared at the countless photos pinned to the wall—blueprints, crime scene snapshots, and surveillance images of the man you had spent the last six months hunting.

Michael Scofield.

A structural engineer turned fugitive mastermind. He had orchestrated the most brilliant prison escape in history, and now, he was always one step ahead. Every time you got close, he slipped through your fingers like sand. And yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was toying with you, leading you on a chase meant to challenge, not escape.

Then, one night, everything changed.

A tip led you to a safe house near the outskirts of Chicago. You entered carefully, weapon raised, your pulse steady but alert. The moment you stepped inside, the door swung shut behind you.

"You took longer than I expected."

His voice was smooth, calculated.

You turned sharply, aiming at the shadow leaning against the table. Michael Scofield stood there, his piercing blue eyes locked onto yours. No sign of fear. No panic. Just that infuriating calm that both fascinated and frustrated you.

"Hands where I can see them, Scofield," you ordered, voice firm.

Instead of complying, he smirked. "If you wanted to catch me, Agent, you would have brought backup."

You clenched your jaw. He was right. This wasn’t protocol. This was personal.

"What’s your game?" you demanded. "You could’ve run, but you’re here. Why?"

He stepped forward, slowly, carefully. "Because I think you already know I’m not your enemy."

Your breath hitched. The chase had been going on for too long. Somewhere along the way, it had become more than just a job. He had become more than just a fugitive.

And in that moment, as the space between you disappeared, you realized the most dangerous thing about Michael Scofield wasn’t his mind.

It was the fact that you weren’t sure if you still wanted to catch him.

The silence between you and Michael stretched thin, charged like a live wire. His blue eyes didn’t waver, and despite every instinct screaming at you to take control of the situation, you couldn’t move. Not because you were afraid—but because you weren’t sure you wanted to.

"You should put the gun down," he murmured, voice smooth as silk, his gaze flicking to the weapon in your hands.

You tightened your grip, but something about the way he stepped forward—slow, calculated, confident—made you hesitate.

"That would be a mistake," you countered.

He smirked, the kind that made your stomach tighten in ways you didn’t want to acknowledge.

"You’re too smart to make mistakes, Agent."

Your breath hitched. He was good at this. Too good. You had spent months chasing him, studying his every move, but he had been studying you, too. Every interaction, every near-capture—it wasn’t just about outsmarting you. It was something else entirely.

And the worst part?

You weren’t just chasing him anymore.

You were drawn to him.

Michael must have noticed the shift in your stance because his smirk faded into something softer, something dangerous in an entirely different way. He took another step, and this time, you let him.

"Why are you here, Scofield?" you asked, voice quieter now.

His expression turned serious. "Because I needed you to see the truth. I’m not the bad guy, and you know it."

"You broke the law," you reminded him, though even you could hear how weak it sounded.

"I broke the law to save my brother," he corrected, his voice laced with conviction. "And you—" He exhaled, shaking his head. "You wouldn’t be here alone if you didn’t already believe there’s more to this than black and white."

Damn him.

Because he was right.

And when he took another step closer—so close that you could smell the faint trace of soap and something undeniably him—you didn’t stop him.

"You should arrest me," he whispered, his breath ghosting over your lips.

Your fingers flexed around the gun, but your pulse was racing for an entirely different reason now.

"Maybe I should," you whispered back.

His eyes flicked to your lips. Your heart slammed against your ribs.

"Then do it," he challenged, his voice low, daring. "Or admit that this isn’t just a chase anymore."

Your fingers trembled around the trigger.

He reached up—slowly, deliberately—and wrapped his hand around the barrel of your gun, guiding it down until it was resting at your side.

Your pulse roared in your ears.

"You’re playing a dangerous game," you murmured.

His lips barely curved into a smirk. "So are you."

And before you could stop yourself, before you could think about what this meant, you closed the space between you.

It wasn’t supposed to happen. But when his lips brushed against yours, soft and testing at first, then deeper, hungrier, your knees nearly buckled.

Michael Scofield had spent months running from you.

But tonight, for the first time, you were the one falling.

[darkintothedawn]

DAY TWENTY-SIX || Stiles Stilinski 'Teen Wolf'

Pairing — Stiles Stilinski x Gender Neutral reader

Summary — Day twenty-six of 'THE BOYFRIEND CODE'. Cookie bribing Noah Stilinski is easier than it should be.

26. Thou shalt not bribe thy boyfriend’s dad with baked goods to get classified FBI-level intel on thy boyfriend’s embarrassing childhood stories. (I know he caves for cookies. This is betrayal.)

Memo— You can find the rest of the 'THE BOYFRIEND CODE' here.

Word Count — 5926

Warnings — Fluff.

Masterlist | Stiles' Adventures

You weren’t planning to commit an act of betrayal today. It just… happened.

It started with an innocent thought: Wouldn’t it be hilarious to get some dirt on Stiles? A simple, fleeting idea. But then you remembered a crucial fact—Sheriff Stilinski has a weakness.

Cookies.

Not just any cookies, though. Homemade, fresh-out-of-the-oven, perfectly golden brown cookies. And you? You happen to be very good at baking.

The plan practically wrote itself.

You spent the entire afternoon perfecting your best recipe—classic chocolate chip, because you knew from Stiles’ offhanded complaints that his dad had a soft spot for them. By the time the final batch was cooling on the counter, the house smelled like a bakery, and you knew there was no way Sheriff Stilinski would resist.

Just to be sure, you packed them in a nice Tupperware container, stacking them neatly so they looked even more tempting. Presentation mattered when you were committing a mild act of deception.

You arrived at the Stilinski house just after dinner, when you knew Stiles would be holed up in his room, probably arguing with Scott over some ridiculous supernatural theory.

The Sheriff opened the door, his brows raising in surprise. “Hey, kid. Stiles didn’t say you were coming over.”

“Oh, yeah! He, uh… he’s expecting me.” (A lie.) “But I also just wanted to bring you something.” (A half-truth.)

You lifted the Tupperware and popped the lid open just enough for the warm scent of chocolate and butter to drift out.

Sheriff Stilinski froze. His eyes flicked between the cookies and your face, suspicion warring with temptation. “Are you bribing me?”

“What? No! That would be unethical.”

A beat of silence.

“…But if I were bribing you, would it be working?”

He sighed, rubbing his hand over his face before stepping aside. “You’re worse than your boyfriend.”

You followed him into the kitchen, where he poured himself a cup of coffee and grabbed a cookie. He took one bite—just one—before exhaling like he’d ascended to another plane of existence.

“Alright,” he muttered, leaning against the counter. “What do you want?”

Victory. Sweet, delicious victory.

You slid onto a stool, trying to look as casual as possible. “Oh, nothing much. Just… I’ve always been curious. You’ve known Stiles his whole life. There must be some good stories.”

Sheriff Stilinski took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. “He would kill me.”

“I won’t tell him you told me.”

He gave you a flat look.

You pushed the cookies closer. “C’mon, Sheriff. He gets away with so much. Just one story.”

He sighed heavily, glancing toward the staircase, as if checking to make sure Stiles hadn’t magically developed super-hearing. Then, slowly, he set down his coffee and leaned in.

“Alright. You ever hear about the Skittles Incident?”

You shook your head.

Sheriff Stilinski smirked. “Oh, you’re gonna love this one.”

And that’s when you knew: this was the best idea you’d ever had.

Sheriff Stilinski leaned in like he was about to share top-secret government intel. You mirrored his posture, hands wrapped around your warm mug of cocoa (because of course he’d insisted on making you something to drink—it was part of the Dad Code or something).

"The year was 2003," he began, in the tone of a man who had seen too much. "Stiles was seven years old. Energetic. Too smart for his own good. And—unfortunately for me—very, very obsessed with Skittles."

You tried not to laugh already.

"Now, when I say obsessed, I don’t mean he just liked them. I mean he had a system. The kid had theories. Charts. He had decided that each color had a different effect on his personality, and he wanted to test it."

You blinked. "You mean like… he thought they gave him superpowers?"

Sheriff Stilinski sighed, shaking his head. "Worse. He thought they changed his mood. He called it the ‘Taste the Rainbow Hypothesis.’"

You slapped a hand over your mouth, muffling your giggle.

"He believed," the Sheriff continued, rubbing his temples like he was having war flashbacks, "That red Skittles made him braver. That orange ones made him funnier. That green ones helped him think better. And purple? Well, apparently, purple ones made him ‘more mysterious and cool.’"

Your shoulders shook with silent laughter.

"And yellow?" you asked, because you had to know.

Sheriff Stilinski deadpanned. "He claimed yellow made him run faster. Which, as you can probably guess, is where the trouble started."

You sat up straighter.

"Oh no."

"Oh yes," he said grimly.

It was a Saturday afternoon. The Sheriff had taken Stiles to the grocery store—just a simple trip, in and out. But, being Stiles, things could never be that simple.

"He begged me for Skittles at checkout. He swore up and down that he’d been good all week and that he’d ‘use them responsibly.’ I was an idiot. I believed him."

That was his first mistake.

On the way home, Stiles meticulously sorted the Skittles into color-coded piles, mumbling under his breath like a scientist conducting an important experiment. He’d pop a green one in his mouth and then start rattling off multiplication tables. He’d eat an orange one and tell his dad a joke. But then… he got to the yellow ones.

"I had barely parked the car in the driveway before he threw a handful of them in his mouth like they were spinach and he was freaking Popeye."

That was his second mistake.

"And then?" you prompted, hanging onto every word.

Sheriff Stilinski exhaled through his nose. "Then, my idiot son challenged gravity."

Your eyes widened.

"He looked me dead in the eyes, said ‘Dad, watch how fast I am,’ and then—before I could stop him—he bolted out of the car like a bat out of hell."

You choked on your cocoa.

"He took off full speed across the driveway, arms pumping, legs moving so fast he probably thought he had unlocked the Speed Force. And for about five glorious seconds… he actually was fast."

The Sheriff’s lips twitched, like he was holding back laughter at the memory.

"But then?" you pressed.

"But then," he said, "He forgot that his shoelaces were untied."

Your hands slapped over your mouth in horror.

"One second he was flying. The next second—bam. Face-first into the side of my patrol car."

You lost it. Full-on, uncontrollable, stomach-clutching laughter.

"He didn't."

"Oh, he did."

"Was he okay?"

"Aside from a bruised ego and a very noticeable forehead bump? Yeah. But you wanna know the worst part?"

You nodded frantically, still breathless from laughing.

Sheriff Stilinski leaned back, shaking his head.

"The little punk just groaned, sat up, and said, ‘Guess I should’ve eaten more yellows.’"

Tears streamed down your face.

"He thought the problem was not enough Skittles?"

"Yep. And then he had the audacity to look me in the eye and say, ‘Don’t tell Scott about this.’"

That only made you laugh harder.

"Oh my God, I can’t breathe."

Sheriff Stilinski smirked, sipping his coffee. "So. You happy now?"

You wiped your eyes, still grinning. "So, so happy."

But deep down, you knew one thing for certain.

Stiles could never, ever know that you knew this story.

Still catching your breath from the Skittles Incident of 2003, you reached for your bag and pulled out a small notebook. You clicked your pen open with an air of pure mischief.

"What are you doing?" Sheriff Stilinski asked, though he didn’t sound particularly surprised.

"Oh, nothing," you said innocently, already scribbling. “Just… making sure history is properly recorded.”

Sheriff Stilinski sighed, but there was amusement in his eyes. "You're really documenting this?"

"For science," you said, grinning.

"Uh-huh." He took another sip of coffee before giving you a pointed look. "You’re enjoying this way too much."

"Absolutely."

He shook his head but didn’t argue. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, staring at you for a moment like he was debating something. Then, with a smirk that could only mean trouble, he said—

"You wanna hear about the Batman Year?"

Your head snapped up so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash.

"The what?!"

Sheriff Stilinski chuckled. "Oh yeah. The ‘I’m Batman’ Year. One of my finest parenting challenges."

You immediately flipped to a new page in your notebook. "Go on."

The ‘I’m Batman’ Year

"It all started when Stiles was about six. I made the mistake of taking him to see Batman Begins in theatres. Thought it would be a fun father-son bonding thing. You know—watch a cool superhero movie, go home, call it a night. Simple. Harmless."

You leaned forward. "It was neither of those things, was it?"

The Sheriff gave you a look. "It was a disaster."

"Oh my God, what did he do?"

"What didn’t he do? The moment we got home, he disappeared into his room. I figured, whatever, he’s just excited. Next thing I know, he comes sprinting down the hallway wearing a makeshift cape made out of a bath towel, holding a flashlight like a grappling hook."

You clapped a hand over your mouth.

"He throws himself onto the couch, nearly breaks his arm, and just shouts, ‘I'm Batman!’"

You wheezed.

"I told him he was not Batman. He just stared me dead in the eye and whispered, ‘That’s exactly what Batman would say.’"

Tears blurred your vision. You could see it. You could hear it.

"Please tell me you have pictures."

Sheriff Stilinski sighed dramatically. "Unfortunately, yes. But it gets worse."

"Oh, please continue."

"For the next year, Stiles fully committed. He made a mask out of construction paper. He tied a jump rope to his belt and called it his ‘grappling hook.’ He wore black every day. He refused to answer to his own name."

"What?"

"If I said ‘Stiles,’ he ignored me. If I said ‘Batman,’ he answered immediately."

"Did he fight crime?" you asked between gasps of laughter.

"Oh, he tried. Mostly just ran around the house yelling about ‘justice’. But the real problem? The monologues."

You froze mid-giggle. "…Monologues?"

The Sheriff’s eyes darkened, like a man who had seen too much.

"Every night. Every. Single. Night. He would climb onto the kitchen counter—don’t ask me why the counter—and dramatically narrate his life like he was in a gritty action movie."

You clutched your stomach.

"He’d say things like, ‘This city is corrupt… but I will save it.’ Or ‘They don’t know what lurks in the shadows. But I do.’"

Your body shook with uncontrollable laughter.

"One time," Sheriff Stilinski continued, "He looked me dead in the eyes and said, ‘We all wear masks, Dad.’ And then just walked away."

You nearly fell off your chair.

"I can’t— I literally can’t breathe—"

The Sheriff just sighed. "Oh, and the costume upgrades? A nightmare. First, it was just the towel cape. Then he wanted gloves. Then he wanted a ‘utility belt’ and stuffed it with random junk—erasers, a toy whistle, some string he found."

"A true hero."

"A true menace." He shook his head. "But the worst part?"

You leaned in dramatically. "Tell me."

"He was convinced that Gotham was real. And that it was just outside of town."

You wheezed.

"I had to stop him from sneaking out with a flashlight to ‘patrol’ the neighborhood. At one point, I caught him halfway out his window, muttering about ‘keeping the streets safe from the Joker.’"

"Was he okay?"

"Physically? Yes. Mentally? Questionable. He sulked for a week when I told him he couldn’t have a Bat-Signal."

You had to wipe away tears.

"And when did this phase end?"

Sheriff Stilinski smirked. "Scott told him that Spider-Man was cooler."

You gasped.

"Betrayal."

"Oh, he thought so too. He refused to speak to Scott for a solid two days."

You slammed your hands on the table. "I need to know: do you still have the construction paper mask?"

"Somewhere in a box in the attic."

"I will pay you so much money for it."

"No amount of money is worth the war that would start if he found out I still have it."

You sighed dramatically, but then returned to your notebook, adding a new entry:

When you finished writing, you closed the notebook and sighed contently.

"I don’t think I’ve ever been happier in my life."

Sheriff Stilinski shook his head with a chuckle. "I regret everything."

But you? You had no regrets.

Sheriff Stilinski checked his watch and sighed. "Alright, kid. One last story before I kick you out and pretend this conversation never happened."

You grinned, notebook and pen at the ready. “Hit me with it.”

He took another sip of his coffee and rubbed his temple like just thinking about it gave him a headache. “This one is… rough. The Spelling Bee Incident.”

You immediately perked up. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

"Good for you. Traumatizing for me."

That only made you more excited. “What happened?”

Sheriff Stilinski sighed the sigh of a man who had seen too much. “It all started with an unhealthy amount of confidence.”

Stiles was ten years old, and according to him, “A prodigy” when it came to spelling.

"He was obsessed. Said he was gonna be the youngest winner in the history of Beacon Hills Elementary. Walked around the house spelling words out loud like he was training for the Olympics."

"Classic Stiles," you muttered, writing furiously.

"Classic Stiles," the Sheriff agreed.

He practiced every day, constantly challenging himself with words that most adults would struggle with. He even made his dad quiz him during dinner.

"One night, he spells ‘lycanthropy’ correctly out of nowhere. Just throws it out like it’s nothing. I don’t even know where he learned the word."

Your jaw dropped. “He spelled lycanthropy right??”

"Perfectly. Didn’t even hesitate."

"That’s… actually impressive."

"Yeah, it would have been, if banana hadn’t ruined his entire life."

You had to physically restrain yourself from laughing already. “Oh no.”

"Oh yes."

The day of the spelling bee arrived. Stiles was dressed for success—khakis, a button-up, hair gelled back like he was a politician running for office. He had the look of a champion.

"He got through round after round. Didn’t even break a sweat. Other kids were dropping like flies, but not Stiles. Nope. He was in it to win it."

Then came the final round.

