#throbbing headache that makes it impossible to focus on anything

[runawaymun]

Bruhhhh I just want to wake up and not be in pain for once 😭 need a break

[moodymisty]

So requests are in so imagine this:

You're on a planet that has not had contact with the imperium. You keep having these recurring wet dreams about this large red dude. The last dream that you had he tells you to pack up your things because he's arriving soon and as his beloved you'll be coming with him. You chalk it up as just another weird dream but you're going to find those dreams were telling the truth.

Author's note: OOOOOO i love this idea!!!!! I'm not proud of the middle of this one, but I think it turned out ok.

Relationships: Magnus/Fem!Reader (one mention of 'cunt' but no pronouns are used)

Warnings: Lewd but not very descriptive NSFW, Mind sex, Wet dreams

"Still not finished?"

You feel breathless, hands roaming all over your body. It feels like there's one, then three, then two and four, all caressing your skin simultaneously. They brush over your chest, then your waist, then hips. You can barely make sense of anything, colors and shapes all come in and out of focus faster than you can understand them.

Though over it all you can hear his voice crystal clear, see the outline of his face as his lips trail across your skin and his flowing red hair curtains either side of your vision.

Every part of your body feels, amazing. You can't pinpoint a part or place just, even your mind itself somehow tingles with pleasure indescribable with any words you know. Everything around you both is too unimportant for your mind to focus on, but you think there's stars, nebulas and planets swirling.

"You are such a strong little thing, to keep up for this long."

His voice is always thick like honey, slathering over your mind. You skin tingles delightfully warm- you feel like you're floating in water, but also being held in a pair of arms at the same time.

"I will be there for you soon."

You wake up moments later, coming face to face with a sun already quite bright. You press your cheek deeper into the pillow and sigh.

You've slept in again.

Your body is slightly damp with sweat, the blankets tangled around you. When you move to sit up and attempt to dislodge yourself from them, you can feel the stickiness of your underwear against you, damp from your own juices.

The dreams are odd; But they're nice. You wonder what's changed to make them so coherent and consistent. They're becoming habitual, expected; A bit odd, but as long as they don't interfere with your life, you suppose they can stay.

If only you know what spurred them on, you think before slipping out of bed to clean yourself before rushing out into the world.

"You are still so eager, has none of this tired you yet?"

This dream feels rougher this time, your body feels so much more tired. Your legs feel like they're stretched wide, as you take something far wider than you could think was possible.

"I am almost there. I promise you before your sun falls, I will have you in my arms. Have your things ready by then."

You don't think on what he says; It's all a mindless, formless dream anyways. You only look up into a swirling mass of red your mind just can't quite bring to clarity. It's too distracted, focused on the tension in your gut as you cry out-

You jolt awake, breath heavy as the moan you were in the middle of letting out is suddenly cut short. Your cunt is still throbbing around nothing, but with it is the ache of stretch that seems- is- impossible.

You groan at the feeling of satisfaction in your gut, but also a headache. You attempt to forget the dream quicker than the others in some misplaced sense of embarrassment. No one knows, but these dreams feel so real, they linger even in the real world through the ghosts of sensation on your body.

You slip from your bed and walk to the balcony, peeking outside. Up in the sky you see the ships are still there, moored in the outer atmosphere. They linger as vague shapes, only the largest- an absolutely gargantuan ship- clearly visible.

They had first arrived a few days ago, instantly confronting your capital city. Their size and strength had been more than apparent, and your planetary leaders had wisely chosen not to fight such a formidable threat. The acquiesced leadership quite quickly, and any resistance to the notion was quelled just as quick.

You haven't seen much of them other than the stray group of their inhumanly large soldiers and their gleaming, brightly colored armor; Trouncing through the city with weapons in their arms. No one gave the any trouble, so they seemed amicable enough. You never got close enough to find out more intimately.

You don't know why their accent felt so familiar though, as well as the symbols etched into their armor.

You have to take a trip to the main palace to deliver yet another dress to your lord and lady that reside there, hefting it over your shoulder and avoiding eye contact with the guards.

The shift in leadership of your planet is less important, when you need food to eat. Many less fortunate felt the same.

Some of your people's guards still remain, though many are replaced by these new, much larger men. If they're permanent or temporary, you don't know.

They almost all have their helmets on, but you feel like they stare at you a bit oddly. For a moment you wonder if they even look human underneath the oddly shaped armor, but the thought is squashed as you keep yourself small and shuffle by- delivering the dress to your mistress who tries it on with no complaints. She keeps it, and leaves you to walk through the halls alone again.

It's a large palace, many of the lords and ladies live hoddled in the safety of it's defenses.

The sounds of footsteps are so loud somewhere in the halls, you figure it must be a squad of those massive men. There isn't a way out apart from this way or the way you came, so you only hope to make yourself look small and not worth messing with.

"Father, why are we going this way? Is the thunderhawk not-"

You turn a corner, and directly down the hall is a whole squad of those men; Though one of them that stands a whole few heads taller in-between them all. The difference in height alone has you frozen, if he was only a tad taller, you'd reckon he'd be far too big for even the most vaulted rooms.

As you stare stupefied his eye locks with yours, and his neutral expression turns to one of much more fondness.

You freeze.

"Ahh, there you are. How lovely that you came to me first."

His men who unlike their fellows outside are without helmets, look at you oddly. You are far too entranced to notice however, like the shock is pulling you in.

He's real.

The voice in your dreams, the floating, abstract shape of a man that had lingered in your dreams for months on end was real. Conversations, entire monologues, the most toe curling, mind shattering pleasure you'd ever felt, all of it wasn't just concocted in your mind? How?

"Leave me for a moment."

He looks to his men, who seem horribly confused. Though he only has to repeat himself once before they hesitantly take their leave and shuffle off.

"You..."

You can barely manage to mumble out, staring at him as he approaches. The aura that entrances you only seems to get worse as he comes closer. Besides his visage itself being a shock- you barely reach his hips. He either doesn't seem to notice or care, looking down on you with a gentle smile. Your chest feel tight enough to halt your breathing, something about him is so greatly and unfathomably inhuman.

"You leave your mind so unguarded. It was so easy to find you."

He kneels, taking your chin in his massive hand and turning your face to look at him. His expression brightens a little bit at the gesture, like learning something new.

"Ahh, you are softer than I could have even guessed. It is so nice to feel your skin in person."

You feel like you know him, you have distant, faded memories of him speaking to you in your dreams for what felt like hours, but yet your face still heats up like you've never met him at all.

"I know your name little one, do you remember mine?"

Magnus.

"Yes, that's it."

You almost jolt a bit. You had only just remembered it, but he seemed to know it like he was still in your head. He smiles happily.

"Why are you here?"

It's such a vague, dumb question, but he seems amused by your stupidity.

"My legion is here to annex your green little planet into the Imperium. I, however, am here for you." He continues. "You are a beautiful little mind that is far too strong for me to just leave here. No one here will appreciate it the way I can."

His thumb brushes across your bottom lip, tugging it slightly.

"Tell me, do you have your things ready?"

Your things?

"Yes, my love. I told you to have them ready for when I came for you. Or were you too distracted coming for me to remember?"

It takes you a moment to realize what he meant, and your face heats up like the flash of a pan. He chuckles, a deep one that rumbles your chest. Why do you feel so shocked by him calling you his love, but also have a sense of familiarity to it?

"It's ok, we have time. My sons are still making sure your world complies with our demands."

You feel scared; You feel like you're standing on the edge of a cliff, but also, excited. You feel like you don't know him at all, but you feel a pull like a collapsing star that brings you closer to him.

"Can... Can I bring my books?"

Magnus laughs, moving to use both massive hands to cradle your jaw. Your head is almost lost in their size, but the gesture is gentle and fond.

"Of course, my love," He says, smiling. He chuckles shortly thereafter.

"Oh, you are going to love Tizca."

[04thz]

Migraines - an Analogical oneshot

Logan's had issues with migraines for a long time, but never told the other sides about it. During a particularly bad one, Virgil comes to check on him.

Mild TW for mentioned vomit/throwing up - this is based on my own experience with migraines, and I basically always end up puking so Logan does now too lmao

Word count: 2444

Also! Just a quick FYI, I have an AO3 now! This one and the two NaruMitsu fics I made recently have been posted there. Will potentially move my older fics there as well, so in case anyone wants to read more of my writing without having to scroll through the wall of random that is my blog, I am 04thz on there as well. Anyways, enjoy the fluff lol

It was just one of those days. Hardly the first Logan had dealt with, but they never got any easier. He squeezed his eyes shut as another jolt of pain went through his skull and rolled over in bed to face the wall, where less of the light creeping in under the door could reach him. The movement caused a swell of nausea, and he forced himself to take a few deep breaths to suppress the urge to vomit, pulling the marine blue duvet up to further cover himself. 

God, he hated migraines. Tension headaches weren’t all that uncommon for the logical side, nor were caffeine headaches, but those were usually manageable with water and a couple painkillers, and if nothing else he could at least work through the more subdued pain. Whenever he felt a migraine coming on, that was it for the rest of the day, he would most likely not be getting anything else done until it was over. If he was lucky, the pain would be gone within a few hours and/or after a quick nap, but sometimes – like today – he’d wake up with a dull ache radiating out from one or both temples, which would steadily worsen over the course of the day, until it felt like one side of his head was being repeatedly wacked with a sledgehammer. And as if the throbbing pain weren’t bad enough, it was more often than not accompanied by crippling sensitivity to both light and sound, full-body chills, and such intense nausea it was nearly impossible to move without throwing up.  

Logan never told any of the other sides about his problem. Not only did he not want to appear weak, but also as long as he kept up with his work it was unlikely they’d think it odd that he'd stay couped up in his room for a day or two every once in a while; that was hardly unusual for him anyhow. Besides, it’s not like they could help with his predicament, actually there was all likelihood they’d make it worse. When he felt the aura of an oncoming migraine, he’d simply excuse himself from any social situation and bunker down in his room with a water bottle, painkillers, and a large bucket, in case he’d fail to quash the relentless waves of nausea. This time there hadn’t been any social situations to excuse himself from; he never even made it out of bed, much less out of the room. After trying and failing to go back to sleep to avoid the issue all together, he’d simply taken a pill and steeled himself for the dreadful day ahead.  

He’d managed to eat a couple bites of the breakfast he summoned for himself, and even done some reading before the gnawing ache became too intense to focus on anything else. But when it came time for lunch, he’d barely gotten the first mouthful down before it violently came back up, along with his breakfast. With throat burning and eyes running, Logan was forced to admit defeat, and he’d spent the next few hours subsisting on small sips of water, while trying to block out what little light seeped into the room and willing the day to just be over already.  

It was in this state that Virgil found him that afternoon. The alarm clock on Logan’s nightstand read 17:15 when he heard soft footsteps in the corridor outside. The three quick knocks on the door weren’t loud, but nonetheless agonizing, and Logan had to grit his teeth to suppress a pitiful whimper that threatened to escape his still sore throat.  

“L? You in there?” 

Logan sighed and tried his best to keep his voice steady. 

“Yes, Virge, I’m here. What is it?” 

The brief reply had sounded more abrasive than intended, and a minute passed in silence before a hesitant question came through. 

“Can I come in?” 

Logan took a deep breath and weighed for and against before turning back towards the door. 

“Yes, you may, just... please keep your voice down.” 

The door was slowly pushed open and Logan had to put his hands up to cover his eyes as the room was suddenly illuminated by the bright light spilling in from the hallway. Virgil stepped into the room, hands buried deeply in the pockets of his hoodie and shoulders pulled up; Logan’s blunt manner had clearly put him a bit on edge. Logan pressed his hands against his face. 

“Shut the door, please...” 

Virgil used his foot to push the door shut and Logan sighed with relief as the room was once again shrouded in blissful darkness. He lowered his hands and pulled the covers tighter around himself. Virgil leaned against the door, looking at him uncertainly as his eyes quickly adjusted to the dark. 

