#there are sooo many more i could list

[altruistic-meme]

skk fic rec time !!! 🖤🖤

okay i officially have more skk fics bookmarked on my ao3 than my sister has fics in general bookmarked on hers. so. it is time for another ficrec list by abram, bsd/skk version this time!!!

i have no idea yet how many fics will be on this list. i will go until i decide to stop. but as of right now i have 124 bsd fics bookmarked and i definitely won't be listing all of them so if anyone wants a pt. 2 then i certainly have the material to do that.

i'm not putting warnings with the fics, but bc this is BSD please do take note of tags and warnings that are given! i read a lot of fics with darker material so do be cautious!

One-Shots:

keep you alive, set you on fire by flyby @orbitalflyby (Explicit, 23k) Dazai steps out in a dress and heels for a mission, since the gown won't fit Yosano. He's only supposed to spend an hour or so leading their targets on a dance around a charity gala, but the unexpected arrival of a certain Port Mafia Executive threatens to disrupt all his plans. And when he and Chuuya find themselves finally face to face, they end up entwined in a tense game of mutual provocation...

~

Don't Pull Your Punches by kanekei (Teen and Up Audiences, 5k) Everyone thinks that their partnership is a series of Dazai being a troublemaker while Chuuya is helplessly dragged along for the ride. That couldn’t be farther from the truth. Some days it feels like Dazai is the only one aware of how insane Chuuya actually is. OR: 3 times Dazai cleans up after Chuuya + 1 time he doesn’t bother

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The 5 Elements of an Apology by artemisiatea (Teen and Up Audiences, 6k) in which dazai learns that change is hard, but accountability is harder

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Tea Over Rice by the_most_happy (Teen and Up Audiences, 8k) “Oi, Dazai— what would people say if they saw us?” Dazai gave him a puzzled look. “That we’re happy,” he answered. He made it sound simple; he made it sound pure. “They would say we’re happy.” They never stopped being Double Black — just different clothes and less blood on their hands. [Or: What if Dazai and Chuuya escaped the Port Mafia together?]

~

Lost All Judgement by todxrxki (Teen and Up Audiences, 12k) “Uh, sorry, but unfortunately I already have a date to the dance.” “Oh, really?” Tachihara says, sounding disappointed. He pauses for a second, clearly processing what Chuuya’s just told him, and then says, “Who is it?” Chuuya certainly hadn’t budgeted for this. Panicking, he tries to think of the people that he knows that are single, and before he knows it, the first name that comes to mind is slipping out of his mouth. “With Dazai.” / After a momentary lapse in judgment, high school student Chuuya ends up having to pretend to date his enemy Dazai to get Tachihara off of his back - and quickly finds it's nowhere as bad as he'd imagined.

~

oh darling it's alarming to think of us apart (you know you've got me in your pocket) by interludewings (Teen and Up Audiences, 20k) “Okay so if we’re both still single when we’re twenty two,” Dazai’s smile grew even wider. “Let’s marry each other.” By the time Chuuya’s twenty two, he’d probably be in a relationship with someone else, and the possibilities of them even remembering each other were slim to none. And so, Chuuya gave his answer. “Fine, let’s do that.” In short, fifteen year olds Dazai Osamu and Nakahara Chuuya made a stupid promise one day in their school library out of boredom, which leads to the next seven years of their life filled with fighting, burnt notebooks and late night conversations.

~

The Undercover Mission by OldSauk411 (Teen and Up Audiences, 16k) It all started when Atsushi was sent to drop off some papers that the Port Mafia had let them borrow. That was when he saw her, the woman with orange hair and blue eyes standing in the Port Mafia's hallways and talking. She was beautiful if he was being honest. However, after he left, he forgot about her- at least until a few months later, when the ADA and the Port Mafia teamed up for an undercover mission. One that was led by said 'woman'. Aka, Chuuya Nakahara. _____ Or: Atsushi sees a woman from a distance and thinks she's beautiful, up until the Port Mafia and the ADA team up for an undercover mission and it's revealed that the woman was actually Chuuya Nakahara.

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Nothing but your spine by osamuchuu (Mature, 6k) “Oi, Dazai. We’re here.” Chuuya reached into the car to shake Dazai’s shoulders a bit, rearranging his coat to lay over the man’s back. Dazai swayed and blinked up at him. Whatever painkillers he’d been given had stolen the sharpness from his face. Dazai looked fifteen again, wide-eyed and vulnerable. And then he smiled. He smiled and Chuuya’s heart stuttered because it was so fucking real, so small and different from all the painted faces he wore now. This was dangerous.

~

strange loyalties by finalizer @tarmairons (Mature, 13k) “The Agency dorms are being fumigated,” Dazai explained cheerfully. “So, I offered—Atsushi can stay with us.” Or: Atsushi's observations from inside Yokohama's strangest household.

[sidenote: this is actually a sequel fic and while i loved the first one, this one really just took me to a whole other plane of existence which is why it's the one on the rec list. i do also rec the first one though!]

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Yokohama public High School- almost as crazy as their pep rallies by BlowingYourMind (General Audiences, 20k) "The slacks! They're way too tight on him! Exactly no teachers ass should be like that, the students may be offended-" "Dazai, I think you're the only one that notices, and maybe refrain from eyeing up your co-workers like that-" "But how can I not!" Dazai huffed "It's right there in front of my face, it's hideous!" Oda sighed. he was just an average man with an average job gaining an average salary, but he would need to find a way to help Dazai and his obvious crush on Chuuya Nakahara before he lost his sanity. Or The story of how Chemistry teacher Dazai Osamu fell helplessly for coach Nakahara Chuuya, and the student body's many attempts to get them together.

~

If you refuse to listen I'll say it twice, love of my life by olympiansally @olympiansally (Mature, 15k) There’s Atsushi, Dazai’s star pupil. There’s Fyodor, arguably Dazai’s soulmate, a single mind in two bodies. There’s Kunikida, Dazai’s partner. There’s Oda, the reason Dazai wants to live. And then there’s Chuuya. If he asked Dazai to define him, to name his purpose, Chuuya already knows what he would hear. Chuuya is his dog, Chuuya is a slug, Chuuya is a chibi. And sure, maybe he is. But none of that is enough. Or, Chuuya can’t figure out what he means to Dazai exactly, but if he would only listen, he would realize that Dazai has been telling him all along.

~

In the throes of Corruption by BlowingYourMind (Teen and Up Audiences, 7k) Dazai’s ability ‘No longer human’ ironically made Chuuya human. It stripped him of the god that set his insides to flame and wreaked havoc. Corruption was terrible to Chuuya but Dazai’s touch never was. Or Five times Dazai helps Chuuya through the throes of Corruption.

~

hide the truth by writingfromtheshadows (Not Rated, 24k) When Chuuya wakes up in the middle of an ongoing fight without any memory of how he got there or what happened to him, he ends up turning to someone saved as 'bandage-waster' in his phone. Somehow, it just feels like the right decision.

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Dream a little dream of me by BlowingYourMind (Teen and Up Audiences, 9k) "What would you like to dream of, Chuuya?" Dazai asked, and his partner shifted in the bed before settling down. "I dunno idiot, you pick." Dazai hummed, "I believe I can arrange that." Chuuya's eyelashes fluttered against Dazai's palm as Dazai continued to speak, voice turning into a whisper as he spoke late into the night. Or Chuuya can't dream, and Dazai has a soloution that quickly turns into a routine between the two of them.

~

Multichapter fics (all complete)

in the mirror, i bloom by ephemeralis (Teen and Up Audiences, 12k, 2/2) It twists him, turns him, curls in his chest like something alive, something he knows but can’t dare to name. Chuuya curses the red-black petals that fall from his lips, these nearly rotten things that tear him apart from the inside out. Part of him wants to rip his own traitorous heart out, through a ribcage shattered by feelings he can’t contain. Anger is easy, a thing he’s learned to control. This— whatever the hell this is— is not. Or at least it’s easier to feel as though this is beyond his own control, because Chuuya is not in love. (It feels like a lie even to himself.) After he's hit by a strange ability, Chuuya is forced to consider truths he'd much rather keep hidden- but not everything is as simple it seems.

[sidenote: this was the first bsd fic i ever read and HOOOOLLY CRAP what a beautiful way to join the fandom. i've reread this fic several times since. stunning.]

~

where your loyalties lie by writingfromtheshadows (Explicit, 163k, 20/20) Loyalty is the foundation of the yakuza code, something that was drilled into Chuuya at an early age. However, his lessons did not cover how to manage a political marriage with his organization's oldest rival.

~

Inseparable by milwritsecausewhynot (Teen and Up Audiences, 107k, 21/21) Best friends is too simple a term to squash the entire dynamic of Dazai Osamu and Nakahara Chuuya within. Sure, they’ve known each other since they were children, and they’re each other’s #1 on their best friend lists on Snapchat, and Chuuya’s been seen one too many times in his hoodies. People have also noticed how Dazai’s main muse for his volunteer hobby of polaroid photographer is the redhead himself. But the pranks they pull on each other isn’t much of a ‘best friend’ thing to do. Especially when one of the pranks get pulled so far, That Chuuya is forbidden from seeing Dazai ever again. And though he sees no good coming from such a forced separation, the one thing that can enhance their futures together is propelled forward at a faster speed than either of them could have ever imagined: Coming to terms with their unusual feelings for each other.

~

Do I Get My Worthless Reward Yet? by World_Ender22 (Teen and Up Audiences, 40k, 10/10) Chuuya has always been certain of two things: he is going to die young, and it will be Corruption that kills him. So when the Boss orders him to use his Corrupted form without an out, he is neither surprised nor distressed. He simply does what he's told. When Dazai learns that the whole thing is a ploy to make him rejoin the Mafia, he plans to beat Mori at his own game... starting with convincing Chuuya to join the Armed Detective Agency. / Soukoku

~

When I Awake by wildflowertea @wildflowerteas (Mature, 235k, 23/23) Dazai Osamu has been in a coma for exactly one year, seven months, and twenty-two days. But Death still refuses to take him. Trapped in the space between worlds, and unable to die, Dazai waits, killing what precious time he may have left and hoping—praying—that his family will pull the plug and move on. He doesn't expect someone to move into his old apartment instead. Nakahara Chuuya, two-time Grammy awards winner, and freshly unemployed pessimist, has never believed in fate—much less the supernatural. But the lively—if a bit annoying—ghost of his apartment's previous tenant, might just change everything.

~

hopelessly devoted by soukocacola (Explicit, 188k, 18/18) "Get your grades up." Oda tells him. "Then we'll talk." Well, Dazai thinks. If he's going to be miserable, the least he can do is make Chuuya miserable, too. Maybe then Chuuya will ditch him and Dazai can fail out of college with no regrets. 

~

His Prized Experiment by fauxtales @fauxfroot (Mature, 94k, 18/18) "As terrifying as it could be, there was something just so freeing in using Corruption. It is, after all, his strongest state. No one can harm him when he uses Corruption; he is all but invincible. There are days when he lets himself dream. There is the part of him wondering if that’s just the god or his instincts trying to convince him to unleash pure chaos and destruction on the world, but that thought is easy enough to push away. He has no control in that state after all." As a teenager, Chuuya is subjected to experiments at Mori's hand in an attempt to find a way to control Corruption. Now, years later, Mori has decided it's time to revisit the experiments. Dazai is having none of it. But can they really leave their entire life behind?

~

death offers no absolution by Zairielon (Mature, 62k, 10/10) After so many years in the Port Mafia, Chuuya thought he couldn't be phased by anything - that he had carried out the worst orders that would ever be given to him. Then he sees things he never saw before. He sees horror, cruelty, needless suffering. He sees death in every step he takes. Chuuya is only human, too. Eventually, he breaks. OR, Chuuya leaves the Port Mafia and attempts to escape his bloodstained past.

~

from a to o, i love you so by anticide @anticidic (Explicit, 22k, 3/3) Here they were dancing a dangerous tango and crossing lines and blurring boundaries that neither Fukuzawa nor Mori would take kindly to. Dazai was supposed to have gotten over Chuuya, not melted in his embrace and bound them together for an eternity. (Or: Dazai and Chuuya's unconventional relationship sparks a radical change within Dazai when he wakes up one day under the weather and feeling very, very off.)

~

My Body is Your Body (I Won't Tell Anybody) by thereweregiants (Explicit, 26k, 2/2) Thanks to a rogue ability user, Dazai and Chuuya find themselves switching bodies. ...yeah, there's no way this ends well.

~

Mission - Entrancing Armed Detective Agency by cocktailjjrs (Teen and Up Audiences, 105k, 12/12) “Charming? Have you finally started dreaming now?” Dazai turned to face his longtime partner again “Say what you want, asshole, but people like me better anyway” Chuuya ignored the jab at his lack of dreams, only shrugging in response. “I can bet anything in this world that you can’t be liked by everyone. Your efforts will be fruitless by the end of the day” “Wanna bet?” Chuuya smirked “You’re on!” Dazai returned the smirk “I’ll tell you who your target will be” . . . In which, Dazai and Chuuya are upto their old shenanigans and make a bet. As a result - Bonds are formed, secrets are revealed, money is spent, devious plans are concatenated; someone gets drugged, someone gets punched, someone gets a wakeup slap. And Chuuya's 'brute' image is at imminent risk. All of this - to with the bet!

~

Prey to Your Instincts by skylorr (Mature, 98k, 8/8) He was a beta. He was normal. Barely any scent, no cycles, no mating instincts. Just plain old normal. At least, that’s what he thought. He thought he was normal. But instead, Dazai is currently curled up on his single mattress in the shipping container that he calls home as he sweats profusely and struggles through cramps, pains, and the desire to nest. His mattress has a single thin blanket, which apparently does not satisfy the omega instincts trying to claw their way out of his mind. He was so close, too; days away from his 17th birthday, the birthday that would have officially made him a beta. Hope is a killer disease.

[sidenote: there is also a sequel to this fic that i recommend just as much! it's still a WIP <3]

~

Illustrations of Lying by writingfromtheshadows (Mature, 49k, 20/20) It is more difficult, perhaps, to bear with fortitude the little daily trails of life, than great calamities, because we summon up all our spiritual and moral strength to resist the latter...  Upon faced with the culmination of Mori's plan, Dazai does not go to Odasaku's side. Instead, he relieves Mori of his duties.

~

i'll bleed out for you by StarshipDancer @neonganymede (Mature, 75k, 7/7) What a shitty way to die.... Less than forty-eight hours ago, they’d been impaled together, and Chuuya had feared that the broken metal pole had pinned him in place against a corpse. Now, he worried that a corpse sat next to him, nothing more than a poorly-crafted imitation of his ex-partner. ... And what an even shittier situation to be stuck in. Or, A mission goes wrong, and Soukoku die together. Except, they don't, but now they're stuck in a safe house pretending that they did. And if Chuuya wants to find out what went wrong with Dazai's plan, he'll first have to find a way around the wall of silence that his former partner has built to keep him out.

~

Cigarette Game by chowderpuff (Teen and Up Audiences, 9k, 2/2) Chuuya has a crush on Dazai. Dazai knows this, and he thinks it’s a prime opportunity to mess with his partner a little. After all, why not? Chuuya’s reactions to his flirting are priceless, a new little bonus feature to the game between them, and Dazai actually starts to find it more entertaining than outright arguing. It’s all harmless fun until Dazai realizes that he has feelings too. Then it's decidedly not.

[ author's tumblrs are tagged when i could find them! if you know one who wasn't tagged or if you're an author and would like to be untagged, let me know! ]

[hesperidia]

Tagged by @kyouka-supremacy ty for tagging me!!

Rules: pick 5 or more of your fave characters and poll to see who matches you best

Visual aid:

It was quite hard to pick only 5! my favs list is never ending...

tagging (no pressure): @gyagu @knightzp @volatilize @bienamados @dickggansey and open tags for anyone who wants to ♡

[insomnya777]

hi i just want to say i reallllyyy love your smalletho superhero au on ao3 it's amazing and aughhhh im so so insane about it and i cant sayy anyyythinggg to my friends cause ofc theyre twitter people and i have to be insane about your fic alone *sad face*

i love love love the amount of taylor swift titles btw

(also id go insane if you name a fic after false god or i can see you lyrics just a thought hehe)

awwww thank u so much omg! i lovelovelove naming things after songs i love (which is why there's so much taylor and olivia rodrigo LOL) and omg ive been thinking about lyrics from i can see you for a while now actually!!

[no1ryomafan]

I woke up early yet somehow have more collected thoughts so there’s two brief analyses I wanna make about gun x sword rq:

<I like the title is the way it is not cause Van mech is duel wielding (tho I’m so early that idk all it’s capabilities but it seems to just use a sword) but rather it’s to emphasize the story is about BOTH Wendy and Van, Wendy literally carries around a gun and Van has his sword that is connected to his mech. Even if Wendy can’t pilot she is still as important to the plot as Van

<I already known due to this just being the first thing I hear about this show that Van is driven by revenge and his wife was killed but I didn’t fucking realize they are implying she was killed at their WEDDING because of the brief flashback, ed having a bouquet and every character can’t stop pointing out Van has a tux: because that’s his wedding tux (HHHHHHHHHH)

[phagodyke]

nightcrawler was soooo good.....

[miedei]

so many hills to die on

a case has you re-evaluating your tenuous relationship with spencer, coming to a head when the unsub triggers a confrontation.

cw: fem!reader, soulmate!au, angst/fluff, lighttt miscommunication trope, canon level violence and gore, descriptions of being bound and kidnapped, descriptions of stalking behaviour

a/n: this is probably my most ambitious fic ever, has been in my drafts for sooo long but I rallied and wrote it finally! merged these two requests about a soulmate au from this prompt list, and I definitely went overboard with the concept. title is from $20 by boygenius (lol), unsub name and picture of spencer from loml @siriuslylantsov

prompt: b...ody art (doodles that a person draws on themselves appear on their soulmate’s skin).

wc: 11.3k (holy shit)

mlist

(reblogs are the only way to promote fics on tumblr! please reblog if you enjoyed it :) )

Spencer Reid could say a lot about the phenomenon of transcorpal connections. The incidence of a level of mental connection between two individuals that manifests itself in the melanocytes in a person’s epidermal layer to reflect the markings that another person has exacted upon themselves. 

Or, if Prentiss forced him to speak ‘like you’re a human 27-year-old, please’, it was the instance of two supposed ‘soulmates’ where drawings or tattoos on one person’s skin are reflected on the others. 

Soulmates weren’t something Spencer took much stock in, to be honest. 

A fated partner that some amorphous being has assigned him is not something he really believes in, not just as Dr. Reid, man of science, but also as Spencer, the guy who’s had to watch every loving relationship he’d ever seen end. 

He’d seen his parents fall out of love, the little messages his father would write for his mother always there, until one day he’d seen his father write a to-do list on his forearm, the words never arising on his mother’s skin. He’d had whatever that was with Ethan, where he’d desperately hoped that his incoherent scribbles would eventually pop up on his friend-not-boyfriend’s arm, but never did. He’d seen Hotch, the last ‘Jack misses you’ message that Haley had written him still on his upper arm, no matter how long it had been. 

The connections between people’s skin wasn’t anything he aspired to, not anymore. He could rattle off facts and musings about the instances of ‘soulmate connections’ in history for hours, but it held no more significance for him than it did as a profiling tool.

Hence, Spencer never really held out for anything to show up on his skin, not until it did. 

You had spent years with your body, the parts of it you saw on the daily, and the parts you preferred to avoid in the mirror. The expanses of skin, littered with marks and scars from years of living, are familiar to you. Too familiar. 

You’d spent years watching your friends, acquaintances, and even strangers' skin change. Like the first time, in secondary school, whenever you saw lines begin to form on a friend's hand, it always filled you with a strange sense of melancholy. 

Of course, people lived whole, fulfilling lives without ever having a soulmate connection, and you’re sure your life wouldn’t be any different, but there was always that little thought in the back of your mind, every sighting of a couple on the street adding feathers to its wings. 

What if. What if all that skin finally changes? What if you’ll finally experience the life-shattering love that soulmates are supposed to be?

You had always been holding out for something to show up on your skin, but it wasn’t until you’d least expected it. 

Being the newest profiler in the famed BAU was more than daunting. It was terrifying, like hyper-aware-of-every-bone-in-your-body terrifying. Your transfer from Domestic Trafficking had been a long time coming, your experience in psychology and previous work under David Rossi making you the ideal candidate for the spot. You knew all of that, but somehow it didn’t dampen the nerves that coursed through your body every time you walked into the bullpen. 

It’s your third case as an official agent on the team, and your fear of messing up the biggest leap in your career hasn’t waned. In a lull in the briefing that Hotch gives on the jet, you refer to the case file, questioning the tiny Garcia shown on the screen set on the surface in front of you.