"It’s just him and one other kid. It’s tense. You could hear a pin drop. And then…"

The Sheriff paused, his expression pained.

"They give him ‘banana.’"

You nearly choked on air. “Banana?”

"Banana," he confirmed, nodding grimly. “The crowd literally exhaled in relief because it was so easy. Teachers were smiling. It should’ve been a walk in the park.”

"But this is Stiles we’re talking about."

"Exactly." He pinched the bridge of his nose. “The problem? He overthought it. Hard. He spelled it b-a-n-a-n-a-n-a."

You howled.

"The extra 'na’!"

"The extra ‘na.’"

"The absolute overconfidence—"

"He said it with his chest, kid. Like he was spelling defenestration or something."

"Oh my God."

"And when the judge rang the bell and told him it was incorrect? He just stood there. In shock. Like someone told him Santa wasn’t real."

You had to wipe tears from your eyes.

"Did he… did he take it well?"

Sheriff Stilinski snorted. "Absolutely not. He melted down."

"How bad are we talking?"

"Stage 5 disaster. He refused to believe he was wrong. He argued with the judges. Pulled out a dictionary. He literally yelled, ‘I demand a recount!’"

"I can’t breathe."

"Then he turned to the other kid—the actual winner—and said, and I quote, ‘Don’t think this means you’re better than me, Jeremy.’"

You collapsed onto the table.

"Jeremy didn't deserve that."

"Jeremy just stood there holding his trophy, looking terrified. Poor kid."

"Please tell me there’s video footage of this."

"There was. But Stiles destroyed it like it was evidence of a federal crime."

"Of course he did."

You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself as you wrote down your final notes.

When you finished, you sat back, grinning.

"That was beautiful."

Sheriff Stilinski groaned. "That was painful."

"I will cherish this knowledge forever."

"If you repeat it to him, I’m denying I ever told you."

You saluted. “Understood, sir.”

He narrowed his eyes but shook his head with a chuckle. "Alright, kid. I think I've enabled your chaos enough for one night. Time to head home before Stiles catches you here and gets suspicious."

You knew what you were doing.

You knew it was evil.

But in the grand scheme of things, Stiles deserved this. He had it coming.

So, as you casually stood up from the kitchen table, stretched, and slung your bag over your shoulder, you deliberately left your notebook behind. Not hidden. Not tucked away. Perfectly placed on the table, right in Stiles’ direct line of sight.

Sheriff Stilinski, the unknowing accomplice in this crime, didn’t even notice as you slid the last of your homemade cookies across the table toward him.

"You know what, Sheriff? You deserve more cookies."

He raised a suspicious brow. "Why do I feel like I just became part of something I’m going to regret?"

You gave him your best, most innocent smile. "No idea what you’re talking about. Enjoy the cookies."

And with that, you made your swift escape.

Fifteen minutes later, Stiles barrelled through the front door, already on edge.

"Dad, do you know how many cases of unsolved cases are stacking up while I’m forced to do geometry homework? I should be out there investigating, not trying to find ‘x’ when clearly ‘x’ doesn’t want to be found—"

He stopped mid-rant.

Froze.

His gaze locked onto the table.

More specifically, onto your notebook. Sitting there. Mocking him.

His dad, completely oblivious, was casually munching on a cookie, flipping through the latest reports like this was just another Tuesday.

Stiles narrowed his eyes. He knew. He knew. Something was very, very wrong.

"What," he said slowly, too slowly, "Is that?"

Noah barely looked up. "Notebook."

Stiles narrows his eyes. “Where did you get those?”

His dad looks at the cookie in his hand like he’s never seen it before. “Hmm?”

Oh, this is suspicious. Way too suspicious. Stiles’ dad is the human equivalent of a lie detector. The man never acts suspicious, because he’s always on the side of justice or whatever. The fact that he’s playing dumb is setting off alarm bells.

“Dad,” Stiles says, stepping forward cautiously, “Who gave you those cookies?”

The Sheriff shrugs and says, “Oh, your very nice partner dropped them off earlier.”

Stiles’ stomach drops. “And… did they happen to ask for anything in return?”

His dad considers this, chewing slowly. Then he smiles. Smiles. Like he’s enjoying this. “You know, they might have asked a few questions.”

Stiles knows his dad well enough to recognize when he’s holding nuclear-level information over his head. He also knows you well enough to know that you would absolutely exploit his father’s weaknesses for personal gain.

And his dad? His dad is a simple man. A cookie-motivated man.

Panic surges through him, but he tries to stay calm. “What kind of questions?”

“Oh, you know. This and that.”

“Dad.”

The Sheriff smirks and leans back on the couch, looking downright pleased with himself. “Relax, kid. Nothing too bad.”

Stiles does not relax. In fact, he is now spiralling. His dad is being way too smug. Stiles has embarrassed himself in so many ways over the years, and if you had access to even half of those stories—

No. He won’t even think about it.

He has to be overreacting, right? Maybe you just wanted something small. Maybe this isn’t that bad.

A normal person might have thought, Oh, a notebook. Nothing alarming about that.

But Stiles is not a normal person.

Stiles is a paranoid, overthinking, trauma-riddled teenager who has been best friends with a literal werewolf for years. He’s always been good at recognizing a threat.

And that notebook?

That’s a threat.

He lunges for it so fast that his dad doesn’t even have time to react. One second, Stiles is standing there in shock. The next, he’s snatching the notebook off the table, flipping it open, scanning the pages in rising horror.

Bullet points. Timestamps.

He sees words like “2003: The Skittles Incident” and “Batman Phase (included cape???)” and “Bee spelling mishap” and—

“Oh. Oh my God.”

His dad lets out a low whistle, clearly enjoying the show. “Y’know, I didn’t even realize how much material I had until they started taking notes.”

Stiles slaps the notebook shut, gripping it like it’s a literal bomb about to go off.

“You,” he says, voice shaking, “Are the worst father on this planet.”

His dad just takes another bite of cookie. “I don’t know about worst. I’d say top five, maybe.”

Stiles doesn’t even hear him. His brain is short-circuiting. His mind is racing through the hundreds of embarrassing childhood stories his dad could’ve spilled.

And the worst part? The absolute worst part?

You have notes.

Which means you were planning to use this information later.

Which means—

“Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no—” Stiles is already moving, shoving the notebook under his arm as he scrambles for his shoes.

His dad raises an eyebrow. “Where are you going?”

“I have to burn evidence.”

His dad sighs, taking another bite of his cookie. “Just don’t get arrested. I am off duty tonight.”

Stiles doesn’t respond. He’s already out the door, sprinting full-speed to your house.

The sprint to your house is not Stiles’ finest moment.

He’s still sore from Scott’s stupid workout, and his lungs are not happy about the sudden burst of activity. But he doesn’t care. This is a code red situation. Life or death. If you get even one of those stories into the wrong hands—Scott, Lydia,—his entire reputation is doomed.

When he reaches your house, he barely slows down. Knocking would take too long. You could see him through the window and hide the evidence. He needs the element of surprise.

Which is why he does the only thing that makes sense in the moment—he beelines straight for the tree outside your window and starts climbing.

It’s not his first time sneaking in. He’s done it before—late-night horror movie marathons, emergency venting sessions, the one time you called him at midnight just to tell him you had a weird dream about a talking goldfish.

But this time? This time he’s on a mission.

His muscles protest as he hauls himself onto the branch nearest your window, but adrenaline keeps him going. He reaches for the frame, carefully maneuvering until—

The window slides open before he can touch it.

He freezes.

You’re standing there, staring at him, looking way too amused for his liking. "I was wondering how long it would take you to show up."

Stiles grips the branch, eyes narrowing. "You knew I was coming?"

You snort. "Please. The second I left that notebook at your house, I started counting down."

You step aside and motion for him to climb in, and since Stiles’ arms are about ten seconds away from giving out, he doesn’t hesitate. He scrambles through the window, landing in an ungraceful heap on your bedroom floor.

"Smooth," you tease.

He groans and pushes himself up. "Not the point." Then, before you can react, he pulls the notebook out from under his jacket and waves it at you like it’s a weapon. "What the hell is this?"

You barely glance at it. "Notes."

"Notes?" Stiles’ voice pitches up in disbelief. "This isn’t notes. This is a criminal record!"

You flop onto your bed, grinning. "Oh, come on. It’s not that bad."

"Not that bad?" He flips through the pages frantically, then jabs a finger at one section. "You have an entire timeline of The Skittles Incident! With direct quotes!"

You hum thoughtfully. "Your dad has a great memory."

Stiles groans, dragging a hand down his face. "This is betrayal on so many levels."

You raise an eyebrow. "I’d say it’s more of a strategic acquisition of information."

He points an accusatory finger at you. "You bribed my father with cookies."

"To be fair," you say, "I wasn’t sure it would work. But then he had one, sighed really dramatically, and said, ‘What do you wanna know?’ So, really, it’s his fault."

Stiles stares at you, mouth opening and closing like he wants to argue, but he can’t. Because that does sound exactly like something his dad would do.

Instead, he groans again and flops backward onto your bed, lying beside you. He holds the notebook against his chest like he can shield himself from its contents. "This is my worst nightmare."

You nudge his arm. "Oh, come on. It’s not like I’m gonna use it for evil."

Stiles tilts his head toward you, suspicious. "Not even a little bit?"

You grin. "Well. Maybe just a tiny bit."

He groans dramatically, pressing the notebook to his face. "I have to erase history."

You sit up slightly. "You could just bribe my parents for stories about me."

Stiles lowers the notebook just enough to peer at you. His expression shifts instantly. "Wait. Wait. You mean—"

Before you can take it back, Stiles launches himself off the bed. "Oh, this changes everything."

You scramble after him. "Stiles, no—"

He’s already halfway out the door, laughing. "We’ll see who has the real blackmail after this!"

And just like that, the war officially begins.

The second Stiles takes off down the hallway, you bolt after him.

"Stiles!" you hiss, lunging to grab his hoodie. He ducks at the last second, narrowly avoiding your grasp as he scrambles toward the stairs.

"Shouldn’t have given me ideas!" he shouts over his shoulder.

You lunge again, managing to grab a fistful of fabric, but Stiles twists out of it with a laugh, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process. You both hit the staircase at the same time, shoving and jostling like two kids fighting over the last slice of pizza.

"This isn’t fair!" you protest, breathless. "You’re fuelled by desperation!"

"And you’re fuelled by pure evil," Stiles retorts. "Bribing my dad? That’s a new low."

"You just said you were about to do the same thing!"

"Exactly! I’m adapting!"

He gains the advantage for half a second—long enough to dodge around the railing—but you recover quickly and throw yourself forward, tackling him before he can reach the door. You both go down in a tangle of limbs, landing hard on the living room floor.

For a moment, there’s only heavy breathing and the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears. Then—

"Everything okay in there?"

Your mom’s voice drifts in from the kitchen, completely unfazed. She’s probably used to this kind of chaos by now.

"Totally fine!" Stiles calls out, voice slightly muffled by the carpet.

You let out an exhausted huff and roll off him, staring up at the ceiling. "You’re ridiculous."

Stiles groans, pushing himself up on his elbows. "I had you. I was so close."

"You had nothing." You shove at his shoulder, grinning. "Also, you do realize my parents love me, right? Even if you did try to bribe them, they’d tell me first."

Stiles freezes. Then, slowly, he collapses back onto the floor with a defeated sigh. "I didn’t think this through."

You hum in agreement. "Nope."

For a moment, neither of you move. The adrenaline is wearing off, replaced by the kind of exhaustion that comes from too much running around like idiots.

Then Stiles turns his head to look at you. There’s still mischief in his eyes, but it’s softer now, more playful than panicked.

"You really took notes?" he asks, voice quieter.

You shrug, grinning. "Your dad tells really good stories."

Stiles groans again, covering his face with his hands. "I don’t know whether to be offended or impressed."

You and Stiles lie there for a while, sprawled out on the living room floor like two warriors who just fought the most dramatic battle of their lives. Which, in a way, you did.

Stiles finally breaks the silence with a sigh. "So, what’s it gonna take?"

You blink at him. "What?"

He gestures vaguely toward you, then to himself. "For you to call off the war. What’s the price of my freedom?"

You hum, pretending to think about it. "Hmm… well, I could make some ridiculous demand. Make you do my homework for a week, force you to wear something embarrassing to school, maybe even make you declare me the superior strategist in front of Scott and Lydia."

Stiles makes a face. "None of those sound appealing."

"Yeah, I figured." You prop yourself up on your elbows and grin. "But, lucky for you, I already know what I want."

Stiles watches you warily. "Should I be scared?"

You tilt your head, considering. "Only if you plan on rejecting my terms."

He groans dramatically. "Just rip the Band-Aid off already."

You roll onto your side, facing him properly. "I want your continued love and devotion."

Stiles blinks. "…That’s it?"

You nod. "Yep. Eternal love. Fierce devotion. Maybe occasional snacks, but that’s negotiable."

He stares at you for a moment, like he’s waiting for the catch. Then, slowly, his face softens. "You’re so sappy," he murmurs, voice quieter now.

You smirk. "It’s part of my charm."

Stiles exhales, shaking his head like he can’t believe he lost a war this easily. Then he sits up, pushing himself off the floor with a dramatic groan. "Alright, fine. You drive a hard bargain, but I accept the terms."

He holds out a hand for you to shake.

You take it, squeezing his fingers gently. But instead of swiping the notebook from his grasp—because, let’s be honest, you could—you tug him forward, pulling him toward you until he’s only inches away.

Stiles barely has time to react before you lean in and kiss him.

It’s soft, slow, the kind of kiss that lingers just enough to make your heart beat faster. Stiles melts into it almost instantly, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek like he has to be touching you.

When you finally pull away, his eyes are still closed, his lips parted slightly like he’s still caught in the moment.

Then, after a second, he huffs out a quiet laugh. "Okay. Maybe I do love you enough to forgive this betrayal."

You grin. "Good. Because I was gonna make you sign a legally binding contract otherwise."

Stiles groans, flopping back onto the floor. "I take it back. You’re the worst."

You laugh, lying back down beside him. "Nah. You love me."

He doesn’t even hesitate. "Yeah. I do."

Stiles is still lying beside you, one arm thrown dramatically over his face like he’s trying to process the magnitude of his loss. But you can tell he’s not really upset. His fingers are still loosely tangled with yours, his breathing soft and steady.

You shift closer, leaning in again, and before he can say anything, you kiss him.

This one is even softer than the last. Slower. The kind of kiss that feels like a quiet promise, like a moment suspended in time.

Stiles exhales against your lips, tilting his head slightly to deepen it just the smallest bit. His hand slides up to rest at your waist, not pulling, just holding, like he wants to keep you there as long as possible.

You lose track of how long you stay like that, wrapped up in warmth and the subtle rhythm of your breaths.

Then—

"Oh, hey, Stiles. You staying for dinner?"

You jerk back so fast you almost bump heads.

Stiles, on the other hand, nearly chokes on air. He whips around so fast his arm flails wildly, smacking the floor with a thud. "Jesus—Mrs.—!" His voice cracks, which only makes it worse. "I—uh—hi! Yes? I mean, I can! If—if that’s cool? With you? And Mr.—uh, everyone?"

Your mother, standing in the doorway, looks completely unbothered. She just raises an eyebrow like she’s watching two squirrels get caught doing something mildly embarrassing.

"You can stay," she says simply. "Wash your hands before we eat."

Then, without another word, she turns and walks off, leaving Stiles frozen in place, eyes wide with sheer horror.

You press your lips together, trying so hard not to laugh. "You okay there, champ?"

Stiles slaps a hand over his face, muffling a groan. "I’m never going to recover from that."

You grin, nudging him lightly. "At least she didn’t say anything worse."

Stiles groans again, dramatically rolling onto his stomach. "I don’t know if I can ever eat in this house again."

You lean down, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. "You love me enough to suffer through it."

He lets out a defeated sigh, then tilts his head to glance at you. "Yeah, yeah. I do."

You grin. "Good. Now, come on. Wash your hands before dinner, heathen."

Stiles huffs, but he still follows you to the kitchen. Because, as much as he complains, he knows he’s definitely staying for dinner.

Before you reach the kitchen, before the warmth of dinner and the teasing that will inevitably follow, you pause. Just for a second. Just long enough to let the moment settle, to let the soft hum of what this is—what you two are—swell between you like the tide before it rushes to shore.

Stiles looks at you, all wide eyes and lingering pink at the tips of his ears, and you can’t help yourself.

You reach for him, fingers curling around the fabric of his hoodie, tugging him close until there’s no space left, until the only thing between you is the shallow rise and fall of your breaths. And then—

You kiss him.

It’s soft, impossibly so, like the hush of the world after the first snowfall, when everything is blanketed in quiet and the only sound is the distant exhale of the wind. His lips are warm, and there’s something achingly tender in the way he moves against you, in the way his hands come up to frame your face like he’s scared you might slip through his fingers if he doesn’t hold you just right.

The air shifts, thickens—like the lull before a storm, like the scent of petrichor curling in the breeze just before the rain.

Stiles sighs against your mouth, and it’s the kind of sound that sinks beneath your ribs and settles there, making a home for itself between your bones. His thumb traces the curve of your cheek, slow and reverent, like he’s memorizing every inch of you in the fleeting space of this moment.