“Everything okay? Haven’t heard from you all day, and you don’t look so good.”, he said quietly. 

‘Not so good’ was rather an understatement. Logan had caught glances of himself in mirrors on better days and knew all too well he must look terrible; pale and shivering, hair a mess, eyes hazy, these kinds of days typically made him look like he was half-way to the grave. Not to mention his pajamas – consisting of indigo flannel bottoms and an old, faded Doctor Who t-shirt – were in desperate need of a wash. Reluctantly he reached for his glasses, sliding them on and looking at Virgil tiredly, though he could hardly make out more than a silhouette. 

“I have a migraine. Nothing to worry about, just... highly unpleasant.” 

The last two words came out as a sigh. Virgil tilted his head, taking a step towards the bed. 

“Oh, I see.” 

He slowly made his way over, pausing for a second and wrinkling his nose as he was hit by the rancid smell from the bucket on the floor. He looked at Logan, who wearily motioned for him to sit down on the bed. Virgil carefully sat down at the edge of the bed and started fidgeting with the drawstrings on his hoodie. They sat in silence for a while, until Virgil started finding it intolerable and softly spoke up. 

“Do you uh... need anything? Like an ice pack or something?” 

Logan went to decline the offer, mostly wanting to be left alone, but stopped himself. 

“That... would be great actually.” 

Virgil nodded, summoning an ice pack and a small towel, handing them to Logan. 

“Thank you, Virgil.” 

He gingerly placed his glasses back on the nightstand before laying the towel over his forehead and placing the ice pack on the side of his head that was throbbing the worst. He exhaled slowly, finally feeling some blessed relief as the chill of the ice somewhat dulled the burning pain. Virgil watched him, a small smile creeping onto his face. 

“Did that help?” 

Logan nodded ever so slightly, gently shutting his eyes underneath the towel. 

“Yes, thank you.” 

“Don’t mention it.” 

Virgil looked around, having no problem seeing in the very faint light from the door, though he’d know the room like the back of his hand even if he couldn’t see it. Out of all the other sides’ rooms, Logan’s was probably the one the anxious side had spent the most time in. If he’d had a nightmare or just couldn’t sleep, it wasn’t unusual for him to make his way over, and Logan was typically happy enough to let him in. For all he harped on about circadian rhythms and healthy sleep schedules, it was not uncommon to find the logical side sitting by his desk or reading late into the night. Sometimes, if he was feeling especially anxious, like after a bad nightmare, Virgil would ask Logan to read aloud to him from whatever book he was currently working his way through. Many nights he’d fallen asleep listening to various detective stories and scientific theories, curled up under the large, galaxy print blanket on Logan’s bed. Logan was a constant, a steady presence in Virgil’s life, even more so than the other sides, and seeing the normally - at least outwardly- unshakeable man in his current state was honestly a bit unnerving.  

“... Do you get migraines like this often?” Virgil asked softly, turning to look at Logan’s half-covered face. 

“Once or twice a month at most. They aren’t always this bad.” Logan replied tiredly. 

The anxious side chuckled quietly, mostly to himself. 

“Just bad luck today huh?” 

He could just about make out the slight movement of Logan furrowing his brows under the towel. 

“Wouldn’t call it ‘bad luck’ exactly. I have admittedly exceeded my own limitations by quite a large margin over the past couple weeks, it’s hardly surprising it would end like this.”   

Logan wasn’t sure if it was the pain, the drowsiness or just the fact that it happened to be Virgil sitting on the bed with him that made him inclined to share “unfavorable” information like that so freely, but he had to confess it was rather nice to not keep it all to himself for once. He was aware he was working on an unsustainable schedule, despite his best efforts to keep Thomas and his fellow sides from doing the same, and it felt – yes, felt – good to say so out loud. Like giving the thought some sort of external presence was a step in the right direction towards amending the issue. Virgil returned to fidgeting with his hoodie strings, watching Logan’s chest slowly rise and fall for what seemed like an eternally long minute before breaking the silence: 

“You haven’t been taking care of yourself?” he said, concern apparent in his voice.  

Logan sighed and moved the ice pack slightly to the left, before he let his hand fall to his side 

“I suppose not, no. There’s been so much work to do lately, everything else sort of got left by the wayside, so to speak.” 

“L, you can’t do that. You have needs too, you can’t just work and work and ignore them. That’s not healthy.” 

Virgil moved a bit closer to Logan, turning his body so his knee just barely touched Logan’s outer calf. The latter shifted slightly, somewhat unused to physical contact of any sort.  

“I know that, Virge. I am trying to find a better balance, but it’s easier said than done.” 

Virgil placed a hand on Logan’s knee, resting it lightly so that the other man may move away from his touch if he so pleased. Logan didn’t move his leg away, instead he slowly lifted a corner of the towel off his face, looking at Virgil questioningly, though the anxious side knew he probably couldn’t actually see him in the dark and without his glasses. Virgil bit his lip softly and ran the fingers of his free hand through his bangs.  

“I care about you, Logan. I know you hate the feelingsy stuff and all, but I really care about you, and I don’t want you pushing yourself like that. I’m worried about you, dude.” 

Logan drew in a breath, slightly taken aback. Virgil usually wasn’t much more forward about this sort of thing than himself. And that word; Worried. Virgil was worried about him. He noticed that Logan didn’t leave his room that day, he cared enough to come check on him and at least attempt to help with his splitting headache. None of the others typically even noticed he wasn’t present unless it happened to be for an extended period of time. As much as he hated to admit it, that hurt, and the fact that Virgil had sought him out and expressed concern for his wellbeing meant more to him than he knew how to properly verbalize.  

“Thank you, Virgil. I... appreciate that.” was all he could muster up through suddenly knotted vocal cords. 

Virgil gently rubbed Logan’s knee. There was, as always, an implicit understanding between them. Even if Logan didn’t know how to say it, Virgil understood that his concern was important to him. 

“I mean it. Just... I’m here for you, okay? You can always talk to me if something’s going on.” 

He was half expecting the conversation to be over at that point, and was just about to leave Logan alone to sleep off his headache, when the logical side spoke up again: 

“Virge? Could you maybe... read to me?” 

Virgil stopped in the middle of getting up, sinking back down on the mattress. Logan shifted the towel back over his eyes and continued: 

“I was reading Murder on the Orient Express earlier, but I didn’t get past the first few chapters before my migraine got the better of me.” 

Virgil smirked playfully. 

“Again? Don’t you have it memorized by now?” 

Logan scoffed, rolling his eyes despite the agony it caused. 

“I am too tired for musical references right now.” 

“Sorry, couldn’t resist.” 

Virgil snickered and reached for the book on the nightstand.  

“Can I lie down?” 

Logan nodded ever so slightly, and Virgil carefully nestled himself in between him and the wall, leafing through the book until he came across the ornate bookmark Roman had gotten for Logan’s appreciation day a few years previous. He smiled; half convinced Logan would have gotten rid of it by now. He cleared his throat and began reading. Though he wasn’t as big a fan as Logan, Virgil did enjoy Agatha Christie’s writing, having heard both Murder on the Orient Express and a couple of her other books read out multiple times, and he did find some pleasure in being able to return the favor after being read to restful sleep so many times. A few chapters in, he glanced over at Logan and noticed that he’d drifted off. He put the bookmark in place and carefully returned the book to its spot on the nightstand before removing the thawing ice pack and wrapping it up in the towel. Propping himself up on his elbow, Virgil watched his companion’s relaxed face with an adoring smile, and soon found himself dozing off to the slow, almost hypnotic rhythm of his breathing.  

When Logan woke up in the morning, finally free of the excruciating migraine, and found Virgil sleeping with his hand resting on Logan’s chest, he couldn’t help but smile to himself. Careful not to wake the other man, he got out of bed and put on his glasses. Before leaving for a much-needed shower, he made sure to tuck Virgil in properly and – much to his own surprise – gently stroked his cheek with the back of his hand. Virgil smiled contently in his sleep, and Logan quietly left the room with a warm, pleasant feeling in his chest.  

[nausicaamusiclover20]

I LOVE YOUR FICS AAAA!!! 💖💖💖

Anyways enough of my fangirling, i have a slightly different request that i don’t think you’re done at all.

Basically i was thinking of Kirk as some type of demonic priest (because he likes horror and stuff yk) and the reader is staying at an “abandoned” church because they make like content on paranormal stuff but in the middle of the night she hears something and he’s there…and work your magic for the rest 🙏

THANK YOUUUUUU ❤

Warnings: Paranormal Activity/Haunting, Violence/Injury, Blood and Injury Detail, Entity Threat, Fear and Suspense

I hope you’ll like this crazy idea

Beware

 The church was colder than I expected.

The moment I stepped through the creaking wooden doors, a chill crawled up my spine, as if the air inside was thicker, heavier than it should have been. I adjusted the camera in my hands, trying to steady the shaky lens. My breath hung in the air as I took a deep breath, ignoring the uneasy feeling growing in the pit of my stomach.

“This is it, guys,” I said, forcing a calmness into my voice. It echoed in the empty space. “Saint Anselm’s Church. Abandoned for decades. People have disappeared here. Paranormal activity. Tonight, I’m going to uncover why.”

I swept the camera across the room, taking in the dimness, the decaying wood of the pews, the flickering light from the few broken windows. The altar at the far end was draped in shadows, and the stone floor looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in years. Despite the coolness of the room, it felt stifling, like the air had been locked in here for too long.

The headache began almost immediately.

It was just a dull throb at first, nothing to worry about. Maybe I was dehydrated or tired. But the deeper I walked into the church, the sharper the pain grew. My temples pounded, and every step felt heavier.

I pressed my fingers to my forehead, hoping it would pass. I was here to get footage. I couldn’t back out now.

“I’m fine,” I muttered under my breath, turning the camera to capture the altar. The EMF detector in my bag wasn’t picking up anything unusual—no signs of paranormal activity yet, but the air was growing colder. Unnaturally so.

But the pain wasn’t going away.

It worsened, like something inside my skull was twisting, grinding against my bones. A sharp, pulsing ache that made it hard to focus. I staggered toward the altar, hoping that maybe moving around would help.

As I passed the old confessional booth, the pain hit me like a blow to the head.

I gasped, dropping to my knees, my hands gripping my skull. The pressure was unbearable. My vision blurred, and my breath became ragged. I couldn’t even think straight, and I felt like the world was spinning around me.

This isn’t normal.

Something was wrong.

I staggered back up to my feet, desperate to regain some control, but the dragging sound echoed through the room, cold and ominous.

I turned sharply, my flashlight flickering as I swung it across the dark expanse of the church. The beam landed on nothing but shadow.

“Hello?” I called out, my voice unsteady. It felt too loud in the heavy silence. “Is anyone here? I’m just filming...”

The creaking grew louder. Closer.

I spun around, heart hammering in my chest. The air had grown cold—impossibly cold—and the shadows in the corners of the room seemed to stretch, elongating like they were reaching out to grab me. The temperature continued to drop.

I backed away slowly, but my feet slipped, and I nearly lost my balance. Panic set in. My pulse quickened, and the pain in my head flared again, sharp and searing. It felt like my skull was going to crack open. I was dizzy. Disoriented.

I tried to shake it off, but it was getting harder to breathe. The shadows were closing in, swirling around me, and I couldn’t see clearly anymore.

Then I felt it—cold. A presence.

Something invisible, but undeniable. A chill that pressed against my chest, as though an invisible hand was pushing me down.

I gasped for air, but it was like the room was suffocating me. The whispers began—low, guttural, incomprehensible—but full of malice.

I dropped to my knees again, clutching my chest, feeling the weight of the air pressing against me. It was like something was holding me there.

The pain in my head reached a crescendo, and I screamed.

And then, something sharp.

The unmistakable feeling of a blade cutting into my skin.