“And this witness who wasn’t present? What’s that about?” You point to a name noted on the case file, which has very little information listed next to it. 

“Yes, my love, that is a little strange.” Garcia’s slightly tinny voice floats through the interior of the cabin.

“She is a Mrs Amaya Walker, not technically a witness, seeing as, you know, she lives and works two hours away from the crimes, but there is a pickle.” As she speaks, Spencer slides into the seat across from you, and you flash him a quick smile as he slides a mug of coffee over the table to you.

“Our lovely Mrs Walker here saw a list pop up on her forearm, right when the last murder happened. Initially she didn’t think it was anything, but later she saw the press conference that the local P.D. did after the second murder-”

“Against my advice, by the way!” JJ pipes up from her spot on the sofa.

“Yes, against JJ’s advice, but once she saw it, she thought her little list might come as useful to the investigation.” Your tablets chime, a picture of a forearm you assume belongs to Amaya Walker popping up on the screen. The fax machine set up under the table whirs, and you pull out the printed version and pass it wordlessly to Spencer. The brown skin of her forearm is marred by scratchy handwriting, a list of household points of interest:

“Bedframe

Edge of coffee table

Light fixture

Oven door

Nightlight

Garage door

Silver spoon”

Your eyes widen, picking up your case file to compare.

“These are all…”

“Where the unsub left smears of the victim’s blood.” Spencer finishes your sentence, his eyes meeting yours with lines of confusion between them. The seemingly random smears of blood had been a point of confusion for you all when you did the initial walkthrough of the two murders back at the office. Each very far from the site of the murder, the team had concluded it had to be part of the unsub’s signature, although they were different for each murder. 

This was part of why JJ didn’t want it released to the public, on the off chance that the publicity causes the unsub to escalate or double down.

“Yes, wonderful profilers, you’re correct. The list correlates with all the different spills of blood and…” Garcia shudders, “gore left at every crime scene. Her husband has refused to speak to the police, and she insists he has nothing to do with it, but the police are working on a warrant, they should be getting them both to the station tomorrow.”

“Yes, that is strange. Reid, L/N, you two go to the ME’s office, figure out if there’s anything we can get out of the method of killing. Dave, you go with Morgan and JJ to the most recent crime scene. Maybe we can get something more out of it. Prentiss, you and I will head to the first crime scene, see what we can see. Hopefully we can correlate that with whatever we get from Walker tomorrow.” Hotch’s stern, no-nonsense voice cuts through the confusion, and you all straighten up, ready to get to work.

The medical examiner’s office is chilly, and you regret forgoing a blazer as you step into the bright building from the warm evening air. Spencer laughs softly next to you, and he nudges your shoulder. 

“Cold?”

“No.”

You speak resolutely, but the sparkle in his eye indicates he knows your lie. Grabbing the distinctive purple scarf from around his neck, he wraps it around yours, smiling when he meets your eye. The moment is only broken by the clip-clop of shoes coming down the hallway, and you both turn away hastily.

The ME walks up to you, his voice clipped and curt.

“You’re from the FBI? Come with me, please.”

You follow him into a room that smells overwhelmingly of formaldehyde. Two examining tables stand in the middle of the room, white sheets covering the bodies.

“The methods of killing were very different for each case, so much so that we didn’t put together that they were related until the police did.”

Spencer nods from beside you, accepting a clipboard from the doctor. Not bothering to read it, when he can do it in a fraction of the time, you converse with the doctor.

“Yes, we saw that one of the victims was stabbed, and the other strangled? That doesn’t track with any evolution we’ve seen before. Stabbing’s generally much easier than strangling, we usually see them go the other way around.”

He nods, pulling back the sheet on the second victim. You can see mottled bruises around his neck.

“Yes, the most recent victim, John Coulhain, was strangled. By the angle of the bruising, it’s clear he was attacked from behind, and by something that has both leather and metal in it. You see here, there’s a larger imprint from the metal segment.”

Spencer raises his head.

“It says here that he had just gotten out of the shower after work?”

“That’s right. He was found in only a towel. His clothes weren’t found.”

You frown, turning to Spencer.

“Leather and metal… that sounds like a belt to me. Coulhain was a lawyer. He wore suits to work.”

He picks up on your train of thought, continuing where you leave off.

“His clothes weren’t found. The unsub might have used his belt as a murder weapon, so he took the rest too.”

You turn to the medical examiner

“The first victim, Cohen Gibson, what sort of knife do you believe was used?”

He walks you over to the second table, drawing back the sheet so you can see the seemingly random pattern of wounds.

“They’re varying degrees of shallowness, but the shape of the wounds makes me think it was something medium-sized, probably stainless steel.”

Spencer leans forward, inspecting the wounds closely as he muses.

“Stainless steel isn’t the sort of knife you buy with the intention of violence. 54% of stainless steel knives are purchased for everyday purposes, like cooking.”

The ME walks you through the rest of the details of the murders, but the randomness of the methods of killing and the missing clothing stick with you.

An hour later, when you and Spencer walk out of the building into the dusk, it’s still on your mind.

“Reid, why would an unsub use a perfectly good knife for his first murder, but forgo bringing it to the next scene, and use his victim’s belt instead? That reads like a devolution, and this guy is still ramping up.”

“Maybe he’s relishing the deaths? Strangling takes longer, so maybe he realised that stabbing wasn’t going to give him the time with the body that he wanted.” He offers, but you can tell he’s not convinced.

“The scenes don’t show any sign of him lingering. And even if that’s the case, why not bring your own strangling equipment? A belt doesn’t give him the precision he needs in order to control the rate of death, especially one he just snatched off the floor.”

Spencer nods slowly as you approach the car.

“He doesn’t hesitate at all in killing them, but he doesn’t come prepared. It’s like he’s obscenely confident in himself, and doesn't think he needs to plan in order to pull it off.”

You slide into the car as your phone begins to buzz in your pocket. Fishing it out, you pick up the call.

“Hey Emily, you’re on speaker.”

She speaks immediately, forgoing any greeting.

“The first victim, Cohen Gibson. Was the weapon a stainless steel knife?”

You exchange a look with Spencer, replying quickly.

“Yeah, it was. Why do you ask?”

“Gibson’s wife just confirmed that their knife block is gone, along with six stainless steel knives.”

Spencer leans forward to speak into your phone.

“That makes sense. We think the unsub is showing up with no preparation because he believes he doesn’t need it. He’s a narcissist.”

She makes a distracted sound of affirmation.

“That sounds right. Okay, Hotch wants you to meet us at the hotel, we’re going to compare notes there.”

You go to hang up, before she speaks once more.

“Oh, one more thing, the local police department got the warrant to bring in Amaya Walker for an interview tomorrow. You guys should do that, she’ll be more relaxed with younger people there. If her husband has something to do with it, you have to get it out of her.”

Stepping out of the SUV the next morning, you and Spencer walk through the sliding doors of the Decorah P.D.'s office, greeted by the captain of the precinct. 

“Hi, I’m SSA L/N, this is Doctor Reid.” You shake his hand, chuckling under your breath as you watch Spencer awkwardly avoid doing the same. 

Once you’ve set up your things in the conference room they’ve allocated to you, Spencer turns to Captain Peretti. 

“So, is Mrs Walker here? We’d like to ask her a few questions.”

Spencer is sitting in the chair across from Mrs Walker in the interrogation room, while you are leaned against the desk next to him. 

“We really appreciate you coming in like this, I understand that this is a stressful time for you. Mrs Walker, what can you tell us about your husband’s whereabouts when the list showed up on your skin?” She’s being cagey, not answering your questions and clamming up whenever you mention her husband.

“Eric had nothing to do with it. I’m telling you, it was a mistake for me to come in, I’m sure it’s unrelated.”

She motions to the words on her arm, and you sigh. It looks like straight questioning isn’t going to get you anywhere. Spencer leans his elbows on the desk, looking at Mrs Walker, his brown eyes seeming larger in the dim light. His shirt sleeves ride up his arm a little, and a flash of dark lines shows before it’s covered again.

“Let me ask you this, have messages like this come up on your skin before? Whether they’re lists or not, have you ever seen anything show up on your left forearm?” She shakes her head mutely, eyes trained on the steel surface in front of her. You sigh, motioning discreetly at Spencer, and you both rise, walking out to the viewing area where Hotch and Emily are standing. 

“She won’t say anything?”

“Only that her husband has nothing to do with it. But…” Spencer trails off, and you take the opportunity to finish his thought.

“But, she clearly has some hangup about the messages. When Spencer asked whether they’d showed up before, she said no, but it’s clear there’s more there.” Hotch nods thoughtfully. Lost in thought, you spin a pen in your hand, tapping the uncovered tip against the inside of your wrist, accustomed to the ink blotches that appear on the skin there. 

Your eyes wander aimlessly as you do so, and land on Spencer, who is scratching at his forearm. It causes his shirt sleeve to ride up a little again. That’s when you see it. 

Small marks are on his skin, more muted than you usually see them, but you’d recognise them anywhere. Your eyes widen, looking down at your own wrist. A constellation of ink dots and lines are scattered across the delicate skin, identical to the ones on Spencer’s wrist. 

Is this really happening? Reid? Of course, you’d never been able to convince yourself you weren’t attracted to him, but he’s your coworker. He’s a large part of why you’re so nervous at the BAU. He’s not your soulmate… is he? 

Hotch’s unflapped voice breaks through your racing thoughts. “Okay. Head back in, press about their relationship, not the list. Let’s see if we can find a weak spot.”

Well. Looks like you’ll have to contain this revelation until you’re done for the day. Your head reels with the discovery, but you have to put it aside in favour of the case.

Your mind made up, you snatch the pen off the table before following Spencer back into the interrogation room, steeling yourself with a deep breath.

“We’d like to get to know you a little more, Mrs Walker, if that’s alright with you. How long have you been married?”

She shifts in her seat, uncomfortable, but answers readily. “Fifteen years. And no, there’s never been any red flags that make me think he would ever be capable of something like this.” 

From his spot next to you, Spencer nods once.

“Okay, we understand. In your relationship, do you guys have any rituals to do with your connection? Like writing to each other throughout the day, or a code system or something with your skin?” 

Her cheeks flush, eyes trained on her lap. You press further.

“What is it Mrs Walker? Whatever it is, we really need you to tell us.” No answer. Spencer leans forward.

“Mrs Walker, two men are dead. We’re doing our best to find whoever did it, but we need all the information you can give us in order to do that. You can help us prevent any more deaths.” She wraps her arms around her middle, but still doesn’t say a word. Following his lead, you slam a hand down on the metal table.

“Mrs Walker! I understand that, whatever this is, it’s personal, but this is not the time to be hiding information from us. Men are dead, and it's starting to look like the perpetrator had some connection to you. The local police have a warrant for your husband’s arrest. I want to help you get your family out of this mess, but you need to tell us everything you can. Now.” Her shoulders slump, and finally, you feel like she’s telling you the truth.

“I… I started getting the messages in September. They’re not- not from Eric.” A wordless conversation passes between you and Spencer. That was 4 months before the first murder. You turn back to her, nodding encouragingly as the words seem to spill past her parted lips.

“I never expected to have a soulmate. Or at least… to be able to speak with them. My husband and I, we’re happy! I didn’t care that we weren’t soulmates until…”

Spencer prompts her, leaning forward. “Until?”

“Until the first drawing showed up. It was just a doodle of something, I barely remember now, but we started writing to each other. In places that no one would see, the underside of my arm, or my ribcage. I didn’t- I never did anything! I love my husband, I do, and I would never-” She cuts herself off, holding up a hand to ask for a little time. A few minutes later, she pipes up again.

“I don’t know his name or anything. We talked about surface level stuff, you know? Favourite books, shows, things like that. I was never going to do anything about it, so I didn’t tell anyone.” You can’t help but raise your head, flashing a look at the one-way mirror, hoping Hotch will read the urgency on your face. 

“This is good, Mrs Walker. Thank you for telling us. It’s going to take us some time to deduce whether this is related to the murders or not, but I hope you won’t object to helping us further.” Wordlessly, Spencer slides your notepad and pen over to her.

“I’m going to need you to write down everything you can remember from your messages. If there are any still on you, I really need you to write them down as clearly as you can. In a few minutes, one of our teammates will be in, and they’ll walk you through a cognitive interview, try and see how much we can recover.” The two of you rise, nodding to the officer stationed inside the door, but you pause when she calls out to you.

“Do you- do you think that it’s wrong of me? To stay in this relationship, when I know there’s a soulmate out there for me?” You go to speak, but Spencer beats you to it.

“Mrs Walker, the phenomenon of connections like these doesn’t necessarily mean that the relationship would be perfect. You love your husband, and you have loved him for years. A ‘soulmate connection’ doesn’t mean you should even be in a relationship. Many people don’t even believe it has anything to do with compatibility, those relationships are just as flawed as any other. Honestly, I sometimes think the expectations could hinder a relationship.” 

It startles you a little, the emotion behind Spencer’s eyes when he speaks. Does he really not believe that a connection means anything? Your eyes can’t help but flick down to the faint marks on your wrist.

By the time you look up, Spencer is already in the doorway, looking back at you with concern in his eyes. 

“You okay?” His voice is hushed, intimate, but it’s all you can do to brush it off. Walking back into the conference room, the team is already hard at work. 

Spencer’s confused. Something clearly rattled you in the interrogation room, but despite his attempts to meet your eyes, it’s like you’re purposely avoiding his gaze. 

He hasn’t taken the time to think about it, but whether that’s because he’s busy or because he’s worried, who knows? 

What he does know is that you have quickly become one of his favourite people to work with. Hours spent hunching over maps together, inspecting crime scenes and interviewing witnesses have endeared you to him faster than he thought was possible. It’s this unexplainable fondness that leaves him reeling when the comforting smiles and shared looks are lost all of a sudden. 

He attempts to push it to the back of his mind as the team runs through the case once more, Garcia’s tinny voice streaming through the room. However, he’s not fully in it, and the team notices. By the time they’ve concluded that a reinspection of the crime scenes and interviewing Eric Walker was necessary, Emily is eyeing him weirdly, and Morgan all but frog-marches him out to the precinct’s kitchenette. 

“Kid. What’s going on?” The elder man braces his hands on Spencer’s shoulders, eyes blazing into his. 

“You’ve been acting weird ever since the second interview with Amaya Walker, and so has L/N.” A sense of relief floods through Spencer, and he speaks earnestly.

“I don’t know! We interviewed Mrs Walker again, and it was all fine, but the moment we left the room it’s like she can’t look at me anymore. It’s making me feel all awkward.” 

Morgan sighs, his fingers unintentionally digging into Spencer’s shirt. 

“What did you say when you left?” Spencer bristles a little at the implied accusation, but can’t help but run through the last few parts of the interview.

“It was all normal, but then she- Mrs Walker, asked if she was wrong to stay in her relationship when she has a ‘soulmate’ out there.” He nods, prompting Spencer to continue. 

“I told her what I think she’d agree with, that I don’t know if a connection would make a relationship stronger. I thought that was right, it felt like it soothed the witness.” A troubled look passes over Spencer’s face. He’s always struggled with social cues, but he thought he’d improved. Mrs Walker looked much calmer after he said that to her, and that was protocol. 

Calm the witness, make sure they think you are in their corner. Gideon’s voice rings through his head.

“And that was it! We left the room, and then she started acting all…”

Morgan’s features are unreadable, but his hands relax on Spencer’s shoulders. 

“Sounds like you need to figure out why she’s bothered. But, kid… Don’t let this affect the case.”

With that, he pats Spencer’s shoulder and walks off, leaving him pondering his words. Figure it out. 

Spencer Reid is good at figuring things out. Maybe he can’t tackle this like Spencer, your bumbling coworker, but as Spencer, the profiler.

You’ve been at the first crime scene for only a few minutes, but the awkwardness is thick in the air between you. 

Spencer has that infuriating look on his face, all furrowed brows and piercing gazes and so attractive it makes you want to pull your hair out. It’s making it so hard to try and detach yourself from him.

In an attempt to distract yourself, you sidle over to the evidence markers that tag the blood smears in this crime scene. 

“So we’ve got… A side table in the master bedroom, a heart pillow that was in the living room and an elephant painting on the wall in the landing. All far away from the site of the murder in the kitchen.”

Spencer steps up next to you, still gazing at you unreadably, but opens his mouth to follow your train of thought. 

“The blood spatters indicate that the attack began in the hallway, and the final blows in the kitchen. No blood anywhere else, nowhere near the smears.”

You nod, trying to run through the details of the case in your mind.

“The attack is rushed, hasty. All the stab wounds indicate a blitz attack and a lot of overkill, but the smears are calculated.” 

He smiles, and it’s all you can to not turn and reflect that back to him.

“Right, no blood dripping anywhere outside of the murder, not even when he takes some to the different areas of the house to smear. The murder itself is charged with anger, but this is something more. It’s deliberate, it’s…”

You meet his eyes, finally, and voice what you know you’ve both concluded.

“It’s a message. But to whom?”

He holds your gaze, going to reply to you, but is cut off by the shrill sound of his phone ringing. With a sigh, he fishes it out of his breastpocket, holding the brick-like device to his ear. 

Whatever he hears has him tensing, and you feel like a coiled spring, bracing yourself for whatever grim news is awaiting you.

“Okay Hotch, we’re leaving now, get Garcia to send all the photos to us.” He sets down the phone, looking at you.

“There’s been another murder.”

You stand at the clear whiteboard, surveying the images tacked on to it. The blood smears of the newest crime scene are pinned up next to those of the two previous ones, and it’s driving the two of you crazy trying to decipher what the patterns are. Spencer fiddles with his fingers, the marks on his wrist flashing as his sleeve shifts, sending your mind spiralling every time you notice them.

“A painting of a tree, and an orange. Let me ask you this, do you think the things themselves are significant or the locations of them?”

You shake your head slowly, trying to clear the fog from your mind. The both of you are silent, standing in front of the board with puzzled looks, when Morgan bursts in, waving around some papers.

“Got the pictures of Mrs Walker’s newest message.” He grabs a magnet and pins a picture of Mrs Walker’s calf to the centre of the board, two things listed there.

“Tree painting

Orange”

“Ok kids, we really need you to work your magic this time,” Morgan taps your shoulder.

“The cooling down period has gotten shorter and shorter. We can’t expect to get to tomorrow evening without another murder.” 

You sigh, rubbing your wrist absentmindedly. The marks and your newfound realisation about Spencer haven’t left your mind, but have been pushed to the background for the time being. However, the frustration brings it back up. The connection. Does it mean nothing to him? Does he not think that it would do something for a relationship? You’ve always thought it would indicate that you belong together, wouldn’t you…

Your body moves without your go-ahead.

Eyes widen.

Shoulders tense.

Your arms reach forward, haphazardly grabbing and moving the lists until three pictures sit side-by-side on the board in front of you.

One is printed, a crude attempt by the CSU team to catalogue the items marred by blood. Two are images, words on skin. Words, the first letters of which spell out…

You grip Spencer’s arm, pointing at the first image of Amaya Walker’s skin, the second murder.

“Belongs. Spencer, the second crime scene.” 

He doesn’t even acknowledge your use of his first name, leaning forward like you are. He zeroes in on the newest image.

“To. The third one. It’s an acrostic. The first letter of each item spell out his message.”

You move forward, writing the words ‘__ BELONGS TO’ on the board. You are feeding off of each other, thinking aloud in a way that has Morgan sighing to himself.

“She didn’t get a list for the first one.”

Spencer nods. “She didn’t notice. He had to show her.”

You grab the printed list of the items smeared in the first crime scene. “Side table, pillow, painting”

He leans over your shoulder. “He’s more specific than the crime scene techs were. Heart pillow, elephant painting.”

You turn to him, stomach dropping. “She. She belongs to…”

He writes in ‘SHE’ next to the two other words. “He’s possessive, something happened to make him think he doesn’t have her.”

“Narcissistic. Driven by ownership.”

“Eric Walker was here when the third murder happened. Who else would want to lay claim to her?”

You straighten up, meeting Spencer’s eyes, not looking away even as you address Morgan.

“Derek, where’s Eric Walker?”

“They released him from questioning an hour ago, he went home.”

You and Spencer spring into action, scooping up your abandoned holsters. 

“We need to get to the Walkers’ house, now. Our unsub is taking out what he sees as competition, and Mr Walker’s all he needs to get rid of.”

In the SUV, you are jittery. Morgan sits in the driver’s seat next to you, and Spencer in the back. As you fiddle with your vest straps, you can’t help but think of Mrs Walker, the woman who never wanted a soulmate. And now her soulmate is trying to kill the love of her life.

Maybe Spencer was right?

Hotch is barking orders at the gathered agents when you step out of the vehicle. Nodding along, you fall to the back of the group, your designated role until you’re called to enter the house. 