And when you finally part, just barely, foreheads pressed together, you swear you can feel the pulse of his heartbeat echoing yours.

A tether. A promise. A steady, unshakable thing.

Then, with a breathless chuckle, Stiles murmurs, “I—uh. I think I love you even more now.”

You smile, brushing your nose against his. “Good. Because I definitely love you more.”

He groans, but there’s no real complaint behind it. Just warmth. Just him.

And as you finally pull away, hand still in his, you lead him toward the kitchen—toward dinner, toward home, toward whatever comes next.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

The Chitters: Final Part

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.3k

Warnings: canon angst and violence

Summary: Instead of losing their minds trying to think of a way to save you and Castiel, the brothers decide to take up a case in the Colorado mountains. They don't know what they're hunting, but they're saved by two other hunters who do know. The four of them must work together to solve a three-decade-long case.

Season Eleven Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

x

Sam and Jesse ride in silence, and Sam checks his phone for messages from Dean. The more they drive up north, the more cell phone reception goes out. He puts his phone away with a sigh, and Jesse starts to recount the moment he lost his older brother.

"I must've stumbled around searching for Matty for ten, twenty minutes. I was shaking and panicking. I told myself I had to focus, to find him, and I did. Those green eyes stared at me. It wasn't human." Jesse looks at Sam. "So, I took off and didn't look back."

"You never saw him again after that?"

"No. Everybody in town, including my mom, thought some pervert had taken him. She was falling apart and crying. Why didn't I remember what the guy looked like? Why was I making up this lie?"

"Does she still live here?"

"No, she moved as soon as she could. She still thinks I should've done something... saved him. Everybody did."

"They couldn't accept that your brother was taken by a monster, huh?"

"They couldn't accept a lot of things, but Matty did." He pauses. "He was a great brother."

Sam frowns and lets Jesse's words sink into his head. They continue to rest of the ride in silence. Sheriff Cochran isn't too thrilled to be talking about stuff that happened thirty years ago, so he's not making it easy for Jesse and Sam to get the answers they need. Jesse just wants to know about his brother, and the only person who might have an answer is Cochran.

"I don't care if you're FBI or not. It was thirty years ago. I don't remember a damn thing except we never found them."

"One of them is a sixteen-year-old boy, and that was my brother."

"A lot of folks lost family that year."

"You didn't help a damn one of them, did you?"

"Jesse," Sam whispers. Jesse looks at Sam and looks away to gather his thoughts. "Mr. Cochran, we're here because more people have gone missing with the same M.O."

Cochran looks surprised at this. "No, it's done. It's done. Excuse me." He leaves and heads to the bathroom where he splashes water on his face. Once he's calmed down, he returns to Sam and Jesse. "Okay, I'll tell you what. Leave your card, and if anything comes back to me, I'll call."

"Mr. Cochran, you don't own a phone. Look, we're not asking for a lot. Just please tell us what you know."

"I couldn't find them, so that's on me." Sam and Jesse are silent, waiting for him to continue. "I never recovered from it, so I bought this little slice of heaven and made my peace. I wish you all better luck."

"Joe, please. I was twelve when my brother got taken. I never got over what I lost that day, the one person in the whole world I loved the most."

"I'm only gonna say this once. It's time for you to go," Cochran glares.

"Listen, we know what took Jesse's brother and what took all the townspeople then and now. Jesse was only a kid at the time, but he was telling the truth. What took these people was not human," Sam backs Jesse up.

"How do you know?" Cochran asks, skeptically.

"It's what we do. I saw one of the creatures today," Jesse says.

Cochran sighs and he knows he can't hide from the truth for much longer.

"I knew she was something. I didn't know what. I tracked one of those things down in '89. It... It was sick and dying. I... I followed it back to its lair, I guess." He pauses in sadness. "My daughter was there." He lowers his head and sobs quietly. "A couple of days before that, she had left to go back to school, I.... I don't know what happened, but she was one of them."

"Wait a second. You never reported her as missing," Sam says.

"I knew where she was, where all the missing people were... scattered all around, dead. I think she and that other thing had killed them. I tried... I tried talking to her, but she attacked me like some kind of rabid wolf with teeth like thorns. I killed her."

Jesse becomes pissed and shoves Cochran back. "You son of a bitch!" Sam jumps up and holds Jesse back. "You knew the whole time! You knew where they were when everybody was suffering!"

"I was suffering, too! Do you think anybody would've believed me? Monsters?"

"You told me I was making it up! We could've told people together and found those things!"

"They were already dying. All the missing people were dead."

Sam holds Jesse back but he can't help but become sympathetically toward him.

"No. you didn't wanna say that your kid was one of them, a monster, and that you killed her."

"Hey, calm down," Sam says and pushes Jesse back.

"You killed her."

"Jesse, stop. Please." Sam turns to Cochran. "What did you do? Did you just erase her from your life? Pretend that she just went away somewhere?"

Cochran takes out a picture of his daughter and sighs. "Yeah, better to bury it. All of it. We just let the townspeople think their loved ones had run off for a big, bright life."

"Where was she? Where did you find her?"

"By Taylor Creek in the old Donnelly mine."

"Come on," Sam says to Jesse.

Both men leave Cochran to cry over his lost daughter. They just hope they're not too late. Dean and Cesar might already be there in who knows what kind of danger. It took a while but Dean and Cesar made it to the abandoned mine that's surrounded by a chain link fence. However, the fence has been torn down due to trespassers and wear-and-tear, so there are some spots only covered by wooden boards.

There is an immediate fork in the road, so they have two options. They either travel together or go separately, and neither man is thinking rationally. They automatically split off and go down the two different tunnels. Dean comes across a barn-like room with a bunch of hay on the ground. In the middle of a heap of clothes is a woman who is pale and sickly-looking. He checks to make sure there is no one else around before reaching down and touching her wrist.

She's dead, but she's pregnant.

Dean shines the light on her belly and sees something moving around inside of her like a larva. He moves the light away and the thing glows emerald. There is no helping this woman who is clearly dead so he moves on. He's about to explore further into the tunnel when he hears chittering. He turns and sees a man with emerald eyes and pale skin. The Bissan growls and attacks Dean, but the Winchester prepares for the blow. He swings the machete at the creature but he knocks it out of Dean's hand with ease.

The Bissan slams Dean into the dirt wall and punches him in the face. Dean ducks at the Bissan's next blow, and he cries out in pain when his hand connects with the wall. Dean shoves him down to the ground and grabs the closest thing to him as a weapon: a shovel. Dean brings down the shovel onto the man's neck over and over again until the head is decapitated.

Dean sees a light coming closer and sees Cesar with his own look of winded on his face. He must have encountered another creature.

"I hate it when I lose my blade," Cesar sighs.

Both men walk deeper into the mine and see more dead pregnant women with the same emerald larva in their stomachs.

"What is this place?" Cesar asks upon the discovery of the bodies.

"It's a maternity ward/subway station." Dean shines his flashlight on a tunnel on the other side of the room. "I think that's a tunnel. That's gotta go topside eventually. Mothers are already dead. The males weren't protecting them, they were protecting the eggs?"

"They must gestate inside for years 'til they hatch," Cesar theorizes.

"Yeah, well, these ones aren't. I got about five gallons of gasoline in the car. I'll go pull her around."

Cesar takes a moment to take in what's in front of him before following Dean out of the mine. After pulling the car closer to the mine, he rummages through the trunk for the container of gasoline. Lights appear behind them, and Dean is in relief when he sees it's Jesse and his brother.

"Did you guys find the burrow?" Sam asks when he gets out.

"Yeah."

"Where are they?" Jesse asks.

"They're in the mine. Don't worry, they won't be coming back out. We just gotta take care of the eggs."

"Are you okay?" Jesse asks Cesar, noticing his injured leg.

"Hell, yeah. It's finally over," Cesar smiles.

"Do you want to finish them off?" Dean asks Jesse.

The latter walks into the mine without saying a word, and Cesar puts a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Let's give him a minute."

After five minutes, the three men walk inside the mine to find Jesse on his knees in front of a pile of bones... victims of the Bissan. Jesse is crying because right in front of him is his brother's corpse. It's bones, but there is a wallet on him with his ID in it.

"We found Matty," Jesse cries.

"We'll give him a proper burial," Cesar says.

"What about the others?"

Dean and Sam shine their flashlights deeper into the room and see that the piles of bones aren't the only victims. The entire room is covered with bones from hundreds of victims.

"Don't worry. We'll, uh, we'll take care of it," Dean says.

After Matty's body is removed, the entire mine including the dead pregnant mothers is burned to ash. They stick around to make sure the fire doesn't spread to the wildlife outside before leaving. It almost did, but they took care of it. Matty is given a proper hunter's funeral including the pyre he will be encased in. Jesse and Cesar work together and put thick wooden poles against the pyre to contain the fire while Sam and Dean are off to the side.

"You know, whenever you, Y/N, and Dad used to leave me to go hunting, and I wouldn't hear from y'all for a while, I, um... I was always sure that some vamp or rugaru or take your pick... I always figured one of them finally got ya. I tried to think what to do, you know, the next step to take. I was just lost," Sam sighs.

"We came back, though, every time."

"Yeah."

"Look at Jesse. He turned out alright. They're a good team." Jesse flips open his Zippo lighter and tosses it onto Matty's gasoline-soaked body. "I was thinking, maybe they could give us a hand with Amara and with Cas."

"They have fresh eyes. We could use the extra muscle, too."

"Yeah."

"You did it," Cesar smiles at his husband.

"We did it," Jesse smiles and grabs his hand. "Thank you."

After the fire has burned out, all four men head back to their cars which are still outside the mine. The sun is up so they don't need flashlights to guide their way.

"You know, it's a good thing you guys had that fire extinguisher," Sam chuckles.

"Yeah, for a second there, I thought the whole mine was gonna go up in flames. It's like twenty-seven birthdays and Christmases all in one fireball," Cesar smiles.

"You're awfully upbeat for a guy who spent half the night in a cave."

"That's because we have a deal." They stop at their car. "When we finish this hunt, if we catch them, we hang up our spurs unless your hides need saving."

"No," Dean says. Sam looks at his brother in surprise considering what they just talked about. "No, we're all set. So, what does freedom look like?"

"A nice little spread in New Mexico. We've been paying on it for years and set foot on it about twice?"

"We're gonna raise horses, and if that goes bust, Jesse used to be an EMT."

"Oh, now I'm supporting your ass?" Jesse asks with a smile. "Thanks again for both of you. Wish your wife was here to celebrate with us."

"Yeah," Dean whispers.

Both men leave the area but Sam and Dean stay put.

"Couldn't do it, huh?"

"No, didn't feel right."

"Yeah. I know what you mean. Two hunters who make it to the finish line? You leave that alone."

"Yeah," Dean whispers again.

It takes them half the day to get back to the Bunker where Noah is in the library. He has a pencil in hand and is just staring at a blank piece of paper. Molly and the girls are in the pool outside but Noah is just sitting by himself.

"Hey, Noah. What are you doing?" Dean asks and sets his bag on the table.

"Mother's Day is coming up next week. Do you think Mom will be back by then?"

Dean sighs. "I don't think so, kiddo."

"I assumed as much, but I wanted to ask. I'm trying to make her a card, but I don't know what to say."

"Write down how you're feeling."

Noah looks up at his dad. "What if I feel angry that she's gone?"

"Then write that down. Write down what you'd tell her if she were here right now."

Noah nods and starts to write on the paper, and Dean leaves him alone. He pauses right after turning the corner with tears rolling down his cheeks. He hopes that wherever you are, wherever Amara has you, that you're okay.

It's been nothing but bliss for you and your family. All you ever want is for your kids to be happy and healthy, and you have that. All your babies are snuggled up to you in bed while you have three bedtime storybooks in your lap. You have just finished the first story when Noah looks up at you.

"Can you check the closet for monsters? It's not safe out there."

You're about to get up when you pause. It's the way Noah said that as if he knows something you don't. He continues to stare at you, waiting for you to do something. You look at the ominous closet in thought. Something is calling you from it. It's not a voice but a feeling. Like if you enter the closet, you'll be able to think clearly.

You try to get out of bed, but Joanna grabs your arm and pulls you back into your spot.

"Another story, Mommy. Read my favorite."

Just like that, you slip deeper into your mind as you grab another story to read.

x

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[new-author3]

At the Edge of Silence - Part 3 end

Silence.

“I made you believe he didn’t deserve you. That he’d leave you. And he did. I planted doubts. Used fake messages. Took your phone once at a party. Sent him something from you and sent you something from him. Things out of context. False. Just enough to shake the foundation.”

My world shattered.

“That can’t be true…” I whispered, staring at the ground, feeling everything collapse.

“But it is, darling. And now that the truth is out… let’s play.”

His last words made my body go cold. He held something sharp, and on the table were pliers, hooks, and blades.

“What are you going to do to me?” I asked, voice trembling, uncertain.

“I need to create a work of art out of you. For Aaron to see. But don’t worry… it’ll only hurt a little.” He smiled, moving closer.

It felt like hours, days, or maybe weeks—or maybe pain and blood loss blurred my sense of time. That’s when Aaron came.

He would always come.

He found me.

The relief on his face was so clear that, for a moment, I forgot about the pain in my body. He untied me from the chair and held me with care, with desperation, with something I knew was love. But I couldn’t say it out loud.

“Are you okay, SN?” His voice was low, steady, trembling.

I just nodded. I wasn’t okay. But he was there. And that was… something.

He didn’t speak again. He only pressed his lips to my forehead. A small gesture, but devastating. The kind of gesture that says everything words never could.

My tears came like a flood held back for far too long. Aaron held me tighter, but with the same care you give to something fragile. I trembled. He trembled. And in that moment, there was no FBI, no mission. Just the two of us.

“I’m going to take care of you, sweetheart.” He whispered, picking me up. I leaned my face into his neck, and then everything went dark.

____________________________________________

I woke up in the hospital.

The light was soft, the sound of the monitors comforting. My body ached, but I was whole. Beside me, him. Tired. Still. Eyes locked on me like he was afraid I’d disappear again.

“You came back to me.” I whispered, without thinking.

He smiled. A sad, broken, but honest smile.

“I never wanted to leave.”

I closed my eyes for a moment. I still felt weak, but there was something I needed to know.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me? We could’ve figured it out…” I asked, after a silence heavier than any pain.

He lowered his head, running a hand through his hair, like searching for strength. When he looked back at me, his eyes were full of regret.

“Because I thought I was protecting you. I… was scared, SN. Scared of dragging you into the chaos of my life. Scared I couldn’t be the man you deserved. And when those messages came, when the doubts started… I thought you’d be better off without me.”

“You left me alone, Aaron. With too many questions. With too much pain.”

“I know.” His voice cracked, and he leaned closer to the bed. “And I regret it every day. But if I had known—if I had known someone was manipulating everything—I would’ve done anything to stop it.”

“You should’ve trusted me. Trusted us.” I said, tears running down my face.

He nodded slowly, eyes gleaming with a kind of silent desperation.

“I made a mistake. But I won’t make it again. I’m not leaving, SN. Not without fighting for you.”

For a moment, we stared at each other in silence. The pain was still there, but there was something stronger too—the love that survived time, fear, and lies.

“I still love you.” he said, simply, like it was the only truth that mattered.

And it was.

I reached out with what little strength I had left. He took my hand like it was an anchor.

“I forgive you.” I murmured. “But you’ll have to prove, every day, that you’re here. That this is real.”

He leaned in slowly, eyes locked on mine, and pressed his forehead to mine.

“I will. I promise.”

Then he kissed me.

It wasn’t rushed, or desperate. It was a kiss full of everything that was never said, of everything that endured, of everything being reborn right there—among machines, pain, and silent promises.

Because this time, he wasn’t going to leave.

Not without me.

And I wouldn’t go without him.

End..

[braveclementine]

Chapter 15

Warnings: None. (Will however be a 18+ reader book)

Copyright: I do not own any Marvel characters or locations. However, I do own a few OCs like Elizabeth, Katherine, Stacy, and Jessie. I do not condone any copying of this.

The next few minutes seemed to pass in a blur. Maybe that was because of the adrenaline of trying to outrun these military-type men. Maybe it was because the Bahaman sun was glaring off all the water and sand. Or maybe it was because of all the tears that were dropping down your face in streams.

You felt terrible for so many reasons. You felt like there was something you should've been able to do. What? No idea. But something. For another, you felt guilty for having misjudged him and so harshly. It was hard for parents to love other children of different soulmate parentage, unless you were already blood related or soul related. Like if Maria had Fury's kid, Coulson would still love the kid.

It was why adoption was so rare in this world. It was just to hard.

So now, your feet pounded down the sidewalk, aware that the men behind you were shouting for you to stop with heavy accents. So they probably wanted you alive. That was both comforting and terrifying.

You turned the corner and found half of the Avengers running up towards you. Of course, with tears in your eyes, you misjudged the distance and ran flat into Steve's chest.

"Y/N, are you hurt?" Steve and Bucky were the only ones that stopped running to make sure you were alright while the others descended upon the soldiers that had just come around the corner.

"T-they killed my d-dad." You hiccupped.

"Oh doll." Bucky said softly, pulling you into a hug before shooting his gun over your shoulder. "I'm sorry."

Steve flung his shield out, "Take her back to the hotel Buck."