I looked down in horror, and saw blood—my blood—beginning to stain my sleeve. The pain in my arm was excruciating. I tried to touch the wound, but I couldn’t move. My whole body felt numb, and the darkness was closing in around me. The whispers got louder, like they were coming from every direction.

No. I can’t...

Then—

“Enough!”

The voice rang out, sharp and clear, cutting through the air like a blade.

I froze, my heart skipping in my chest as the shadows recoiled. They hissed in pain, the air shifting around me. The pressure on my chest lifted. The cold receded, replaced by a strange warmth.

I blinked through my dizziness and saw him—a man—a figure emerging from the shadows.

He was tall, his black robe flowing around him as he moved. His presence was commanding, like something from a dream or a nightmare, but he was here.

His eyes were intense, dark—like they could see straight through me. The figure spoke again, this time in a calm, authoritative voice, filled with an undeniable power.

“You are not welcome here.”

The shadows screamed, twisting and recoiling as though they were being burned by his voice.

He stepped forward, and with a simple gesture of his hand, the darkness shrank back, as if it feared him.

My breath caught in my throat. The creature, whatever it was, hissed once more but seemed to fade, retreating into the corners of the church.

The man turned toward me, his gaze softening, and knelt beside me.

“You’re hurt,” he said, his voice no longer cold but filled with concern.

I could barely speak. “Who... are you?”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, his fingers brushed over the wound on my arm, his touch gentle but steady. The blood stopped flowing, the pain subsiding as though something in him had the power to heal it.

“Someone who watches over this place,” he said quietly, his voice low and reassuring. “Someone who protects those the church still holds dear.”

“W-What do you mean?” I gasped, still in shock. “Why did it attack me? What is this place?”

He glanced at the pendant around my neck—my grandmother’s pendant—then looked back at me, his eyes darkening with something I couldn’t quite place.

“Because of this,” he said softly.

I felt a strange shiver run down my spine as his gaze lingered on the pendant. I swallowed hard. “My family doesn’t have any connection to this church.”

He didn’t say anything right away. He just studied me, his face unreadable. Then he sighed and stood, offering me a hand.

“The church holds power—old power,” he explained, his voice firm but gentle. “Your bloodline is tied to it. You carry something with you—something the entity wanted to claim.”

I was speechless, staring up at him as if trying to make sense of what he was saying. “My bloodline? How do you—”

He shook his head. “I know more than you realize. You are connected to this place, whether you know it or not. And that thing... it knew.”

I took his hand and let him help me up, feeling weak but relieved. “Who are you?” I asked again.

The man’s gaze softened, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of something in his eyes—an emotion I couldn’t name.

“Kirk,” he said simply, his voice calm but filled with a weight I hadn’t expected. “And I’m here to protect you.”

I couldn’t understand all of it. My mind was racing, but I knew one thing—whatever I thought I knew about my family, about this church, it was only the beginning.

He looked around the church once more, his expression darkening. “We can’t leave yet.”

I froze, my heart pounding. “What do you mean? The door’s locked... I—I can’t get out.”

His gaze was fixed on the door, but there was a strange hesitation in his eyes. “It’s not just that. There’s something else... something about you that’s keeping you here. Something the church won’t let go of.”

I stepped back, feeling the weight of his words settle over me. “What are you talking about? Why can’t I just leave?”

Kirk exhaled slowly, turning to face me. “Because it’s not safe. Not yet. The church... it’s not done with you.”

The tension in the air thickened, like the church itself was holding us hostage. I pressed my palm to the door, but it didn’t move an inch. The strange energy in the room felt suffocating, and the darkness outside seemed to pulse with a life of its own.

“What is it that wants me here?” I whispered, barely able to breathe.

Kirk’s eyes softened, but there was something unreadable in his gaze. “I don’t know, but we need to figure it out. And we need to do it quickly. Whatever it is, it’s only a matter of time before it finds us.”

My pulse raced, and I couldn’t decide if I was more scared of being trapped here or of whatever he knew that he wasn’t saying. I glanced up at him, desperate for answers.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said, his voice firm, though there was a flicker of uncertainty behind his eyes. “But we need to stay calm.”

He placed a hand gently on my shoulder, a surprisingly tender gesture, but his grip was firm, as if he was grounding me against the growing fear. His touch sent a small spark of warmth through me, and I fought to steady my breath.

“We’ll figure this out,” he said again, his voice more reassuring this time. “But first, we have to understand why this place won’t let us leave.”

 Then , he reached into his robe and pulled out a small vial, the liquid inside glowing faintly. “Drink this. It will help with the pain and calm your nerves. It’s part of the protection.”

I hesitated, but the dizziness was already creeping back in, and the thought of facing whatever else might be in this church without it was terrifying.

I took the vial, unscrewing it slowly. The liquid smelled faintly of herbs, but something else, something more ancient, lingered in the scent. I drank it in one go, feeling warmth flood through me almost instantly. The sharp pain in my head receded, and I could breathe more easily.

Kirk observed me with quiet intensity as I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to regain my senses.

Suddenly, he gently placed his hand on my shoulder, guiding me to sit on one of the pews. I felt too exhausted to argue. The ordeal had drained me more than I wanted to admit.

“Rest,” he said softly. “You’ve been through a lot.”

I glanced up at him. There was a tenderness in his expression now, something that made my heart skip. The pain in my head was subsiding, but there was still so much confusion, so many questions.

“Thank you,” I whispered, feeling the weight of everything still heavy in my chest.

He didn’t speak immediately. Instead, he moved closer, lowering himself to kneel beside me. He gently cradled my head in his hands, guiding it to rest against his thigh. The moment was so unexpected, but it felt comforting, like an anchor in the middle of the storm.

His fingers lightly traced the edge of my hair, and I let out a shaky breath, the pain in my body slowly starting to fade away. His touch was so soft, and there was something calming about the way he moved, as if he’d done this before—or perhaps, as though he’d always been meant to.

“You’re gonna be okay, I won’t let him hurt you, I promise,” he murmured, his voice so low it was barely a whisper, but it sent a wave of warmth through me.

For a moment, I let myself close my eyes, allowing his presence to be the only thing I focused on. Whatever was happening, whatever this connection was, I wasn’t afraid anymore.

I wasn’t alone.

[eksvaized]

Simon ’Ghost’ Riley x fem!reader render by: @661ave

part SIX

[ Previous 〡 Next ]

You wake up with a parched throat, throbbing headache and, if it’s possible, feeling worse than you did last night before closing your eyes and falling asleep.

You search for your phone in between the sheets and under the pillows. But then remember you don’t have it, and it’s most likely still with Ghost. You would prefer to avoid him after yesterday. The memory of him witnessing you crouch next to the truck, trying not to choke on your vomit, while he soothed you is etched deep in your mind, and you won’t be able to forget about it anytime soon.

Although you know he can’t snoop around because you have a password on your phone, you still feel uneasy knowing that in some impossible scenario, if it unlocks, he will find the video. You don’t want to explain how or why you have it, and you certainly don’t want to tell him about how somehow has been messing with you and harassing you daily through the texts, while hiding between an unknown number.

But.

Maybe you should confess to him?

After all, you aren’t the only one who may face consequences if the tape gets leaked.

After making up your mind, you roll out of bed and ignore your fuzzy mind. A quick shower wakes you up. You even find five minutes to brew yourself a cup of coffee and drink it while you get dressed and brush your hair.

You don’t have to work today, but you still drag yourself to the base because you’re a woman on a mission: you need to talk with Ghost and get your phone from him.

However, it soon becomes clear that no one knows where he is. You check all the possible locations where you think he may be. You ask every soldier who passes you if they have seen the lieutenant, and while some say that a few hours ago they have witnessed him leaving his office, and talking with Soap, they can’t pinpoint you to his exact location now.

Frustrated, annoyed and still hungover, you stroll down the hallways, hoping that eventually you will bump into Ghost. Somehow, you end up in the abandoned wing with all the vacant offices. You have no excuse to be here, but for some reason, your feet carry you towards the door behind which you and Ghost tore each other’s clothes off.

You tell yourself it’s just a curiosity; you haven’t been in there since that night, and you just want to relive your memory of that evening since you don’t have anything better to do right now.

The door creaks as you open it. You attempt to turn on the light, flicking the switch twice, but just like the last time, it still is broken. Fortunately, there’s a window and enough sunlight is creeping in through the broken white blinds for you to be able to see.

Your fingertips brush the dust off the desk and you recall Ghost bending you over it, ordering you to put your arms behind your back as his hand wrapped around your neck, and his fingers lightly squeezed your throat making you dizzy.

You were certain that the desk would snap beneath you, splitting in two, because he was forceful and relentless with his thrusts, stretching you out, making sure that each time his hips collided with yours, a desperate moan slipped past your lips. But somehow despite it all, the rustic wooden desk survived and proved to be quite sturdy when Ghost flipped you around, lifted you on it and got on top.

You shake your head, hoping it will clear your mind and maybe force you to focus your thoughts on something else.

However, lately, Ghost and your memories of him, as well as all your interactions, creep up on you when you least expect it. Sometimes you spend hours thinking about him and only realise that when you snap back to reality, and notice how much time has passed.

You should talk to him. If you want to move, you need some closure.

You add one more thing to your to-do list, which now includes not just showing Ghost the video once you get your phone back, but also talking about how you slept together and that since then you have difficulty forgetting about it.

Your feet continue to drag you around the room. It’s filthy and dusty, and it doesn’t appear half as appealing in daylight as it did in dim moonlight.

As you approach the bookshelf, you notice some old books, a few pencils, and an empty, hideous yellow vase with dead flowers in it. Your gaze then shifts and your heart sinks. As your chest tightens, the blood in your veins freezes.

A camera. Hidden in the corner. Pointing to the fucking desk.

You grab it and turn it on. The memory card is empty. You realise that whoever owns this camera, whoever placed it here, must be the same person who keeps harassing you.

But who could it be?

The world stops spinning and time stands still. A whirlwind of thoughts consumes you. But in an instant, as if hit by a speeding truck, everything becomes clear. The puzzle pieces click into their rightful spots, sending a surge of realization through you: the video, the texts, and the threats… all of it is Ghost doing.

As your jaw tightens, your pulse quickens and you grind your teeth. You are furious, and angry at him, but you also feel betrayed and are desperate to get to the bottom of all of this.

You march down the hallway, pushing oblivious people, who don’t see you, and dare to block your way. You look like a crazy woman, but you don’t care. You also don’t care that the door is locked when you finally reach Ghost's office. No matter how long it takes, you are not leaving and are determined to wait.

How could he possibly have done something like this? Not that it mattered. Now that you knew it was him messing with you, you weren’t afraid anymore — he would never leak the video because that would also put him in trouble; Ghost doesn’t seem like someone who would want to self-destruct.

Two hours pass, but finally, he appears in the hallway. As his gaze lands upon you, a whirlwind of confusion and curiosity dances within his eyes, like a kaleidoscope of emotions. He’s good at reading your body language and when he realises you’re about to lash out, not wanting you to cause a scene in front of everyone, he pulls you into his office and closes the door.

“How could you?!” You raise your voice and don’t care if you’re shouting. “Do you think it’s amusing to toy with me? Don’t you have something more important to do?!”

“Calm down.” He leans against his desk, arms folded over his chest. You despise how calm and unconcerned he appears to be about your outburst. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. But you either lower your voice or leave and return when you’re ready to talk without yelling.”

You scoff. Your eyes are burning with rage, and you are on the verge of ripping your hair out because he doesn’t take you seriously.

“You can’t order me around anymore.” You step closer to him, pressing your index finger to his chest, driving your nail into his flesh as hard as you can. “I’m no longer afraid of you.”

The dismissive eye roll he gives provokes an overwhelming desire to punch him; you fold your hands into fists, but your arms remain firmly attached to your sides as if glued.

“Where’s my phone?”