Your vest is uncomfortable. The straps are always too long or too short, and you have to get it right before you storm the house, but your thoughts are so loud, and Rossi on the phone with the unsub is so piercing, and it feels like you will never get comfortable.

Finally, you feel like giving up, until warm hands find purchase on your shoulders. Looking up, you see Spencer, standing before you with a slight, nervous smile. His hands gently move yours away from the straps, and he looks at you questioningly.

“Can I?” You nod dumbly, unable to tear your eyes away from him.

The touch is soft, tentative. He pulls at the straps dangling over your shoulders firmly, tightening the vest until it sits snugly over your chest. As if acting on instinct, he slips a finger under the kevlar, brushing the thin fabric of your shirt over your collarbone delicately. It makes you shiver.

“Is that good? Too tight?” His eyes are devastatingly soft, head tilted down to face you fully. 

“No, it’s good. Thanks, Reid.” You have to get yourself away from the magnetic pull of him, stepping back and letting out a sigh of relief. 

You walk away, heading Emily’s way, completely missing the look of confusion he aims at you as you brush past him.

Joining the circle of agents and officers, you tune into Morgan’s run down of the plan. 

“Hotch and JJ will take 5 officers and break down the front door. Now, we know there are two other doors that the unsub will probably make a break for once we enter. Prentiss and I will be at the northfacing one, Reid and Rossi at the westfacing one. L/N, you and Captain Peretti should be stationed in the land behind the house, secure the outbuildings before the unsub can think to rush to them and destroy evidence.”

You nod, exchanging a glance with the police captain. 

“Remember, this unsub is severely narcissistic and delusional. He won’t stop at anything to get what he wants, including opening fire on us. Do not engage him in a confrontation. Challenging his goals and views will push him further, and we don’t want any more casualties at the hands of this man.” 

With a decisive nod, Morgan breaks away from the group, the people beginning to station themselves at their posts. With the captain at your side, you walk around the house to the field behind it, directing officers to each of the small barns and outhouses dotting the land. 

With the captain, you stand ready at the large wooden door of what you think is a stable, when the crackling of your earpiece alerts you to JJ’s voice.

“We’re heading in on 5, 4…” You can hear a crash and a shout, and JJ’s voice turns hurried. “We head in now!”

A few minutes have you tapping your index against the side of your firearm, worried. 

“He’s not here. We have Mr Walker here, multiple stab wounds but a relatively steady pulse. House is clear.”

Emily starts speaking. “He hasn’t gone through our door. Rossi?”

Rossi crackles out a negative response. Bringing your wrist to your mouth, you speak into the mic embedded there. 

“If Walker’s still bleeding out, the unsub has to have just been there. Are there any other possible exit points?”

There’s silence for a second until Reid’s voice comes over the comms, frantic. 

“There’s a northwest facing window that’s unlocked! Footsteps leading away from it, into the field.”

Immediately you spring into action, autopilot taking over as you direct multiple officers to search the surrounding woods, and the rest to clear out the outbuildings. 

Counting down, the police captain kicks in the stable door, and you flick on your flashlight, advancing.

The large room is drafty, the old wood planks creaking with every gust of wind. At first glance, the dark room seems quiet and empty, and each movement of your flashlight seems to confirm this. 

The only thing of note you see is the row of stalls along the left wall, the angle of the opening making sure that you can’t see into all of them. 

Silently, you begin to walk towards them, signalling for the captain to follow. Despite the first few being completely empty save for some hay, a chill runs down your spine, bracing yourself for a confrontation that hasn’t happened. 

As you begin to inch your way to the second-to-last stall, you hear a shout from outside the building. 

“There’s someone in the woods!”

One of the officers rushes past the open door to the stable, and the captain raises her head immediately, dropping her defensive stance. 

“That must be him. Let’s go!” Without waiting for a response, she turns, running out of the stable, as if she can’t hear your hushed whispers. 

“Captain! This building hasn’t been cleared—” She’s gone. You can hear the rush of officers running past the building, towards the wooded area to the back of the property. Despite the high probability of the unsub being the person spotted there, you know you can’t leave this building without clearing it. 

You really should wait for someone to do this with you. Never enter a potential crime scene without backup. Rossi’s voice rings in your ears. 

But there’s only two stalls left. The rest of your team are still securing the house and the victim. The officers are gone. 

You can clear two stalls on your own. They’re probably empty anyway. 

Having made up your mind, you straighten up, tightening your grip on your gun and flashlight, and advance. 

Slowly walking to the first stall, you turn the corner, quickly flashing your light in the small space. Empty. 

One more.

The floorboards bend slightly as you walk across them. The wind rushing past the walls ruffles your hair. The metal of your gun is warm under your palm. 

The wall of the final stall comes closer, closer, until you’re stood behind it. One step forward and a turn to the left, and you’ll be at the doorway. 

It’ll be empty. They’ve all been empty.

You take the step, right foot planting in front of you, and turn on the balls of your feet, flashlight and gun extended in front of your chest.

“Hello, agent.”

Not empty.

The house is finally cleared, and Mr Walker loaded into an ambulance. As he watches the vehicle retreat down the road, Spencer hears the chatter over the comms. 

“Is it him?”

“The woods are thick, how did he get here without us seeing—”

“—in pursuit of the person we saw—”

“He’s a white man, late 60s—”

“It’s not him! You hear me, officer? That’s not him, do not arrest that man!” Morgan’s voice cuts through the jabbering, voice stern. 

They haven’t gotten the unsub? Spencer turns on his heels, striding back into the house, where Hotch, JJ and Rossi stand around the blood spatter on the floor. 

“Spence. Doesn’t look like the unsub could’ve gotten to the woods in time, not before we were stationed in the field he’d have to cut through anyway.” JJ stands with her hands on her hips, irritation clear on her face. 

“The other buildings on the property?” He comes to stand next to Hotch.

“I saw Captain Peretti. She said they were all cleared. CSU’s sending more units to secure all of them, but we’re not considering any of them crime scenes as she says it’s clear he hasn’t been in them. It’ll take a while for them to get here and secure them all.” Hotch replies, brows furrowed. 

The door opens, and Morgan and Prentiss walk in. 

“Everything okay?”

Emily huffs. “The locals almost arrested the elderly neighbour, but other than that, the woods are seemingly clear.”

Morgan adds, “There’s some trampled plants in the cornfield to the west of the property, so we’ve got officers searching that now, but that field backs up onto a major road. If he made it through that, he could be anywhere by now.”

Rossi sighs, shoulders slumping. 

“I’m getting sick of this son of a bitch slipping out of our hands.”

“I agree. Rossi, go with Prentiss and Morgan to the road by the cornfield. Canvass anyone you find, ask neighbouring homes if they saw anyone emerge from the crops onto the road or lone cars idling. If he took that way out, he'd have had a car waiting for him there.” They nod, shuffling out. 

JJ pipes up, her brow furrowed in thought.

“The smears were on a milk carton in the fridge and an envelope. Me. His message is finished, isn’t it? ‘She belongs to me’. What’s he going to do now?”

Spencer’s not sure. Hotch shakes his head exasperatedly.

“JJ, let’s go find Captain Peretti. We’ll head back to the PD and see what we can make with the old clues now that we think he had an intricate exit plan. Reid, stay here, get updating the geographical profile with the information from this crime scene. We’ll send L/N here to work on it with you.”

Spencer nods, heading to the SUV to grab his map, and settling at the Walkers’ dining table to get working. 

It’s hot, sweltering. A throbbing pain thuds in your skull, the feeling of dry hay against your face making your cheek itch. Instinctively, you attempt to bring your hand up to brush it away. It won't move.

You jerk your wrists, but find them bound, and a dull pain pangs in your thigh. It’s clear you’ve been out for a little while, your eyes feeling crusted shut. 

With a little effort, you prise your eyes open, feeling your pupils adjust to the darkness of the room. You’re still in the final stall, sprawled against the far wall. Another experimental tug on your wrist and you realise that they’re bound together, the coarse rope wound around your right thigh, forcing you to stay hunched over. 

It all comes rushing back. Losing the unsub. Peretti leaving. The empty- no, not empty stall. The raspy voice that met your ears before the resounding blow to your head.

Twisting your hands awkwardly, you begin to pick at the rough rope, trying to map out the knot that keeps you in your uncomfortable position. Sweat drips in rivulets down the back of your neck as you crane your neck.

Your position ensures that you can’t survey the entire stall, but he’s got to be close. The property’s crawling with officers. 

“I’m still here, sweetheart.” 

The voice rings out from somewhere behind you, dark and smug. Your hand automatically makes for your holster, but the rope digs into your skin, leaving you unable to reach it. 

“Don’t bother. You think I’d let you keep your gun?”

You can hear the bastard smirk, anger and fear running hot through your veins. Your gun is your lifeline in situations like this, as not only a means of attack, but a grounding feeling. Without it you feel unmoored. 

The only thing you have in your arsenal is your knowledge of the case. Of him.

“Why don’t you come stand here? Don’t tell me you’re afraid of showing me your face.” Your voice is low, cracking with dryness. 

Prodding him just enough should… there it is. You hear his footsteps, walking past your bent head until you can see his feet and legs, standing in front of you.

“That enough for you? You can see me now?” He crouches, squatting by your calves to show you his face. 

He’s surprisingly handsome, flushed from the heat, dark eyes boring into yours. Dressed in a suit that’s slightly too large for him, he looks out of place in the grimy stable. He’s playing the role of a businessman, save for the gun dangling from his left hand, and the telltale bulge of another— yours— in his pants pocket.

This unsub is severely narcissistic and delusional. Morgan’s words come back to you now. 

“You- you outsmarted us all. We were sure we’d catch you.”

A smile spreads over his face, his ego clearly swelling. You can see his shoulders relax slightly. 

“You thought so, huh? I guess even the FBI has hubris.” His lips form the word hubris with some effort, pronouncing it as huh-brus. It’s clear he’s putting on airs. 

You need to get the others here. You could wait it out, until the crime scene techs eventually make their way to this building towards the back of the Walkers’ land. 

But he has two guns, and he wants Amaya Walker, not you. Who knows how long he’ll be content to lord over you, until he inevitably gets tired of playing with you. He has two guns.

How do you get a message to them? There’s no way he’ll let you have your phone, and this guy has no reason to contact anyone but Mrs Walker. He doesn’t need a phone for that, just a pen, probably in his jacket.

A pen. Spencer. That’s it.

“So, you and Mrs— um, Amaya. Are you guys going to meet in person soon?” 

That does the trick. His eyes glaze over with an expression that would look love-drunk, if you didn’t know about the blood on his hands. 

“Soon. There’s nothing keeping us apart now. I’ll go to see her as soon as I’m done here.”

“That’s why you’re dressed up? I think she’ll like that suit.”

His voice is deceptively soft, almost tricking you into forgetting how dangerous he is.

“I think so too. I borrowed it from a friend, John. She’ll like it.”

John Coulhain. The second murder victim, the lawyer. You resist the urge to gag.

“Yeah. It’s- it’s hot in here, isn’t it? Maybe you should take off the jacket and save it for when you see her. You don’t want to sweat through it.”

His metaphorical hackles raise, and you can tell he’s getting ready to stand and walk away from you. 

“No, I don’t mean it in an insulting way, not at all. It’s just really- really warm in here. I’m sweating. Maybe Amaya would like to hug you when you meet her. She won’t want sweat on her.”

Your voice is wavering, eyes unable to move from the gun still in front of you. 

It takes a long minute before he speaks again.

“Maybe I should take off the jacket. Just for a little.” He’s clearly loathed to admit his perceived fault, muttering to himself rather than speaking to you. Straightening up, you hear rustling above you, until the jacket falls in a heap in front of your bound wrists, part of the fabric falling on the tips of your fingers. You grasp it in your hand, wincing as the rope rubs the sensitive skin on your wrists raw.

As smoothly as possible, you hunch over further, settling in the foetal position, pulling the jacket to cover your hands a little more. 

Seemingly not noticing your movement, you see his legs walk out of your eyesight, padding around you until he comes to a stop somewhere behind your body. 

“Now, we’re going to wait here until your police friends are all done at the house. Then I’m going to take you with me, and we’ll go see Amaya. You’re going to be our witness, and then I’ll get rid of you, got it?” 

His voice is unnervingly slow and deliberate, as if he’s fully convinced this plan will work. You wish you had that same conviction, but you’re sure you know how this is going to end. The stress of hiding out will surely break him, sending him into a spiral where he will either kill you and then himself, or kill you and let the police kill him. 

You have to get them here before that happens. Heart pounding, you slowly inch the jacket closer to you, until your hands are fully buried in the folds of fabric. Feeling around blindly, you trace the inner lining of the expensive fabric until you feel a lip of material. The inner pocket is welcoming to your aching fingers, and you sigh, nearly delirious with relief when your index brushes against a pen. You were right.

Thanking whatever deity there is, you grip the pen, shoving it between your bound wrists, out of sight. 

Tugging once more, you’re resigned to the fact that you don’t have the range of motion to write legibly on your forearm, hands laying uselessly against your clothed thighs. The nearest exposed skin is on your ankle, and you have no hope of contorting to reach that without him noticing.

Chancing a look behind you, you can see him hunched over his knees, muttering to himself. You don’t have much time left. 

Deciding to make a rash decision, you grip the pen once more. Shifting so your left leg is hiked up, your wrists shoved between your legs, you take the pen, jabbing harshly at the fabric of your pants. Without being able to see, your aim is sloppy, but after a few minutes of brute force, you’ve ripped a jagged hole in your pants, near where your left calf meets your knee. 

Tension runs through your body, shifting the pen in your hand so that you can write. 

‘Spencer’

Spencer is stumped. Standing over the large map spread over the dining table, he can’t think of a reason why the unsub would ever leave the scene. This was his endgame, his final target until he could have Amaya Walker to himself. Why would a narcissistic sociopath flee after that?

Garcia’s voice comes crackling over the comms.

“My good doctor, it’s a little ridiculous that I had to use the PD’s satellite phone to get in touch with you. Do any of you pick up the phone anymore?”

He huffs out a laugh.

“We’re in the middle of farm country, Garcia. None of us have signal. Have you got anything?”

“You know I do. I took a look-see into Mr Walker’s history to see if he’d been stalked, and in multiple stretches of CCTV footage he’s being tailed by a white SUV. Including two hours ago, when he was on his way home. The car followed him on the main road, and pulled into their private road after Walker.”

“The car probably belongs to our unsub then. Do you have a name?”

“Do you even need to ask? Name’s Randall Slater, seems to tick most of the boxes of the profile. I’ll call back when I have more, Garcia out!”

Spencer slumps back in his chair. Sure, they have a name, but until he gets anything else from Garcia, it does nothing to help him with the geographical profile.

Wracking his brain for any possible lead, he doesn’t hear Hotch and JJ walk back in, not until they stand at the table with him, the police captain in tow. 

“Reid. Where’s L/N?” Hotch speaks in a low and measured tone, but Spencer can tell that he’s worried. 

“She’s not here yet. I thought you guys were going to send her here?” He raises his head, meeting JJ’s concerned eyes. 

“She wasn’t with Captain Peretti.”

“When we were pursuing the neighbour in the woods, I lost her. I figured she’d come back to find you guys.” Peretti’s voice is tight with worry, and a tinge of something else that Spencer doesn’t have the time to decipher right now. 

“Morgan and the rest haven’t heard from her?” 

Hotch shakes his head no. 

“Her comms have gone silent.” JJ brings a hand up to rub her temples.

 “Captain, inform your officers that we are looking for Agent L/N as well. Hopefully there’s nothing wrong, but we can’t rule out the possibility that the unsub found a way to get close.” 

Peretti nods stiffly, striding out of the room hurriedly. 

He can barely wrap his head around it. You’re not checking in? If there was a word stronger than worried, he’d find it, but his brain seems to be wading through sludge at the moment. He hadn’t realised how untethered he feels when you’re not there, until now, where it feels like the only thing he can think of. 

He can’t just sit around. Spencer straightens up, snatching his FBI windbreaker off of a chair and beginning to put it on.

“Okay, I’ll head out into the crop fields. If he took her as he fled, there’s got to be evidence of it.”

He’s already halfway across the room when Hotch calls out after him. 

“Reid, no. You need to stay here. Work on the geoprofile.”

Spencer can feel the irritation bubbling up inside him, his voice straining with the effort of not yelling. 

“Hotch, I’m not going to sit around here and do nothing when the unsub could have Y/N with him. If I can find—” Hotch cuts him off. 

“We. Reid, I know you’re emotional, we all are, but you cannot forget that this is a team. We’re all prioritising this. You know that you are best used here. If the unsub took her, we need to locate that secondary location immediately, that’s what you need to be doing.”

Incensed, Spencer can’t help but raise his voice. 

“Do we even know that he left? We profiled him to be a delusional narcissist, why would he ever leave? Hotch, I’m telling you, something is wrong here!”

Hotch’s eyes flash with emotion, and he opens his mouth, presumably explaining why Spencer shouldn’t leave. It’s all a moot point, however, because in that moment, he feels a burning on his left calf. 

The one-sided conversation goes over his head as Spencer can’t help but tug up his pant leg, itching at his skin as he runs through possibilities in his head. The unsub could’ve done what they’d now theorised, taken you and dragged you through the cornfield, into a car that was waiting by the main road. But why? 

He huffs, sitting down in a dining chair as he continues scratching at his leg. Hotch falls silent, but he doesn’t notice, lost in his thoughts. 

“Spencer. Spence!”

 JJ’s voice snaps him out of his haze. 

“What, JJ?” He snaps, irked that he’s been pulled out of his thoughts.

“Spencer, your leg.” He follows her pointed finger to the exposed skin of his calf, red from his scratching. It looks normal, smattering of hair covering the dark moles and lines covering his skin. 

Wait. Lines? 

He shifts, hooking his ankle over his right knee so he can see his calf more clearly. Shaky lines are forming on the skin in jerky motions, spelling out words in a familiar script. 

‘Spencer 

unsub in stable 

west edge

2 guns

wants amaya’

The handwriting is slanted, letters running into each other and words misspelled. And he knows it’s yours. 

“Y/N. It’s her handwriting. She’s writing to me.” 

He feels like he’s in an out-of-body experience. He can hear JJ’s gasp, but it feels as though it’s coming from miles away. Hotch is saying something, but the words don’t register as anything more than misshapen sounds. 

Graphology is one of Spencer’s specialties, but now he wishes he’d never learned about it. He wishes he didn’t know that the harsh angles of your writing indicate that you have adrenaline pumping through your veins. He wishes he didn’t see the way your letters jumble together, a physical manifestation of your fear. 

He slowly comes back to his body, finally understanding what Hotch is saying into his comm. 

“—a stable on the west edge of the property. We need the three of you back immediately, JJ, Reid and I will coordinate with the locals to have the building surrounded. Reid, can you hear me? Reid!”

Spencer nods, looking up at Hotch. 

“We need to know what’s happening in there. Is she hurt? Can she overpower him?”

He agrees, snatching up a pen and wracking his brain on what to write.

‘Are you hurt?

Are you armed?

Can you talk him down?’

He writes carefully, focusing on the drag of the ballpoint pen on his skin rather than the pure fear riddling his body. Once finished, he doesn’t set down the pen, fiddling with it in an attempt to stop himself from running to the building immediately. 

JJ sets a hand on his shoulder, and although he’s grateful for her support, he can’t bring himself to look at her. He can’t look away from his leg. He has a soulmate.

You’re laying at an awkward angle, neck craned and back hunched over so that you can read what Spencer’s written. 

Are you hurt? Your head hurts like hell, and the rope has irritated your skin to no end, but nothing that impairs you. You write a shaky ‘N’ next to the question.

Are you armed? You chance another look behind you, looking longingly at your gun in his pocket. Another ‘N’.

Can you talk him down? Can you? You remember the many times Rossi tutored you on interacting with narcissistic unsubs. Learn what they want, promise they will have it, and don’t challenge them. What does he want?

You decide you can, writing a small ‘Y’. Next to that, you scrawl hurriedly, hearing him shift around. 

‘bring amaya’

With that, you stuff the pen in your sock, relaxing your body and hoping you don’t look like you’ve been up to something.

The unsub is unsettled, and you can hear him oscillate between standing and sitting repeatedly. 

If you want to take control of the situation, you need to act quickly. He’s losing patience with you and the officers outside. If you wait too long, he’ll snap, and then you’re done for. 

A final peek at your calf finds the words ‘5 minutes’ etched there. 

Five minutes to talk him down. You can do it for five minutes. 

You croak out lowly, vocal chords rasping against each other. 

“I— I spoke to Amaya. When we were investigating. She told me about you. About the two of you.”

You can hear him stop moving abruptly, and then the patter of his feet as he walks quickly to you. He comes to a stop right in front of your face, your eyeline taken up by his feet and ankles. He speaks in a hushed tone, as if tasting the words carefully before speaking.