Bucky nodded, scooping you up with his metal arm, shooting at anyone that came at the two of you with his flesh hand. You hiked it back to the hotel where Loki and Thor were just about to head out, apparently only just now hearing about the fight. Nat was also there, loading up on guns and knives while Bruce was slowly, but surely turning green.

"Y/N?" Loki asked carefully as Thor flew out the hotel with his flying hammer to join the fight.

"She's physically fine." Bucky told Loki, "But she watched her father die."

"Poor thing." Loki murmured, pulling you into his arms, "I'll take her back up to her room and run her a hot bath."

"Good idea." Bucky murmured, kissing the top of your head, "Are you going to be okay, doll?"

You nodded, feeling a bit dazed. "I'm o-okay."

Bucky smiled a bit sympathetically, running his thumb over your cheek tenderly before running back out of the hotel again.

Loki teleported up to your bedroom, laying you down on the bed, going into the bathroom. You could hear him running the bath in the other room, the steady rushing of pounding water against ceramic echoing through your ears.

Finally, you heard the tap being slammed off. Loki came back. "You okay about taking it by yourself?"

You kind've just stared at him. You couldn't remember if you'd ever seen anyone die before.

Loki decided to take your silence for 'no'. He picked you up in his slender, yet muscular arms, carrying you into the bathroom. He settled you into the bubble bath, which smelt like mint and chamomile. Two very calming scents.

After a few moments, you came back down to Earth, realizing that you were still in your bathing suit.

You looked at Loki, "I'm still dressed?"

Loki smiled a little, "Well, I wasn't going to undress you without your consent pet."

You smiled a little and then it dropped off your face, "He. . . he told me the truth. About the prophesy surrounding me and how after I get married, I can't be used to end the soulmate bond. And he told me that he isn't my biological father, he is an FBI agent. And that my adopted mother died taking a bullet for me without me even knowing."

Loki's face was sympathetic and sweet as he rubbed your arms softly with the bar of soap. "I'm sorry My Queen."

"Did you know about the prophesy?"

"I'm sure I've read about it somewhere." Loki said nonchalantly. "Especially now that you've brought it up. But it wasn't something that popped in my mind upon meeting you or spending time with you."

You just nodded. "Did any of them know?"

Loki thought about it for a moment, "Perhaps the wizard? He reads just as much as I do. I'm not really sure about any of the others. Thor definitely does not, he isn't a big reader."

"I don't understand. Why would the ones who want soulmate bonds to stay try to kill me? Why wouldn't they just push me to get married faster?"

Loki shrugged, "Midgardians- and most species out there- don't ever make any sense when it comes to things that scare them. In three days this is all over pet. You don't have to worry. Although, we would all understand if you wanted to postpone the wedding for a funeral for your father."

Postponing the wedding sounded good. You weren't sure how you were supposed to act like you were happy when your father wasn't going to be there. It was so strange how quickly your attitude towards him had changed. Or maybe. . . maybe you'd just loved him all along.

On the other hand, postponing would give those on both sides more time to either attempt to kidnap you to use you, or attempt to kill you. What if it wasn't your father next time? What if it was one of your soulmates instead? Or your sister?

"No, I want to go through with the wedding. If we could speed it up, I would." You answered.

Loki dipped his head slightly.

"Loki?"

"Yes my Queen?"

"Can you untie the back of the bathing suit top?"

"Of course."

You leaned forward a little bit so that he could untie the stretchy strings that were holding the bathing suit top up. His fingers were nimble, deftly pulling out the knot that would probably have taken you a solid five minutes to get out. He pulled the strings free, letting them fall against your back when he was done.

You slid off the top and then pulled the bottoms off, soaking more fully in the tub. Your body didn't show as the bubbles from the bath covered most of your body up.

"Are you feeling better?" He asked as he clipped your wet swimsuit to hangers, hanging them up so that they could dry. How was he so good at home chores?

Loki summoned that book of poetry that he had read to you in the library. He read lots of different poems. The last one, he liked so much, that he tried to explain why he loved it so much. It went something like this:

One fine morning in the middle of the night,

two dead boys got up to fight.

Back to back they faced each other

draw out the swords and shot each other.

A deaf policemen heard this noise

and shot the two dead boys.

If you don't believe my lies to be true,

ask the blind man, he saw it too!

"I mean, the entire thing is a paradox." Loki said with absolute delight. "I mean, cause morning in the middle of the night, and back to back they faced each other! I mean, they're complete opposites in the same sentence."

You giggled, feeling a little lighter. "Loki, I heard the poem too."

"Sorry, it's just such good writing. And humorous as well." Loki said, delight in his eyes. You watched how passionately he spoke about writing that he liked.

After you finally felt a little better, you drained the bathtub. Loki put the book away, fetching you a fluffy towel that he wrapped around your bodice, helping you out of the tub so you didn't slip.

He let you dry off and get dressed while he kept his back to you. "Hey Loki, do you think we can have the second soulmate dinner up here? I don't know, just some random food or something. . . I don't really want to leave tonight."

"Of course, I'll let Tony know." Loki said softly. You could hear his fingers tapping on the phone.

After a half hour, the others came up with a lot of Chinese food. You all sat on the floor in the living room section, a few of them on the one couch. You leaned against Bucky's legs, sitting with Clint on one side of you and Thor on the other.

Dinner started with the heavy conversation. All of the soldiers were either dead, or they had been taken into custody to be questioned. Then you had provided with what your father had told you. You knew your sister was the one who needed to hear this, but you were still torn about whether or not you should tell her.

Most of them had heard about the prophesy, but the only one that had really connected me to it was Fury. Even Stephen hadn't, something he looked rather embarrassed to admit.

I was also made aware that my father's body was on ice until after the wedding. Now that they all knew exactly why people were coming after me, they all adamantly agreed on having the wedding as it was planned. Steve and Bucky even wanted to know if it was possible to speed up the process.

It was decided that there would always be at least one of them at all times. Which was fine with me. It was decided that I would be hanging out with Tony, Stephen, Wong, and Rhodey tomorrow.

Things came to a close quickly before everyone started to file out after wishing you a good night with some sort of affectionate hug or kiss on the forehead, cheek, or even lips.

Bucky was the last one and you suddenly felt the urge to grab his arm and say, "Bucky."

Bucky looked down at you, Steve and Sam pausing. You wanted to ask him to stay with you tonight. You didn't want to be left alone in this room, although Fury had promised that no one would be able to get in.

Then you realized that it might look like favoritism to the others and you let go of his arm and said, "Good night."

"Night Doll." Bucky said, kissing your cheek before walking down the hallway with Steve and Sam, throwing his arm over either of their shoulders.

Even though they were your soulmates, in that moment, it felt like they were something you could never be a part of.

----------------

You tossed and turned, unable to get to sleep. Suddenly, there was a ding on your phone.

🪣🦾❤️: You still awake?

Y/N 🍸: Yes

🪣🦾❤️: One second

Three minutes later there was a knock on your door. You slid out of bed, peeping through the hole to see Bucky standing there. You opened up the door, "What are you doing here Buck?"

He held out his hand, "Come on. Let's go see some wild cats."

You smiled, taking his hand. The two of you walked through the semi empty hallways before going downstairs. Though it was past midnight and all the stores and shops were closed, there were still couples milling about.

Bucky led the two of you outside, and you guys walked for a bit. You could see lots of different cats that just looked like normal house cats walking around, drinking water from puddles or little bowls of milk that had been left outside of certain shops.

Bucky and you sat down on some steps by one of the pools. He put his arm around you and after a while, a white cat approached the two of you. It put its' paws on Bucky's knee, pushing up on its back legs to get closer to his face.

Bucky smiled before revealing a bunch of fish that he had in a little baggy. They were dead, but still in water to keep them fresh. He must've gone fishing at one point.

He held one of the fish out to the cat. The cat picked it up daintily, before promptly deciding to eat it right there. You looked away, staring up at the galaxy instead while you listened to Bucky absolutely adore the cat.

"Aww, you're so adorable. Yes, eat the fishy like a good little kitty. There you go, that's it. Awww~"

You smiled a bit. Yes, you should definitely get a cat when you guys went back.

Eventually, a few other cats wandered over, either because you were the most interesting thing around, or because they could smell the fish on Bucky. He gave all of them away and the cats were immediately curling up around us.

You scratched one behind the ears, loving how smooth, though slightly coarse the fur of the cat was. "We should get a cat or two when we get back home. Loki wants one too."

"Really?" Bucky sounded both surprised and excited.

"Yep. Black cats especially." You said with a slight smirk.

"Ah yes. A witches cat." Bucky said with a grin.

You laughed again and then yawned. The hot air was suddenly making you rather tired and you laid your head down on his shoulder. "That's alright doll, you can fall asleep. I'll carry you back up to your room."

"Don't wanna be alone." You mumbled.

"Okay. You don't have to be." Bucky whispered. You could hear him saying sad good-byes to the cats, before there was a sweeping motion and you snuggled into his arms.

"I love you Buckaroo." You mumbled, "So much."

"I love you too Y/N." He said and you could feel his lips lightly press to the temple of your head. "Gonna take care of you forever, I promise."

You smiled, feeling one tear slip down your cheek, though you weren't entirely sure why. All you knew, was that you were happy, content, and loved.

You fell asleep before you even reached the hotel.

[mjonthetrack]

Chapter 100: “The Dead Don’t Feel”

The internet paused—then detonated.

For the first time in over a month, Kami’s story was live.

No announcement. No selfies. No brand tags. Just a raw, gutting photo: A grainy, distant shot of a cemetery. Rain-soaked grass. Faded tombstones stretching out in every direction.

The caption beneath it?

“i envy the dead. at least they don’t feel.”

No punctuation. No filter. Just bleak, heavy truth.

Within five minutes, it was screenshotted and viral. #KamiPlease #WhereIsKami #ProtectKami Fans, bloggers, celebs—everyone—were spiraling.

But while the world mourned the silence she’d kept, the monster clawed louder.

Tasha’s live went up not even an hour after. The woman was spitting venom, smirking with a baby in her arms, thick lashes batting fake innocence into the camera.

"First off, he need to stop acting like a lil bitch and come support his family. I don’t care how sad you are over a hoe who dipped on you. That man was all up in this pussy the night before his lil birthday dinner. And y’all seen the vid. Y’all saw what bed that was. Ain’t no edits there."

She let out a fake yawn, adjusted the baby.

"And stop threatening me, bitches. I said what I said. Jimmy, if you see this, stop acting broke and come bring your son a check. I still got that voicemail of you begging for me. Begging. You know what it is. You love this pussy, baby. You always will."

And then the most chilling line, right before ending the Live:

"Let that bitch keep crying over graves. You belong in my bed."

—

Back in Samoa, Jimmy sat on the edge of the bed he hadn’t touched in days.

He had the cemetery post pulled up, zoomed in on the photo so hard it blurred. Like if he stared long enough, he’d find a message.

His hand was trembling. The ring he’d planned to give her still sat beside her old one on the dresser. The choker he once put on her with pride? Folded neatly beside it like it died when she walked away.

“She think I did this to her,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, breaking.

Jey stood behind him, fists clenched so tight his knuckles were white.

“She didn’t post that to the world,” Jey said low. “She posted that to you.”

And Jimmy’s jaw flexed as he stared at the screen—at the heartbreak, the pain, the unrelenting sorrow—and finally said:

“I ain’t lettin’ this bitch take her from me.”

His chest rose and fell.

“I’m bringing Kami back.”

———

Chapter 101: “She Took Her Ring Off”

It started as a blurry repost. Someone had screenshotted it off a close friends' story—probably meant to stay private. But by the time it hit Twitter, it was everywhere.

A cropped photo of Kami’s hand. No caption beyond a single broken heart emoji.

The ring finger? Bare. The skin where her massive engagement ring used to rest? A faint indentation. Like the absence itself was still grieving.

And just like that—another gut punch to a man already breathing through a collapsed chest.

—

Jimmy didn’t speak when he saw it. He stared for a long minute, lips parted, the fire behind his eyes going from heartbroken to hellbound.

Jey, pacing the floor in silence, finally stopped. “That’s it. Fuck crying. We going nuclear.”

Sefa walked in, phone pressed to his ear. “Legal’s ready. We greenlit.”

Chanté? Already in full savage mode. Her laptop was open, receipts pouring in. “We got the original raw footage of that 'sex tape' she posted. It’s AI generated. Deepfake. Same with the baby pics. The real mom came forward—whole thing’s a scam for cash.”

Deon closed the door behind him. “And we got the IP addresses. Most of the threats to Kami? Tasha sent ‘em to herself. FBI’s watching now.”

Jimmy still hadn’t said a word. He stood, slow, eyes trained on the broken heart photo now framed on the giant screen in front of them.

“She ripped her ring off,” he said quietly. “Because she really think I let that shit happen.”

He turned to them, face unreadable. But his voice dropped low—something ancient beneath it.

“She think I chose Tasha over us.”

The room went cold.

“I want her stripped,” he growled. “Every lie, every play, every fake doc she ever touched. I want it exposed. I want people to know that bitch is a demon.”

Jey nodded. “Done. We leak it all. We torch the illusion.”

“And after that,” Jimmy added, the tremble gone now, his voice like steel slicing through heat— “I’m finding my girl. And I’m showing her that nobody’s ever loved her the way I do. And never will.”

—

Chapter 102: “Graves, Rings, and Reputations”

It started like a whisper. A story post, barely a second long. A still shot of a foggy cemetery, gravestones blurred in the early morning mist. No tags. No location. No text— Just a single caption: “Jealous of those who don’t feel.”

And that was all it took.

The internet cracked.

Kami’s first post in over a month.

The world had been watching the digital chaos unfold since the scandal broke. The “baby,” the “affair,” the deepfakes nobody knew were fake yet— They watched Kami disappear. They watched Jimmy spiral. They watched silence.

Until now.

And then came the second post, not long after.

A close-up of her left hand. Naked. No ring. No caption, just a black screen and a broken heart emoji.

The screams online were immediate.

“No way she really left him...” “He fumbled the most elite woman of all time.” “She looks…empty. Oh my God.”

And then the dam burst.

Because while the world gasped, speculated, cried, and chose sides— The Fatu family moved in silence.

Until now.

—

The drop hit at midnight. An anonymous YouTube account, no subscriber history, no linkbacks. Just one upload titled:

“THE TRUTH: DEEPFAKES. SCAMS. LIES.”

A 45-minute exposé. Professionally edited. Ruthlessly sourced. And narratively designed to destroy.

— Split screen comparisons of the “sex tape” next to original videos Jimmy had posted with Kami. Facial markers. Voice distortions. The tech behind the deepfake software. — Interviews with the real mother of the little boy. A woman named Layla from North Carolina, who tearfully explained how Tasha paid her rent for six months in exchange for letting her use her son’s image. — Metadata breakdowns of the text messages. Fabricated threads built in Photoshop. AI-replicated fonts.

The takedown was surgical.

And the kicker? A court order confirming that Jimmy Fatu had no children on record. A clean slate.

The last two minutes? Clips of Tasha’s IG Lives edited against real-time footage of her coaching her “son” to say lines. Her laughing off the threats. Her bragging to a friend in a screen-recorded FaceTime:

“You know how much money I got just off them believing it was his baby? Dumbass internet eats anything up.”

The internet imploded.

#KAMIWASFRAMED #JIMMYWASSETUP #JUSTICEFORKAMI

Within hours, the tide flipped completely.

Celebrities flooded timelines:

Rihanna: “This girl went through hell in silence. That ain’t strength, that’s warrior.”

Zendaya: “I hope she sues the skin off that woman. Protect Black women. Always.”

LeBron James: “Yo I was WAITIN’ for the truth to come out. That ain’t no L, that’s the hardest comeback arc I’ve seen. Ever.”

Cardi B: “Biiiiiiiiiitch. Somebody better check on Tasha because this ain’t just a drag, it’s a massacre.”

Fans had gone from skeptical to militant. And all eyes were back on the mansion in Miami Beach.

Waiting for Kami. Waiting for Jimmy.

Because now that the lies were ashes, there was only one thing left on everyone’s mind:

Was there still a chance for them?

——-

Chapter 103: “The World Owes You An Apology”

The silence in the Miami mansion was a different kind now.

Not grief. Not chaos. But something that buzzed with hope and rage, equal parts.

Jimmy sat in the lounge, staring at the TV, watching his name flood across every network. Not for scandal this time— But for vindication.

He didn’t speak. Just watched the screen, jaw locked, arms draped across his knees, breathing through the overwhelming tsunami of emotions crashing over him.

It was happening. The truth was out.

The court documents had shut down the child support lie. The video of Layla and her son sent shivers through the internet. The exposed deepfakes destroyed any argument left in Tasha’s corner. And the public had gone from feeding off his downfall to lifting him on their backs like a king robbed of his crown.

His phone buzzed. Again. And again. And again.

Mentions. DMs. Apologies. Love.

“I’m sorry, Jimmy. I believed it. I shouldn’t have.” “You deserved better than that smear campaign.” “You and Kami were IT. Please go find your girl.” “I cried when I saw that ring on the table. You loved her out loud.” “We failed you.”

Celebrities flooded his feed.

Drake tweeted, “Every king goes through betrayal. Real ones rise. Jimmy stood on business. Respect.”