Ghost stands up and gently pushes you out of his way, his shoulder brushing against yours before he walks to the bookcase, grabs your phone off the highest shelf and hands it to you.

“You can try to pretend that you don’t know what I’m talking about—” You unlock your phone and scroll to the very first message and the video. Ghost is looking over your shoulder. As he exhales, his warm breath grazes your skin, making the hairs on your neck stand up. “—but how do you explain this?”

You press play and shove the phone into his hands. For a moment, you stay still. Your body is stiff, and your eyes are fixed on him. You fight the urge to rip his balaclava off since you hate not being able to see and read his face.

When he continues to watch the video instead of saying anything, you snatch the phone from his grip and push a camera in his hand.

“Don’t try to tell me that you didn’t film us. Because I discovered your little toy and it’s an awfully big coincidence, don’t you think?! Out of all the vacant offices you took me to the one with the camera hidden in it.”

Finally, he raises his head. As you look into his eyes, you can sense a storm brewing, a whirlwind of emotions waiting to be unleashed. However, he doesn’t lash out and remains calm. His voice is low as he speaks.

“This is not my camera, and as much as I loved watching the video, well, at least the first five minutes of it, I wasn’t the one who recorded us having sex.”

[heresthestorymorningglory]

Just Another Thursday...

Summary: Lloyd Hansen's a dick.

A/N: Listen y'all this NSFW 18+ should be par for the course at this point. So like….just don’t okay?

As always, the inspo is thanks to the Goosecord and my beautiful partner in crime @ken-dom who constantly receives messages from me in the dead of night needing reassurance or “Hey what about if THIS happened?!”

Bless you my new found chosen sister for putting up with my antics! (Yes I copy pasted, yes it's still valid don't come for me)

This latest part is a little stabby so please my duckies, proceed with caution

This is a continuation of what I've affectionately titled the Nurse Series, read previous parts 'Hello Nurse' and 'Unfinished Business' here.

Like I said last time, this won’t be the last you see of SIx

Enjoy my loves! <3

@odessa-is-my-queen you asked for a tag <3

You groaned, head throbbing as you blinked the blur out of your eyes, the dim room coming into focus. 

“There she is” the unfamiliar voice reminding you of your very unpleasant encounter before you were knocked unconscious. 

You were bound to a chair, both hands and feet; in some sort of dingy warehouse with flickering fluorescent lights. 

You tried to fight past the throbbing headache to figure out an escape plan. Six was gone, he had no idea where you were or how to find you. You were on your own. You were on the wrong end of this transaction and that terrified you. Six had never told you the whole story, but he had told you enough; this man was capable of murder. 

“A dirty warehouse basement is a little cliche don’t you think?” You asked softly with your head dropped, you were trying to avoid making eye contact with him. 

That plan had been short lived as Lloyd grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back, forcing you to look up at him. 

“God,” you winced “At least buy me dinner first” 

Lloyd scoffed with amusement “She’s witty” he quipped to the dark figure standing in the corner not speaking 

You took a deep breath in through your nose “What do you want Lloyd?” 

He didn’t answer, instead, he struck you hard across the side of your face, the heavy ring on his pinky splitting skin. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, biting the inside of your cheek. If you had learned anything from Six’s incessant teachings “just in case” it was to keep your mouth shut. You had reassured him again and again nothing would ever happen, but he had insisted, and you complied…he was never going to leave you alone again.  

“Where did you send him?” you asked as he circled around the front of the chair you were sitting in, letting go of the hold he had on your hair. You kept your eyes forward, but off of him. 

He pulled a chair over in front of you, letting it scrape across the dirty cement before sitting down. 

“Oh honey, he should be the last of your worries…” he clicked his tongue in disapproval. 

“Where” you repeated 

“On a wild goose chase”  he answered, tipping his head, forcing your eyes to meet his “I owed him one” 

“He’s too smart for that” you muttered, knowing you were grasping at straws and only hoping you were right, praying he wouldn’t just run off halfway around the world without at least giving it a second thought. 

“Surprised he left you all alone,” Lloyd continued “Unprotected” 

“I can handle myself” 

This made him laugh out loud, he threw his head back, hand resting on his stomach. “Can you?!”  His voice a little too cheery at the concept He leaned forward in his chair, hands clasped together between his knees “I’d like to test that theory” 

Another hard backhand across your other cheek made your head snap harshly, making you bite your tongue. 

You had no way out, there were at least four other men scattered around the room, bigger than Lloyd, probably told to shoot first and ask questions later. Even if you could get out of your impossibly tight bounds you didn’t stand a chance. The zip ties bite into the skin of your wrists and ankles as your joints move, testing them. 

You just had to hope you could survive long enough to tire him out. 

“What’s the matter Lloyd?” you asked, eyes meeting his in a challenge “Some girl tell you that mustache makes you look like a pedophile?” 

You knew taunting him wasn’t the smartest idea, he was very obviously a loose cannon, but if beating your face bloody was the worst he was going to do, you could manage. 

As if to prove your point, the heel of his hand made contact with the bridge of your nose, eliciting a loud crunch as the bone broke on impact, causing blood to pour from your nose like a faucet. 

You saw stars briefly as he got to his feet. “Don’t worry, cupcake, I’ll make sure you’re nice and recognizable when he finds you back at home in a dead heap on the porch” 

As he spoke, he pulled a switchblade from his pocket and your heart slammed in your chest. You didn’t know how long you had been gone, how long you had been here, or how long it would be before he caused enough bodily harm for you to start to really panic. 

Lucky for you, Lloyd was big on the grandstanding; especially when he knew you weren’t going anywhere. 

“Wouldn’t that be something?” Lloyd asked as he sat back down in his chair “I could give us matching wounds” he held up his hand and you realized he had been missing two fingers.

You said nothing, trying to breathe through the pain of your broken nose as he continued; taking a hammer from one of his minions. 

“Did he tell you about Prague?” He asked, rocking the hammer back and forth between his hands.

“You mean did he tell me about how you killed Don Fitzroy?” you asked, “Yes, he told me”

“Would have killed him too” he muttered 

You scoffed with a laugh “You could certainly try” 

“Thought for sure he’d bleed out in that damn fountain” 

You frowned with a realization; Lloyd had been the reason Six had shown up on your doorstep that night. 

As your mind processed the fact, you felt Lloyd’s hand close around your bound wrist, not really realizing what he was doing until it was too late. One swift swing and the hammer came down hard on two of your fingers, fragile bones, crunching against steel as they separated. 

You groaned, mindful not to scream, chin tucked into your chest as your eyes squeezed shut as long as your broken nose would allow. Tears stinging your eyes as you looked back up, Lloyd very obviously pleased with himself. 

“That was you.” you said simply, breathing through the screaming ache “So that’s what this is” you nodded understanding 

“What?” Lloyd scoffed pacing in front of you “Don’t pretend like you know what this is” 

You laughed as much as your pain would allow “It’s revenge, because he kicked your shit in and did a better job at it” 

You watched as he set the hammer down, picking back up the switchblade. “It all makes sense now,” you said, your voice low  “You know you can’t beat him, you tried and you failed, so why not go after someone smaller?” 

“Think you’ve got me all figured out huh?” He asked, pressing the tip of the cool steel against your collarbone. 

You rolled your eyes “You’re not that complex Lloyd, you’re pathetic” 

You winced, feeling the blade pierce your skin as he sliced across your shoulder. “Hmm” You groaned as you took in a deep breath through clenched teeth, dropping your head for a beat before chuckling softly leaning back in your chair “He is gonna tear you apart” 

“You keep saying that, and yet…” 

His hand came down swiftly, blade of the knife burying itself in your thigh; that scream you’d fought so hard to hold back ringing through the room as you threw your head back trying to breathe. Lloyd laughed appreciatively next to you as he pulled the blade back out making you gasp trying to find your breath. 

“He’ll be here” you whispered, swallowing hard; trying to convince yourself more than Lloyd at this point. 

“Oh, I’m counting on it”

This time the blade buried itself deep in your shoulder, again making you cry out against your will as he pulled it free.

This carried on for what felt like an eternity, stab after stab, slice after slice.

He stopped to give himself a break, your breathing was shaky and shallow as you tried to calm yourself down, slow your heart rate, keep the blood from pumping too hard.

The next two…maybe three? Sliced your ribcage and you had given up on keeping your composure, your head hung as you cried, tears dripping off the end of your nose. 

“That would be serendipitous wouldn't it, killing you both with the same knife?” Lloyd’s voice was cool and measured over your head "Had enough?"

You ran your tongue between your lips, swallowing hard before he jerked your head up; you just glared at him

“Well?” he asked 

You were fighting to keep from passing out, you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction if you could help it. 

“Go fuck yourself” you whispered, your eyes slipping closed. 

“I don’t see boy wonder anywhere” Lloyd quipped “Maybe he decided you’re just not worth it after all” 

You didn’t answer, just focused on your breathing. Now you had an idea of how Six must have felt that night he stumbled through the front door. How he had managed it you’ll never understand. 

A commotion outside caught Lloyd’s attention and he leaned over the back of the chair next to your ear “Ohh, maybe I spoke too soon hmm?”

You hoped against all hope. 

“Let's give him a show, shall we?”

Lloyd buried the tip of his finger into one of the gashes on your arm, making you scream in pain. 

The gunfire rang off the walls as someone got closer. 

Lloyd stayed behind you, using your body as a shield. 

The last of his minions dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes as Six appeared in the doorway. 

“Thank God” you whispered, letting yourself relax as much as you could. Your eyes met his across the room, you could only imagine what you looked like, but his composure didn’t falter. 

“And here he comes to save the day” Lloyd sneered. “It's about time you got here…almost cut your girl to pieces”

“I told you he would kill you” you whispered letting your head drop, feeling dizzy. 

“Let her go, Lloyd, this has nothing to do with her” 

“Put the gun down and I'll consider it”

Their voices sounded muffled and far away as you tried to fight to stay awake. 

A sharp stab in your thigh as Lloyd buried the knife there and left it as he walked around the chair. 

“Hold on to that for me would ya?”

All you could do was scream in pain, tears streaming freely down your cheeks before you slipped away.

[justadumbasskid]

RimWorld Writing | Valley Station 1

She had been in here all day. Every day for the past four days, at least. Mei, the group’s resident combat Mechanitor, and a damn fine one at that. During the time of the First Factory, she had commanded two militors, two bellicors, one omicron, two knights, two centipede blasters, and a War Queen. All had eventually been scrapped to make way for their successors, or had been sold along with the First Factory, but still, an impressive resume. Now, in the time of Valley Station, she crouched low in front of a huge Archotech pylon. One of four towers on the North, East, South, and West surrounding a great Archotech structure in the middle. The cluster of Archotech artifacts emitted a constant psychic pulse that tugged on the seams of any psychically-tuned brain nearby. Volz was particularly sensitive to its influence, and suppressed a groan as a headache bloomed inside her skull.

“Mei,” Volz called from the sunlit slate doorway of their great temple, Mei was pulled from her musings and turned her eyes away from the glowing Archotech structure to her companion. Volz held a packaged survival meal in her hand and beckoned for Mei to take it. “You’ve been spending too much time here, Mei, even you need to eat sometime.”

Mei clutched at the plackart of her marine-issue power armor, and looked away, “I’m not hungry…” A common response from her, as she’s equipped with a miniturized nuclear reactor instead of a stomach. Volz shook a canteen in her other hand as a response.

“Water, then. I can hear your dehydration.” Volz’s lips crooked into what she hoped was a reassuring smile as she rolled her Archotech eyes playfully. With the popping crackle of stiff bones (they really needed to get bionic legs sometime) Mei stood, and gratefully accepted the offered water. She drank deeply, and summoned the courage to turn her attention away from their collective object of worship to speak to Volz.