“She did? What did she tell you?”

“She said you’d been talking for a while. That it started when you drew a flower on your upper arm? She drew it for us.”

His voice has regained some of its smugness as he replies. His feet are tapping softly, as if he has all the time in the world.

“Of course she did. She loves me.”

You nod jerkily, continuing with your waffle.

“It's clear she does. I'm— in the FBI, I'm a profiler. I'm an expert on human behaviour, and I could see it, despite…”

You trail off, hopeful that he'll take the bait. He does, voice gaining a dangerous edge.

“Despite? Don't let me stop you from speaking your mind, agent.”

“Well, she was scared when we spoke. You know, suddenly there were all these dead bodies that were linked to her. She was pretty shaken.”

His tapping stills.

“Because of the bodies? I did that for her. For us!”

“Yes, I know. It's romantic, really. But, it scared Amaya a bit. It's all so sudden, you see. She was a little freaked out, especially because you hadn't told her about it.”

He's silent for nearly a minute, breathing heavily.

“She's angry about what I did for her?”

“No, not angry. I know she'll understand. You did it for her, she'll love it. She just… wanted to know from you, instead of the police.”

There. You've set your trap, and hopefully he'll fall right in it. Rossi's good-natured lectures play out in your head. 

Never challenge a narcissist directly. Make them worried, but never tell them outright that the object of their desire isn't going to be theirs.

He feigns nonchalance, but you can hear in his voice that his narcissistic possessiveness  is warring with the uncertainty you've introduced.

“Your friends had better be leaving. I've got to get Amaya, and if that takes too long, it's on you.”

You fall silent, hearing him mutter to himself as he begins to pace. If you push further you might be toeing the line too far.

The five minutes are almost up, you've got to believe that you've done enough to help them talk him down. 

As if on cue, you hear the familiar crackle of a megaphone. Rossi's voice, albeit muffled, comes booming towards you, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Randall, we have the building surrounded! Let the agent go and we can end this peacefully!”

The unsub, Randall, you suppose, straightens up, and you see him walk cautiously away from you. He walks to the far wall of the wooded building, and you catch a glimpse of him peering through the wood planks. He swears, shoves his gun into his waistband and paces hurriedly back to you.

“You bitch. Did you tell them? Huh? Did you?” He grabs a hold of the rope binding your wrists to your thigh, tugging you up to face him. The rope cuts harshly into your skin, forcing your right leg up at an unnatural angle to follow your wrists.

“I didn’t! I didn’t tell them, I don’t have my phone!”

Wrong thing to say. His eyes darken, and you see his hand twitch toward his gun.

You’re so close, you just need to show him what he’s here for. You hope Spencer got Amaya here.

“I can get you to Amaya! I swear it, if you let me talk to them, I can get them to give you Amaya.”

It works. He doesn’t let you go, and you whimper at the feeling of the rope cutting you, but he pauses, and you can see him thinking it over in his head. It takes one long minute, but he seems to make up his mind.

“No funny business. I’m going to be right there, so don’t even try sending them any messages, got it?” 

You nod, and he whips out a pocket knife, using it to slice through the rope. You let out a deep sigh of relief, your right foot meeting the floor so you can finally stand alone. Blood seeps from the cuts on your wrists and thigh.

He grabs you by the throat, pressing himself to your back, and you register the cold barrel of a gun pressing against your side, where your vest doesn’t cover.

As he half marches, half drags you to the large door, he hisses in your ear.

“I don’t want to hear anything other than Amaya, got it? You say anything that doesn’t have to do with getting her here, I shoot you.”

You nod wordlessly, stumbling towards the door. He comes to a stop right behind it, and maneuvers around you to shove it open, thrusting you out into the fading light of the evening.

Blinking rapidly, you slowly focus on the cavalry in front of you. Multiple SUVs are parked at a three meter’s distance from the stable, doors flung side open so the officers and agents can huddle behind them. A few steps away from them stands Rossi, the sight of him sending a rush of comfort through you.

Rossi clutches the megaphone tighter, and you notice he’s speaking to someone by the SUV in front of him— Oh. Spencer is crouched at the car right in front of you, silver revolver glinting in his hand, and his eyes trained on you as he speaks to Rossi.

It feels rather stupid, but you can’t help but note how pretty he looks, hair tousled and jaw clenched.

You’re pulled out of your reverie when Randall jabs you in the side with his gun, making you yelp.

“Now.” He warns. You straighten your neck, making eye contact with Rossi.

“He’s demanding to see—” Another jab. “—to have Amaya Walker. Please bring her out.”

As you speak, you take your right hand, which was dangling at your side, and bring it up to your pants pocket. Making a gesture that resembles a gun, you slip it into your pocket softly. There’s no significant signal that they’ve understood, but you see the skin around Rossi’s eyes pinch, and you hope you’ve gotten the point across. 

If they can get him to move just a little, you can retrieve your gun from his pocket and incapacitate him. And the only thing that will get him to move now is Amaya.

Rossi brings the megaphone back up to his mouth.

“We can get her here, but we need a guarantee that you won’t harm this agent. Randall, can you do that? Give us Agent L/N, and we can get you Amaya.”

Incensed, Randall hits your side harder with the barrel of his gun. You see Spencer and Morgan twitch forward slightly.

“No! I want Amaya here, now, and I’m not letting your girl go until I see her!”

Rossi nods quickly, signalling to someone behind him. At that motion, JJ emerges from who-knows-where, Amaya Walker in tow. The older woman is wearing a bulletproof vest, her face ashen at the sight in front of her. 

They walk forward until they’re standing by the cars.

At the sight of her, Randall relaxes slightly, but not enough to where you can easily maneuver to your gun. Shaking your head slightly, you see JJ prompt Mrs Walker.

Her voice is shaky and quiet, but you know Randall is hanging on to every word.

“Randall. That’s your name? I’m—” She chokes back a sound. “I’m so glad to meet you.”

Randall makes a pitiful noise from behind you.

“They said you were scared of me.”

JJ prompts her again. 

“I- I could never be afraid of you.” 

At that, Randall lets his hand fall from your throat, and you move. Whipping around, you shove his gun away, diving into his pocket and retrieving yours. You straighten, pointing your gun at him as steadily as you can, with the wobble in your right leg.

He attempts to run to Amaya, but JJ’s already swept her away. 

“Randall, surrender now! You’re surrounded!” Rossi’s voice booms, but it only serves to madden him further.

With a roar of anger he begins to charge to you, and you squeeze, before collapsing. The bullet hits his thigh, the last thing you see before you pass out.

It feels like hours later when you come to, but it's clearly only been a few minutes. You’re sitting on something hard, cold metal, but your back is being supported by something warm.

Only a few beats pass until the sounds come rushing back. You hear the chatter of multiple people around you, but three voices come the clearest. One is deep, interjecting intermittently to the conversation.

The other is calm and melodic, speaking in a steady rhythm that doesn’t falter at all. 

The last is hurried, speaking so quickly that it feels as though it all runs into a pleasant hum. They’re clearly asking questions to the second voice, but you can’t fully understand what they’re saying. 

You want to know who it is. With an immense amount of effort, you prise your eyes open, blinking blearily at the lights. 

“Hey, there she is.” There’s that deep voice. Turning to it, you see a familiar face. Derek smiles at you softly, his hand coming up to rub your shoulder.

“You had us worried there, sunshine.”

Looking around dazedly, you can finally take in your surroundings. You’re sitting in the open doors of an ambulance, the evening having given away to the darkness of night. Headlights from multiple cars light up the area, leaving you spaced out.

There’s a medic standing next to Derek, tending to the cuts on your thigh. Who’s the last voice? 

You twist around, much to the chagrin of the medic, but their protests fall away when you see him. 

Spencer sits next to you, your back leaning against his side. His eyes are worried, pinched together, but still lovely. 

“Hey.” 

It’s simple, but the word seems to mean something more, when it’s coming out of his mouth, and when he’s looking at you like that.

You’re frozen, unable to speak. The medic pats your knee, saying that the rest of your patching up should be done at the hospital. Derek walks away after kissing your forehead. You can barely say goodbye to him. 

It’s only once you’re relatively alone that Spencer speaks again. You turn to face him, immediately missing the heat of his torso against your back.

“Was… this why you were acting differently?” He raises his leg, pulling up his pant leg to show you the words on his skin.

You nod.

“You said you didn’t think it was real. I didn’t know how to tell you yet, and then— it was the only way to contact you.”

You see his hands raise slightly, but refrain from touching you. You want him to touch you.

“I don’t know if I believe in it. But… Even without it, I wanted this.” His words are achingly sincere, and his hand comes to rest over yours. 

“Wanted it since we met.”

Your breath hitches slightly, and you turn your hand to hold his, your wrist with pen marks meeting his.

The words don’t come to your tongue, but you’re sure he knows. He figured it out.

[babyleostuff]

⸻ first date with performance unit

[ 🍵 ] how they would spoil their partner, what they would be like taking them out for the first time & what they would plan to make them feel special

jun

place: cat/dog cafe

what they would do to make you feel special: he’d have your coffee/tea order + favourite baked goods memorised (to the point where if they didn’t have what you’d usually order, jun would know what you’d take instead)

what they would be like taking you out: jun would be the epitome of sweet and precious, because mans wouldn't be able to stop smiling. seriously, the grin he'd have on his face would be low-key concerning because how can someone smile for that long, but at the same time, he'd make you feel so at peace and comfy with his gentle persona

“they are so us,” jun giggled and pointed at two cats trying to claw each other's eyes out. 

you shook your head and took a sip from your cup. if it was anyone else you’d start wondering if they even liked you, because comparing you to a rather aggressive cat was not on your top 10 compliments list, nor was it something you’d like to hear on a first date.  

but the boy in front of you was far from “anyone else”.

“you’re feisty,” jun pointed at the black cat, “just like her.” 

before you could think through what you were about to say next, you blurted out, “well, at least now we know who’ll wear the pants in our relationship.” 

it was safe to say that jun looked like an angry tomato for the rest of the date.

hoshi

place: laser tag

what they would do to make you feel special:  if you’d end up on opposite teams, soonyoung would do anything to let your team win (he’d be so proud in thinking he was being sooo sneaky about it) because seeing you happy is so much better than winning (you’re the only exception though, anyone else - the fight is on)

what they would be like taking you out:  this man is too unpredictable to know for sure how he’d act, but generally speaking it could go either two ways: 1 - soonyoung would be filled with so much energy, beaming with happiness and just so much affection for you that you’d have a hard time knowing what he’d even be on about (lovingly), 2 - he’d turn into a stressed little guy that just wouldn’t be able to believe that he’s on a date with you??? you gorgeous creature said yes to go out with him??? no one pinch him, because if it’s still a dream he doesn’t want to wake up. this version of him would be quite quiet, but in a soonyoung way quiet

“stop!” you laughed, quickly looking back to see if hoshi was still running after you. 

and running he was. more like charging at you at full speed, to be honest, with a fake gun in his hand and devilish grin on his face. 

“you’re not going to get away this time!” he yelled back, getting closer to you with each step. and there was no way you’d outrun him, na-ah. 

“it’s not how you play this game,” you said and bursted out in a fit of laughter, as soonyoung wrapped his strong arms around your frame, engulfing you in a sweaty hug. 

“i don’t care,” he giggled, pulling you closer. “the game is over for me anyway, now that i’ve got you”. 

mingaho

place: painting class

what they would do to make you feel special: he’d be the best listener. i know that is the bare minimum, but at the same time the bare minimum is in hell so… yeah. you’ll never meet a better listener than hao, who could sit on the uncomfortable wooden chair, covered in paint and listen to you for ages

what they would be like taking you out: such a gentleman, to the point where you start wondering if it’s not a dream. gentle, funny, kind, understanding, charming - you could go on for forever trying to describe minghao. all of that said, though, hao would honestly be so so nervous, because come one… so many things could go wrong… and he seriously liked you. like really really liked you.

“how the hell did you manage to get your paints to look like that?” you pointed at hao’s palette that was full of pretty colours, unlike yours. unfortunately. 

“hm?” he mumbled and looked over at your station. you could see the smile forming on his gorgeous face, but since he was the textbook definition of a green flag, whatever you want to call it, he quickly composed himself and pointed at the paints in front of him. “just mix this and this.” 

“uh, yeah,” you huffed, “i did the same and mine looks like shit. literally.” 

this time he couldn’t help but laugh. “let me help, yeah?”

dino

place: a board game cafe

what they would do to make you feel special: he’d try his best to play all of your favorite board games, because one thing about chan - he sucks at understanding game rules (seriously, all of his brain cells would be sweating to understand the game). so it’d truly be heartwarming how this precious boy would try so hard to understand what would be going in front of him. 

what they would be like taking you out: stressed. and. nervous. as. fuck. he just doesn’t want to mess it up, okay? chan knows he’s handsome and pretty and funny and charming, BUT IT DOESN’T MATTER!!! all of his rational thinking flies out of the window whenever he’s around you, and “what were you saying, i was too busy staring at your beautiful eyes”. shakes like a leaf the whole time. 

you could clearly see a question mark forming above chan’s head, as you tried explaining the rules for the third time. usually, you’d be quite annoyed at the person for still not getting what you were saying, but he looked so adorable, with his big puppy eyes and all, that you had to stop yourself from cooing out loud. 

“i’m sorry,” chan said, looking down. “i’m just not the best at understanding games.” 

you leaned over the table and put your hand over his. his head whipped up so quickly you wondered whether he didn’t pull a muscle doing that. 

“it’s okay, channie,” you smiled at him. “we can play something else, y’know?” 

he shook his head, and scooted his chair to sit closer to you. “no, no. let’s try again. i promise i’ll get it this time”.

[a-little-revolution]

oh shit i’m aware! :0 happy October!

what sort of society wide structural accommodations would you like to see in place to help/make more accessible for little people?

Aaaaah this ask is so old now I'm so sorry!! (Things can get lost among all the hate messages lol) But gosh so many things!!

• The first is step stools EVERYWHERE!!! Public access to step stools would solve most of the problems little people face with access. I'm talking bathrooms, service desks, cash registers, libraries, clothing stores - the list goes on! They could fold away for easy access, or blend in as universal design.

There's even these amazing fold up ones I've seen that get automatically tucked away to prevent tripping hazards:

The second is for grab bars such as these (see bellow) for easier toilet access to be more widespread. It's important that toilets remain the height parallel with the average wheelchair, but grab bars can make it much easier for shorter people to hoist.

Public bathroom/change room stalls that go close to/all the way to the floor! As a little person, the average stall door ends at my waist (sometimes higher) so I am not guaranteed privacy. I much prefer stalls with minimal viewing access. And as a trans person, stalls that are more private create added safety.

I would love for extended grabbing handles to be standard practice in vehicles!

These would make getting in and out of cars much easier for a little person, not to mention elderly folks, children, and other disabled people. Extra foldable steps in cars is also something I've seen and loved.

Adjustable foot hammocks on public desks and tables would be sooo goood! A big source of leg pain for me is that my legs are dangling in every chair I sit in, which cuts off circulation and semi-dislocates my loose joints. Some sort of ledge or hammock would solve this issue.

I'm sure there are many more but this is what comes to mind for now!

-Elliot (they/them)

[freyito]

ᴡᴀʀᴘᴀɪɴᴛ / ᴡᴀʀᴄʀᴀꜰᴛ

✭ pairing(s): mydei x gn reader

✩ inspo: Mountain Banjo by Rhiannon Giddens (again)

★ summary: You wonder about Mydei's warpaint often.

✧ a/n: i dunno if its confirmed that mydei's markings are warpaint or tattoos, but i got wonderin!! by the looks of that one illustration with him and his companions, i believe its warpaint, sooo... i wanted to worldbuild a little :P

✦ taglist: @fffrost, @shinysora

🗒 cw: gn reader, lots of worldbuilding i think, talk of marriage, just fluff, not proofread

✎ wc: 2k

Warpaint is honored in Kremnoan tradition. Even as an outsider, you know that. Many Kremnoans take pride in their warpaint, even those who make home in Okhema. You’ve always been interested in the importance of warpaint and the different symbolisms. Luckily for you, you just happened to be the apple of Mydeimos’ eye. Not only the most well-known Kremnoan residing within Okhema, but the most decorated. 

The art of warpaint, of course, is deeply entwined with warcraft. Many would paint certain symbols to call for extra strength in war, tenacity, vitality, the list goes on. Mydei’s most common paint was to represent the flames of war. When asked why he wears it, even out of battle, he told you it was to carry the spirit of strife with him wherever he was. It was this question that led you to be more curious about warpaint in general, and what ultimately led to him allowing you to paint him, instead of an attendant.

Now, you watch from the bed as he dips a brush into a basin with red paint– made from a mixture of berries, the skin of a pomegranate, and oil. It is bright red, as always.

“Why do you use red paint?” You cock your head to the side, reaching for a little bowl of pomegranate seeds.

“You always ask this question,” Mydei sighs, slowly drawing the lines beneath his pec. “It is to symbolize the blood of those that have fallen, and those who will. With war, death follows.”

“Hmm,” You hum, smiling softly. “Have you ever used other colors?”

“So far, no. It is rare for a warrior to use any other color other than red,” His hand is steady, and slow, as he watches himself in the mirror. “Okhemans seem to believe it is blood. What a foolish idea.”

You chuckle softly, slowly getting up from the bed, stepping behind him. His eyes do not move from his work, now starting to line the usual paint on his sides. You watch as he does, admiring his hands. So rarely is he bared for you, even as lovers. He is often busy, with little time to spend with you anymore. You haven’t seen him in quite some time, only occasionally texting and calling. You understood that as a Chrysos Heir, he could not spare much time for you, as smitten as he may be. You also understood that, unless you were an ordinary citizen, you would not be able to understand a simpler, more unburdened love.

It’s not that Mydei makes you feel unloved– he practically dotes on you when he has the chance. But, you can’t say you haven’t missed him, either. So, to share a moment, even if it is something as outwardly mundane as him applying his warpaint, it means everything to you. Especially with the state of Amphoreus, you understand that his time is precious.

You lean forward, pressing your hands to his shoulders. He finally looks up at you, pausing his brushstrokes.

“You’ve said before that there are different markings used for things other than battle,” Your hands fall down to his back, fingers trailing over his spine.

“Yes. There are funeral markings. Normally, only family members or spouses would paint themselves for funerals. Unless it was a high ranking general, or anything above those ranks, then usually soldiers of that battalion would paint themselves, as well.” With that, he goes back to painting over his muscles.

That can’t be all, you think. Yes, it’s called warpaint, but from what you have read (and heard from Mydei), there was more significance to it. Art was cherished in Kremnoan records, with artists being praised right next to soldiers. War is considered an art, anyways.

“Just funeral markings?” You prod, earning a huff from him.

“There are other markings for other occasions,” He shakes his head, dipping his brush into the paint once more.

“Like weddings?”

“... Yes. Like weddings.”

“Care to tell me more…?”

“You always ask me these kinds of questions, my love. This paint cannot be that interesting to you,” He leaves the brush in the basin, letting the paint on his torso dry. 

“It’s a part of your tradition, is it not? Understanding your traditions means I can understand you better,” You give him a smile, which earns you one of his own, or, at the very least, a smirk.

“Well, I appreciate that,” He sighs, “But it’s starting to sound like you have… ulterior motives.”

“Me? Never. I just like listening to you.”

A faint, but unmistakable flush dusts his cheeks as this, as he rolls his head back. A chuckle slips from his lips as he shakes his head. “Quite the flatterer, aren’t you?” Mirth sparkles in those golden eyes of his, as he gestures towards the paint. “I’ll tell you while you finish the paint. If you would.”

Without a word, you pick up the brush, walking around him and kneeling between his legs as you start to draw out the lines on his chest. He watches, for a moment, before finally speaking.

“Weddings are quite rare, from what I know,” He begins, his eyes following your hand closely. “And they are completely different from how you’d view a regular wedding. The ceremony is completely private,”

“Sounds like a dream, actually,” You joke.

“Perhaps it is. I’ve never gotten the appeal of large ceremonies, but, what do I know,” He shrugs. “The paint is made with a certain mixture of flowers, rather than berries. You won’t come across those flowers anytime soon, however. They were… native to Castrum Kremnos, I believe. With the city in ruins… I do not think there is a seed left.”

“Hm, do you truly think so? Seeds are very resilient, you know.”

“What, do you plan to try and grow them? That’d be foolish.”

“And why do you think that?” You finish the first symbol on his right pec finally, dipping the brush back into the paint and looking up at him.

“It would take far too long for you to cultivate them. I am sure of it.” He says proudly. “Besides, certain texts omit the usage of the flowers for the paint. So I suppose it isn’t exactly necessary.”

You bring the brush up to his shoulder, starting to outline the little flame-like symbols on his neck.