Lizzo posted a story: “No man ever loved a woman out loud like Jimmy did Kami. I cried real tears. This world don’t deserve love like that.”

Meagan Good: “To be dragged and still rise in truth? That’s a MAN. Give Jimmy his flowers. All of them.”

Even old collaborators and stars who had stayed quiet during the drama started reposting moments of the couple—laughing in interviews, the GQ spread, that Ebony cover labeled “Hollywood’s Freakiest, Finest Power Couple.”

#IMissKamiAndJimmy #ProtectJimmyFatu #HeNeverLied

Trending globally. Twenty-four hours straight.

And in the middle of it all—Jimmy didn’t look at his phone.

He just held the letter.

That fucking letter. Still stained with her tears. Folded from being clutched in his fist too many times.

“Maybe in another life, you’d choose us.”

His throat burned. His eyes stayed wet. But now the sadness was angry.

This should’ve been the most beautiful time in their lives. He’d proposed in front of the world. She flew him to Samoa. Bought him a yacht. Kissed chocolate off his collarbones in a villa on the ocean. She had his soul in her hands.

And one obsessed woman had tried to steal all of that.

He looked up when the front door creaked open. Jey walked in. Sefa behind him. Chanté and Deon too. All of them silent, their eyes trained on the screen that still showed clips from the viral takedown.

“Y’all saw it?” Jimmy asked, his voice hoarse. He already knew the answer.

Jey crossed the room slowly, then pulled his twin into a heavy hug. “Yeah. We saw it, bro. Whole world did.”

“She ain’t ever deserved that shit,” Chanté whispered, voice thick. “None of this.”

Deon just nodded, his jaw clenched. “We gon’ make this right. All of it.”

Jimmy exhaled slowly, rubbing his hands down his face. “They believed it. The whole fuckin’ world believed it. Called me a cheater. A deadbeat. A liar. And she believed it too.”

Sefa sat beside him and said it plainly. “So go get her, Uso.”

Jimmy didn’t look up.

“I don’t know where she is.”

But the fire that sparked in his chest as the screen played the ringless hand, the broken heart, the graveyard post—

It was back.

He wasn’t begging anymore.

He was coming to bring her home.

——-

Chapter 104: “Third Quarter Pressure”

The Chase Center had never been louder.

Not during playoffs. Not during the championship. Not ever.

Jimmy Fatu was back.

The crowd stood on their feet as the third quarter clock ticked down, and his name echoed from every corner of the arena like a war chant. It had been over a month since the media shitstorm nearly ended him, but here he was.

Back on that court. In his element. Carrying the weight of heartbreak and still hooping like a god.

The score was up, but the game wasn’t over. Not even close.

Jimmy dribbled down the court, sweat dripping from his hairline, his jersey clinging to his chest. Jey ran beside him like a shadow, feeding him the ball with precision every time. Every pass. Every bucket. Every dunk. Jimmy played like something was chasing him.

Because it was.

Grief. Rage. The ghost of a woman he hadn’t heard from in 34 days.

And though the stadium was electric, he only saw her in the corners of his vision. That empty courtside seat she used to dominate, heels crossed, smirking like she owned the game.

Now? No trace. No shoutouts. No stories. Just the faintest echo of her scent in the back of his memory. Still wearing his choker. His name. His love.

Or at least she used to.

The buzzer sounded again—timeout.

He walked toward the bench, crowd screaming his name, reporters whispering, social media blowing up in real time.

“Fatu’s still got it.” “The MVP’s return.” “But where’s Kami?”

He ignored it all. Sat down, towel over his head, chest heaving. A camera zoomed in on his wrist—his engagement bracelet still there, glinting under the lights, defiant as hell.

That’s when Jey nudged him.

“Yo…” his brother muttered low, eyes wide, showing Jimmy his phone screen.

His stomach dropped.

There, mid-game, as millions watched him perform the comeback of the year—a new post from Tasha.

Another deep fake.

A blurred-out bedroom image of "him" and her, clearly inside the Miami mansion. His old hoodie. The custom Fatu chain on her neck. And in the background?

The wall art Kami had commissioned. The one that used to hang above their bed.

The caption? “Miss you in me.”

The crowd didn’t know yet. But Jimmy did.

His jaw tightened. Hands clenched. And the third quarter was still in play.

The pressure was rising.

And the break was only beginning.

——

Chapter 105: “Ghost in 308”

The third quarter was on its final leg—barely 48 seconds left on the clock—and the energy in the arena had been nothing short of electric. The season opener was already a historic one. Record-breaking ticket sales. Courtside lined with A-list celebrities. Cameras glued to the twins.

But only one of them was here in body and spirit.

Jimmy hadn’t missed a shot since tip-off, but he hadn’t cracked a smile either. The fire behind his eyes? Different. The man was playing like he had nothing left to lose and the only thing worth keeping had been stolen from him in the dark.

Then it happened.

Somewhere from the mid-section of the arena—a woman’s voice rang out, high and clear over the roar of sneakers and squeaking hardwood.

“YO! SECTION 308—THAT’S KAMI!!”

It cut through everything.

A visible ripple moved through the building.

Gasps. Whispers. Shouted confusion. Heads spun, bodies turned.

“Did she just say—?”

“308?!”

“No fuckin’ way.”

Jey stood from the bench before the coach could even blink. His eyes shot straight up to the top rows, scanning with laser focus.

And he saw it.

Her.

Well… maybe.

Hood pulled tight, dark glasses, mask high on the nose. Sitting stiffly in the middle of the row like she was trying not to breathe too loud. But Jey knew. He didn’t question it.

“JIMMY!” he bellowed, turning toward his twin.

Jimmy paused mid-dribble. The ball slipped from his hand and bounced off his foot.

His heart thundered in his chest.

He turned slowly toward where Jey was pointing.

She was there. The silhouette. That stillness. That posture.

That was her.

The crowd lost it.

Phones rose like a tide.

Celebrities stood up—Offset was on his feet, stunned. Zendaya had her hand over her mouth. Michael B. Jordan leaned over the railing to get a better view. Across the court, a rival team captain blinked, mouth open. “That’s her, bro. That’s the girl.”

“Wait… wait—is that real?”

Security moved, but they were too slow.

The energy in the arena? Cinematic. Palpable.

Kami hadn’t moved. Hadn’t flinched.

But she’d been spotted.

And now—

She was surrounded.

Security, cameras, fans, even a few celebs trying to confirm it. All eyes on her. All light on her.

There was no disappearing this time.

From the court, Jimmy dropped his mouthpiece and bolted.

He didn’t care about the game.

He didn’t care about the cameras.

He ran.

Off the court. Through the sideline gate. Security tried to hold him but Jey was already there, shoving past two guards to clear his path. “Get the fuck out the way! That’s his girl!”

“Jimmy!” one of the coaches shouted after him.

The crowd was screaming now.

Security was trying to restore order, but the figure in 308 was frozen. Like the past month of pain, betrayal, silence, and exile had all been crashing waves and now… this was the shore.

And he was coming for her.

———

Chapter 106: “Can’t Hide from Me”

It happened fast.

The moment that woman screamed out from the mid-section—“YO! SECTION 308—THAT’S KAMI!!”—a thousand eyes shot upward. Whispers turned to shouting. Then silence… then an eruption.

The arena wasn’t just watching a game anymore.

They were witnessing a ghost rise from the dead.

Cameras were out. Phone flashes firing like paparazzi lightning. And in the eye of it all, that one lone figure in black—hood pulled down, mask up, dark lenses veiling what couldn’t be seen.

She wasn’t moving. Not yet.

Frozen in place like a hunted thing.

Until—she did.

She stood.

And the moment Kami moved, it all spiraled.

She turned like she meant to walk fast, maybe even dip out the other side of the row before anyone got close. But her sneaker caught the edge of a sticky soda cup under the seat. One half-step fumbled—and in that second, everything changed.

The glasses slipped. The hood slid back. Her face caught in a blaze of stadium lighting and cellphone flashes.

It was her. Kami. Undeniably.

Gasps rolled through the crowd in a crashing wave. Chanté clutched her chest where she sat courtside. “Oh my God—” she breathed.

Sefa dropped his popcorn in slow motion.

Jey had to grip the barrier like he was gonna climb it himself. “That’s her!” he shouted, voice strangled. “That’s really her!”

Even the players on the court had frozen mid-play, heads whipped around. Jerseys wrinkled, sneakers still. Opposing team captains weren’t even trying to look subtle. Everyone was staring.

One of the biggest A-listers in the front row stood up, jaw slack. “That’s her?”

But nobody saw it the way he did.

Jimmy.

Mid-sprint. Mid-storm. Breath ragged, heart wrecked.

He saw her stumble. Saw the panic on her face when the crowd turned to her. Saw her trying to move but the exit was already being blocked by security and fans closing in, screaming her name.

“KAMI!!” “IS IT TRUE?” “WHY’D YOU LEAVE HIM?!” “IS THE BABY REAL??” “IS THIS YOU COMING BACK?!”

And he was running. Full throttle, pushing past trainers, security, even one of the damn refs. Stadium protocol didn’t mean shit now. His heart was about to leap out his throat.

“MOVE!” he barked. “GET THE FUCK OUT THE WAY!”

Jey tried to chase after him but stopped short, eyes wide with something like awe. Chanté had tears in hers. Sefa was recording. And the crowd?

Insanity.

Screams. Cameras. Posts going up instantly. “She’s BACK??” “WTF is going ON?!” “KAMI just showed up at Jimmy’s first game?!” “This is MOVIE SHIT.”

The figure in 308 looked back once.

Just once.

Eyes wide. Full of every emotion a soul could carry.

And Jimmy saw her.

Really saw her.

But she turned.

And the crowd started to press in.

Security tried to shield her as the weight of an entire arena leaned in toward that section—but Jimmy?

He was coming.

Up the first flight. Then the second. Hands on the rail, bounding like a man possessed.

He wasn’t letting her get away again.

Not now. Not ever.

———

[wbbfannnnnn13]

Theme: angst, that's it...

LMAOOOO (not really laughing)

Chapter 10 – Mixed Signals

It wasn’t out of anger, and it wasn’t meant to be cold—it was hesitation, wrapped in confusion, threaded with guilt she hadn’t fully admitted to herself yet. Each day that passed without responding made it harder to reach out, even though the ache to hear Paige’s voice only grew stronger.

if i was paige i would fly to her RIGHT NOW idc

The photo of Paige leaving that restaurant lingered in her mind more than she wanted to admit. Azzi didn’t recognize the woman beside her. She wasn’t from their shared circles, not a teammate, not someone Azzi could place.

internally crashing out like azzi cuz UGHHH

What if there was more to that night than Paige let on? What if Azzi had been foolish to assume it meant nothing? And even though she hated the thought, it stuck, threading doubt into the silence that still stretched between them. 

JUST CALL HER PLEASE TO CLEAR IT UP

Azzi's thumb hovered over the screen. That one sentence hit her harder than any headline or comment thread ever could. Because the truth was, she wanted to hear Paige’s voice, too.

oh my gosh! yes now type something anything!!!!!!!

The irony wasn’t lost on her—how she’d once begged Paige not to let fear dictate their love, not to hide from the world, not to retreat when things got hard. And now here she was, paralyzed by her own.

i hate how good you are at this author

And Azzi had let it sit long enough. Whatever uncertainty she still carried, Paige didn’t deserve to carry it alone. So she took a breath, pulled out her phone, and opened their thread.

MY PRAYERS HAVE BEEN ANSWERED

AZZI: I didn’t answer because I was trying to process everything. I needed space to clear my head, but I know that’s not an excuse. I’m sorry for going quiet on you, for shutting you out when I should’ve said something sooner.

reading this formed a knot in my chest

PAIGE: Just thankful to hear from you. I miss you, Az. Can we talk later tonight? I’ve been going a little crazy not hearing from you, if I’m being honest.

crying……… literally

Her mind flicked back to freshman year, a different kind of silence, another time she’d ignored Paige on purpose, but for a completely different reason, all to pull off a surprise visit for her birthday.

finally something less angsty to break the tension

NIKA: "Yo, you better get here soon. Paige is spiraling."

uh oh

NIKA: "Good. Because I can’t take any more of her ‘What if Azzi’s mad at me?’ whining. She’s dramatic as hell."

she is dramatic

“I thought you ghosted me,” Paige had said, breath catching. “I was about to call the FBI.”

case and point

“Never do that again,” Paige mumbled into her hair. “I was going out of my mind.”

let me hold your hand when i tell you this

But now, with the media storm swirling around them, the old videos resurfacing, strangers dissecting their lives, podcasts turning their history into clickbait, Azzi was starting to understand the weight Paige had been carrying all along.

not being able to put ourselves in other people’s shoes can really do a number when we go through their experiences in real time

She didn’t want to care what people thought. But she did. And maybe that was the part she hadn’t been ready to admit before.

easier said than done

Later that day, the playoff bracket dropped. The Mystics were in. So were the Wings. And, of course, they’d been matched against each other in the first round.

of course they did🙃 not how i expected their playoff matchup to go

The trading of texts, that little bit of teasing, settled something in Azzi she hadn’t realized was tense.

yes they’re somewhat back?

She smiled—really smiled—for the first time in days, not just the polite version she’d been putting on for everyone else. She felt her shoulders drop, like a weight she hadn’t named was finally loosening. It didn’t solve everything. It didn’t erase what still lingered between them. But it was something. A thread tugging back into place, reminding her that they still knew how to reach each other.

i’ll take the small wins!

A reminder of how exposed she felt lately. How exhausting it was to carry a relationship that wasn’t just hers anymore. How lonely it could feel to be watched by a world that didn’t know her but still had something to say.

now i’m curious to read katie and tim’s perspective on this news after asking for their blessings. like they had to have called paige to clear things up because from a parent’s standpoint my protective instincts would kick in

“No, I mean—” Azzi hesitated again. “Not like hiding. Just… hitting pause on everything around us. The noise. I don’t want it bleeding into our games or distracting us. I just want to focus on basketball without everything else piling on top of it.”

i hate to say it but she’s right even though i am also hurt by the suggestion 💔

Azzi could see the shift happen in real-time, the slight pullback in her posture, the subtle way her voice dimmed when she finally answered. “Yeah. Okay. If that’s what you want.”

ouch

“I heard you say pause,” Paige said, her eyes not quite meeting hers through the screen. “And I guess I just don’t know what that means.”

hate to break it to azzi but pause = temporary break 😔

She didn’t know how else to say it. Because she wasn’t sure what she meant, either. She wasn’t asking for distance, but she also didn’t know how to carry their relationship and the noise it attracted while trying to compete in her first playoffs.

pausing will result in distance though. azzi’s phrasing and thought process is definitely clouded by all these things

Azzi wanted to push back, to explain more clearly, to say, I still want you. I’m not pulling away. But everything in her felt tangled.

the things left unsaid is what hurts 😞

Nothing she could say right now would land the way she meant it to. So she just nodded too, even though it didn’t feel right.

a scooter to the ankles

She wanted to believe the answer was yes. But sitting in this quiet, heavy with hesitation, she wasn’t so sure anymore.

make that a scooter to BOTH ankles

the amount of times i have to remind myself it’s all for the plot. i am not usually a fan of angst, but you write them well and oooh i hate it/love it 😑

-🦩

The irony wasn’t lost on her—how she’d once begged Paige not to let fear dictate their love, not to hide from the world, not to retreat when things got hard. And now here she was, paralyzed by her own.

i hate how good you are at this author

thank you, I think... lol

PAIGE: Just thankful to hear from you. I miss you, Az. Can we talk later tonight? I’ve been going a little crazy not hearing from you, if I’m being honest.

crying……… literally

oh no honey, I hope this didn't actually make you cry... I'm sorry

A reminder of how exposed she felt lately. How exhausting it was to carry a relationship that wasn’t just hers anymore. How lonely it could feel to be watched by a world that didn’t know her but still had something to say.

now i’m curious to read katie and tim’s perspective on this news after asking for their blessings. like they had to have called paige to clear things up because from a parent’s standpoint my protective instincts would kick in

oooo reader, you're starting to get in my brain

Thank you for pushing through for the plot, don't worry, things will get better soon, appreciate you, my favorite anon!!

[normal-is-a-raging-psychopath]

i am a) bored b) suffering w/o a proper hyperfixation c) procrastinating studying

so here's @palmettoshenanigans andriel fic rec list w/ links and summaries

(accurate as of 4/13/25)

Favorites bolded in orange. Top Five marked with [#]

Short and Sweet/Angst and Read Several Times

loving you is muscle memory by Talls (sweet)

Neil has temporary amnesia, and Andrew is disconcertingly attractive. This is especially disconcerting because Neil was pretty sure he didn't swing. Nicky is endlessly pleased by the entire situation.

boyfriend privileges by mostly_maudlin (sweet)

Andrew knows he treats Neil different. So why is it so bothersome that everyone else seems to know it, too? Five times Neil gets boyfriend privileges, and one time it doesn't piss Andrew off.