“I just…does it not intrigue any of you? The mystery of its use to the Archotechs? How it relates to the great Archonexus? I can’t focus on anything else for long, I always find my mind wandering back to it. It calls to me. Please, tell me you’ve heard it!” Mei babbled just barely-coherently. She’s an intimidating figure with her power armor and Mechcommander helmet, but she appears weak as a kitten compared to the glorious Archotech artifact standing tall above her. Volz placed a reassuring hand onto Mei’s armored shoulder, hopefully calming the volatile mechanitor. 

“We’ve all heard it,” Volz assures, guiding Mei’s head so she can only focus on her pair of artificial eyes, “We didn’t build this temple around it to hide its influence from us, such a feat would be impossible, and pointless. We built this because it told us to, it commands our respect and attention. We built this temple to revere the glory of the Archonexus, and all this artifact represents.” 

“But..?” Mei whispered, guessing Volz’s next line of speech. Volz nodded.

“But, we’re of no use to the Archonexus when we’re starving, dehydrated, and dead. I’m not saying that there are more important things going on right now than our holy mission, but we need to focus on the basics regardless.” Volz pressed the crinkling paper packaged meal into Mei’s limp hands, forcing her to hold it, “Eat, drink, and sleep. The Archonexus favors us enough that it has provided these opportunities to us, we would be wise to make use of them while we can.” Mei looked down at the parcel in her hands before taking Volz into a hug. Her exoskeleton-enhanced strength threatens to crush Volz’s just under-enhanced body, but soon relents before breathing becomes difficult. She moves past Volz and out into the fleeting sunlight of dusk.

“Thank you, Volz. Perhaps the greatest boon the Archonexus gave unto us is your wisdom.” Mei tears into the package soon after, and leaves Volz alone in the temple. 

An aching throb in her skull pulls her attention back to the huge glowing greenish-yellow structure before her, and the intricate circuitboard-like patterns of pale yellow etched onto the sleek lime surface. Volz inches closer to the humming Archotech structure, and with her enhanced Archotech eyes, she imagines that she can almost see the individual packets of light traveling through the atto-thin wires.

Volz thinks to herself for a moment…her chores are done, she has eaten dinner, surely she can spare an hour or two of study before bed. 

So she travels past the Western Pylon, and takes a kneeling position above the Northern pylon. Pressing her organic hand against the lime structure, she begins to meditate. Opening her mind, and inviting Archotech wisdom to enter it.

------------------------------Buffer ---------------------------

A little writing based on the colony from this post, and all of my RimWorld posts before that one, relating to the current playthrough.

[0bsessed-with-spraypa1nt]

Chapter 1

Ah..I finally finished my book but I feel like something is missing though. I was trying to focus on my book to see if there was anything for me to edit before I published my book but the sound of my roommate’s party outside my room was making it impossible for me to focus on my writing. The music was blaring and the laughter was loud, and I could feel a headache starting to form behind my eyes. I gritted my teeth, annoyed at yet another interruption from my irritating roommate. I tried to ignore the noise and focus on my book, but the throbbing noise of the party pain my head making it difficult to concentrate on my book. I let out a sigh of annoyance, it was irritating me knowing the fact that my roommate didn't care the fact I was here and working on my book. I told him that I would be busy tonight but no, he wanted to do what he wanted tonight. I can’t wait to move out of this damn dorm especially away from here. Only some day. I got up from my chair then closed my Chromebook walked over to my closet to look for my headphones which were in a bright pink with Hello Kitty stickers all over them, my best friend had given me that box for my birthday. I grabbed a per headphones from the closet, put them on, and blasted Dead Can Dance to down out the obnoxious sounds of the party outside. As I sat back down at my desk, I thought about how much I couldn't wait to move out of this dorm. My annoying roommate, Drake had no respect for me and my work, and it seemed like he couldn't care less about disturbing me. I can’t wait to move out of the dorm and away from Drake so I can finish my book and then I could move on.

…

In the morning, I wake up from my rest and then stretch my limbs out, get out of my bed, and walk over to my closet to rummage through my closet for clothes today. I pull up a blank shirt with my favorite band on it which is Dead Can Dance and a pair of baggy jeans with a white sweater with designs on them, I look at myself in the mirror to see if I look good which I do look good every day. I put my hand in my hair and started to make one of my favorite hairstyles until my roommate busted through my door for no reason. For fuck sake.

“Hey dude..nghhhhhh..uh, how you doing?” he asked. “Hehh..you look..nice? Today”

“Hola? What are you doing in my room?” I asked him. “I don’t like when you randomly come into my room without knocking. Drake.”

“Wellllll…I was worried for you-”

“Worried for me? What are you on?” I say “You’re acting odd. Are you drunk again?”

“Maybe…”

“The fuck do you mean “maybe”? Quizás mi trasero. Estás borracho.” I told him. He does this at every party which irritates me. “You are drunk- You know what. I am not cleaning after you anymore until you sober up and do it alone because I’m not helping you this time.”

“But whyyyy? We are frienddhhhh...no, Best friends,” he says.

I could tell he was slurring his words and he was mumbling about a few things that I couldn’t understand what he is saying at, he does this whenever he gets drunk or high on drugs or whatever he is taking at the party. Drake always does this time shit and I always told him to stop or just at least tone down the party and stuff but again, why would I rely on him to stop or at least tone it down when I am working on my story. I heard Drake start waking away from my door and then tripped over something in the living room, I turned around and walked out of my bedroom then closed the door behind me, I walked into the bathroom and saw food on the ground like popcorn and random candies on the floor, there is some paint on the bathroom wall says “go suck my dick” probably by drake’s friends or just randos that drake invites over or Drake’s friends invites over. I opened the bathroom mirror to see things missing but good thing, it isn’t my things. Most missing things are Drake’s stuff and not mine things, I learned my lesson from the last party which was 6 weeks ago. I walked over to the kitchen to see more mess I lost my appetite to eat plus, I bet Drake wasted most food out of our fridge, I saw fruit loops on the kitchen’s ground mixed with other junk food like ice cream, pizza, chips, french fries, and donuts and so many other things on the ground. Heh, Drake is going to clean up when I go home if not, I going to make another complaint about him again, and yes, I tried to set my boundaries but he never respects me or anything like that which was irritating for me. I hate the fact he never respects me. I do really.

I checked my phone to see it was 6:33 am now. I have some free time. I walked over to my bedroom to get my things packed up for school, I am in college if you want to know about me. I started packing my stuff for class like my textbook, notebooks for each class, a few highlights and pencils, and my Chromebook for school. I looked at my messenger bag and my desk to see if I was missing anything for school which I wasn’t so I decided to lie on my bed and go on my phone to text my best friend, Emily Her. My best friend. To be honest, I didn’t know what to say to her at all so I decided to send a picture of a cat meme to my best friend since she likes cats and memes and stuff. If you wondering, no, my best friend isn’t in college with me or anything. She is in a whole other state too which is sad for me and my best friend. It is 6:49 am now, and it is close to one of my classes If you were wondering which class it is art class and had one of the best art teachers…Well, according to one of my classmates and some of the staff. Even my roommate told me about his favorite art teacher, I was surprised by the fact he even does art since he doesn’t seem guy do art but whatever.

Good morning, Emily. How did you sleep?

Why so formal bro? XD

Anyway, I did sleep well. wat about u Luci :33

I sleep like shit every day, you know the basics 😐

OH OFC!!! Is it by your roommate? Right?

The annoying one? The loud one?

Yes, Drake. Annoying one, em.

I continued talking to Emily about random things and how my days were going now then I put my phone down just to think about it or just to talk by myself. To be honest with you, I miss her. A lot. I know she is alive and all but I wish she could be here with me and hang out with each other, like a sleepover or cafe shop to eat and hang out with each other when we both have free time with each other. But she is not here with me. I wish I was with my best friend, Emily and I wish I had a house to myself. Only someday I could move out or at least, meet my best friend. Also, my back hurts too. I picked up my phone again to look at the text message Emily had sent and scrolled through a few, lingering on the ones that made me laugh a little.

LUCI ANSWER ME PLSSS!!!!!!!!!!!

Lucifer, please? 🥺

Pookie, please!!

She always knew how to get my attention. I let out a small chuckle and typed back a quick message. I found her silly. She reminded me of my little sister, to be honest with you.

Calm down, I was just thinking. What's up?

I paused before sending it, staring at the screen. The truth was, I missed her. These random texts were the only thing that kept me feeling connected, but it wasn’t enough. She was my best friend, and being states away wasn’t doing either of us any favors. I missed the dumb things we used to do together—sleepovers, lazy afternoons at that café near her place, random nights talking about nothing. The room felt empty. It wasn’t the same as being with her. I lay back on my bed, letting the phone rest beside me. Maybe one day, I thought, I’d have my place. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere she could visit sometimes if she could, and we’d just hang out like we used to when we were little. No annoying roommates, no Drake. Just peace. For now, though, it was just me and the buzzing of my phone, reminding me she was still out there, even if she wasn’t here. With me.

NOTHING I JUST MISS YOU LOWKEY, LIL BRO XD

Little bro? I am one year older than you, Emma.

AND? :3

I can call you whatever I want 😋

Whatever, you do. I guess

I put my phone down again next to me. Sometimes, what if I drop out and find a house for myself? Or I could find a better roommate than Drake himself. I feel bad for his friends, his parents, or anyone who is near him at all. Am I being too harsh on him? Probably not. I pick up my phone to look at the time which was 7:45 am. Maybe, I need to start packing up- Wait, I already did that. Maybe, I have to start heading to class now. I got up from my bed and walked over to the messenger bag and then picked it up, walked out of my bedroom. I closed my door behind me and then locked the door behind me. If you are wondering why I lock my door, well Drake likes to go through my stuff for “secrets” or something that pleases him for some reason. Last time, he went through my stuff. He found my journal and he started reading some of the pages when I went back to the dorm to do some homework I saw him with my journal then he called me an emo or something along those lines. I walked away from the door to the living room to see Drake lying on the couch, groaning in his sleep and drooling over the couch pillows. There is random junk food on the ground with drinks on the table and the floor with a terrible smell of alcohol in the air. I look over at Drake and then continue walking toward the door to leave the dorm, I open the door and then step out of my dorm. I wonder why does Drake this to himself. He is in the best college in Canada for fuck sake. He is lucky to be here. Emily texted me again, I wondered what does she want to talk about this time. The house looked

Hey Luci :3

I miss you already!!! 😋

Hola, Emily. ¿Cómo estás? Do you need something?

Not really! I just want to talk with you, lil bro 🙂

Oh okay then? Talk about what exactly, Emily?

Idk, something?

I start walking in the hallway while texting my best friend on my phone. Hmm, I could talk to her about how much I want a house and stuff, after all, she wants to talk about something.

Emily, I do want to talk about something.

Like wat? :3

I have been thinking about owning a house WITHOUT a roommate just by myself.

I wanted to own a house by myself and stuff but I don’t know where to start thought.

WDYM??

I mean can’t find a cheap house anywhere.

Also, costs a lot of money to be in college (which is $13,865 or $37,495)

GOD DAMNNNNNNNNNN ☠️

Quizás tenga que abandonar el perfil bajo…

I put my phone away in my bag as I continued walking in the halls. I started thinking about dropping out of college but if I did, I would lose money now if I did my parents wouldn’t be happy but again, I already knew what to do as a writer or as an artist. I already learned what to do as a writer and an artist. Maybe, I could get a job as a writer. After all, I wrote a book that is still at work at the moment and I think that my older sibling would agree with me and maybe, I could do what my sibling did or I could just get a job and not finish college. Or just drop out of college and get a job and a house for myself. That sounds good of an idea maybe? I feel is a good idea, isn’t it? I don’t enjoy being in this college that much.

A/N: This is just my of lore lol

[darkfeanix]

I sat here squinting at all the BG3 titles and I think it's gotta be Absolution. Reveal all!!