“There are no physical offerings, either. Aside from the paint,” Mydei continues, craning his neck to the side, to allow you more space to paint. He reaches around and moves his hair as well. “And one's armor and weapon. When Kremnoans weren’t proving their worth to their love on the battlefield, they would strip themselves bare in front of each other and show their truest vulnerabilities.”

You fill in the lines easily, pulling back and starting the outline for the paint that trails down his shoulder. You have done this so many times now, have painted his body far more than you have painted a canvas. He rarely decorated his body with anything else aside from the flames of war, so you knew the designs like the back of your hand. You could probably do this with your eyes closed.

“You know, you always have me paint your full body, but then you put on your armor. Wouldn’t it be much less time consuming to just paint the parts you don’t cover?” You begin to move on down his arm, lining the other markings.

“If I asked you to do that, you’d have less fun, wouldn’t you?” He jokes, stretching out his arm for you. “The reason behind that is because paint binds us to the armor. When you see other Kremnoans paint symbols for vitality or strength on their body, most choose to don their armor before the paint dries. In the past, warriors would paint or even engrave the markings on their armor instead. These days, however, it seems that warriors are cutting corners.”

“But, you allow the paint to dry…”

“Yes. Because I have engraved the runes of Strife, Strength, Vitality, and Precision into my armor.” He nods, “But, you’re not interested in those, are you? You asked about the wedding ceremony, after all. It’s best we stay on track…”

“Right…” You mumble. By now, you are at his wrist, drawing a handful of little symbols representing flames. “I assume there are other reasons as to why they strip their armor?”

“Mhm. Both will engrave each other's name onto their weapons– in most cases, swords, and shields. It is… It’s like the vows. They swap armor, and carve runes into it. This time, however, it is usually something paired with ‘love’. ‘Strength’ is used most commonly, of course. It essentially is ‘Strength in Love, Love is Strength’. Something along those lines.”

“So, there is a word for ‘romance’ in the Kremnoan language,” You laugh, finishing up the little rings on his fingers, before moving over to his left. 

He huffs indignantly, turning his head, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. “I said ‘love’, not ‘romance’. Anyways,” He huffs, shaking his head. You begin to mimic the patterns you drew on his right side to his left. “That is not all. There is the matter of the paint, as well.”

“Well, please, don’t let me interrupt you,” You laugh softly, dipping the brush into the basin once more, as you make your way down his arm.

“The paint is the most crucial part, aside from sharing vulnerabilities. While armor and weapons hold great significance to Kremnoans, considering Weddings are much more… ‘softer’ rituals, this is one of the few times that steel of any sort is optional.”

You finish up with the little flames on his arms, trailing down to his wrists and hands. Slowly, you begin to trace the rings around his fingers as he spreads them out for you.

“Partners would paint each other. It did not matter where they started, but it mattered where they ended…” Mydei hums, closing his eyes. “From the neck, they must work down the shoulder, to the bicep, down the forearm, and finally, the thumb, the index finger, the middle finger, the ring finger, and finally…”

You finish the ring around his pinky and look up, realizing you had just mimicked exactly what he had described. His eyes open, and he looks down at you with a warm, if not cheeky, smile.

“... the pinky.”

You pull back from his hand, suddenly feeling extremely embarrassed. He huffs out a laugh at this, reaching up with his left hand and cupping your face.

“Please don’t tell me I’ve been practically proposing to you all this time…” You deflate, tossing the brush back into its bowl.

“Hah, no. I have not engraved your name, nor the vow into my armor. That, and I have not told you my deepest vulnerability,” He relaxes a little. It seems like this was more of a… joke than anything.

You sigh and relax, thankful that you have not inadvertently been participating in a wedding ceremony for months. Then, a thought crosses your mind, and you can’t help but perk up.

“Mind telling me what your vulnerability is?” You smile. He chuckles once more.

“We will get there when we get there, my heart,” His smile only becomes increasingly warmer, as he plays with a strand of your hair. “The time is not yet right, either way. I cannot promise you a life with me, until I am sure that such a future exists.”

What a sickeningly sweet way to reject a marriage proposal, you think. Still, when you look up into Mydei’s eyes, all you find reflecting back is honest sincerity and longing. You can tell that he, too, has such a dream for a simple life. Yet, he is impeded by a heavy weight, a duty that seems unending is this time. Perhaps there truly can be a day, free of the chains that bind him to the Prophecy.

Perhaps that will also be the day you finally see him free of the flames of war.

© freyito, 2025 | masterlist | queue | kofi | strawpage | star header by roseschoices DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

[leilaniluvss]

𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤! 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐭𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐞 𝐱 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐓𝐖: 𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐍, 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓, 𝐓𝐎𝐏 𝐒𝐀𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐄, 𝐒𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆, 𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐒𝐄𝐗, 𝐂𝐎𝐖𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋, 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐘, 𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐌, 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆

Btw this is my first time writing and everything so sorry of this sucks btw

𝗙𝗼𝗿 𝗮𝘀 𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗿𝗲𝗺𝗲𝗺𝗯𝗲𝗿, you always been treated wrong by sasuke ever since pre-school it all started over a stupid joke. “Forehead girl, Forehead girl!” The class then starts to laugh at sasuke towards you causing you to run out the class. You even heard the teacher snicker. But you never thought it could get worse from there. Your books would start missing, Notes would be ripped, Certain school supplies would be gone. Small things started to turn into big things. You’ll never forget how 3rd grade you had your first friend but he was a male.

The little boy name was Micheal. “Why are you sitting by yourself?” You turn to him and simply respond shrugging your shoulders “Don’t nobody wanna be friend cause they make fun of my forehead and laugh at me.” Micheal then lift up his hand putting it on your forehead. “I think it’s pretty” He said looking up smiling at me. I then just sit there looking at him. “Wanna be best friends?” I then just nod my head deciding to trust him. From that day on bonds were made. He was always there for you, He stood up to Sasuke when no once couldn’t, He helped you throughout times your struggle. Until one faithful day a person caused your bonds to break. Running into the lunchroom you hear people enchanting the word “FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT!” Ruining into the crowd your jaw drops seeing Micheal snd Sasuke fighting. And oh boy did Micheal got the shit beaten out of him. Sasuke then gets up his punches still connecting to Micheal face his nose was bloody, mouth bleeding, he then proceeds to start kicking him in the gut. I then stand there horrified at the scene until security guards break up the fight. You go immediately visit Micheal at the hospital but wasn’t welcomed. “Im sorry Y/n but I-i can’t be befriends with you anymore not after what happened.” Meanwhile hearing the argument between you and Micheal Sasuke stands next to the door smirking to yourself. Without your Best friend by your side you were left alone AGAIN. When you took it up with the principal at the parents teacher conference nothing really got resolved his family seemed to have their ways causing the bullying to continue on.

But the last final straw was when your mom had passed away after that Y/n was never seen from again. Until she goes to a new high school called Konoha high school, but this school is expensive to be in so the only way Y/n had get in was because the principal felt guilty and was able to convince the rich school as to why you could go. And without having to pay for anything you was able to get in. When you took a tour around the school you could see why it was popular and expensive it had dorms, sports, trips and many more.

This could be a new start you thought yourself. "I've already made a new friends started classes yet!" Sakura laughed.

"Really??" You asked. If Sakura was making friends this quickly, maybe it would be okay for you. “Yeah you’ll eventually meet them to like Ino, tenten, Hinata,Temari, They’re really helpful and on the cheer team!”

“Cheer team?” I asked curiously. “Could I try out?” Sakura nods her head. “It’s a long list and hard try outs but I’ll add you, you could probably be co captain if you do well, so just meet me after school for the tryouts.” She then goes on snd starts talking about other boys

"Yeah! And there's sooo many cute guys here! Like Sasuke, Naruto,Shikamaru, Choji, although Sai is straight up fugly."

"Wait wait wait- did you just say sasuke?” Your thoughts ran in circle thinking about him of seeing him after all these years. “He’s so handsome but IVE never date him tho HES just a red flag.” Sakura said getting back to the point. “Anyway do you know him or something?” She asked curiously. I then take a deep breathe explaining what happend between me and him when we was little. “Oh Im sorry that happend to you he could really be a big ass jerk sometimes.” She said comforting me.

“I did what?” A deep slant voice said. Your stomach dropped hearing the voice after many years. As you turned around to look at him he grown more better. His hair strands was more black and longer, He had muscles and broad shoulders, and he was much more taller than you. He looked at you in a moment before scanning and after his eyes widen seeing me. He then smirks, “Yo long time no see Y/n.” You chuckled nervously looking at him. “Yeah long time no see to you to sasuke.” With the tension in the between YALL 3 he apologizes for what happened and offer for me to hang with him at lunch and sakura I was hesitant at first but then agreed.

At lunch Sakura leaded you to there table as you sat down with your tray of food. You at there nervously until Sakura came with you just by looking at you she could tell your nervousness and was there to comfort you. As you sat down People at the table started laughing at you. Sakura whipped her head at them snapping at them. “What’s so funny?” They then pointed to your seat and when you got up it was a big red spot on your skirt. You gasp horribly getting up out of your seat running off. Sasuke snickered. “Always running off like a pussycat.” Sakura then runs after me. “Hey hey it’s ok calm down” other girls then came in running after me. “Oh and by the way Thats tenten with the two buns, Temari is with the blonde pigtails and ini is with the blonde ponytail and and Hinata is with the purple hair.

“By the way did you sign up to have dorms cause if you did they said for the schedule you have it with us” Temari speaks. “Yeah I signed up but I don’t know where the dorms are actually.” They then grab me showing me to dorms basically welcoming me into their friend group. Now to explain the side of these dorms we have boys and girls. We then walk into the big dorms while we look on the other side we see that the boy sides is well very dirty. Ten ten chuckles nervously. “DONT mind that side Thats where sasuke, Naruto, shikamaru, and chino stay at.” They then grab me introducing me to my dorm room. “So who will be my dorm mate?” Sakura then squeals “I’ll be your roommate!” She then shows me our dorms. “Sorry if you don’t like it I think I kinda over decorated it.”

“No no it’s fine.” I said looking at the room. But because it’s after school Sakura decided to take me out to cheer tryouts. Of course Hinata and the rest of them are on the cheer team.

Sasuke Uchiha.

Even from across the gym, you could feel his piercing onyx eyes on you, as if he’d already recognized you despite the years that had passed. His expression was unreadable, but you could practically sense the simmering arrogance radiating from him.

The memories hit you like a wave. Sasuke had made your life hell when you were kids, teasing you relentlessly. He’d mocked everything about you—your clothes, your voice, even your dreams. It wasn’t just childish teasing; his words had cut deep. You thought you’d left all of that behind when you moved, but here he was, as smug and intimidating as ever.

“Earth to Y/n,” Sakura’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. She followed your gaze to the basketball team, where Sasuke was now laughing with Naruto, Shikamaru, and Choji. “Oh. Yeah, he’s still as much of a jerk as ever. Don’t let him get to you.”

You nodded, shaking off the uneasy feeling and focusing on the tryouts. You were determined to nail this.

The basketball team was mid-practice when Sasuke finally looked over at the cheer tryouts. He recognized you immediately, even though it had been years. You looked… different now. More confident. Stronger. He couldn’t explain why seeing you here irked him so much.

“Yo, Sasuke,” Naruto called, tossing him the ball. “You good?”

“Hn,” Sasuke grunted, brushing it off. But his eyes flicked back to you, watching as you executed a perfect tumbling pass, your hair catching the light.

Naruto followed his gaze and grinned. “Oh, is that [Name]? Sakura’s friend? She just transferred here, right? She’s cute.”

Sasuke scowled, gripping the ball tighter. “Tch. She’s nothing special.”

Shikamaru raised an eyebrow. “You don’t sound convinced.”

“Drop it,” Sasuke snapped, shoving past them to make a layup. But even as he practiced, his mind kept drifting back to you.

By the time tryouts were over, you were exhausted but exhilarated. You’d made it onto the squad, and your friends were cheering you on.

“Congrats!” Temari said, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “We’re gonna dominate this season.”

As you all walked out of the gym, you felt a presence behind you. Turning around, you found Sasuke leaning casually against the wall, his dark eyes fixed on you.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here pussycat,” he said, his voice smooth but laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

Your heart sank. “Sasuke.”

He smirked, that same infuriating smirk you remembered from years ago. “Still as annoying as ever, huh? Thought you’d finally crawl back to whatever hole you came from.”

Your hands clenched into fists, but Sakura stepped in before you could say anything. “Back off, Sasuke,” she said sharply. “She doesn’t have time for your crap.”

“Relax, I was just saying hi,” Sasuke said, his smirk widening as he pushed off the wall and walked away.

You watched him go, your chest tightening with frustration. It was clear that Sasuke hadn’t changed one bit.

But this time, you weren’t a scared kid anymore. If he thought he could walk all over you like before, he was in for a rude awakening.

As Sasuke walked away, he felt the corner of his mouth twitch into a smirk, though his mind was anything but calm. You. Of all people, you were back in his life. And, worse, you weren’t the meek, easily-flustered little girl he used to toy with for fun. No, this new version of you—confident, beautiful, and unapologetically fiery—was different.

It pissed him off.

What makes her think she can waltz in here like she owns the place? he thought, his fists tightening in his pockets. He could still hear Sakura’s sharp tone defending you, and it made his blood boil. You didn’t need her protection. If anything, you needed to be reminded of your place.

When Sasuke reached the locker room, his teammates were already there, laughing and joking, but their chatter blurred into white noise. He leaned against the cool metal of the lockers, his head tipped back, eyes closing as frustration gnawed at him. But beneath the irritation, there was something darker—a sense of possession he couldn’t shake.

She thinks she’s untouchable now, doesn’t she? The thought made his lips curl into a sneer.

Images of you flashed in his mind, unbidden and vivid. That cheer uniform hugging your curves, the determined glint in your eyes as you performed—too confident for your own good. You weren’t the girl he used to knock down with a few harsh words. No, you’d grown up into someone more… challenging.

And he hated how much he wanted to break that confidence.

What would it take to see her crack? The idea gripped him, spiraling into something darker. Maybe he’d pull you aside after practice, just the two of you, his words sharp and biting until you finally dropped that fiery attitude. He’d corner you in the empty halls, his presence looming until you couldn’t look him in the eye, and then—then you’d realize you hadn’t outgrown him, not really.

He imagined the way your breath would hitch if he leaned too close, his voice low and taunting as he whispered things only he could say to you. The way you’d look at him, defiant at first, but eventually… You’d understand you were his to torment. His to claim.

His jaw clenched, and he slammed a fist into the locker, the metallic clang silencing the room.

“Damn, Sasuke, what’s your problem?” Naruto asked, eyeing him warily from across the room.

“Nothing,” Sasuke snapped, his voice cold.

“Yeah, right. You’ve been acting weird since [Name] showed up,” Naruto continued, undeterred. “What, still holding a grudge? Or…” His grin widened. “You’re into her, aren’t you?”

Sasuke’s glare could’ve frozen fire. “Shut up, idiot.”

Naruto laughed, but Shikamaru raised an eyebrow from his spot on the bench. “You know, if you’re this worked up, maybe she’s the one getting under your skin this time.”

That comment earned a snarl. Sasuke shoved past them, heading straight for the showers, the cold spray doing little to cool the heat coursing through him.

I’ll remind her who I am, he thought darkly, his lips curving into a cruel smirk as water dripped down his face. She might think she’s untouchable now, but I’ll fix that.

The game was far from over. And Sasuke always won.

The weekend rolled in with bright skies and an air of excitement. You were out on the campus lawn with your friend group, laughing and chatting as you enjoyed the rare break from classes and cheer practice. Sakura, Temari, TenTen, and Hinata surrounded you, their energy infectious as they talked about their upcoming plans.

But what made the day even better was your boyfriend, Kaito. He was sweet, charming, and attentive in a way that made you feel cherished—a stark contrast to certain people you’d rather not think about. Kaito had been quick to approach you when you transferred, drawn to your wit and personality. It didn’t take long for the two of you to hit it off. Now, here you were, sitting next to him with his arm draped casually over your shoulder, his easy smile making your cheeks warm.

“You’re lucky,” Temari teased with a smirk, nudging your side. “Kaito’s got half the school crushing on him, and he’s here doting on you.”

You laughed, leaning into his warmth. “Well, what can I say? Guess I’m just lucky.”

Across the campus, Sasuke stood with his own group, his sharp eyes locked on you. Naruto was busy teasing Hinata, who had wandered over to join him, while Shikamaru had his arm slung lazily around Temari. Choji was munching on chips as usual, and TenTen was laughing about something with Neji.

But Sasuke? His mood was dark.

“Damn,” Naruto said, elbowing Sasuke. “You’ve been staring at her all afternoon. You’re gonna burn a hole through her or something.”

“Shut up, Naruto,” Sasuke growled, but his glare didn’t waver. The sight of Kaito sitting so close to you, his hand on your shoulder like he had any right to touch you—it made his blood boil.

Shikamaru, leaning against a tree, raised an eyebrow. “You’re sulking because she’s got a boyfriend, huh? Thought you didn’t care about her.”

“I don’t,” Sasuke snapped. His fist clenched, though, betraying his calm tone. “But she’s making a fool of herself with that guy. He’s not good enough for her.”

Shikamaru smirked, clearly amused. “And who is? You?”

“Tch.” Sasuke turned away, his jaw tightening. “Forget it.”

Later that afternoon, you excused yourself from the group to grab a water bottle from the vending machines near the gym. The hallways were quiet, the distant echoes of basketball practice barely audible. You were about to turn the corner when a hand grabbed your wrist and yanked you into an empty hallway.

“Hey—what the hell?” you yelped, your heart racing until you saw who it was.

Sasuke.

His dark eyes bore into yours, his grip firm but not painful. The air between you felt heavy, his towering presence pinning you in place.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his voice low and sharp.

You yanked your arm free, glaring up at him. “What are you talking about?”

“That guy.” His words were practically spat out. “Kaito. You think he actually cares about you?”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “And what would you know about it, Sasuke? You don’t know him, and you sure as hell don’t know me anymore.”

His smirk was anything but friendly. “Oh, I know you, [Name]. Better than he does. Better than he ever will.”

“Get over yourself,” you snapped, stepping back. But he followed, his presence overwhelming.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he murmured, his tone dark and possessive. “You think Kaito’s gonna protect you? Keep you safe?”

“I don’t need anyone to protect me,” you shot back. “Least of all you.”

His smirk faltered, replaced by something colder. “Just remember this, [Name]. If he screws up, I’ll be there. And don’t think for a second I’ll let you forget who you belong to.”

You felt your blood boil. “I don’t belong to anyone, least of all you, Sasuke. So stay out of my life.”

You shoved past him, your heart pounding as you hurried down the hall. Sasuke returned to the court, his mood even darker than before. Naruto was the first to notice.

“What’s with you now?” he asked, dribbling the ball lazily.

Sasuke leaned against the wall, his eyes narrowing. “She’s wasting her time with that idiot. I don’t get what she sees in him.”

“You’re jealous,” Shikamaru said simply, his tone bored but amused.

“I’m not jealous,” Sasuke bit out.

“Yeah, sure,” Naruto said with a grin. “That’s why you’re acting like someone stole your favorite toy.”

Sasuke glared at him, but Shikamaru only smirked. “If you’re so bothered by it, why don’t you just tell her how you feel?”

Sasuke scoffed, running a hand through his hair.

“None of your business,” Sasuke muttered.

“You’re acting like a psycho,” Shikamaru said, not bothering to sugarcoat it. “You want her? Fine. But this whole ‘bully her until she comes running’ thing isn’t gonna work.”

Sasuke’s smirk was sharp, dangerous. “She’ll come around.”

“And if she doesn’t?” Naruto pressed, genuinely curious.

Sasuke’s eyes darkened, his voice low and venomous. “Then I’ll make her.”

The room fell silent, his words lingering like a threat. Sasuke leaned back, arms crossed as his teammates exchanged wary glances. No one dared to challenge him, not when his mind was set.

Because when Sasuke Uchiha wanted something, he always got it.

The energy in the gymnasium reached a fever pitch as students from both schools filled the bleachers for homecoming. The court gleamed under the bright lights, the cheers of the crowd blending into an electrifying roar. It was basketball players against basketball players, cheerleaders against cheerleaders, and everyone was here to win.

The home team’s basketball lineup was stacked: Sasuke, Naruto, Shikamaru, Choji, Neji, and Kiba. Each of them wore determined expressions as they warmed up on the court, the pride of their school riding on their shoulders.