You Might Get It by likearecord (light angst)

The one where Andrew makes a perfectly reasonable request and Neil takes it too far like the dumbass he is. Or, relationships are complicated and communication is hard. They don't always nail it. So, Andrew has hit his limit. Neil’s charged silence next to him is so loud that Andrew can’t read over the buzz of it in his ears. “Get out,” he says, turning to glare at Neil. Neil blinks at him. “Whatever stupid thing you’re obsessing over. It’s irritating. I don’t have time to solve your problems for you. Handle it. I have to study.” Instantly, he realizes it was a mistake. He watches Neil’s face and body shutter up, closing tight like he’s locking down for a hurricane. It took so fucking long to get Neil to open up in the first place. Andrew had to peel him open one truth at a time. Fuck.

Translation Errors by SensationalSunburst (sweet like candy)

“Andrew doesn't love me,” Neil said simply, “So if he has a love language, I don't know it.” “Oh, honey.” Allison drawled, “You don't actually believe him when he says he hates you, do you?”

This Roommates Bullshit by likearecord (sweet)

Kevin, Neil, and Allison are grad students, roommates, and obviously best friends. One fortuitous day, Kevin meets a short, knife-wielding blond guy in the library and brings him home to meet the short, knife-wielding redhead he lives with. If only Neil knew what having a crush felt like before this happened.

temper, temper by Ominous (sweet and hilarious)

"You paid for the deluxe package," Neil says as he scrolls through his payment history to find his client's invoice. His system is simple: Basic Package: Fuck you. A general statement of displeasure and a brief description of the wrongdoing. Intermediate Package: Fuck you, with passion. Everything in the basic package, but with additional insults. Customizable for an extra fee. Deluxe Package: Fuck you to hell. Everything from the first two packages, for an extended period of time, and with extra viciousness. And it looks like Andrew Minyard is the unlucky soul today.

Killer Bunny by godless_writer (lil angst)

Neil started his second year in college thinking his past was behind him. His father was dead, Riko was dead, he was no longer running – nothing left to hide from. At least that is what he thought before six FBI agents barged into his team’s practice one day. Or The team finds out Neil had to kill some of his father’s men while on the run.

Pumpkin Patch by H_bee69 (sweet)

Neil wants to go to the pumpkin patch and who is Andrew to deny Neil.

Neil Josten Is a Lucky Man by irls_goaway (sweet)

5 times Neil ends up in the hospital and nobody tells Andrew +The 1 time someone has the common sense to tell Andrew and Andrew decides, fuck, he has to marry Neil. "If you didn’t keep ending up in the hospital, I wouldn’t have to marry you just to be able to know when you get hospitalized,” Andrew said.

Porcupines and Promises by StellaLuna365 (sweet)

Neil gets tipsy during a game of truth or dare with the Foxes, and his truth is what animal he thinks best describes Andrew. It's not the answer anyone's expecting .... Andrew Minyard loves his idiot. It's literally so cute. Just. Agh. Hehe

Neptune by kanekicure (sweet angst)

Stupid words, such stupid fucking words. Neil knows no one has ever said those words to him before. Not his father, not his mother and never from Andrew. Because why would he? This was nothing, he was nothing. He had said it himself. Neil was a fool. A fool who’s heart was pathetically weak. A fool who was in love with Andrew Minyard. - or Neil realizes he's in love and he is terrified

What Did You Call Me? by Fortheloveofexy (sweet n a lil hot)

They don't do nicknames. Or at least, they haven't before. Maybe it was just a slip of tongue, or Andrew had misheard. Maybe Neil hadn't meant to say it at all, but- Neil had said it. He'd said it so casually, like it was natural, the nickname rolling off his tongue wrapped in all the things they normally leave unsaid. OR: The first time Neil calls Andrew 'Drew'

give or take by bazookajo94 (sweet and funny)

Palmetto State University experiences a category six earthquake. Andrew Minyard, trapped in a crumpled building and waiting for help, suffers through the dark and damp room with another student he can’t see and doesn’t know. The other student, as one does in a life-or-death situation, fatalistically begins sharing all his secrets—he hates cookies, he thinks his roommates are kind of annoying, he kissed a girl and he didn’t like it, he grew up with the mob, he has a million dollars, he’s killed a man (well, probably). But Andrew and the stranger are eventually rescued and do not die. And the stranger in the dark disappears without even a face for Andrew to put to a name.

It's the Thought that Counts by gluupor (sweet)

Andrew and Neil's relationship has many facets that are confusing to outsiders. The strangest may be their habit of giving each other the contents of their pockets and calling it a gift.

hold your fire by seasy33 (angst)

It's understandable when, after four years of putting up with it, Andrew opts out of his final chance to spend a week on long flights to recruit the newest line of Foxes. What Neil doesn't understand is the break up text Andrew sends him while they're separated.

Oh isn't it a bit of luck… by Willow_bird (sweet and silly)

It took a moment for Neil to realize exactly what was happening and why. Clearly, the relative safety of the last ten years had eroded away his inherent paranoia until he didn't notice the weight of several small animals waddling all over him while he slept, because at least three of the little creatures were standing on his chest. He cleared his throat. "Um. Hello?" --- Neil becomes the temporary guardian to seven ducklings and no one knows how to handle it, least of all Andrew.

Sweet Enough to Eat by Fortheloveofexy (sweet angst)

Neil is cute and Andrew has a crisis. That's it, thats the fic.

Bunny by lady_flash (sweet and funny)

The Bear seems to be catching on as well, his face twisted into irritation as he takes another swing at Neil’s head. This time Neil spins away and around to the man’s back, slapping him upside the head as he bounces out of range. “Oh ho ho ho!” the announcer laughs brightly. “It looks like our favorite rabbit is feeling feisty today!” or What if Neil lost the money Mary stole from Nathan and all her resources when she died? What if he had no hope of survival without it? What if he turned to questionable methods to get money? or Street fighter Neil AU

Space In-Between by kitausu (sweet)

Neil and Andrew are outed by the press, except it doesn't really matter or change a thing. - (Or, snippets of Andrew and Neil's life in between Exy, and PR, and having to talk to other people who exist in the world).

just curious (series of 2) by gay_irl (sweet)

The Foxes play Catchphrase, but Dan notices that Neil and Andrew are scary-good at figuring out what the other person's word is. She pushes a little to see how well they can do (and also because they're all curious about that relationship).

Kisses on Scars by rememberednoah (sweet)

In which Andrew decides to kiss all of Neil's scars. In which Neil isn't quite sure how to react and feel about this

my whole life, too by eeveepkmnfan (sweet)

Neil has a moment of doubt, but Andrew puts it to rest as only he can. (Now featuring andreil getting married in the brand new chapter two!)

definitely something by bazookajo94 (sweet n silly)

In order to get over his ex who is getting married, Kevin forces Neil to go into a pact with him: they each have to find each other’s dates to the wedding, since clearly Kevin can’t be trusted to find someone good for himself, and Neil is just hopeless. Neil thinks he’s found a good match for Kevin in Andrew: he’s good at exy, he can tolerate Kevin at his worst, and he always turns up whenever Kevin and Neil are out and about. Neil is pretty sure Andrew is half in love with Kevin already. Andrew is, obviously, very much into Neil.

in bars, in cars by moonix (sweet)

“I guess I just don’t understand it. How can you just be attracted to a complete stranger?” “That’s the appeal,” Andrew retorts. “What?” “It’s a simple transaction. No complications.” “Complications? Like what?” “Conversation, obligations, baggage,” Andrew says dismissively. “Annoying habits. Emotional intimacy. That sort of thing.” Or: Andrew and Neil meet at bars and talk about life's mysteries.

Do Not Disturb by mostly_maudlin (angst n lil sweet)

Andrew is in class when his phone rings. There’s only one person in his contacts set to bypass Do Not Disturb

Killing Me Softly With Their Love

Not Nothing by TheRainbowElectric

“Have you considered the possibility that Neil has chosen you, but believes you have not chosen him?” Renee says. "Have you ever explicitly told him what you want?” “Neil knows what I want,” Andrew snaps. This is not Andrew’s fault. “How do you know?” Because Neil always knows. He is as fluent in Andrew’s micro-expressions as he is in German and French. He knows which head tilts mean “go on” and which ones mean “shut up.” Without ever asking, he learned what it meant to see Andrew wearing double layers of long sleeves, or taking multiple showers in a day, and learned to hand Andrew the car keys. That has always been the most terrifying thing about Neil — his patience to wait, watch, listen, learn. The prospect that if Neil were given enough time, there would be no part of Andrew that was just Andrew’s anymore. “He has to know,” Andrew says. “Does he?” Renee says. “Have you ever known Neil to assume that he is wanted?” Five times Neil tells someone that he and Andrew aren’t dating, and one time Andrew uses his words to set the record straight.

let the emotions get the best of us by Ominous

It’s been a month or so of this wooing. Andrew had called it that once, sarcastically, but it had stuck. Andrew committed. Gift after gift. Now, Neil thinks he would place his own life in Andrew’s hands. To hold, to shape. He’s seen the beauty Andrew creates with his own eyes. He would be cherished-- He has been cherished.

The Warmth of His Touch by ANDREILMINYARD

“Don’t stop,” Neil murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. Andrew didn’t respond, but his hands resumed their movement, fingers threading through Neil’s hair with a care that bordered on reverence. Neil let his eyes fall shut again, sinking further against the couch. The room felt smaller somehow, like the world beyond their dorm had ceased to exist. It was just the two of them, and for once, Neil didn’t feel the weight of the past pressing down on him. Andrew’s hands slowed, and Neil’s eyes fluttered open again, a faint frown forming as he resisted the urge to protest. He didn’t want the moment to end, didn’t want Andrew to stop, but before he could say anything, Andrew spoke. “Hold still,” Andrew said, soft but firm.

for good reasons, without grievance by whocriedwolf

5 times Neil shows Andrew he loves him, and 1 time he actually says it.

Broke My Heart and Left Me There To Rot

I'll Take Care Of You by Justthislazy

The worst part of it all was that he had felt so good about this step. He'd thought about it for weeks before he asked and Neil had been receptive. Now he's staring at scars on Neil that he had only ever seen in a mirror before. Scars that Neil would have told him about if Neil remembered anything about getting them. or:Andrew realizes that Neil was sexually assaulted at the Nest and Neil has no idea.

Oh love, I'm sorry if I smothered you by Ateiluj

Before he can tune them out as background noise, he hears his name. "...definitely toxic. I mean, Andrew drives him everywhere, drags him out of parties early, doesn't let him talk to anyone else... I overheard Aaron telling Kate that Andrew picks Neil's clothes out for him, that's controlling as shit." "Yeah, more like emotionally abusive. I don't get why the others don't do anything about it, though, like, if there was even a chance Neil would listen to me I'd be trying to rescue that poor boy." "He probably doesn't even realize he needs rescuing, though, right? Like, that's how abusive relationships work. Besides, you know what his life's been like, with parents like his he might not know what a healthy relationship even looks like. And the others are probably too scared of Andrew to intervene." Or, Andrew overhears an unfortunate conversation and spirals.

Broke My Heart, Left Me To Rot, But Came Back With A Blanket and An Apology

Odd Eye by tdashshirts [#Honorable Mention - for the autism]

Andrew spends most of his childhood thinking he is a psychopath. He is not. Andrew is, and always will be, just Andrew.

They Find Each Other In Every Universe (AUs)

fragile by likearecord (Radio!AU)

A new guy starts working at the radio station. He's fragile. Better keep Andrew away from him.

venus as a boy by kybelles (Highschool!AU)

Kevin's childhood friend is transferred into their school out of the blue. Andrew doesn't care at all. Neil isn’t much taller than Andrew himself but he’s definitely leaner. His auburn hair consists of short wavy strands, high cheekbones a little rosy like he just got exposed to cold. Wrapped in his long grey coat, he has no business looking this well groomed as if they’re in the middle of a cocktail party. Pale blue eyes focus on Andrew momentarily as a barely there, hesitant smile appears on the guy’s full lips. Then Neil opens his mouth and says “Hello.” in the most fucking posh accent and hell no. Andrew immediately scowls. “No.” Neil merely shrugs, easy elegance showing itself in his movement. "Okay." Andrew decides at the moment he hates this guy with a burning passion.

Catfish by likearecord (Catfish!AU)

There’s very little Andrew likes less than being tricked, but not knowing things does make the cut. He stands, throws his messenger bag over his shoulder, grabs his coffee, and stomps over to slide into the chair across from the guy. He looks up at Andrew with a flash of calculated flight or fight in his eyes, but he quickly smooths this over and affixes a look of polite interest on his face. “Can I help you?” “Are you on Grindr?” Andrew asks. Bluntly. “Uh,” the guy says, looking more confused. “I don’t know. What is it?” “It’s a hookup app gay men use.” “Oh,” he says, frowning. “No, I’m definitely not on that.” “Because you don’t do gay men?” The guy shrugs. “Because I don’t do hookups.”

cocoa dust by djhedy (Coffeshop!AU)

Neil had seen the guy around campus a few times. It was hard not to. The exy team stood out. Or those three did, anyway. The twins with their shock-white blond hair and perpetual resting bastard face, and Kevin Day, the number 2 arrogantly tattooed on a high cheekbone, flanked as usual by at least one of the twins. And Neil knew their reputation. It’s why he stayed away. -or, neil gets a new job at the coffee shop opposite campus and guess which asshole is a regular

The Calculus of Nocturnes by fuzzballsheltiepants (Teacher!Andreil)

Neil Josten is a high school math teacher with a secret obsession: the classical piano he hears music teacher Andrew Minyard playing every afternoon. Eventually his secret is found out, and his world begins to open up.

Raised on Little Light by maqicien (Wymack adopted Neil)

Wymack’s voice trails off, words stuttering to an abrupt stop. All heads turn, slowly following the path of Wymack’s gaze. Andrew spots him almost immediately - hair as black as night, curls gentle and full atop his head. He’s got a bruise the size of a baseball around his eye, freckles spattered out around it like an explosion of stardust. His eyes are the colour of the sky, cresting with storm clouds. His hands are in his pockets as he walks by, fisted around something. He doesn’t look at any of them as he passes, eyes downcast. Andrew’s never seen him before. “What the hell happened to your face, Neil?” Wymack shouts, voice startling in the aftermath of silence. Neil doesn’t stop, plundering by the team and their coach without a second-glance. In which Wymack adopts Neil at the age of 13, after the world has already chewed him up and spit him back out a few times over. The Foxes are still the Foxes, and Neil and Andrew are still destined to find each other.

Touch me, love me, leave me by BakaDoll (Military!Andrew)

No one ever told Neil there was a second Minyard who was a soldier for the U.S. Army, and suddenly he was stuck with him in his dorm during Thanksgiving holidays. But sometimes first expressions can be wrong, and what Neil expected to be the worst week of his year might turn out completely different than anticipated.

buried by bazookajo94 (Highschool!AU)

“Follow us again and I’ll kill you.” The kid’s eyes looked dead when he said this. He had a real threat in his voice. Neil was real pissed off. “Get in line,” he snapped.

And We'll Be Running by allyasavedtheday (Band!AU)

It had been six months ago when Kevin called him, sounding drunk off his ass and on the verge of a breakdown, begging Neil for help. Andrew Minyard, guitarist for The Monsters, had been assaulted by his old foster brother and it finally convinced the courts to take him off the mood altering medication he’d been taking since almost two years prior after an incident where he’d defended his cousin from a bunch of homophobic assholes outside a club. At the time, he’d had nothing else going for him so he said yes. It was just meant to be something to do for a few months. Now, well, he doesn’t really want to leave.

boy next door by foodforworms (Neighbors!AU)

“I’m Neil,” he says next, undeterred by Andrew’s prior lack of responses. Neil pauses a few seconds and evidently must come to the albeit correct conclusion that Andrew will not reply unless prompted to and continues with “and you are?” “Not friendly,” Andrew replies. He takes the very last drag of his cigarette and puts it out on the windowsill before tossing it in the small trash can he keeps in the corner for the explicit purpose of throwing away empty cigarette cartons and butts. ... “No,” Neil agrees, smirking and looking down as if this is some sort of private joke Andrew let him in on. He watches Neil cough out a little laugh, and feels something akin to hatred bloom in his chest again. Neil looks back up at him, and his smile widens. “Neighborly, then.” _____________ Neil moves into the apartment next to Andrew's.

Smokescreen by bazookajo94 (Muse!AU???) [#4]

Andrew had exactly one picture in his wallet: it was black and white, a man sprawled on his knees, shirtless and mottled with scars, arms limp at his sides. He was wearing a tutu—must have been pink, because it looked a soft gray—and he had calf-high tube socks paired with it, no shoes. His right hand lightly held a cigarette, the ember bright in the black and white tones, and the man was staring straight at the camera with heavy-lidded eyes and his head slightly tilted back while he let the smoke seep out of his mouth. The smoke was thick and obscured most of his face, but Andrew could still see the scars on his cheeks, the contours of his lips, the cut of his jaw.

waiting up for better things by fuzzballsheltiepants (Guitar Player!Andrew)

Neil Josten has an actual life. A job. An apartment. A cat. Friends. A legal passport with his legal name. He entertains himself by casually stalking a singer at a local coffee shop. It’s comfortable. Safe. Something he never thought he’d have. It doesn’t feel real. A decade ago, Abram found a boy with a guitar on a high school rooftop. And now he would do anything to feel that real again. Inspired by ‘Safe’ by All Time Low.

skin deep affection by mitigates (Speed Dating!AU)

He heard a question from his new companion before he could focus his attention on the man across from him. “Top 3 ways to dispose of a body. Go.” His expression was blank while his question was curious. Neil stared at him for at least 37 seconds of their time together before answering. “Acid. Fire. Pigs.”

in another life by bazookajo94 (Accidental Pen Pal!AU)

Dear Andrew Doe, I am not picking one of the pen pals that’s in California or whatever. I am going to write a fake name and a fake address and send this letter to a fake person. The teacher won’t let me leave until I send this to someone. Bye Alex * Neil Josten sent fake letters to Andrew Doe for years, thinking they disappeared into the void. Andrew Minyard received every single one.