Absolution is going to be an undertaking. It started out as the unhinged Durgetash fic I've mentioned previously, and then I realised that I was doing too much backstory building (like, going back to the events of Baldur's Gate 1 and 2 level of backstory), and losing focus on what I wanted for that story, which was to indulge my kinks with two men in an unhealthy relationship. 😂

So I decided to change THAT story's name to Disciplined (also mentioned in the WIP meme; if you want to know more, feel free to ask about that one😜), and use all the backstory stuff to develop a new Durge named Schuyler. I then decided to combine it with another idea I've been turning around in my head for a while but never done anything with, which is a straight BG3 adaptation with a Gale romance. I decided to combine them because I conceived Schuyler as a Shadow Magic sorcerer, and I feel like the scene where Gale teaches the player character to touch the Weave would be really sweet for a character whose magic is drawn from the Shadowfell (possibly even from Shar's Shadow Weave, haven't decided yet).

I want this story to be more than just Durge/Gale, though; I want it to expand on character elements that are only briefly touched on in the story.

I've started chapter one of his BG3-era story (which I share an excerpt from below, under the cut), and I haven't decided yet if I want to roll back and start with his Durgetash era, or focus on the BG3 story and then go back to pre-game in a prequel. If I'm especially committed to it, I'd like to do a sequel with Schuyler and Gale in Waterdeep (synching it up with elements from the campaign book Waterdeep: Dragon Heist).

So yeah, that's the basic rundown on Absolution. Except the title, which I chose because obviously it's like a play on Absolute, but with the idea of working to make amends for past crimes (starting the cult, etc).

Please find an excerpt from chapter 1 below. Content warning for canon-typical violence and also The Dark Urge in general.

The man felt a dull, throbbing ache behind his right eye, not as bad as before, yet somehow more insistent. From somewhere in the depths of the man's mind came a word: imp. This was an imp. Something tried to link that realisation to another thought, but it couldn't quite connect. And in that moment, he couldn't focus on it, because unless he was very much mistaken, the imp had just murdered someone.

As he watched in mounting fear, the imp glided over to another of the coffin-like containers, and once more struck its inhabitant. That was when it occurred to the man that if it kept on as it was, then the imp would reach him very soon. As his heart raced in his chest, and his headache began to worsen again, the man resumed his desperate struggles against whatever invisible bonds held him. It made little difference, of course; he might as well have not been trying for all the progress he made.

The imp was onto the fourth container now. How many were left before it reached him? Two, or was it three? In his mind, the man tried to visualise the room, but it was impossible to concentrate through the pounding of blood in his head.

All too soon, the imp sprang onto the window of the man's prison, its small, clawed fingers tightening on the edge as it met his gaze. A nasty grin spread on its lips as it raised its tail, the stinger raised to deliver a fatal poison–

And in that moment the ache behind the man's eye vanished, along with the invisible bonds. He leaned his head aside at the last second, and the curved barb struck the back of the container with a light thump. Without any time to think, the man turned his head around and bit into the imp's tail with all the strength he could muster. His teeth sank deep, puncturing hard flesh and tough muscle. Hot, foul-tasting blood spilled onto his tongue and down his throat. With another sharp turn of his head, he dragged the imp partway into the container with him.

As the shock passed, the imp immediately began clawing at his face and neck, but the man hardly noticed these small scratches. For the first time since waking up, he could feel his thoughts beginning clear, and he knew what to do.

There was just enough room between his body and the inner wall of the container, allowing the man to force his hands up through the gap. With one hand he seized one of the imp's wings, and with the other he took it by the throat. It began to panic, shrieking in a language that the man wasn't familiar with, but he didn't pay it any mind as he squeezed. Only then did he spit out its tail to whisper a single word:

"Calhuan."

An icy chill gripped the man's heart, then surged up to his shoulders and down his arms. The imp's shrieks became howls of pain as lightning crackled between the man's hands, carving through infernal flesh and leaving burns that no fire could have inflicted. In only a matter of seconds, the imp fell still, apart from a faint twitch from lightning still arcing through it. Feeling invigorated, the man let go of the imp, letting it fall backwards out of the window of the container.

[chvnnie]

Stars

lee minho x reader

word count: 3.2k

genre: smut, fluff - MINORS DNI

warnings: non-idol au, themes of depression/anxiety (reader is super sad), a touch of angst, light fingering (f receiving), unprotected sex (can we not), dirty talk, minho is very possessive but what's new? marking, reader also is a lil possessive, i think that's it? if i missed anything, PLEASE LET ME KNOW.

summary: is a wedding really worth all this suffering?

kofi request: reader is going through a depressive moment & they proceed to have desperate, angsty, needy sex where member "fucks the pain away".

a/n: yeah no this is definitely the same minho from different and eternally. this is just a continuation of the reader's love story with him and i'm soft

this is a work of fiction. this fic in no way represents lee minho as a person or stray kids as a whole. you are responsible for the media you consume. please read responsibly.

taglist: @lix-ables, @rachalixie, @agustd-essert, @gibbysupremeacyisreal, @katieraven, @miamormi, @woahfruity, @isilentprincess, @hugs4chan, @stranger-thighs, @beautifulcolorgarden, @scottmcallisdaddy, @whatudowhennooneseesyou, @raspbinniecreme, @humayraaaaa

Your head hits the wooden table with a thud, the pink binder softening the blow. Pressure builds at the point of impact, the soft throbbing sensation at the front of your forehead an almost welcomed alternative to the sharp headache you currently have. You focus on the thuds of the throbbing, counting each one as you lay slumped against the table.

There are seven days in a week, between twenty eight to thirty one in each month, and today, two days before you had to put a deposit down on a venue, was the day that everything decided to fuck up. Minho left hours ago for a “work emergency”, leaving you to make all the annoying phone calls with a kiss and a promise to be home as soon as he could. It’s impossible to get a hold of anyone, and then when you do, it’s like pulling teeth trying to get an answer from them.

No, they won’t have time to offer a second tour today. No, they’re not sure when they will have the time. Maybe they’ll call you back within the next week. Oh, you need this done in two days? Why didn’t you call earlier?

You did. You did call earlier. In fact, both you and Minho, AND your planner had called multiple times during the past month, trying to squeeze in just to check out a few little details. Like damn, we get it, wedding season is busy, but you can’t let three people in for less than thirty minutes to make sure this is the place they want to wed? 

Fuck, they’re really hanging a cloud over what should be the happiest day of your life.

In no way did you think planning a wedding would be easy. You’ve watched countless friends get married, been involved in more weddings than you could remember. You know that the planning period is the most difficult, overwhelming part of it all. You were prepared for immense frustration and never ending tears.

But you didn’t think you would feel so sad during the whole thing.

There was no one on this earth that you would rather spend forever with than Minho. The two of you share a connection that is more than earthly, more than spiritual. It’s a deep bond that twirls around your bodies, binding you together in a dark brown silk and making the two of you one. There’s a warmth that only he gives you, a comfort that only comes from his embrace.

All you want is to marry him. To celebrate the love you share for each other with the people you care about the most.

Then, why is this so fucking hard?

When Minho slipped the emerald ring on your finger, the last thing you expected the upcoming months to contain was a nagging sadness that just wouldn’t go away. This is supposed to be one of the most exciting times of your life, and you’ve spent half of it curled in a ball, sobbing, the stress of it almost unbearable.

You want to marry Minho. You’re more than sure of that. 

So then why are you so sad?

The front door opens, Minho’s voice echoing through the entryway as he speaks quickly to someone on the phone. He seems rushed — not bothering to untie his shoes before wiggling his feet out of them, slipping on the tile floor as he glided to where he left you. You roll your head to the right, catching a glimpse of him comically hopping on one foot as he tries to remove the sock from the other. He’s still chatting away as he switches feet, leaving his socks by the fireplace as he zooms to where you sit on the couch.

“Thank you so much.” He sounds out of breath, quickly ending the call before throwing his phone on the couch. Cupping your face, he brings you in, pecking your lips over and over until he can pull a small giggle from you. “I have good news.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him, tilting your head in his hands. “What?”

“There’s a wedding at one of the venues tonight.” His words are still rushed, and judging from the breath that fans over your face, it’s from all the coffee he’s consumed within the past two hours. “Large event, I’m talking close to 450 people.”

You can’t even begin to process how anyone knows that many people, chest filling with the annoying sadness at his words. There was a couple getting married tonight in a venue you desperately want, and you can’t even get in for a quick tour? “Oh. Okay-“

“Like that’s a ton of people. More than we know combined.”

Unsure of what to say, you simply nod your head, waiting for him to get on with it.

“So I was thinking, if they’re unwilling for us to get one last look, why don’t we sneak in?”

You blink at your fiancé, jaw dropped just an inch as your mind spins with his suggestion. “You want us to crash a wedding?”

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly say crash-“

“What if we get caught?”

“With that many guests? Baby, they’ll have no idea. We’ll just blend in with the crowd. It’s not like we would be there long; just enough time to get a good scope of the place and then we’re out.”

As much as you hate the idea, he makes valid points. You two would be in and out in less than an hour, and what’s two extra people in a crowd that large? Besides, it might be nice to see the venue during a wedding instead of staged. It will give you a better idea of how to plan things.

When you sigh and click your tongue, a triumphant smile spreads across his face. Minho bounces onto his feet, quickly gathering his things as he heads towards the stairwell. “I need to iron my suit, but do you think you could be ready by 8:00? I want to slip in mid reception so we’re less noticeable.”

Giving him a nod, Minho blows you a kiss before he rushes up the spiral staircase, all but running to the master bedroom. You stare at the open binder in front of you, the neat to-do list barely checked and staring at you. Waiting for your next move. Pricking you with a sense of dread that makes your small sadness painful — tenderly bruising you.

///

It’s a beautiful space. Truly, it is.

The venue is old, dating back to the beginning stages of the country, only renovated when absolutely necessary over the years. Both the flooring and ceiling are original, as are most of the pillars that support the building. The best part, one that’s a million times more stunning now that the sun has set, is the wide glass ceiling in the reception hall. On a clear night like tonight, all the stars are visible, buzzing with excitement and blessing the couple below them.

Neck craned, you stare up at the stars, watching the way they twinkle and shine. In them, you start to imagine your own wedding. The lace of your dress against your arms, the flowy gown brushing against your legs as you walk. Minho, in his attire, with a smile that rivals the stars for beauty, and he’s looking right at you. Only at you, even in a room full of people and a sky full of beautiful stars.

That. That’s the moment you want. The moment you’re waiting for. The moment you’ll want to freeze time to relive over and over again.

Your mind flashes with images of the to-do, reminders to send our invitations. When’s your next dress appointment? Fuck, have you found a photographer yet? Why hasn’t the florist gotten back to you?

You breathe heavily, lips trembling as you try to hold back tears. Minho was right, you fit perfectly in the crowd. Nobody has spared either of you a second glance or questioned your relationship to the couple. The last thing you want is to catch unwanted attention, for someone important to realize that you don’t fit in here. So you bite your lip, hard, trying to count all the stars you see tonight.

An arm loops around your waist, the familiar scent of Minho washing over you as he pulls you into him. “So,” he places a kiss on your temple “what do we think?”

“It’s nice.” Your voice cracks as you speak, turning your gaze to your fiancé.

There’s no use hiding your emotions from Minho. He catches on immediately; using the hold he has on your waist, he pulls you into a hug. Face hidden against his shoulder, the tears finally begin to fall as you grip onto his suit jacket.

“What do you need?” He whispers into your hair.

“Wanna go home, Min.”

As quickly as he can, without garnering too much attention, he guides you through the busy hall, taking you straight to the car. He helps you in the passenger seat where you shakily curl into a ball, leaning against the door as your depression takes over your senses.

Minho speeds through the night, dodging slow cars on the highway to get you home as soon as he can. He knows you better than you know yourself — he’s fully aware of the toll that planning this wedding has taken on you. As much as he’s tried to help, he knows there are things that he can’t assist with, leaving him to watch the stress pile up and weigh you down.