The cheer squad, led by you, was just as ready. Alongside you were Sakura, Temari, Hinata, TenTen, Ino, and Karin, all dressed in matching uniforms that sparkled in the gym lights. The six of you had been practicing nonstop for weeks, and now it was time to show off your hard work. The first half of the basketball game was intense. Sasuke led the charge with sharp precision, his movements fluid and calculated as he dominated the court. Naruto’s energy was infectious, his quick passes and layups keeping the crowd on their feet. Shikamaru’s strategic plays, Kiba’s aggressive defense, Neji’s perfect aim, and Choji’s sheer power kept the opposing team on their toes.

Every time one of them scored, you and the cheer squad erupted into choreographed chants and routines, pumping up the crowd with your high-flying stunts and sharp moves.

The rival cheer squad was just as fierce, matching your energy with routines of their own. But the moment came for the halftime cheer battle, and the gym fell silent with anticipation.

The rival squad went first, nailing a routine filled with flips, basket tosses, and tight formations that left the crowd roaring.

But when it was your turn, you and your squad brought the fire. From the moment the music started, you hit every move with precision. Temari and Sakura nailed their tumbling passes, Hinata’s flyer stunts were flawless, and TenTen’s powerful jumps drew cheers from the crowd. You and Ino closed the routine with a jaw-dropping stunt, hitting the perfect scorpion pose at the peak of a basket toss.

When your routine ended, the crowd erupted into deafening cheers, and it was clear your squad had stolen the show.

“Hell yeah!” Naruto yelled from the bench, pumping his fist in the air.

“Of course, we crushed them,” Temari said confidently, high-fiving you as you returned to the sidelines.

Everything was perfect. Or so you thought. As you grabbed a water bottle, laughing with your friends about your routine, your eyes scanned the gym for your boyfriend, Kaito. But what you saw made your stomach drop.

Kaito was standing near the bleachers with one of the rival team’s cheerleaders, a girl in a red and black uniform. They were laughing together, her hand resting on his chest in a way that made your skin crawl.

And then he kissed her.

Your bottle slipped from your hand, clattering to the floor. The noise drew the attention of your friends, who followed your gaze.

“No way,” Ino whispered, her jaw dropping.

“That bastard,” Temari hissed, her eyes narrowing.

Sakura’s hand flew to her mouth. “I can’t believe him.”

Even Hinata, usually so kind and quiet, frowned deeply. “How could he do that to you?”

On the court, Sasuke had seen the whole thing. His dark eyes narrowed as he tracked the scene, his grip on the basketball tightening.

“Looks like Kaito’s showing his true colors,” Shikamaru said lazily, though his sharp gaze lingered on you.

Naruto’s brows furrowed. “What the hell? That’s messed up. Poor [Name].”

Kiba growled under his breath. “She doesn’t deserve that.”

Sasuke said nothing, but the dark look in his eyes spoke volumes. He wasn’t angry for you—no, it was more selfish than that. He was furious that Kaito had dared to think he could have you in the first place. Despite the betrayal, the halftime performance couldn’t wait. You wiped your eyes quickly, forcing yourself to focus as the music started. Your movements were sharp, your smile forced but unshaken as you executed the routine perfectly.

Sakura placed a hand on your shoulder as you transitioned to the next formation, her eyes full of silent support. Temari took the lead on a tumbling pass, her fierce energy spurring the crowd into cheers. Ino and Hinata executed their stunts flawlessly, while TenTen added a powerful jump combination that brought the house down.

You finished the routine with a show-stopping pyramid, standing tall at the top despite the ache in your chest.

The crowd erupted into applause, and as you climbed down, Temari whispered, “You’re stronger than this, [Name]. Don’t let him see you break.”

You nodded, your resolve hardening. The boys returned to the court, their energy even fiercer than before. Sasuke played like a man possessed, his movements sharp and unforgiving as he dominated the court. Every time he scored, his dark eyes flicked to you, as if silently daring you to look away.

Naruto matched his energy, his usual playful demeanor replaced by a fiery determination. Kiba and Neji locked down the rival team’s offense, while Choji and Shikamaru coordinated flawless plays.

The game ended with an overwhelming victory for your team, and the gym erupted into cheers.

As you packed up with your friends, you felt a dark presence behind you. Turning, you saw Sasuke, his smirk sharp and his gaze heavy.

“Kaito’s a waste of time,” he said, his voice low so only you could hear. “You know that now, don’t you?”

You glared at him, your voice steady despite the storm inside you. “It’s none of your business, Sasuke.”

He stepped closer, his smirk deepening. “You’ll see, princess. You’ll forget about him soon enough.”

And with that, he walked away, leaving you with more questions than answers.

The weekend had finally arrived, and for once, the group chat was blowing up with excitement. After the chaos of homecoming—the cheer battle, the drama with Kaito, and the aftermath of the game—you and your friends decided it was time for a girls’ day. No boys, no distractions, just you, Sakura, Temari, Ino, Hinata, Karin, and TenTen enjoying each other’s company.

The plan was simple: brunch, shopping, and an all-night movie marathon back at the dorms. The café was warm and cozy, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods filling the air as you all gathered around a large corner table.

“I’m still pissed about Kaito,” Temari said bluntly, stabbing her fork into a stack of pancakes. “Seriously, what kind of idiot cheats during homecoming? In front of half the school, no less.”

You sighed, swirling your straw in your iced coffee. “I’d rather not talk about him, honestly. I’m over it.”

“Good,” Ino said with a flip of her hair. “Because he’s not worth your time. If you ask me, he was holding you back anyway.”

“I agree,” Hinata said softly, offering you a kind smile. “You deserve someone who respects you.”

“Or no one at all!” Karin added with a smirk. “Who needs guys, anyway? They’re all trouble.”

“Speak for yourself,” Sakura teased, leaning back in her chair. “Some of us have boyfriends who aren’t jerks.”

“Yeah, how’s Mr. Random these days?” Temari asked with a raised eyebrow.

Sakura laughed. “He’s fine, thanks for asking. But let’s not make this about me. What’s our shopping plan?” The mall was buzzing with life, and the seven of you wasted no time diving into your favorite stores.

“Try this on!” Ino exclaimed, holding up a sparkly dress in your direction.

“Absolutely not,” you said, laughing as she shoved it into your arms anyway.

Temari and TenTen were busy sorting through racks of jackets, debating the merits of leather versus denim, while Karin inspected a display of sunglasses.

Hinata, ever the quiet one, was browsing through a rack of cozy sweaters, her cheeks pink from all the attention she kept drawing.

“Sasuke’s going to lose his mind when he sees you in this,” Sakura whispered to you with a sly grin as you held up a fitted outfit in the mirror.

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not dressing for him.”

“Uh-huh, sure you’re not,” Ino teased, nudging you.

“Leave her alone,” Hinata said gently, though her smile was teasing. “Let her have fun without thinking about him for once.”

You appreciated the support, even if the thought of Sasuke had been lingering in the back of your mind. He’d been acting stranger than usual lately, and the tension between you two was undeniable. By the time you returned to the dorms, your arms were full of shopping bags, and everyone was buzzing with excitement for the movie marathon.

Temari and TenTen set up snacks, a mix of popcorn, chips, and candy spread across the coffee table. Karin queued up the movies, while Hinata and Ino fussed over blankets and pillows, making the space as comfortable as possible.

“Alright,” Sakura said, plopping onto the couch with a tub of ice cream. “What are we watching first?”

“Something scary,” Temari suggested, her grin mischievous.

“No way!” Hinata protested, clutching a pillow to her chest.

“How about a rom-com?” Ino suggested, earning groans from half the group.

In the end, you settled on an action-packed blockbuster, complete with explosions and dramatic one-liners. The room was filled with laughter and playful banter as you all got comfortable, the stress of the past week melting away. Somewhere between the second and third movie, the conversation shifted.

“Do you ever think about what life would’ve been like if we weren’t all so… competitive?” Sakura asked, her voice soft.

Temari snorted. “Boring, that’s for sure.”

“I like the way things are now,” TenTen said, stretching. “We might argue sometimes, but we’ve got each other’s backs.”

Karin nodded. “Yeah. Even when things suck—like [Name] dealing with Kaito—we stick together.”

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest. “I couldn’t ask for better friends.”

Hinata reached over to squeeze your hand. “And we’ll always be here for you.”

As the night wore on, you felt lighter than you had in weeks. The drama with Kaito, the tension with Sasuke—it all seemed so far away when you were surrounded by your friends.

Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew you wouldn’t face them alone. The next day you actually decide to go with Sakura idea with changing yourself

Sakura, Ino, and Temari had practically dragged you into their rooms earlier, determined to give you a “makeover.”

“Okay, this is perfect,” Temari said, holding up a black halter crop top and a pair of low-rise jeans with a statement belt.

“Add these,” Ino said, handing over a pair of silver hoop earrings, a Dior necklace, and sleek sunglasses.

“And don’t forget the Prada bag!” Sakura chimed in, holding up a chic black purse.

“You have to wear these heels too,” Hinata said shyly, placing strappy black stilettos at your feet.

You stared at the collection of clothes and accessories, feeling both nervous and excited. “Are you sure about this?”

“Stop doubting yourself!” Ino said, practically shoving you toward the bathroom. “Trust us—you’ll look incredible.”

When you finally stepped out of the bathroom, the girls’ reactions were instantaneous.

“Holy crap,” Temari said, giving an impressed whistle.

“Shut up, you look like a celebrity,” Sakura said, her eyes wide with approval.

“Seriously, [Name],” Ino added, a grin spreading across her face. “You’re going to make jaws drop.”

You turned to the mirror, and your breath hitched. The sleek black halter top paired perfectly with the low-rise jeans, accentuating your curves without overdoing it. The accessories tied everything together, giving the outfit a polished, glamorous look, and the strappy heels added just the right amount of height.

For the first time in a while, you felt bold, confident—unstoppable.

“Okay,” you said with a shy smile, “you win. I love it.” Walking into school that day felt like something out of a dream. The moment you stepped into the main building, the atmosphere shifted. Heads turned, conversations paused, and a ripple of whispers followed your every step.

“Is that [Name]?” someone murmured.

“Damn, she looks so good,” another voice said.

You kept your head high, the confidence from your new look radiating with every step. It wasn’t about the attention—it was about how you felt. And for the first time in a long while, you felt completely in control.

When you met up with your cheer squad in the courtyard, their reactions were just as enthusiastic.

“You actually did it!” Sakura exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. “I told you you’d look amazing.”

“You’re killing it,” Karin said, adjusting her own sunglasses.

“Everyone’s talking about you,” Temari said with a smirk.

Hinata blushed, offering you a soft smile. “You look… stunning.”

TenTen nodded in agreement. “This is a total power move. I’m here for it.”

As the girls hyped you up, you couldn’t help but smile. For the first time, you felt like you were exactly where you belonged—confident, carefree, and surrounded by the best friends you could ever ask for. new outfit, it was like the air shifted. Every hallway you entered became unnervingly quiet as heads turned and eyes followed your every step. You were oblivious to it all, smiling and waving at familiar faces as you made your way to class, but the boys? They weren’t subtle.

“Yo, [Name]!” Kiba’s voice rang out behind you as you reached for your locker. You turned, surprised to see him practically jogging toward you with a cocky grin on his face.

“You look… different today,” he said, his eyes roaming your outfit unapologetically. “I like it. Maybe you’d let me take you out sometime?” The day had started like any other: tense, unpredictable, and exhausting. Ever since you had transferred to Konoha High, it had been like living in a nightmare, and the devil running it all was Sasuke Uchiha. He wasn’t just the school’s star athlete or the handsome boy every girl fawned over—he was untouchable. The heir to the Uchiha family, the wealthiest and most dangerous mafia in the region, Sasuke owned the school. Literally.

It started small—your textbooks disappearing, your locker being tampered with. Then it escalated. Falsely being accused of cheating on a major test, only for the principal to call you into his office, pretending to be “concerned��� while Sasuke stood smugly behind him.

“I saw her,” Sasuke had said, his tone calm but full of venom. “She had notes hidden in her lap. I figured someone like her wouldn’t be smart enough to pass on her own.”

Your protests had fallen on deaf ears, and while you weren’t formally punished, the damage to your reputation was done. Sasuke always made sure of it.

You blinked at him, confused. “Take me out? Like, to lunch?”

Kiba chuckled, stepping closer, his tone dropping to something lower. “Sure, lunch… or whatever else you’d like.”

“Oh! Um, thanks, but I think I’m okay,” you replied, smiling politely but completely missing his insinuation.

Before Kiba could press further, Sai appeared, sliding in smoothly with his usual unreadable smirk. “Kiba, you’re coming on too strong,” Sai said, his voice calm but condescending.

“Mind your business,” Kiba snapped, glaring at him.

Sai ignored him, his sharp gaze fixed on you. “Don’t let him bother you, [Name]. You look stunning today. Really… captivating.” His words made your stomach twist, though you couldn’t place why.

“Oh, um, thank you, Sai,” you mumbled, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Why don’t I walk you to class?” Sai offered, taking a step closer.

“I was talking to her first!” Kiba cut in, stepping between you and Sai.

The two boys squared off, each sizing the other up like you were some kind of prize to be won. You took a step back, unsure how to handle the sudden tension. Now, you were standing in one of the school’s storage closets, the faint scent of cleaning supplies and dust filling your nose. The problem? You hadn’t willingly walked in here.

It had been another one of Sasuke’s “games.” He’d cornered you during lunch, his dark eyes gleaming with malicious amusement.

“What do you want?” you’d demanded, clutching your tray tightly.

“To talk,” he had said smoothly before leaning closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “In private.”

You had tried to refuse, but it didn’t matter. Within moments, he’d dragged you down an empty hallway, ignoring your protests and shoving you into the closet. The sound of the lock clicking into place sent a wave of panic through you.

“Sasuke!” you yelled, pounding on the door. “Let me out!”

On the other side, you could hear his deep chuckle, full of mockery.

“Not until you say ‘please,’” he taunted.

“I’m serious! This isn’t funny!”

“Oh, but it is,” he replied, his voice dripping with condescension. “You’ve been walking around like you own the place lately, acting like you’re untouchable. I think you need a reminder of who’s really in charge here.”

Your hands balled into fists, tears of frustration prickling at your eyes. “What is wrong with you? Why do you keep doing this to me?”

There was a brief pause before he spoke again, his tone colder this time. “Because I can. And because you need to learn that no one crosses an Uchiha.”

You slumped against the door, the weight of his words sinking in. There was no point in fighting him. No matter how much you wanted to report him, no one would believe you. The teachers, the principal—even the other students—they were all under his family’s thumb. Eventually, he opened the door, his smirk as sharp as a knife. You tried to shove past him, but he grabbed your arm, pulling you back into the room.

“Not so fast,” he said, his voice low and threatening. “You think you can just walk away?”

“Let me go,” you snapped, trying to wrench your arm free, but his grip was ironclad.

He stepped closer, his dark eyes boring into yours. “You’re so naive, you know that? Always acting like you’re better than me. Like you don’t notice the way people look at you.”

You froze as his free hand brushed against your waist, his touch lingering for far too long.

“Stop it,” you said, your voice trembling.

“Why?” he asked, leaning in so his breath tickled your ear. “You don’t seem to mind when other guys look at you. Or is it just me you have a problem with?”

Your stomach twisted in disgust as his hand moved up to your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’re pathetic,” he said, though his tone was almost… possessive. “Thinking you can escape me. Thinking you can avoid me.”

He finally released you, but not before brushing his fingers along your jaw. “Get used to it, [Name]. No one’s going to save you from me.” By the time you escaped his grip, you were trembling, anger and humiliation boiling inside you. But as you made your way to class, it was obvious nothing would change.

When you told Sakura and the others what had happened, they listened with concern but eventually fell silent, exchanging nervous glances.

“What?” you asked, your voice breaking.

“It’s not that we don’t believe you,” Sakura said carefully, her eyes flickering to the side. “It’s just… it’s Sasuke. He gets away with everything.”

“Why doesn’t anyone do anything about it?”

“Because they’re scared,” Hinata whispered, her voice barely audible. “His family… they have too much power. Even the police don’t interfere with them.”

You wanted to scream, to cry, but you didn’t. Instead, you steeled yourself, determined not to let him break you.

But Sasuke wasn’t done. He never was. It wasn’t just the bullying. It was the way he always seemed to be watching you, his dark gaze following your every move. The way he’d corner you in empty hallways, his hands brushing against you as he whispered cruel taunts in your ear.

“You’re too soft,” he’d say, his tone mocking. “You’ll never survive here without me.”

You hated him. But more than that, you hated how powerless you felt.

Because in this school, Sasuke Uchiha wasn’t just a bully. He was a king. And no one defied him without paying the price.

The venue was breathtaking—an opulent mansion owned by the family of one of Sasuke’s basketball teammates. It wasn’t just any house; it was the kind of place you’d only see in movies. Ornate chandeliers lit the massive hallways, and floor-to-ceiling windows gave a view of the sprawling backyard, complete with a pool glowing under string lights. Music pulsed through the walls, heavy bass vibrating in the air, blending with the hum of laughter and conversation.

You arrived with your group of friends, feeling both excited and a little nervous. Parties like this weren’t your usual scene, but after much begging and coaxing from Sakura and Temari, you’d finally agreed.

“C’mon, you deserve to have fun!” Sakura had said earlier, practically dragging you out of your dorm room. “It’ll be good for you to let loose for once!”

And so, here you were, standing just inside the mansion’s grand entrance, your outfit—chosen with the help of your friends—turning heads as soon as you walked in. The black romper hugged your figure in all the right places, and the strappy heels accentuated your legs. Your long hair fell in loose waves down your back, catching the light every time you moved.

“You look so hot tonight,” Temari whispered, leaning in with a grin as she linked her arm with yours. “Every guy here is going to be all over you.”

You laughed nervously. “Let’s hope not.”

But even as you said it, you could feel eyes on you—lingering stares from guys scattered throughout the room. You tried to focus on your friends instead. The night started off lighthearted. Drinks were poured, laughter filled the air, and everyone seemed to be in good spirits. Sakura found her boyfriend almost immediately, pulling him into a kiss before disappearing into the crowd with him. Temari and Hinata were quick to drag you toward the bar, where a line of colorful cocktails was set up.

“You have to try this one,” Temari said, handing you a drink with a mischievous smile. “It’s sweet, but it’ll hit you later if you’re not careful.”

“Should I be worried?” you asked, eyeing the drink suspiciously.

“Only if you’re a lightweight,” she teased.

The first sip was surprisingly good, and before you knew it, you were halfway through your second glass. The alcohol loosened your nerves, making it easier to join in the fun. The girls dragged you onto the dance floor, where the music thumped loudly, and the energy was contagious.

Tenten twirled you around, laughing as you stumbled slightly in your heels. “You’re getting the hang of this!” she said.

“Barely,” you replied, giggling.

The group danced together, your movements syncing with the rhythm of the music. You felt free, the worries of the week melting away as you lost yourself in the moment.

But across the room, someone else was watching.

Sasuke stood with his group near the bar, a drink in hand. His dark eyes followed your every move, narrowing slightly when he noticed the way other guys were starting to notice you too. He didn’t say anything, but his grip on his glass tightened.

Naruto nudged him. “You okay, man? You’ve been staring over there for a while.”

Sasuke didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he downed the rest of his drink and set the glass on the counter with more force than necessary. “I’ll be fine,” he muttered, though his gaze never left you. As the night wore on, your friends began to leave one by one. Temari and Hinata left first, with Naruto and Shikamaru escorting them out. Tenten left with Neji shortly after, and Sakura had long since disappeared with her boyfriend.

“I’ll be fine,” you assured them when they asked if you wanted to leave too.

But now, as the crowd thinned and the music softened, you realized you were alone.

Or so you thought.

Sasuke appeared beside you, his presence suffocating as he leaned in close. “Looks like it’s just us now.”

His words sent a chill dowon your spine, and you suddenly felt very aware of how vulnerable you were.

“Get off me sasuke!” With your friends now gone from the party you were now vulnerable to sasuke and he took this time to make his full move on you. Getting tired of you fighting agasint him he smacks so hard that your head whipped back to two sides you then look at him with teary eyes terrified of him. That was moment he realized how much control he had of you. And how innocent you were.

“Just wait until we get into in my dorm Im gonna ruin you.” He says darkly chuckling to himself.

You are now currently in sasuke dorm His hands are on your waist, pressing you agasint the wall with no way out. You try to protest but kisses you immediately with tongue causing tension to rise he presses you into the wall further after he finishes kissing you salvia breaks apart with your heaving breathing. God he just wants to ruin. He then grabs the back of your hair gripping it tightly. “Im going to lift you up on my shoulders and if you try anything it won’t end well for you. “

You whimper in response not knowing what to say he took that as you responding and lift your legs up on his shoulders. He takes off your red lace panties tucking them in his pockets. “We’re gonna fall!-“ he then uses he left arm grabbing my mother closing my mouth shut. He then presses his mouth up to your cunt his tongue wrapping around clit you immediately let out a small moan and whimper. You never touched yourself so this new feeling felt intense.