Armies by nekojita (Mafia!AU) [#1]

Upon Mary Hatford's death, Nathaniel Wesninski makes the call to his uncle Stuart rather than continuing on the run and ending up in Milport, Nevada. Upon graduating university, Andrew Minyard turns down all offers of a professional Exy career and muddles through a 'normal' life, until the boredom and inanity of it all wears him down and he accepts an offer of a break to spend some time with his cousin Nicky in Stuttgart, Germany. There he meets Abram Hatford, a handsome and broken young man who has more in common with Andrew than he suspects, and nothing's normal anymore.

If You Love Me, Come Clean by sundowne (Exchange Student!AU)

Neil is an exchange student that intends on keeping to himself. The Foxes are quick to ruin his plans.

at least we were electrified by likearecord (Actor!Neil) [#2]

Child actor made good and America's boy-next-door meets professional Exy's favorite love-to-hate-him bad boy. His reputation has never been worse. Merry Mixtape to loveroulettes, whose song was so perfectly Andrew & Neil. I hope you enjoy! Delicate Taylor Swift This ain't for the best my reputation's never been worse, so you must like me for me.

Ripple Effect by Watergaw for AgentCoop (Canon Divergence)

A car crash in Columbia leads to an earlier meeting for Neil and the cousins.

we were together (series of 3) by bazookajo94 (Canon Divergence)

Andrew and Neil meet at Easthaven. Everything is very soft and kind of sad.

Tastes Like Gold by pandaseek (Translator!Neil)

“Do tell him that we have enjoyed watching his team’s success in the American league, perhaps if he had joined Day’s team, he would have won the championship.” The translator’s lips twitched at the comment. “Petra wants you to know how much they have enjoyed watching your team’s success in the American leagues.” Andrew waits for the rest of the comment to follow. The translator seems set on editing, unfortunately. “Are they paying you well to play diplomat?” The comment is out before he can stop it. It seems to take the translator by surprise and his mouth twitches into a barely contained grin. “A certain amount of discretion is expected to keep international relations happy, yes.” Andrew is intrigued by his honesty. “Tell them that Day would pitch a fit if he knew they found time to watch another countries Exy team. If you have time to watch than you have time to practice, after all.” He translates perfectly with a smirk at being called out. Andrew watches him closely. If asked, he would say that this man posed a threat. In reality, he enjoyed the way he hadn’t backed down when being caught out. “Why am I here if you speak the language?” The translator asks in English.

The Gaslights Burn Brightly by This_Witch_Writes (Met in Baltimore!AU)

Andrew Doe ends up in the foster system in Baltimore after one of his early foster parents moves house. He makes friends with Nat in elementary school but his friend disappears the day before Andrew's 12th birthday. When Nathan Wesninski puts the word out that he never had a son, no one in his domain is willing to cross him, so the adult in Andrew's life try to convince him that he made Nat up. When that doesn't work he's relocated back to California and the Spears. Neil Josten has spent 8 years thinking about the one person in his life that cared about him without needing to hurt him and then he runs into a locker room and Andrew Minyard hits him with an exy racquet.

wreck my plans by Willow_bird (College!AU)

Grad school was enough of a bitch without the trouble of feelings getting involved. When Andrew realizes that he has unwittingly fallen for one of his best friends he... panics a little bit. After all, it would be one thing if there was even a chance of Neil reciprocating. But that was impossible because Neil was obviously in love with Kevin. ...wasn't he? -- In which Andrew Minyard eats his feelings and Neil Josten likes to cook.

he's a nightmare by likearecord (camp!AU)

“Watch out for Minyard,” eight separate people tell Neil on his first day. “He’s a nightmare.” Inspired by Halsey | Nightmare.

april showers, april snow storms by ephemeralsky (soulmate!AU airport edition)

“Do you believe in fate, Neil?” Andrew asks, blasé. “Not really, no,” Neil answers gamely, even though Andrew had asked something very similar at the cafe. “Luck, then.” “Only the bad sort.” “And yet you do not cease to ruminate over the notion of soulmates.” “Has anybody ever told you that you speak like someone from a different time period altogether?” Neil deflects. (or: Andrew and Neil are soulmates who are stranded at an airport during a snow storm)

prophetic (series of 2) by Ominous (childhood friends!AU)

At five years old, Neil is sure he's going to marry his best friend Andrew one day. At seventeen years old, he's still sure.

THEY TAKE CARE OF EACH OTHER YOUR HONOR

say something by Willow_bird

With his free hand, Andrew pulled out his phone and looked again at the message Neil had sent him about it. talking is hard today. Not 'I don’t want to talk' or 'I have nothing to say' but 'talking is hard'. *** On a bad day, Neil struggles with his own mental state, and Andrew figures out how to be there for him. As they wade through this together, both young men realize its okay to lean on each other and that they are capable of both reaching out as well as hanging on. Also, Betsy has shipped them from the beginning, let's be completely honest here.

i’m gonna find my ghost that’s lost in outer space by cyanica

"You know me,” Andrew says. “Do you know you, Neil?” Neil blinks at him, empty. He doesn’t recognise his name. “I…” Neil falters a moment, breaking his gaze, and looking down at his own body like he expects to find something else. He checks his own pulse, two fingers to the side of his wrist. Neil looks up at Andrew after a few seconds of murmuring numbers, not quite frowning but almost. “I feel gone,” he says. “Is my – am I here?” Or Neil has a dissociative episode, and Andrew contemplates the terrifying ordeal of memory and being known and not. He also brings Neil back. That too.

lost in the process (out at sea) by cake_lovin_ace

Andrew's trauma is triggered during a grocery run in Columbia, but Neil's got his back.

The Drowning by minyardlovebot

He had felt it throughout the entire day – during practice, while on his classes, at the dorms. It was as if there was an itch inside of him that he couldn’t scratch. The wound was open and infected. He wanted– something. He needed it and he craved it and he didn't know what it was, and it was maddening. He was going mad.

I hate you by All_for_the_andreil

Andrew is in the hospital, drowsy from pain meds and the upperclassmen decide it’s a good idea to interrogate him about his relationship with Neil. They are surprised to learn Andrew “hates” Neil.

A Quiet Night by kccastner

Neil is a nurse in Denver North Hospital's ER. Andrew is a pro Exy player on the Denver Sharks. They meet when Andrew is injured during a game, and the rest is history.

Overcome by czenzo

“Neil.” If the tone of his voice wasn’t already alarming, the way he stared at King certainly was. Sir was curled up on Andrew’s left, head resting on his thigh. King lay on his other side, stretched out as if to wake her sleeping limbs, but was unnervingly still. Her little face winced in clear discomfort, and her breathing was erratic. Neil kneeled by their bed. “Something isn’t right.” King falls ill and needs urgent treatment. The stress takes its toll on Andrew, but Neil is there to hold him up.

The grass between us (the mud under our feet) by unojonex

Mistakes equate death, every step is meticulous. The soft squish of mud could be the squish of a knife between his ribs. Sharp, sharp, sharp, soft. Squish. Splat. Like a child jumps in mud, Neil avoids being witnessed. His existence can only be proven through the patted-down blades of grass under his shoes and the whispers of the cats in back alleyways. -- or neil is very meticulous and never steps in mud, and andrew shows him how to exist.

Not a Monster, Just a Human by ms_masago

The upperclassmen make plans for Christmas and conveniently leave Andrew out of it. That doesn't sit well with Neil, and by god everyone is going to know it.

Will you love me for who I am, not for who I was? by something_boring

Neil is sick on New Year's eve, wakes up to the fireworks, and continues to have a panic attack about his time on the run.

There Now, Steady Love by jingerhead

All it had taken was a broken strap, a helmet flying loose, and a rough push. That was all it took for Neil to feel like his entire life was taken away from him. He could barely remember that one of the things Andrew told him after he’d woken up, caught in a panic because he couldn’t see, was that his uncle had pulled through somehow and he didn’t have to worry. That things were taken care of, and they’d figure it out, together. But Neil’s world still came crashing down piece by piece. He could never play again. ~*~ Due to a sudden head injury, Neil ends up blind and can't play the sport he's built his life around. Andrew teaches him how to again.

side effects may vary by willadisastercry

A hurricane traveling up the coast from Florida is set to touch down in Palmetto, a problem no one predicted would incur anything other than storm damages. But the foxes learn the hard way that hurricanes fuck with barometric pressure, which fucks with scar tissue, something Neil happens to have a lot of. So when he wakes up in excruciating pain, convinced that the past seven months after Baltimore weren’t real, he does the one thing he’d promised not to do anymore… He runs. Andrew isn’t far behind of course, but Neil is firm in his belief that he never actually left the car with Lola. There’s also a flash flood advisory to worry about, and he very much tore out of Fox Tower in nothing but a t-shirt and boxer shorts during a literal tropical storm. or Neil has a dissociative episode that sends him running and Andrew does a lot of feeling over it, begrudgingly, but still.

Neil Fights the Foxes by This_Witch_Writes

Neil Josten had a big mouth, this was one of the first true things that had ever been known about him. Neil picked fights with reporters, cops, mobsters, opposing players, opposing coaches, his own coach and his own teammates alike. He also knew that for all Andrew complained about him being a trouble magnet, he quite liked it when Neil got mouthy. With one exception. Andrew didn’t like when Neil got into fights on his behalf. - Times that Neil got into fights and arguments on Andrew's behalf.

Tell Me Where To Touch You by Fortheloveofexy

“Shirt on or off?” Neil asks, settling on his knees by Andrew’s side. Andrew cocks his head questioningly, “Can you even massage me with my shirt on?” “I can,” Neil says easily, “But it probably won’t be as effective or feel as good. Whatever you’re comfortable with is fine though. I’ll make it work.”

Beware Becoming My Partner in Madness by Justthislazy [#5]

"Some nights they can’t smile at one another right away when things go wrong but they always manage to forgive the mistakes, missteps, slip-ups, resurrections, and accidents." This a follow-up on some of the moments that come after I'll Take Care Of You both the good and the bad. (Very much a sequel to the previous work so please read that first.)

THEY FUCK EACH OTHER YOUR HONOR

louder than bombs (i break) by mitigates

A 5+1 of Andrew learning Neil’s five spots he liked to be touched in bed and the one spot he needed to be touched outside of bed.

Beautiful by WhenInDoubtSleep

Neil hates that no one has ever tried to make Andrew feel beautiful. “I want to try something new,” he says, and this clearly gets Andrew’s attention. His eyes narrow just barely, and Neil traces his cheekbone with his thumb. “Oh?” is all Andrew says in reply, and Neil nods, more sure of himself. “I want to touch you,” Neil says, and Andrew’s eyebrows knit together. He pinches Neil’s hip. “That’s not new,” Andrew says, and Neil just shakes his head, peppering Andrew’s jaw with quick pecks. "No, I want to touch you. All of you. Everywhere.”

attitude problems by greywarenlynch

After one too many condescending rhetorical questions, Andrew finds a solution, a way for Neil to atone. He grabs Neil by the collar of the shirt, tugs him close, and says, “Talk to me like that again and I won’t suck you off for a week.” Neil can’t believe that shuts him up.

hold on by starwarned

Andrew's bed in Columbia has a headboard.

Need You Now by NikNak22

Neil usually approaches sex as a fun activity - like a day at the amusement park. Exciting when he goes but not necessary to his survival. In fact, most of the time, he's able to get by without it. Until today, that is. Today, Neil needs Andrew in a way he's never really felt before. It's intoxicating and overwhelming...both excruciating and exhilarating. He absolutely needs Andrew to touch him - craves it with every fiber of his being. But he also knows it goes against every rule they've ever built for this thing between them. He could be jeopardizing everything - but Neil can't wait any longer. If he asks, will Andrew push him away? Or will he give Neil exactly what he desires?

THEY TAKE CARE OF EACH OTHER AND FUCK EACH OTHER YOUR HONOR!!!

Muscle Memory by elesary

Andrew wakes in the hospital, years after the last thing he remembers, with nothing but a handful of out of date promises and a wrecked car. He is purposeless, adrift, unable to find solid ground. Except in the blue, blue eyes of the scarred stranger at his bed side.

Did Someone Say Fantasy AU????

Andrew Minyard and the Intricacies of Faerie Wooing by carminesunset (Fae!AU)

In which everyone but Andrew realizes that he's been wooing the cute faerie from the other side of the forest. For the 2020 Reverse Big Bang.

monster (under my bed) by scribbleb_red (Demon!Neil)

"If you sleep with your hand dangling at the side of your bed, the monster under it will hold it while you sleep."  Based on the original Morning AU, in which Andrew Minyard has a monster living under his bed, and the monster's name is Neil.

Into The Woods (series of 7) by Ominous (Werewolf!Andrew) [#3]

"No, you're not real," he says, and he thinks he repeats it a few times, trying to convince himself it's all one bad dream. Whatever is stalking him stops, but Neil can still feel its aura, its power. The presence it has is gargantuan, a wall Neil has no hope of getting past. Just like his father in front of him. At the thought, at the ghost of hands on him, Neil screams. "You're gone!" And he opens his eyes just as the lightning strikes. It bathes the forest in a bluish glow for half a second, but it's enough for Neil to see. It's not his father, it's— The dog in front of him boofs softly, and Neil's eyes widen.

anywhere. everywhere. by moonix (Demon!Andrew)

In a moment of desperation, Neil summons a demon to protect him from his father - and gets a little more than he bargained for.

Auburn Wings and Golden Dreams by doodlingstuff (Angel! Neil)

Nathaniel died at the hands of his father when he was ten. The boy had two choices: go to heaven or return as an angel to take care of another kid, suffering the abuse of his adoptive father. After years of failing to Andrew, an almost fatal incident makes Nathaniel be seen by his boy. Having Andrew's company will make Nathaniel feel alive for the first time in his existence and make him wish to be human again. Will Nathaniel get the miracle he desperately wants, or will he be stuck forever between his auburn wings and golden dreams?

THE MOTHERFUCKING GAUNTLET

Blame It on My Youth by youreyestheyglow (1 million+ words) [#Honorable Mention - for the culture]

10 years after the end of The King's Men, Andrew and Neil have decided to foster a kid. They have low expectations for themselves--they're not exactly ideal parenting material--but at the very least, the kid will be safe with them. But neither Andrew nor Neil do temporary very well. Full disclosure: highly character-driven, minimally plot-driven. https://www.tumblr.com/0xide has permission to translate this work on ficbook: https://ficbook.net/readfic/13529978 TW: If you suffer from paranoia, this is probably not the fic for you. Specifically, Neil has bunches of paranoia regarding being watched, and also being murdered. If you have questions/concerns or if you're a reader who has a better idea of how to word this/what other people would need to know, feel free to comment or message me on tumblr @yourficstheyglow.

Promised I'd compile an Andreil Fic List from my bookmarks so here y'all go (everything is AO3)! List updated occasionally.