The car slows as you approach the stoplight just outside your neighborhood. He hasn’t heard you cry in a while, giving him confidence to reach out and grab your hand. 

“Almost there, my love.”

You let him lace his fingers with yours, squeezing tightly for the rest of the drive. Finally, the car comes to a complete stop just outside your house. 

Minho jokes that this home was the best financially irresponsible decision he’s ever made. Everyone teased the two of you for months as you house shopped; isn’t it too early to buy a house? You’ve only been together for a year and a half, shouldn’t you start with an apartment first?

“You don’t get it.” He told Chan one day when he thought you were out of earshot, punching his older friend’s arm. “She’s not just anybody. She’s my somebody, man. She’s already my home.”

That was four years ago. Four years ago, Minho was confident that this was more than a college sweethearts thing. This relationship was the only one that was ever going to matter in his life; it was a forever thing. Hearing him say those things to Chan when everything was still brand new was what pushed you to sign the lease. To pack up your limited belongings and move in with him. This home is where your love story truly began.

Looking at it now, the stars and moon offer just enough of a glow to help you make out the details — the windows, the patched up hole from where Seungmin and Minho hit a baseball into the siding, the front door — should relieve you. Should lift the stress off your shoulder.

Instead, it makes you cry harder. God, why can’t you just be happy? You have everything you could possibly want, and yet, you’re still sad. There’s still a pain in your chest that just won’t leave, no matter how hard you try. And for what reason?

“My love.” Minho whispers, reaching over the console to rub your back. “Can you take a breath with me?”

You nod your head, even if the hiccups you’re releasing prove that you really might not be able to. Softly, he counts to three, making you breathe in with him, then counting to five as you release the breath. Over and over he counts until your hiccups have subsided, heart beating a little more evenly.

“Are you ready to talk about it?”

Minho knows. You’ve told him several times that the weight of planning this wedding is getting too overbearing. You’ve cried in his arms in the early hours of the morning, stressing over little details that people keep hounding you about. But hearing you now, describing every detail of your sadness and pain rips his heart to shred. 

He knew it was taking a toll on you, but not to this extent.

Once you’ve released every thought, does he speak again, thumb rubbing the back of your hand. The tender flesh of his finger presses into the hard stone on your ring. It cuts into it just enough to send a jolt of pain up his arm, reminding him of the weight of all of this. “Do you still want to marry me? Because if this is all too much, we don’t have to do this.”

It’s not the question, but the tone of his voice that just shatters you. The slight wobble to his words, raspy and threatening to break.

“Of course.” You answer quickly, cupping his cheek with the hand he isn’t holding. “God, Minho, that’s all I want. All I’ve ever wanted was to be your partner forever.”

He swallows while nuzzling into your hand, eyes shutting as a tear rolls down his cheek. “I just wanted to make sure. So what can we do? How can we make this easier on you?”

It’s a tough question, and no matter how hard you think right now, you can’t come up with an answer. The pain is just too much, consuming your brain and not letting you think about anything else.

“I just want to be with you.” You whisper, pressing your forehead to his. Minho lets go of your hand, copying you and placing it on your cheek. “I just wish this pain would go away.”

Your words resonate with him, chest vibrating with just a taste of the hurt you’ve felt the past couple of weeks. If only he could take it away, distract you with something else, even if just for a few moments.

The first kiss is careful. Barely touching yours, his lips move slowly, humming at the taste of your lipgloss. The second is a bit deeper as you begin to kiss him back, mimicking his motions and tilting your head a bit. By the third kiss, it’s deeper than ever, quick with an urgency to taste the other. To breathe in the other’s scent and let it consume one another.

Minho’s free hand lands on your hip, nudging you in his direction just an inch. You pick up on what he wants, climbing over the console and into his lap. Knees on either side of his thighs, you hold onto his face as he pushes the seat back to give the two of you more space. 

“Let me help.” He breathily whispers between kisses. “Let me fuck your pain away, darling.”

He affirms his request by biting your lip, pulling back and letting go before his kisses move to your jaw. 

“Please.” Your voice is shaky, but no longer with sadness. With need. If there’s something you can never get enough of, it’s Minho. “Please, make me feel better, Min.”

The hands on your hips bunch the material of your dress, beginning to hike it up as your head rolls back to give him better access to your neck. Your hands fumble to his belt buckle, shakily undoing it and moving to the button of his slacks.

“Wanted you all night.” He grunts against your neck at the feeling of the light touch of your hands against his growing erection. “You look so fucking good in this dress, baby. Could’ve taken you in the middle of that wedding.”

Both his words and the feeling of his fingers against your clothed clit make you gasp, back arching the tingling that’s covering your legs. 

“All I could think of is how good you’ll look in white.” He moves out of your neck, chin resting on your cleavage as he looks up at you. The fingers sneak into your panties, immediately moving to tease your hole. “How everyone is going to look at you and know you’re all fucking mine.”

Without warning, he pushes two fingers into you, moaning along with you as the digits fill you up. He doesn’t stop until he’s knuckles deep, and then doesn’t even bother to pull out fully. Just hammering into you harder and harder.

Minho hissed when your hand comes in contact with his cock, harder than he thinks he’s ever been. It’s a little ridiculous how needy the thought of you being his forever person makes him; cock painfully throbbing as it screams to be inside you. 

If only he knew you thought the same. When you think about a lifetime with Minho, it doesn’t feel like enough. Time is too short, forever isn’t long enough. Even eternity can’t compare; you need him until universes cease to exist, until all the stars burn out and explode and then some.

“Fuck me.” You moan, unable to take just his fingers any longer. “I need to feel you.”

His lips crash against yours, this time in a more desperate, aggressive fashion. Like you’re devouring each other’s faces as you pull his cock out completely and lift your hips. Minho grabs your hips, swallowing all the moans you give him as he sits you on his length.

There’s no time to take things slow; the windows steam with your shared heat as you quickly begin to bounce on him.

“Tell me.” You whine as your head rolls back. “Tell me you’re mine.”

He chuckles, arms wrapping around your back and pulling you flush against his body as he begins to bite the swells of your breast. “Oh honey. I’m always all yours.”

The car fills with a beautiful melody of moans and skin against skin. Neither of you can take your hands off each other; yours pulling on his hair while Minho’s keep you steady, helping you bounce on his cock with ease. 

It’s in this moment that you realize none of it matters; the pain has eased and the sadness is nothing more than an annoying speckle that’s easy to flick away. So what if planning has been a nightmare? You would relive the nightmare over and over again as long as you always end up with Minho in the end.

Good thing he refuses to let the nightmare continue, tip of his cock hitting your g-spot in a way that has you seeing stars.

“Fuck, Minho!” You cry, trying to move your hips faster to get more of him.

“That’s it, baby, scream my fucking name.” He says with a laugh that gives you the chills. It sounds so possessive, so claiming. “Let everyone know who you get to spend eternity with.”

It doesn’t take much more before you’re hitting your highs together, curses and praises mixed together as you milk each other. Your head lolls back, staring up out the sunroof as you try to ground yourself by counting the stars. Minho’s cheek rests against your chest, kissing the bruised skin as he attempts to catch his breath.

The idea hits him hard, eyes squinting shut as he kicks himself for not thinking of it before. Not moving from the very comfortable resting spot on your breast, he breathily breaks the silence. “What do you think about eloping?”

©: chvnnie 2022

[wreckmetoji]

idfc

An ongoing fic in which you don't realize you have both Fushiguros at your feet.

↳ Toji Fushiguro/Reader Part 3/?

Part 1, Part 2 , Part 4

content warning. age gap, shameless smut, afab reader, mild degradation, spit kink, size kink, choking, unprotected sex, overstimulation, profanity This is part three of a several part story revolving around smut. **Minors DNI**

1.6k words

You came to a quick conclusion that had he not prepared you how he did, there was no fucking way his dick would fit. "Doll, we're just getting started." The circles Toji traced on your hip with his fingertips did little to calm your nerves. That wasn't his intention anyways. "Like what you see?" Toji smirked, free hand going to the base of his length and giving it a slow shake. You had to will yourself to look back up to his eyes instead of following the sway of his cock. You didn't trust yourself to speak so you nodded instead. “You're... um..." The words died in your throat as he leaned down, towering above you. He moved his hips between your legs, trapping you between his strong arm and the back of your couch. "Big?" "Fucking huge," You breathed, his sardonic grin only growing at the shake behind your voice. "Careful sweetheart, you're stroking my ego. That's a dangerous game." Toji stroked the head of his cock against your slick, rubbing against your clit before stroking the rest of him down the crevice of your pussy, then coming back up to tease your clit again. Soft mewls left your lips, rocking your hips up into him and urging him to hurry the fuck up. Movements halted, and you immediately noticed the missing presence of his girth. You lifted your head to look down between the two of you, ready to ask him what was taking him so long, until you felt the head of his cock part you. He shifted his hips, pushing forwards. You arched your back, the wind knocked out of your body completely. He was gonna split you in two, holy shit. "Fuck, relax princess," Toji sucked a breath through his teeth, pushing two more inches into your heat. "You're so tight." Instinctively, you wrapped your legs around his slim waist, knees squeezing him slightly more with every agonizing push. In no way were you a virgin, but you had absolutely nothing to compare to his size. His other arm came up beside your head, effectively caging you between them, using one hand to grip your hair and tugging it to make you look at him. The sting had your eyes watering, your cunt squeezing him ever so slightly. His eyes pierced through you, holding your gaze until he was completely bottomed out inside of you. You looked completely fucked out and he'd barely even done anything yet. Your hips rocked, pushing up into Toji as much as you could. The corner of his lips tugged into a smirk, your eyes carefully watched his tongue slide over his scar. "Look at you, like a bitch in heat." He pulled out to the tip, fucking back into you with brute force. If you couldn't breathe before, it was impossible now. He repeated, setting a steady hard pace, watching your face contort in overwhelming pleasure. "You're such a slut, you think I don't notice the way you look at me every time you come over?" Toji gave an especially bruising thrust, making your jaw fall slack. You were barely able to make noise with how hard he was pounding into you, only little moans and squeaks every time his hips made contact with yours. "You've been wanting me to fuck you stupid for years, huh?" You sputtered an unintelligible answer, eyes rolling into the back of your head when he gave your hair a hard tug before letting go. His hand moved down to your lips, thumb forcing into your mouth with ease, pressing your tongue down with the pad of his finger. "Be a good girl," Toji muttered darkly, leaning down and sticking his tongue out above you. Your eyes came back into focus just as the string of spit fell from his tongue onto your own, an airy moan leaving you as the warm liquid dripped down your throat. He was quick to kiss you, tongue intruding your mouth to give you more and swallow your desperate sounds. When he parted, the string connecting connecting two of you snapped and dribbled down your chin, onto your chest. Toji groaned at the sight, sitting back on his thighs and gripping your hips with force. He pulled you into him, using your much smaller stature to his advantage, fucking himself with you brutally. Your screams and moans had drowned out his voice, but hearing him laugh made you gaze at him stupidly. He wasn't looking at your face, but down where the two of you were connected. When you shifted your gaze to see what he was laughing at, your eyes widened at the bulge pushing against your lower abdomen with every thrust. "Look at that... I could fucking break you, couldn't I?" Toji moved his hips up, pressing against you further. The words left your mouth in a garbled mess, but he understood them nonetheless. "Please break me, Toji... please." You were too absorbed in your own pleasure to see his expression shift, so the shock that came to you when he suddenly pulled out and flipped you with force made you shout. He entered you again without warning, mercilessly pounding into your aching cunt. One hand grabbed your forearm, pulling you to arch your back at an impossible angle. "Careful what you wish for, princess." Toji growled. His free hand came to wrap around the front of your throat, thumb and forefinger pressing on your pulse points just under your jaw, making your vision blur. It was too much, you could feel another orgasm quickly rising, trying desperately to voice the fact. His grip tightened on your throat, your head was floating. "Gonna cum for me again? You dirty slut." He grunted, leaning over you and pressing his chest to your back. You nodded as best you could with his hand holding your head still. The lack of oxygen was getting to your head, your eyes went glassy and your body began to slack against him. Your climax hit you like a truck, your entire body quaking and collapsing in his strong grip. You had completely blacked out, eyes rolling so far back in your head the strain gave you a headache. The last thing you remember is his arm wrapping around your waist to hold you up, and feeling warm ropes of cum filling up your overstimulated cunt. When you came to, Toji was wiping between your thighs with a dampened hand towel as you straddled his lap. He'd already pulled his pants back up, only remaining shirtless. You felt exposed in front of him, groaning at both the ache of your entire body and displeasure of your exposed state. "There she is," He announced, voice softer than you think you'd ever heard him speak before. You blinked, trying to lean back, body still too weak to do anything on your own. "Careful, princess. I got you." The room spun as he stood, carrying you with ease into your bathroom. You flinched at the cold granite counter making contact with your bare ass, making Toji chuckle. Once you relaxed, your back leaned against the mirror. “Scared the shit outta me, little girl." He turned the shower on, back facing you as he adjusted the nozzles and worked on removing his pants. "Don't think I've ever had someone pass out while I'm dickin' them down before." Oh how badly you wish you just died, right there and then. You could feel the heat radiating off your face, your ears going red. It was worse that he found it amusing. "Guess it was just that good," You muttered back, voice scratchy from overuse. "I guess one could say you fucked the life out of me." When Toji turned around, he had a lopsided smile that matched your own. "Yeah, guess you could." Toji was never a sweet or gentle man, that much was obvious. The scars that littered his body were from some dangerous job he always refused to specify, every time you had asked about the visible ones on his arms and face he would just say 'doesn't matter, I'm retired now'. So it came as a surprise when he got you on your feet and came into the shower with you, your back against his chest. This felt much different than the sex, it seemed much more intimate. There was a looming sense of closeness. It was short lived, however, once you started using your body wash his sneaky appendages traced up your sides and began cupping and kneading your chest. A soft sigh came from your lips, leaning your head back against his chest as he fondled you. You could already feel his half-hard cock pressing against your back, your own sex throbbing in time with his. A particular tweak of your nipple elicited a meek moan, your eyes fluttering closed. One of your small hands held his thick forearm, the other reached back and pressed against his upper thigh, just below his pelvic line. That was enough for him to hum, low baritone bouncing off the bathroom walls and shooting directly to the heat once again pooling between your legs. "Round two already?" You smirked through your words, having to tilt your head back all the way to look up at his roguishly handsome features. One of his hands moved down, brushing your swollen abused clit. Toji dipped his head, nudging your hair from your neck with his nose so he could kiss, lick, and nip the spot he'd been pressing with his thumb earlier. He peered up at you through the jet black strands of his bangs, raising a brow and grinning wickedly. "What can I say, I live to please. Besides..." "You ain't seen nothin' yet."