Letting he left hand go off your mouth he starts kneading both of your breasts adding more pleasure. He continues to suck and lick at your clit skillfully. Your breath catches in your throat swallowing a lump in your throat, your head starts to fall back into the wall gripping on sasuke’s hair. It feels so good. Way too good. Tears start to well up in your eyes. “Sasuke T-to much-“ Your voice is weak as you protest. “Well Thats just to bad.” He then uses his finger against your hole, twisting it until it pushes your velvet walls. He then hums lapping at your clit, sloppily pressing his tongue on your clit dragging upwards before moving his tongue side to side across your bud. Sasuke then starts sloppily using his finger in your hole pressing against your g spot.

You start to let out incoherent moans and cries. “P-please it’s to much!” Sasuke then looks up at you for a second. “Can’t even speak correctly I must be eating you out to good.” He then stoops eating you out using his fingers for your hole. His fingers then start pounding into your hole relentlessly the heel of his hand slapping against your clit. You then feel something way intense. Too intense. You then feel you a knot coming into your stomach and your toes curling. “It hurts sasuke.” He then looks up at you again. “Your to tight just calm down.” He then uses his fingers to rub at your clit. And your mouth forms into an O shape letting out loud moans.

Your pleasure then builds up stacks of build unfold by itself. You cum hard. Nasty wet squelches could be heard around the room. Your now letting out broken moans and cries. Without stopping he then puts his mouth back on your clit still fingering hard he then curls his fingers into your g-spot. You sob, his pace being non persistent and mean, bullying you past your organisms. And you start to tremble heavily. “P/please Sasuke Im sorry just stop please-!” You cry desperately as his fingers curl into you harder his tongue slurping on your clit. You feel something deep inside you snap. You then let out a scream. You then feel something warm. You then look down on sasuke face in horror.

You squirted. Sasuke then speaks and laughs at your pathetic state did you just squirt? (Name).” Too out breath to say nothing you just stare at him with swelling eyes. He then drops you off his shoulders with your legs so wobbly he then pushes you on the bed harshly back hitting the bed. He then grabs one of your legs putting it on his shoulders “W-wait! I’ve never done this before.” He then takes off his clothes revealing his toned body. He pumps himself a few times. You then look at with tear filled eyes. “I-it won’t fit” You whimper. Sasuke just grins down and laugh at you.

“Then I’ll make it fit.” Beige surging his hips forward. He then bottoms you out in one go, his groan drowned out by your louder whines. Your previous orgasms let him slip right in, but damnit your walls hugged and squeezed him so tight, too much for him not to snap his hips forward. Your mouth gapes at his harsh rhythm creating a sloppy and nasty sound in the room that just drives him to fuck you harder and faster. Your insides felt so full that you could burst. His cock is doing nothing but spitting you apart in a way it got your brain melting into a putty. With your eyes getting watery as it is. Beautiful noises coming out of so loudly that sasuke had to bend down and shut you up himself squeezed your cheeks so hard your cheeks started looking like a red tomato. He then lets go kissing you sloppily a mess of salvia from both tongues disconnecting Sasuke then grabs a bouncing tit squeezes hard while he still kept you face upturned to his, calling you degrading words while his hand was rubbing on your clit again. “You don’t want this but you’re being a crybaby creaming around me.” He said looking at your teary eyes.

He can feel himself bump into your cervix, He then looks back up to look at your face to see that yiur eyes had permanently rolled back of your head, your tongue out and drooling. God he wanna stay in this moment forever. Sasuke then engrave the image of you in the back of his mind immediately throwing his head back with a loud moan, the rough rutting of his hips having your hand to try and push him off weakly when your insides throbbed, incoherent babbles then come out of your mouth about a organism. “Yeah? Gonna cum again crybaby?” He rasps out, gathers your wrists tight in one hand as he fucked you hard and rough with everything he had, delirious in his own upcoming high. “Cmon crybaby cum all over my cock. Fuuuckkk-“

You couldn’t even form words, you just came seconds after with your back curling off thr bed, dumb squeals and cries muffled by sasuke hand. The bed creaking and headboard hitting the wall so aggressively. His hand pushing you roughly on the in the pillow, a spew of curses leaving his lips out of pure bliss HES feeling right now. He panted out like a a dog, still cumming lazily rocking shallow thrusts into you, blobs of white overflowing around the edges and dribbling in a puddle under your ass. He finally pulls out. He then lets out a laugh at your fucked out expression. He leaned then licking your neck and kissing it. You then let out a whimper.

You tried to get up but he pushes you back down. “Lay back down you’re not going anywhere looking like that.” With no energy left you just do as he says. Immediately falling asleep in his arms.

[starmapz]

SPREAD THE LOVE AMONG FANFIC WRITERS 💖Who are your favorite authors? And what are your favorite/most read fics? Send it to five people so we can spread admiration and love among the community!

there are SO many amazing writers on here so i've almost certainly missed someone but here are the blogs (and fics) that i frequent the most! also trying to make this list a bit different from my sukuna recs but i just have to mention some of these twice. please respect all the authors' rules and check warnings <33

@fushitoru - aashi writes the most BEAUTIFUL regency era aus and i highly recommend checking out both knight!choso and bridgerton!gojo, and i'm always going back to her spiderman!gojo as well i'm so down bad for him tbh (the spotify scene in the oneshot has my entire heart)

@lostfracturess - nici's professor!gojo and professor!geto made me go through every stage of grief (in the best way possible), there's so much emotion in her writing and i'm in envy of the way the stories interconnect with one another, it's sooo well-done!!

@celestie0 - i'm so down bad for ellie's ihm!gojo he's peak husband material fr and the world she's created for him and reader is so beautiful and well-done. kickoff is also the very first gojo fic i ever read and inspired me to post my writing <33

@yenayaps - sienna's sukuna is seriously so delicious i fear i drool on my screen at the sight of new chapters of defiance and i will never stop yapping about sorcerer!sukuna who i need carnally

@indiewritesxoxo - indie's band rivalry fic between sukuna and geto literally has me swapping who i'm rooting for constantly because indie writes them both too hot 😩 not to mention her pick your player series is sooooo fun!! youtuber!nanami i will always love you

@cinnamorollcrybaby - i will never stop preaching cinna's best friends to lovers series, especially sukuna's and suguru's, i seriously adore all of them and highly recommend checking them all out!! her subtle dom!nanami is also one of the hottest things i've ever read and criminal!sukuna from a therapist's perspective is SO interesting

@obsesssedblerd - the amount of times i've re-read reyna's nanami smut should be criminal, it's so hot and i think about it constantly. her toji x preschool teacher!reader is sooo cute, nothing makes me happier than toji in super domestic settings 🥹

@cuntyji - kash just started a med student sukugo x reader fic that has such a hold on me i can't even begin to describe how often i'm thinking about this. unscripted is also one of my all-time fave toji fics, soft!toji has my whole entire heart

@satoruxx - wolf hybrid!toji has my entire heart and i just want happiness for him 😭 what a sweetheart, seriously. the subtle ways rheya writes him warming up to the reader make me want to wrap him up in a blanket and keep him safe forever

@retiredteabag - the saga of me wanting toji to live a happy life of domesticity continues, dogsitter!toji just wrapped up and i adored every second of it. i just want this man to have a happy ending so bad. their arranged marriage au with nanami is also seriously one of the sweetest fics ever and i look forward to every single update <33

@screampied - vegas' entire blog is a goldmine of incredibly hot work but i always find myself revisiting boxer!toji & boxer!kuna and i don't think venomized!toji has left my mind since reading it, i never could have known how badly i needed him in my life

@madamechrissy - stripclub owner!sukuna my BELOVED. we all know i love a man that's so down bad and only has eyes for one person and chrissy does that dynamic SO WELL here, i adore this story SO much <33 i'm also anxiously awaiting pornstar!gojo from chrissy, i just KNOW i'm gonna absolutely eat that up

@emphistic - i'm just gonna leave em's entire historical au masterlist here bc everything here seriously deserves a read, but i'm a huge fan of veni, vidi, vici in particular, gladiator!sukuna works so well and my god he's hot

@peppertoastuniverse - more than a late night snack is one of the absolute cutest and sweetest gojo fics ever, pep has written such a fun dynamic between gojo and reader that has me absolutely itching to see them slowly both lower their walls.

@webism - just gonna leave abby's masterlist here bc her pornstar au for all the men is DELICIOUS. like, pornstar!sukuna has me wrapped around his finger like you wouldn't believe. she also has an incredibly cool and well-done interactive gojo fic that i HIGHLY recommend giving multiple plays to try out the other options

@kamiversee - my love note has me constantly changing who i'm rooting for, the way both gojo and choso are written is seriously masterful, they're both SO hot like who gave them both the right

@peachsayshi - one of my all-time fave oneshots has gotta be million dollar baby, i go back and read it every few months and every time is as good as the last, it's such a gorgeous piece and i'm addicted to the dynamic between geto and reader

@pseudowho - behind the wall (nanami) and behind the wall (higuruma) are both SO unique and i absolutely ate up both of them. haitch's series in which nanami's wife briefly becomes a cat is so funny and adorable and i love just how serious nanami is about his wife being included 😭

last but not least- a deactivated blog i once followed created one of my fave nanami pieces and gojo pieces with super unique characterization of both and they're both absolutely gorgeous. as far as i can find, they're not on ao3, but i really do think these pieces deserve the love.

if you check out my wattpad, ao3, or search my blog for '#trish recs - (insert character name)' [check the tags of this post], there are way more recs there as well and i highly recommend checking them all out <33 lots of love to all of these authors!

lots of love to all these wonderful authors 🫶

[dandylovesturtles]

I'm trying to get myself back into writing by doing some little things here and there. This is the first one that is actually worth it to post here lol

Awhile back I asked on discord for suggestions of things I could write and then for a long time I didn't actually do anything lol BUT I finally did something. This ficlet is based on a suggestion @abbeyofcyn gave me about Donnie feeling anxiety over a having a new home post S2 (at least I remember it being Cyn but the message is so old now I can't find it orz I'm sorry if it was someone else)

I hope you enjoy it!

---

The subway station has been closed to the public since the nineties. Most of the ways in are already blocked off, and it will be trivial to finish that work to keep out any intruders. The tracks and maintenance station make an ideal garage and workspace for the tank. The old electrical wiring and water pipes are easily accessible. There’s still functioning toilets in the old bathrooms, and ventilated spaces ideal for cooking. There’s easy access to the street, the rest of the subway system, and the sewers. Splinter hums approvingly as he circles an old staff area with a tape measure. His brothers shout as they call dibs on rusted out train cars. April enthusiastically notes that the station is close to her new campus.

It checks all the boxes on their list, and then some.

So why has the sick feeling in the pit of Donnie’s stomach gotten worse instead of better?

There must be something wrong with it. Some flaw they aren’t seeing, some con they haven’t considered. He needs to go over his lists again; double check and triple check from every angle. They’ve only been here an hour - it would just be irresponsible to make a decision so quickly!

He desperately fires up his tablet again and pulls up his list, scrolling with hard taps as his eyes fly over the compiled criteria. There must be something… Something!

It’s structurally sound. There’s ample space for skateboard ramps and arcade machines. There’s plenty of lighting that will only need simple maintenance to be functional. There’s a big space that can be used for a new lab. It checks all the boxes, but there must be at least one it’s not checking, or why would Donnie’s blood curdle at the thought of actually living here?

The way the air moves through the space is wrong. The way the sounds echo off the walls and floors is unfamiliar. The smell is not the one he spent his whole life inhaling. It’s all wrong in a way that embeds itself in Donnie’s very skin, leaves him feeling slimy and nauseous and off kilter, like everything was just tilted at a dutch angle.

He scrolls to the bottom of the list and taps a few more times to be sure. “Air feels right” and “Echoes are normal” and “Smell is bad” are not boxes to be checked, so it can’t be any of those things. It has to be something else… It has to be something!

He scrolls back to the top of his list. Then he scrolls back to the bottom. He can’t find it. But it has to be there.

“Whoa,” says Leo, and Donnie jolts, his head snapping up. “I’ve never seen Donnie look like he wants to murder a computer before.”

“Please don’t tell Raph that something’s wrong with the structural checks or whatever,” says Raph, just behind Leo. They’re all coming up to him, probably wondering why he’s been standing in the same spot for… 

Donnie glances at his screen and jolts again. Twenty four minutes and thirty seven second!?

“Come on, Dee, this place has got to be perfect,” says Leo. “I already know exactly where I’m putting my action figures in my new digs!”

“And I’m already getting sooo many ideas for graffiti!” says Mikey excitedly, bouncing in place where he stands next to April. “And I can’t wait to design the kitchen layout! I can’t believe I get to start from scratch and do it just how I want!”

“Raph already knows exactly where the dojo is goin’,” Raph joins in. When Leo blows a raspberry, Raph pushes him forward and smirks when he has to catch himself.

“I think this is the best you guys are gonna get,” says April. “Unless you wanna move to the Hidden City.”

“We can’t, Raph still has a warrant for his arrest.”

“I keep tellin’ you guys, that ain’t Raph!”

“I only wish I had known about this place earlier,” comes Splinter’s voice as he joins them. “So much square footage!”

They all start talking excitedly, so fast it blends into a whir in Donnie’s ears. They’ve all already decided, but don’t they see? They can’t live here, because it’s wrong!

“No.”

Donnie’s declaration kills the conversation in its tracks. Everyone stops to look at him, and the sudden attention doesn’t feel as good as it might otherwise.

“No,” he repeats, shaking his head and looking back at his list. “This won’t work.”

A chorus of “What!?” comes from everyone else. Donnie keeps his eyes on his list, scrolling frantically, looking for the problem that he knows is there.

“Is there something wrong with it?” asks April, tone measured.

“Yes,” he says, but doesn’t elaborate, because he doesn’t know what it is yet and how can he answer if he doesn’t have any data?

It’s clear they aren’t going to wait for him to come up with the answer.

“Well what is it? Ventilation? Structural integrity? The wiring? Come on, Dee, give us somethin’.”

“It’s… it’s just wrong. I know it is.” Donnie looks up from his list then, and their skeptical expressions make him coil around his tablet in defense. “We’ve barely seen all of it! How can we know for certain that it will really suit our needs?”

He’s protesting too much, and it’s no surprise when Leo catches on, immediately narrowing his eyes as he hones in on Donnie’s uncertainty. 

“You’ve said no to every place we’ve looked at, dude! Are your standards that high, or do you just like living in Barry’s crappy apartment that much?”

“I obviously do not,” Donnie snaps, because he has made no secret of the fact that he hates it there. Sure, it was nice of Draxum to take them in now that they’re homeless and all that, but the apartment is too small, and the sheets are too scratchy, and the way the air conditioner sounds is all wrong, and the street noises bother Donnie at night…

Of course he doesn’t want to keep living there! He never wanted to live there in the first place!

“Then what’s the problem?” Leo asks, folding his arms, and Donnie scowls back.

“I just think we shouldn’t rush into such a big decision just because it sucks to live in Draxum’s apartment,” he reasons, reasonably because he’s being very reasonable!

“And what, wait for our realtor to find us a few more listings?” Leo says with heavy snark. 

“Leo,” says Raph with a warning tone, before looking back at Donnie. “Look, we can take tonight to think about it,” he suggests. “But if there’s nothing really wrong with it, I think this is gonna be the best we can do.”

Donnie shrinks back. “You say we’ll take tonight to think about it, but you’ve all already decided.” He shakes his head. “But I’m telling you, we can’t live here. It’s wrong.”

“Donnie…” Mikey’s hand touches Donnie’s elbow, and it takes everything in him not to jerk it away. “Is there an actual problem with the place, or is this a feelings problem?”

Donnie jerks away.

Then he turns and sprints away down the nearest subway tunnel.

…

He only makes it to the next condemned platform before he collapses against the wall, panting. Maybe he really should take up Raph’s advice to do more cardio… If he can ever face any of them again, that is.

He sinks to the ground and rests his chin on his knees, looking around at the unfamiliar scenery. He knew the old tunnels of his home like he knew the curves and grooves in his favorite wrench. But his favorite wrench is lost forever under an insurmountable amount of rubble, and the tunnels around him are foreign and imposing.

He doesn’t want to live in Draxum’s apartment anymore.

But he doesn’t want to live here.

He wants to go home.

The ugly, bitter feeling in his stomach twists again, and he groans and presses his face into his knees, covering his head with his arms. He knows exactly what would fix this, and it’s something he can’t have.

He did the tests himself, over and over again. He knows that their old home would take years, decades to make livable again. They simply can’t fix it. It’s too big to be fixed.

Which means he cannot be fixed.

The understanding that he’ll feel this way forever washes over Donnie, leaving him desolated. How is he ever supposed to function again?

How can the rest of his family move on so easily when he’s still like this?

Footsteps echo off the walls, and he tenses up, curling tighter into himself. It’s no surprise that one of them came after him. He’s just glad it’s only one set of footsteps, and not five.

He doesn’t look up as they draw close. He doesn’t have to. A barefooted tread, light and airy with a bit of a hop to it even when the mood is somber. He’d know it anywhere.

Mikey plops down next to him and says, “Ready to talk to Doctor Feelings?”

Donnie shakes his head without looking up.

Mikey hums. “Wanna talk to Doctor Delicate Touch?”

Donnie shakes his head harder.

There’s a shuffle, and then warmth against Donnie’s side. “Wanna talk to your favorite little brother in the whole wide world?”

Donnie finally lifts his head enough to look at Mikey with one eye. “Winning by default isn’t something to brag about,” he notes.

A huge grin crosses Mikey’s face. “Hey, there you are!”

“Here I am,” Donnie notes dryly, and it sounds miserable even to his own ears.

Mikey’s expression falls into something more soft. He scoots around to Donnie’s front, then says, “You’re homesick.”

Homesick feels too small for the dark feelings that are swallowing Donnie whole. It’s just not enough.

“...I don’t want to live somewhere new,” he says, and it sounds like, I don’t want everything to be different.

“Yeah, it’s a lot,” says Mikey, even though Donnie knows he can’t be feeling it like this, or at least hopes his little brother isn’t. “You’ll get used to it, though!”

It almost makes Donnie laugh. He can’t begin to imagine it ever feeling anything but terrible. “How do you know?”

“Because I have experience,” says Mikey breezily, like it’s obvious. 

Donnie hopes the skepticism shows on his face. “Really? Micheal, we were both too young when Papa moved us to the lair.”

“Yeah, I don’t remember that. But I do remember when we all got our own rooms!”

Donnie considers that with some surprise. He vaguely remembers that… mostly because he was happy that Raph and Leo couldn’t put their stuff on his side anymore. “Ah yes. A joyous day for all of us.”

“Well it wasn’t too happy for me!” Mikey retorts, folding his arms. “I didn’t want any of us to get our own rooms. I… wasn’t ready to be without you guys.”

Actually, now that Mikey says that, Donnie does remember that part of it. “I also remember that you weren’t without us, because you slept in one of our rooms every night for two months.”

Mikey nods seriously. “Yeah! Because I wasn’t ready for change!”

“And we had to make a rotating chart so that each of us could get a full night of sleep once in a while.”

“Huh?” Mikey pouts. “What do you mean? I sleep like an angel!”

“Kicking and chewing on anything in grabbing distance seems more like demon behavior,” Donnie notes, and Mikey huffs and makes a big show of being offended. 

“The point, Donald,” he stresses, “is that it was a big change! And I wasn’t happy about it for a loooong time.” He leans back. “I didn’t get why you guys were so happy about moving out when I wasn’t. It felt like you were all leaving me behind.”

Donnie frowns. “But we were literally a few feet away,” he notes. “As you proved nightly.”

Mikey points at him excitedly. “Exactly! It was a big change, but I still had you guys. And eventually, you guys helped me get excited about it, too.”

Donnie tries to remember what exactly they did to accomplish that, but… “All I remember is that we helped you hang up your finger paintings and put glow in the dark stickers on the ceiling.”

“Yep!” Mikey nods sagely. “You helped make it my own. I got where I was excited to be in my room, because it was how I wanted it to be!” He falters, tapping his chin. “And also I remember Leo said something about all my toys being sad if they were alone in my room at night…”

“Ah. Manipulative tactics,” Donnie observes.

“But that’s not the point! The point is that when I made it my own, change wasn’t so scary anymore.” He waves back down the tunnel. “And that’s what’s going to work for you, too! Because you’re going to build yourself a big new lab and decorate your room just how you want it, and you’re going to love it!”

Donnie feels absolutely no confidence in that. The idea of building a new lab, of decorating his room, of getting used to the new space, doesn’t fill him with excitement. There is only dread there, and exhaustion, and an insurmountable realization that nothing is ever going to be the same as it was before.