Favorites bolded in orange. Top Five marked with [#]

Short and Sweet/Angst and Read Several Times

"loving you is muscle memory" by Talls (sweet)

"boyfriend privileges" by mostly_maudlin (sweet)

"You Might Get It" by likearecord (light angst)

"Translation Errors" by SensationalSunburst (sweet like candy)

"This Roommates Bullshit" by likearecord (sweet)

"temper, temper" by Ominous (sweet and hilarious)

"Killer Bunny" by godless_writer (lil angst)

"Pumpkin Patch" by H_bee69 (sweet)

"Neil Josten Is a Lucky Man" by irls_goaway (sweet)

"Porcupines and Promises" by StellaLuna365 (sweet)

"Neptune" by kanekicure (sweet angst)

"What Did You Call Me?" by Fortheloveofexy (sweet n a lil hot)

"give or take" by bazookajo94 (sweet and funny)

"It's the Thought that Counts" by gluupor (sweet)

"hold your fire" by seasy33 (angst)

"Oh isn't it a bit of luck…" by Willow_bird (sweet and silly)

"Sweet Enough to Eat" by Fortheloveofexy (sweet angst)

"Bunny" by lady_flash (sweet and funny)

"Space In-Between" by kitausu (sweet)

"just curious" (series of 2) by gay_irl (sweet)

"Kisses on Scars" by rememberednoah (sweet)

"my whole life, too" by eeveepkmnfan (sweet)

"definitely something" by bazookajo94 (sweet n silly)

"in bars, in cars" by moonix (sweet)

"Do Not Disturb" by mostly_maudlin (angst n lil sweet)

Killing Me Softly With Their Love

"Not Nothing" by TheRainbowElectric

"let the emotions get the best of us" by Ominous

"The Warmth of His Touch" by ANDREILMINYARD

"for good reasons, without grievance" by whocriedwolf

Broke My Heart and Left Me There To Rot

"I'll Take Care Of You" by Justthislazy

"Oh love, I'm sorry if I smothered you" by Ateiluj

Broke My Heart, Left Me To Rot, But Came Back With A Blanket and An Apology

"Odd Eye" by tdashshirts [#Honorable Mention - for the autism]

They Find Each Other In Every Universe (AUs)

"fragile" by likearecord (Radio!AU)

"venus as a boy" by kybelles (Highschool!AU)

"Catfish" by likearecord (Catfish!AU)

"cocoa dust" by djhedy (Coffeshop!AU)

"The Calculus of Nocturnes" by fuzzballsheltiepants (Teacher!Andreil)

"Raised on Little Light" by maqicien (Wymack adopted Neil)

"Touch me, love me, leave me" by BakaDoll (Military!Andrew)

"buried" by bazookajo94 (Highschool!AU)

"And We'll Be Running" by allyasavedtheday (Band!AU)

"boy next door" by foodforworms (Neighbors!AU)

"Smokescreen" by bazookajo94 (Muse!AU???) [#4]

"waiting up for better things" by fuzzballsheltiepants (Guitar Player!Andrew)

"skin deep affection" by mitigates (Speed Dating!AU)

"in another life" by bazookajo94 (Accidental Pen Pal!AU)

"Armies" by nekojita (Mafia!AU) [#1]

"If You Love Me, Come Clean" by sundowne (Exchange Student!AU)

"at least we were electrified" by likearecord (Actor!Neil) [#2]

"Ripple Effect" by Watergaw for AgentCoop (Canon Divergence)

"we were together" (series of 3) by bazookajo94 (Canon Divergence)

"Tastes Like Gold" by pandaseek (Translator!Neil)

"The Gaslights Burn Brightly" by This_Witch_Writes (Met in Baltimore!AU)

"wreck my plans" by Willow_bird (College!AU)

"he's a nightmare" by likearecord (camp!AU)

"april showers, april snow storms" by ephemeralsky (soulmate!AU airport edition)

"prophetic" (series of 2) by Ominous (childhood friends!AU)

THEY TAKE CARE OF EACH OTHER YOUR HONOR

"say something" by Willow_bird

"i’m gonna find my ghost that’s lost in outer space" by cyanica

"lost in the process (out at sea)" by cake_lovin_ace

"The Drowning" by minyardlovebot

"I hate you" by All_for_the_andreil

"A Quiet Night" by kccastner

"Overcome" by czenzo

"The grass between us (the mud under our feet)" by unojonex

"Not a Monster, Just a Human" by ms_masago

"Will you love me for who I am, not for who I was?" by something_boring

"There Now, Steady Love" by jingerhead

"side effects may vary" by willadisastercry

"Neil Fights the Foxes" by This_Witch_Writes

"Tell Me Where To Touch You" by Fortheloveofexy

"Beware Becoming My Partner in Madness" by Justthislazy [#5]

THEY FUCK EACH OTHER YOUR HONOR

"louder than bombs (i break)" by mitigates

"Beautiful" by WhenInDoubtSleep

"attitude problems" by greywarenlynch

"hold on" by starwarned

"Need You Now" by NikNak22

THEY TAKE CARE OF EACH OTHER AND FUCK EACH OTHER YOUR HONOR!!!

"Muscle Memory" by elesary

Did Someone Say Fantasy AU????

"Andrew Minyard and the Intricacies of Faerie Wooing" by carminesunset (Fae!AU)

"monster (under my bed)" by scribbleb_red (Demon!Neil)

"Into The Woods" (series of 7) by Ominous (Werewolf!Andrew) [#3]

"anywhere. everywhere." by moonix (Demon!Andrew)

"Auburn Wings and Golden Dreams" by doodlingstuff (Angel! Neil)

THE MOTHERFUCKING GAUNTLET

"Blame It on My Youth" by youreyestheyglow (1 million+ words) [#Honorable Mention - for the culture]

[renee00124]

*March 20, 2024: Heart Beam Attacks Escalate

The targeting effort around me is led by African Men. In fact, years ago one stated when I mentioned the FBI leadership, "This is our case." The fact is, this is not a case but an effort of them given permission to silence exposure. They have tried everything in the book, including sexual harassment, saying I will regret not letting one of them into my life, etc. No one wants dummies and cowards around. Because they have been unsuccessful as the real leadership watch exposure loom, the Black cops, LAPD, are again focused on a beamed heart attack when their shift began.

The leadership, Fusion Centers, federal agents, DOD Contractors supplying the training and technology running this program are no different from those who specifically seek Black men to do crime. They know they are extendable, cowards and desperate to keep jobs they believe give them prestige and pay well.

Below is a link describing, historically why they seek black people specifically. As the truth snowballs, I can guarantee they will be blamed and even jailed before the others.

Why do people blame Black people for crimes they commit?

If a lot of people are saying the same thing, LISTEN!

Below is a Quora link revealing nationwide people are trying to find ways to protect themselves from official beamed torture, and patented psychophysical technologies and strategic health deterioration. Thousands have been deemed expendable human guinea pigs in this horrific unified high-tech targeting program and lives used as toys.

The fact is the truth is their enemy and not me. After this post, military personnel began beaming both breast and heart.

[angelo-tiger-woods]

Incoming Text for Gal Gadot (@gal_gadot):

Dear Gal,

I just want to let you know that I have seen your latest photoshoot, where you make a hand gesture with your finger on your lips—as if signaling for me to keep my mouth shut.

Here is the IG link: https://www.instagram.com/p/DGb8B7Hvaqo/?img_index=1 - (click on the blue link)

But you should know that I will not stay silent. I am saving lives—so many lives—by exposing the truth. The murders these people have committed are ongoing, and speaking out is the only way to stop them. You should also understand that I am saving you and Jaron as well, because I know they hold you hostage too.

You don’t have to be afraid anymore. You should feel safe speaking with the FBI, sharing your side of the story—how you were coerced and held as a prisoner of war.

These people have committed unspeakable crimes. If we don’t act now, they will keep us as their prisoners for decades. The time has come to fight for your freedom. Call the FBI. Tell them everything that has happened over the past 12 months—every lie they fed you, every act of coercion, every moment of captivity. Do not fear speaking to the FBI; they will help you build a case and reclaim your freedom.

From now on, you must stop engaging in long conversations on the phone with everyone who calls you. Hire an assistant. Let them handle your calls. These people are setting traps, framing whoever they can. The best defense is silence—let your assistant take over for the next two years, until 2027. Do not speak to anyone on the phone. Let your assistant filter and control all communication.

Also, rely only on James Comey to help you build your case—no one else. He is the only trustworthy FBI agent you should count on.

I know you are struggling to understand what is happening to Ryan Reynolds and Blake Lively, but you must realize—they are under attack. Corrupt forces are draining them, exhausting them, attempting to deplete their resources through legal warfare. Their time, their energy—it is all being stolen from them.

Do you know why Ryan and Blake are being bullied? Because they are your closest friends. And someone takes pleasure in attacking the people who stand by you.

Ryan is one of your most loyal friends. And right now, he is under siege. His wife is under siege. All because of their loyalty to you.

You must speak up and defend your friends. Build your case—not just for yourself, but for Ryan and Blake as well. You cannot stand by and watch them fight this alone. Because if you do nothing—if you choose silence—they will continue. Tomorrow, they will attack another friend. Then another. And another.

We must put an end to this.

Prepare for battle. Collaborate with the FBI. Expose the corruption of Denzel, Samuel, Oprah, and Beyoncé.

They must not get away with murder. They have taken too many lives already.

I hope this letter wakes you up. It is time to fight for your freedom. Otherwise, you will always remain a prisoner of war to these corrupt individuals.

The end of this conversation.

Angelo (POW)

P.S.:

Synopsis of the Letter:

The letter is a direct and urgent message to Gal Gadot, warning her that powerful individuals are trying to silence her and others through coercion and intimidation. The author, Angelo, references her recent photoshoot as a signal for silence but asserts that he will not remain quiet because he is exposing corruption and saving lives, including hers and her husband Jaron’s.

Angelo urges Gal to contact the FBI and reveal how she has been held as a prisoner of war, emphasizing that silence will only prolong her captivity. He advises her to stop speaking on the phone and instead hire an assistant to handle all calls, as corrupt forces are actively trying to frame people.

The letter also highlights the legal attacks on Ryan Reynolds and Blake Lively, attributing them to their loyalty to Gal. Angelo insists that she must defend her friends and fight back, warning that if she remains silent, more friends will be targeted.

Finally, Angelo calls for Gal to work with the FBI and James Comey to expose corruption involving Denzel Washington, Samuel L. Jackson, Oprah Winfrey, and Beyoncé, whom he accuses of committing murders. He stresses that if action is not taken now, these corrupt individuals will continue to dominate and destroy lives.

The letter ends with a stark ultimatum: wake up and fight for your freedom, or remain a prisoner forever.

[autobot2001]

Finding The Truth a Little Too late

Author: Autobot2001 Genre: Fanfiction Fandom: Transformers Rating: T Warning: None Pairing: None Description: Mirage and Sunstreaker find out who Dylan is, but they're too late warning everyone. Note; this is a scene from my story Hidden Killer that I have yet to start, minus scenes inspired by prompts. This contains a spoiler. I debated whether I should post this ( and another scene snippet) or not with no ETA on the story being posted. Uncertain if anyone seeing the posts would read the story and think 'I already know what's going to happen'.

@chaos-company angstpril day 12; a little too late

Mirage’s skills in hacking systems impress Sunstreaker. He knows Mirage does it with good intentions as a spy. The two are aware of the consequences if they get caught doing an unauthorized investigation, but both don’t trust Dylan. They hack briefly to avoid detection, even if it delays uncovering the potential truth. They can only hope they’re not making a mistake by taking a while.

Today, a training mission awaits a few soldiers and Autobots. A simple mission to practice teamwork. For the recruits, this is part of basic training. For everyone else, it’s a refresher course. Mirage and Sunstreaker are concerned about Dylan taking part in the training. The Autobots being in bipedal form isn’t assuring. The concern is training to escalate into a battle. Mirage and Sunstreaker are unsure about Megatron’s willingness to collaborate with humans again, but they suspect that’s who Dylan is working for. "What if that’s true, rather than Dylan being an insider for the anti-Cybertronian group?” Mirage questions. “Either way, we’ve found nothing,” Sunstreaker reminds him, “even if we find something, how do we get the others to believe us? They know you wouldn’t fake data, but Dylan will argue against you.” "We have dedicated weeks to this. I know it’s because we’re not working on this for hours a day like I normally would. I think if we find nothing by the end of the week, that we accept we were wrong.” “Fine,” Sunstreaker says, irritated. Once the rest leave for training, Mirage and Sunstreaker will spend the entire day working on their investigation. They don’t have to worry about getting caught by someone walking into Mirage’s office.

“Trust training?” Megatron asks, intrigued. “A perfect place to attack,” Starscream suggests. “Silence! We stick to the plan to get Jamie away from the Autobots. I want them to discover everything, to witness the Autobots’ expressions. You have your orders, Austin. Do not fail me!” “Yes, sir,” Austin replies and ends the call. Austin knows Jadin can sense Jamie’s energy and that Jamie will protect the Autobots. He needs to get her to leave the base with no Autoots. Austin believes the training grounds won’t allow him to be successful. His goal is to have as few Autobots and soldiers as possible when provoking Jamie to take him elsewhere for a fight.

“You couldn’t tell me this, why?” “I would have, as soon as I had a lead,” Mirage explains, “What good is telling you there’s no one named Dylan Greene Living in DC. without a lead where to take our search next?” “Fair point, so?” “Facial identification. It’s not as easy as identifying a fingerprint, but it’s all we have left.” "That’s why you should have informed me. Too late now to get his cup from breakfast.”

The search takes all day, Several databases to find the correct facial ID match. Hacking the DC police database and the FBI’s most wanted turned up empty. While it seems random, Mirage searches the database of the asylum that burnt down. “Perhaps there’s a second survivor no one knows about,” Mirage explains. As he scrolls through the images, one catches both mechs’ eyes. “Stop, that’s him!” Sunstreaker comments, and gets the photo of Dylan he has, “He dyed his hair and got eye color changing contact lenses, but look at the face. We know Austin has a twin brother, but he wasn’t in the asylum with Austin.” “Frag, we have to warn everyone.” Mirage and Sunstreaker rush to the hangar as it’s time for everyone to return.

The two deactivate their holoforms and transform. They’re ready to explain everything as they know Optimus will ask why are they waiting for everyone to return. It’s uncommon for those returning from a mission to be welcomed back upon returning.

Upon arrival, Optimus questions the two’s reasoning for waiting for the team to return. He listens before arguing about the two’s lack of permission to search Dylan’s records. “You seriously have a jealousy problem,” Sideswipe accuses Sunstreaker, “and you got Mirage involved as well, that’s a new low for you-.” Clapping cuts off Sideswipe. The Autobots, Jamie, and the soldiers see that Dylan is the one clapping with an evil grin. “Well done, Mirage. Even if Sunstreaker convinced you to search my files, as you’d be too stupid to do it yourself,” this angers the yellow frontliner, “I wouldn’t do anything, Sunstreaker.”

[orphanedshadow]

continued from (x) with @ladiesandwitches

“Well, even urban legends, no matter how ridiculous, are said to have come from some original basis of truth, so I suppose it’s reasonable to believe that they might have some helpful information,” Scully allowed, if reluctantly. Though the young woman made a fair point, she didn’t like the idea that even giving so much as an inch of allowance to any kind of ridiculous, fantastical local stories would also give Mulder more of a an allowance to take them seriously and drag her all over the country to investigate mothmen and yetis.  “So which is it?” Scully asked, “Someone being cruelly practical in silencing their victim or someone who believes they’re doing a ritual to honour some old voiceless God?” Both were equally likely; there had been enough killings in America over the decades due to cults and fanatical belief systems, that it wasn’t too out there to believe someone might think themselves a devotee of a deity-level boogeyman.  “They would have just left them there? Screaming for as long as possible because they thought it was an offering?” Scully couldn’t hide her disgust or her horror even as she tried to remain professional, “Have you seen this before? Or have you just read about it?” She hoped it was the latter. If the girl had seen it for herself before then that meant there was either a serial killer, or an entire cult creating ‘offerings’.  Scully hesitated over the buttons on her phone, “What do you mean you don’t see eye-to-eye?” She was starting to sense something as off as the mutilated corpse on the ground, and every instinct in her body was telling her to be on age, to not trust everything she was seeing. Trust no one, Mulder always told her. “Who are you really? You said you’re a ‘metaphysical investigator’, but I don’t think you’re telling me everything. I think you’re keeping secrets and you know more about all this than you’re saying” Her hand went to her gun, ready to draw it if necessary, “You have no intention of explaining yourself to anyone I call in; well you’re gonna have to explain it to me””

Why did investigators always want more answers than she wanted to give? Who she was didn’t matter, this wasn’t her victim, and the hunter couldn’t do her job if she was stuck babysitting an FBI agent.

“Yes, I have seen this sort of thing before, I have been doing this since I was very little. Call it a family business, one that is not always appreciated by your kind.” Normal people, law enforcement officers, it was all the same in that regard. No one seemed to appreciate her work, or even noticed anything more than a change in the local mortality rates.

“As for your question. In this region? Based on the patterns? I suspect followers of the voiceless god. Especially given the depth to which it was buried and the disinterment. This region was colonized by one of the lycan sects, and there are some indications on trees near the burial site.

Her hands moved to twist into a claw-like shape as she knelt down by the corpse once more, lining her fingers up with the markings on the bone, though she kept her other free just in case. "These were made by a wolf’s-claw, a sort of tool that mimics the claws of a wild animal. They slide over the fingertips, somewhat akin to metal thimbles, and are sharpened to rip through flesh. Some variants are held in place by the thumb, but not all of them.”

Fingers hovered over the corpse, pointing out tiny pinpricks on the bone. “Now these ones lack hesitation marks, and would be in non-vascular areas. They would be done by a leader or an elder, in the initial sacrifice. They would be painful, but not enough to cause shock.”

Other bones were soon gestured towards, these ones with a variety of scratches “As for these ones, they are of different distances, indicating different people with different hands. Some have hesitation marks and are quite small, potentially from someone participating for the first time. These would be delivered once the person passes out, to draw out the "last scream” and would usually be performed by all those who are of age. It is believed that the more of these that are delivered the moment before the victim perishes, and the more people participate, then the more fruitful the harvest will be.“

Kara decided it would be best not to mention that there was a reason that most of the smaller and shallower of the claw marks were located on the outside of the thigh, or how those areas were considered "safe” for the youngest to test their claws on.

“Most sects sacrifice the oldest ram of the flock, like this one may have in the past. There were traces of wool around the burial site, as well as a fire and bone bundles. The sheep are eaten afterwards, then the bones buried for a time, until they are dug up, left to dry for a few weeks, and then bundled.”

After a second of thought she gestured vaguely to the surrounding area, a region that had clearly had a few bad harvests in the past. “When harvests fail despite the sacrifice of rams some people will resort to the older methods. In many faiths that practice such things is believed that the more value a sacrifice has then the more the gods will listen…” And perhaps they would…but unfortunately this path tended to lead to some rather unpleasant places.

“Are those enough answers agent, or is there more you need?”