“That might work for you,” he says softly, tiredly. “But I don’t think it will for me. I don’t think I will ever stop feeling…” 

He still doesn’t know what to call this. 

“...Homesick.”

“But you will,” says Mikey, putting a hand on his arm. This time, Donnie doesn’t jerk away. “You know how I know?”

“How?”

“Because you went through it with the rooms too, Dee.”

Donnie scoffs, shaking his head. “I was glad to have my own room,” he asserts. “The rest of you kept getting your things into my space. It was annoying.”

“Sure, maybe you were happy about that part,” says Mikey simply, “but do you remember the big storm? The first one after we moved into our rooms, that was sooo loud we could hear it?”

Again, Donnie thinks he vaguely recalls something like that. It clearly didn’t leave as large an impression on him as it did on Mikey, though.

“I… might,” he says.

“I remember,” says Mikey, “that I was so scared, I ran straight to Raph’s room! And he was already awake, and he was under the covers, and we made a tent together.” He giggles. “And then you came in, and then Leo! And I realized then, maybe you guys weren’t really as happy about sleeping in separate rooms as I thought.”

He shifts around again, pressing himself into Donnie’s side.

“We went through that all together. And we’re gonna go through this together, too. And that’s how I know it’ll be okay!”

Donnie can’t help but make a skeptical noise. He’s not sure it will be. It just feels like too much.

“We’re all homesick, too,” Mikey confides. “We show it different than you… But we are. We’re going through it with you.”

Donnie knows they miss home, too. He knows that. But still…

“What if you’re wrong,” he says, “and it’s not okay?”

“Then…” Mikey trails off, thinking. “Then I’ll use the money I saved up to buy you that limited edition Atomic Lass figure you wanted!”

Donnie twists his head to stare at him. “That figure currently values at eight hundred and fifty dollars,” he says.

Mikey grimaces. “I will give you all the money I have saved up to help you buy it!” he amends.

Donnie snorts. Then he laughs. Then he leans into the warmth of his little brother.

He doesn’t want to live somewhere new… but it won’t be entirely new. His family will still be there. Just a few steps away.

“Does the laughing mean you’ll come back with me?” asks Mikey. “Because this tunnel is cold.”

Donnie snorts again. “I will go back with you,” he agrees, “because I actually don’t have a choice in the matter.”

“Yes! I did it!” Mikey hops to his feet, extending a hand. “Another W for Doctor Feelings!”

“Winning by default is nothing to brag about,” says Donnie again. But he takes Mikey’s hand, and they go back to the station together.

[boundbyeclipse]

hiii can you write smut number 5 with current James????

black velvet

genre : smut

word count : 1227

tags : current!james, female!reader, age difference (not specified how much), reader is a tattoo artist, a little rough james, semi-public sex (i think?), that’s about it

from the prompt list : 5. “don’t cover your mouth. i wanna hear you”

a/n : sooo i saw a photo of James getting a tattoo done and i thought hey, that’s a perfect idea for one of my requests! it really stuck to me and i had to write it. i really hope you enjoy this one x

‘Poison’ by Alice Cooper played in the background after you returned from your dinner break at work. You hummed along to the lyrics while lightly bopping your head to the beat. You absolutely loved rock and metal, so the playlist used at work always consisted of bands who did exactly those genres. It always gave you motivation and boosts for some energy, no matter if you were sad, angry or irritated.

While preparing for your next client, the sound of the entrance door opening and closing reached your ears. Technically, it was just a bit too early to show up, but hey, this one’s a regular and you didn’t mind at all.

“Hey there” you greeted him while putting some black gloves on your hands.

“Hey. Mind me showing up before I should?”

You gave him a warm smile, shaking your head left to right.

“Nope. You can come take a seat actually, I’ll go print out the tattoo and get more ink”

“Alright” James smiled back, hanging his jacket on the rack and making his way to the big, comfortable leather chair. He watched you walking around and you didn’t quite pay any attention to him, at least at first. Or, you just didn’t want to.

No matter how many times you’ve done tattoos on this man in the past few years, there has always been some sort of a tension between you both. It wasn’t anything like what you’ve had before with other men. They might have complimented you, made you smile, even blush, but none of them put you in such a vulnerable position with their presence alone. And there have been many times where his eyes would pierce right through you in the middle of getting his skin drawn on, creating the impression of him wanting to do some things to you. The lust was purely emitting from him the whole time. And you cannot forget about those moments when his fingertips would brush against your skin, making you shiver and think of scenarios in your head that were not so innocent. Sure, he was much older than you, but that didn’t stop either of you from craving each other every time.

Not too long after, you were already seated next to James, with his hand extended out as you were drawing lines on his skin.

My, oh my, did those large hands of his drove you insane.

“You got any more people coming after me?” he suddenly asked, his blue eyes hinting at something.

“Nope, you are the last one today. Puts my mind at ease knowing my last client is a regular. No need to overthink”

One side of his mouth curved up into a small smirk.

“Are you sure your mind is at ease? Because I can feel you’re all tensed up”

You swallowed and bit your lower lip hard after he said that. Trying to hide your growing frustration, you giggled.

“Maybe I am, I’ve been here since seven in the morning, you know”

He cocked an eyebrow up, not quite believing what you were saying. James could clearly see how you bit your lip, adjusted in your seat and giggled due to getting thrown back by his comment.

“It’s kind of easy to tell that it’s not because of the work. You don’t need to hide it”

Your breath hitched in your throat, and your body froze for a moment before you looked up at him and asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I know you secretly think about all the possible ways I could use my hands on you,” you could not believe what he just said, but it was totally true, “it’s written all over your face. Even your body language gives it away with how you shake, squirm in your seat, how you breathe heavier when I’m around. I know you think of me”

“James, don’t-“

“Just finish the tattoo first, then you can explain yourself”

Not even ten minutes later, you had your body pinned against the door of your break room, with no way to escape the tall man who hovered over you. His hands roamed your body while he kissed your neck, sucking on the sensitive spots to make you even weaker. The way he held you by your hip against the door made you so vulnerable and so turned on, that you could not help but moan into the heated kiss.

With one swift move, James opened the door behind you and the both of you walked backwards, still all over each other until the back of your calves hit the lounge couch that was in the room. James helped you with taking your shirt off, leaving you in a black lace bra. You sat down and watched James from below, eyes full of desperation and need, looking right into his own. He removed his shirt and tossed it away, unbuckling his jeans and unzipping them, then hovering above you as he laid you down slowly, but with rough kisses and a tight grip on your waist.

Your hand reached into his jeans and you cupped him through the fabric of his underwear, giving it a couple squeezes as James groaned in response. He was big, thick and hard, and you could feel yourself getting so wet that it started to hurt. You really needed him.

With no clothes left on your bodies, he was now inside you, moving his hips as he watched your face, loving the way your eyes rolled back with each thrust. The way your back arched, your naked bodies touching against each other, it put you in such a trance. Every second of it - you just loved.

With your moans becoming louder, you felt a little embarrassed, and your hand found its way to your mouth to silence yourself. But James wasn’t going to let you hide.

“Don’t cover your mouth. I wanna hear you”

Carefully, he took your hand and now had both of your hands pinned above your head. Your moans filled the room as you wrapped your legs around his waist, wanting to feel every single inch of his length in you. Almost to the point where you could barely take it.

“I can’t- I can’t take it”

“Yes, you can. Just hang on for a little bit more for me, okay?”

You gave him a nod in response, eyes watery and lips parted as you breathed heavily, your high hitting you right then and there. It happened so quickly, that you could not even tell James that you were close.

Another moan slipped out of his mouth as you coated him in your juices, your walls pulsing whilst he was still inside you, able to feel everything.

“Almost there” he told you as he gave you his final thrusts before pulling out and cumming on your stomach. Both of you were panting, with small beads of sweat on your foreheads and hair all messed up. But as soon as you got your breathing back to normal, it was time to clean up and go home. Though, James just wasn’t quite keen on leaving you so soon.

“I’ll give you a ride back home, so don’t worry about taking a bus in this weather” he gave you a warm smile as he put his jacket on and waited for you at the entrance door.

[forsaken-headcanons]

nobody really likes shedletsky except builderman and dusekkar

he's just kinda loud sometimes

like they certainly don't hate him (mostly) but they also just want him to shut up

the list of survivors opinions of shedletsky (top being person who likes them most):

builderman (best friends, created most of robloxia together )

dusekkar (on a first name basis, i imagine they're pretty decent friends)

guest 1337 (tries to be as good of a friend as he can with other survivors, makes teamwork easier if the team likes you)

chance (likes the energy shedletsky gives, tries to match it whenever they're together)

two time (they don't think about shedletsky much outside of "spawn must've sent telamon to protect us")

007n7 (appreciates that shedletsky tries to make sure he's okay after being chased, thinks shed is a little too loud to be able to focus on stuff)

elliot (shed asks for pizza when he doesn't need it, follows elliot around when he does, does the whole "LEAVE THAT LITTLE GUY ALONE" bit and then misses the sword swing, is just too happy and loud for being in hell)

noob (likes the safety shedletsky provides, but his energy reminds them too much of their past, which makes them think of other things, and makes it hard to focus on surviving)

taph (taph is silent and quiet and i imagine has dropped way too many bombs because of shedletsky's sudden volume. the only words anyone has ever and will ever here taph say is a quiet "shut up" when shedletsky was yelling about how he's going to defeat 1x. everyone stared at taph (taph's voice was unfamiliar so everyone was slightly startled) and after that taph has never, and will never speak anymore words. he just needed shedletsky to be quiet for once and he wasn't looking at taph's sign language sooo)

i could do more of these "everyone's opinions on the other characters" if people y'all want them

-🍔

I like you, Shedletsky. That's why I based my mod name off of you missing all of your sword swings./silly Shedletsky being a goofy protector in people's image of him is sweet yet so funny to me. LEAVE THAT LITTLE GUY ALONE!/ref

[best-thing]

Out of all the things in everything, which one... is best?

It's a question we sometimes ask and never need to know the answer to. And finding answers no one needs is precisely the role of the tumblr tournament poll!

Frequently Asked Questions

How does this work? Tumblr users can submit a thing via ask, and the thing will be tried against the other things one by one in random order. 1v1 polls will determine which of each pair is better.

Won't that make way too many polls? Oh yes. If we do ALL the polls of the round robin, there will be a number of total polls equal to the square of the number of things that tumblr users can think of, minus that number, all divided by two. That's pretty many. Or perhaps zero. It depends on if this blog gets traction or not. This blog got some traction.

Sooo do you have a solution to that problem? We'll probably discard things that lose all their polls, or enough of their polls, or something like that. They can go on a "not that good" list that will grow over time.

It sounds like you haven't really got a plan. That's not a question!

Why not do a regular single-elimination bracket? We like round robin tournaments better! They're a more reliable way to find out the true relative quality of things. Plus we can have rolling submissions this way.

What kinds of things can be submitted? Submissions should:

1) be a thing. It can be abstract or concrete, alive or not, all are accepted. Examples include "doughnuts", "the letter M", "orgasms", "the Engraved Hourglass Nebula", "being a wizard", "fresh wizard meat cooked over an open fire with a rosemary dry rub", and more!

2) be something that a typical tumblr user could plausibly be familiar with. So "cats" is fine but "the cat that is on the lap of tumblr user fake-example-person" is not. It also can't be "your mom" or similar because that referent changes depending on the answerer. If you're getting specific, make sure it's something the voter could look up. If it's fictional, please include a brief indication of its origin.

3) be good. Or at least not bad. We are trying to find the best thing, so submitting "transmisogyny" or "smallpox" or whatever isn't going to be accepted. We also won't accept anything that it would be fucked up to apply a value judgment to, like a demographic of people or something like that.

4) not be a fandom thing. There are so many other tournament blogs for those, and they bore me. No fictional characters, works of fiction, films, shows, franchises, songs, video games, musicians, writers, actors, etc. Less specific options like genre or medium are allowed. For example, "Sherlock Holmes" or "A Study In Scarlet" or "Arthur Conan Doyle" would be disallowed, but "detective fiction" is allowed. Something that's fictional but not from a specific source, like "wizards", is allowed. (Some of these are going to be difficult edge cases and they will just be judged by my gut.)

What do I need to send in my ask? You can just include the thing itself, but if you wish you may add explanation about what the thing is and/or propaganda in favor of it being the best. These will be included with the poll. Unless I forget, which I usually do. These will not be included in the poll because it creates a significant amount of fuss when adding polls to the queue.

What if the options are two very different levels of specificity on similar subjects? Vote with your heart. Is more specificity better or worse?

Why are you pitting two bad bitches against each other? It is our calling.

What determines whether you include a Wikipedia link on a poll? Our finely tuned reference-inclusion criteria consider such factors as an average person's familiarity with the thing, whether we feel like it (it makes the post take longer to write) and whether we remember to (remembering things is hard). We do try to post a link for both options if one is included for either, though this is not always possible.

You sound familiar. Are you some other gimmick blog? We have the distinguished honor of being the same person-posting-as-if-she's-an-organization as the prestigious @meme-conservation and the elegant and insightful @bad-time-analogies!

I'm mad (and not in a fun pretend way) about one of the options getting votes when I hate it and/or strongly prefer the other. In fact, I think that people liking this thing may be What's Wrong With Society. May I annoy you and/or others by ranting in the notes about it? No. This may get you blocked.

Can I submit my orientation, gender, or other essential element of my identity? No. That would be fucked up (see above). Do you want to find out that most people prefer frozen yogurt over your identity?

I'm upset with how you handled my submission in some way. That's not a question! Perhaps "running a gimmick blog and handling people's submissions in a way they don't like" is the real Best Thing.

I have a different question. Perhaps you should ask it instead of waiting for us to anticipate it!

[genericpuff]

Hey Puff,

I'm someone who has always struggled with how to do research "correctly," but have lurked around the community enough to know RS had a real tendency for… not doing enough. Do you have any recommendations, not necessarily specific to Greek mythos, on how to just do research? Is Wikipedia even a good jumping off point?

Thanks!

Biggest thing, at least for me, is being thorough! The reason a lot of folks tend to side-eye Wikipedia as a "source" isn't just because it's relatively easy for anyone to edit, but also because Wikipedia itself is a library of sources and not the source itself.

Wikipedia can be a perfectly acceptable jump off point, as long as you're actually jumping to the places it can lead to - and you can do that through References.

Let's use the Wikipedia entry for Persephone as an example.

Sourcing "improperly" through Wikipedia would be to simply source directly from one of the sentences listed here and calling it a day. No further digging on where the excerpt comes from, no cross-referencing with other material, just reading the part on Wikipedia that says she was a vegetation goddess, slapping it into an essay or adaption or whatever, and then not confirming it further or picking apart the why of her status as a vegetation goddess through extended research.

Sooo what do we do to find that info? Let's search the word 'vegetation' and see if anything else comes up.

There we go, that has a bit more detail. And from here, we can click the little '19' at the end of the paragraph, which will take us to the References section at the bottom of the page.

Aaaand boom! Now you've got an actual source that you can dig into further, if you so choose. There isn't a whole lot that I can access of this sourced book online, but I was able to find an excerpt where the author sourced Cicero, a Roman poet and philosopher (among other things) who lived during the rise of the Roman empire:

That said, sometimes these sources aren't quite so easy to track down. That's where cross-referencing can help - but that means leaving Wikipedia!

Where this concerns a Greek goddess, let's see what we can find on Theoi, another great resource specifically pertaining to Greek / Roman / etc. deities, stories, and customs.

Though it's not quite as clickable as Wikipedia, Theoi also does a good job at outlining sources in their descriptions. Though Bennett isn't mentioned here, Hesiod and Cicero are, and wouldn't you know it, they're sourced on Theoi as well.

So there you have it! Even though Bennett is from the early 2000's, he did his own work to outline and source poets and academics whose work he was now documenting himself. This means the odds of Bennett simply making shit up are low because he sourced from the preserved works of the era he's speaking on and those works are referenced again through other resource libraries such as Theoi.

What ALL that helps with at the very least - aside from the opinions one could have about the sources themselves (Ovid 😒) - is to legitimize the research. We know without a shadow of a doubt that Persephone was attributed to vegetation and the harvest because there are so many sources across different cultures and backgrounds and generations stating it as such. It thus makes the conclusions a lot more credible, even when they're coming from a more modern source, because that source was built on their own research and sources from the Greek/Roman/etc. documents that have been preserved (and there's still new stuff being found!!!)

Obviously there are always arguments to be made about the material itself, especially when it comes to the debates over translations and cultural contexts, but actually following up on initial searches with referencing and cross-referencing is a lot more reliable and credible than simply taking something from Wikipedia and saying "I read it on the Internet."

As much as the effectiveness of Google and Wikipedia as legitimate research sources is frowned upon, they are incredibly effective, you just need to know where to look and how to find it, and most importantly - how to verify it.

And that's just the online stuff! Libraries are still alive and well! Many universities contribute to search engines like WorldCat which are designed specifically for research papers, published articles, and textbooks! Point is, the world around us is full of knowledge and resources, so the key is to learn how to navigate it so you can get the most out of it!

This is ultimately why it's so important to not restrict yourself to the first Google result - I know it's "easier" due to the convenience of it all, but you're also robbing yourself of the opportunity to really expand your knowledge beyond the summary of a targeted first result, and it runs the risk of sourcing from illegitimate sources or sources that are controlled by Google's own self-interests (protip: have a very specific problem but Googling it just gets you a bunch of automated sponsor posts and completely useless results? add 'reddit' to the end of your search, you'll get human answers from real human beings and there's always at least ONE other person who's had the same problem and posted about it to reddit LMAO seriously this one's saved my skin so many times)

And when you learn to do research the way that works for your brain? It's really, really fun. A lot more fun than public school led many of us to believe. If you learn best from talking and engaging with people, then go talk to people! Participate in groups and forums that are dedicated to the topic you're researching! If you learn best from listening to audio material, then try out audiobooks, they can often be found online through various means (🏴‍☠️) BUT ebooks and audiobooks are stocked at libraries too!

But of course, that leads us to what makes for bad research, and I obviously can't use any other example in this context than Rachel herself, whose "research" is evidently often the first recommended result that pops up on Google. And yes, I can say evidently because we've proven this when she tried to source the term 'xenia' into LO as a definition. Not only was it copy pasted to the point of still containing typos, but it was sourced plainly from a Princeton study guide that is now severely outdated - not the work that that study guide was sourcing from in and of itself.

(notice how she just sourced it as "princeton.edu" and not the specific URL that it came from)

If she really wanted to sound well-researched with the cheeky insert of the definition of xenia linking to a smart-sounding location (we're gonna ignore that it ruins the flow of the comic) then she could have sourced it from literally any of these:

But instead she did the equivalent of an 8th grader copy pasting a sentence from Wikipedia and calling it "research". It's not research. It's a lazy shortcut and it doesn't facilitate any real learning.

This can be seen in other instances as well, such as Metis' design:

As well as Leto, who I kinda think Rachel mixed up with the Full Metal Alchemist character of the same name when googling her because I can think of no other explanation as to why she's a sun goddess in LO when she has zero affiliation with the sun in the myths aside from being Apollo's mother-

(I can't prove that this is what happened but it's hilarious to think about; I'm also low key suspicious that Rachel accidentally mixed in some sources of the Métis people because Metis' design is very... Indigenous-coded 🤨)

^^^ This. This is all bad research. It's not a bad thing if Rachel's interest in Greek myth started through works like Hercules or other creative adaptions, that's actually how it starts for many of us. Where she failed was by trying to sell herself as a "folklorist" and her work as a "retelling", without actually following through in her research. She would often only do just enough to make herself seem well educated on the subject to anyone whose knowledge was as basic - or less - than hers, but not enough that it could actually hold up in a real discussion about Greek myth with other people who are more read up on it than her. Rachel's self-proclaimed "folklorist" title is only validated by the lowest common denominator of readers, who 99% of Lore Olympus ended up being made for in the end, while those who actually understood the myths deeper than their Wikipedia summaries pulled their hair out in frustration every time Rachel tried to make some sly reference to a myth or attempted to speak about it in interviews.

Comparisons aside, the best part is that this research process doesn't have to be exclusive to studying historical stuff! Writing a story that features a disabled character, but you yourself are not disabled and are worried you're going to misrepresent? Search up articles and posts that pertain to the specific disability you're trying to write; I guarantee you that there are people living with that disability offering up that information completely for free because they want to see more representation for themselves in media. Trying to learn how to draw characters of different body types / skin colors / etc. from your own? Seek out the works and advice of those who do have those physical differences and learn from them.

It's about being thorough. It's about opening yourself up to things you may have been blind to before. It's about embracing the learning experience as a positive sign of growth, not a negative sign of failure. It's about taking the opportunity to learn every time it presents itself, even if those opportunities are small and passive. A person who doesn't know is just a person who hasn't learned yet (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و