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Palliate.

Pairing: Yandere!Witch/Reader.

Word Count: 3.7k.

TW: Emotional Manipulation, Amnesia, Obsessive Mindsets, Mentions of Violence, Blood and Bruising, Mentions of Death.

Mint, to settle your nerves.

That was the first thing he’d taught you, before you were strong enough to do anything more than sit on the edge of your bed and listen. Three leaves if you were desperate, two if you weren’t, and one if you just needed something to focus on, to take your mind off your own hazy thoughts and the places they tended to lead, when you let them wander freely. He said that was normal, that it should be expected. You’d spent so long incapacitated, it was only natural you’d be a little unsteady, once you finally got back on your feet. He said that it’d get better, over time, but you’d have to fight through it. You’d have to give yourself time to let it get better, even if there were little things you both could do to help.

The mint helped. Most of the time, at least. More than most little things did.

You tried to concentrate on the flavor, now, letting it distract you from the sun beating down on the back of your neck, from small bruises forming on your knees as you kneeled between rows of rue and sage and rosemary just far enough apart to let you tug at the weeds invading his otherwise pristine garden. It was a little odd to be outside the small cottage you’d become so closely acquainted with, even if you were only a few paces away, still hesitant to venture beyond the clearing you’d spent so much time observing while you were bedridden. You were still injured, technically, and you’d been told time and time again not to test your own limits. He said you should… You were sure you should be doing something, but—

“Didn't I ask you to rest?”

Right. That made sense.

You weren't supposed to get out of bed, just yet.

A hand came to settle on your shoulder, and reflexively, you glanced towards the man now lingering behind you. You really didn’t need to, though. His voice would’ve been enough, a calm drawl strung out into something playful, fondness coming easily and anger still a long ways off. He’d never gotten mad at you before, but the threat persisted. You didn’t want to be more of a nuisance than absolutely necessary, especially after he’d been so kind to you.

“There’s only so much sleep I can take,” You replied. You didn’t want to be a nuisance, but you didn’t want to spend the rest of your life in bed, either. “I’m starting to think that’s your only trick, uh...”

“Eden, love. Just Eden.” There was a pause, his sly smile turning sympathetic. “Is your memory acting up again?”

“It’s not as bad as it used to be.” You were telling the truth. For weeks, you’d barely been able to hold onto your own name, let alone anything about your eternally patient host. But, Eden (you tried to remind yourself of that, to make a note of it, Eden) was kind enough to give you time. You needed time. You needed patience. “I found the door, didn’t I?”

“And it’s nearly been a week since the last time you wandered into the forest,” He noted as he crouched at your side, earning a small, offended noise and an elbow to his bicep, just forceful enough to warrant a hum, a slight pout, something between a whine and a chuckle. You didn’t want to stare, but you let yourself watch as his expression softened, as his gazed flickered towards the sprout of basil at your feet and a shock of white hair fell over his eyes. He looked like he was going to reach towards you, like he was going to touch you, but he stopped himself, letting his hand slip down to the satchel at his waist, instead, calloused fingers running over the well-worn leather.

You wondered what he kept in it, sometimes. You’d never seen him without it, not willingly, and he spent so long in the forest every day, he kept himself so busy with so many traps and snares and spots of ink littered across hand-drawn maps, it would’ve been impossibly to guess what he thought was worth keeping by his side. He brought enough of it back, bundles of assorted feathers and glass jars full of golden pollen and other things, stranger things, things you could barely catch a glimpse of before they were shoved to the backs of cabinets and forgotten about, on your end, at least. Eden didn’t forget about such important things as quickly as you did.

“It’ll get better,” He went on, finally, just when you thought he’d stopped talking altogether. “And, if it doesn’t, we’ll find a way to make it better.”

He sounded so sure of himself. You wanted to believe him, when he sounded like that. You did believe him.

You couldn’t remember a time when you hadn’t.

~

Ginger, to alleviate migraines.

It wasn’t for you, luckily. Of all the ailments you suffered from, you’d been left mercifully exempt from headaches and vertigo and all those minor, awful things that would make your life just a little harder than it had to be. If anything, your head was always a little too light, a little too empty, especially after so many hours of following the same unpaved road with nothing to think about but the passing scenery and Eden’s vague instructions, little more than a list of names and goods. Little to go off of, despite his insistence that you be the one to go.

You’d asked why he didn’t just go himself the first time he sent you on your way with a basket of herbs and roots, but Eden had only frowned, shaking his head. He said he wasn’t welcome, not in the marketplace, not in a village that’d already come to know him by name. He said that, if you cared for him at all, you wouldn’t subject him to a full day of haggling in hushed tones with women who refuse to sell mediocre incense for anything less than a small fortune.

And since you did (foolishly) care for him, you went. Not that you were anymore wanted in the marketplace than he was.

You hated it, compared to the cozy isolation of Eden’s home. You hated how crowded it was, how alien it felt to have to navigate the cramped stalls, how the merchant in front of you scowled as he weighed small bags of the exotic, colorful spices Eden was so fond of, the ones that you could never seem to taste the way you were supposed to, judgingly by how liberally Eden used them. He didn’t try to hide the disdain in his voice as he spoke, aged weariness mixed with a self-righteous reluctant. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t used to it, that constant trepidation from people who didn't understand you, from people who didn't care for Eden. At least he was kind enough not to hide it. “Running errands for the witch hermit, again?”

“Eden’s not a hermit.” You tried to smile, to brush it off as if was just another misconception. He wasn’t. You weren’t sure what he was, but he liked people, he liked having someone else around. Or, he liked having you around, at least. He didn’t seem to care much about company, beyond that. “He just enjoys his privacy. We both do.”

“Only a witch, then.” There was a pause, a gruff laugh that didn’t match his grim disposition. Something in the back of your throat tightened, and silently, you wished he’d be a bit more wary of you. Just enough to keep him from speaking so openly. “I’d take what you can and go, if I were you. He takes after his father, and that man spent his whole life makin’ a monster of himself, playing with things no one should. His son ain’t much different.”

It was your turn to laugh, now. “He cries whenever he finds fawns separated from their mothers. He takes in tadpoles he finds puddles. I don’t think Eden is capable of cruelty.” He was a kind man. You’d never seen him be anything but kind. If he had an ulterior motive, if he had a single sadistic bone in his body, you had yet to find it. “He took me in, too, when I was injured. He might be the only reason I have a roof over my head, now. That’s not a kindness I can say very many people have showed me.”

His lips pursed, the barest hints of confusion crossing his expression. It was gone in an instant, and you tried not to linger on it. He thought poorly of Eden, but the mere fact that you were alive – walking and breathing and alive – was enough to earn him your gratitude. Regardless of what a merchant and a marketplace worth of gossip thought. You knew what you believed, you knew what was true, and you wouldn’t let a few rumors convince you otherwise.

Although, you’d be lying if you said that belief didn’t waver, as he went on. “Cruelty isn’t all you have to worry about.”

You opened your mouth. Then, you closed it again, keeping your eyes on the basket still hanging limply on your arm. He wasn’t done yet, not with the spices, not with his poorly veiled warnings, but you didn’t want to listen. You could listen, you would listen, but you didn’t want to. You didn’t want to believe anything you heard in such a crowded place, in such an awful place.

You just wanted to get back to Eden.

~

Willow bark, to take the pain away.

It’s more of a comfort than a necessity, by now. You used to need it, rely on it, and you still liked to keep a bundle nearby, just in case, for days where the soreness was worse than it should be and you needed something to take the edge off, to suppress that overwhelming ache back into a steady throb. But, you never needed it, not like you used to. Not like you had when your injury was a defining feature rather than an afterthought and Eden’s medical expertise was more of a experimental artform than a practiced skill.

His hands didn’t shake, anymore, as his fingers skirted over your bare skin, following along the outline of your wound, the trail of stitches that stretched from the bottom of your shoulder bone to the center of your rib cage and repeated itself, carrying over again and again and again, forming neat rows of tender flesh and scar tissue that refused to stop any higher than your hip bone. He wasn’t hesitant, not with the needle, not as he pushed it through the long-suffering spots where he’d first messily laid your stitches months ago, and he didn’t have to look at you to recognize the way you shifted, the soft string of expletives you let out, to notice your little attempts to turn your head at just the right angle, flinch at just the right time to—

“Eyes on the ceiling,” He demanded. With a small huff, you obeyed, turning back towards the furthest wall. “It’ll only get worse, if you look.”

You knew that. He’d said as much as thousand times before, once for every day he'd tended to your lasting wounds. You were tempted to try, to insist it was only fair that you got to know what was going on with your own body, but you trusted Eden, and it was easier to tilt your head back than to argue, to search the cluttered room for something more interesting than the boy sitting at your side and your own, nagging discomfort.

You were in his workshop, now, an area separated from the rest of the cottage and filled to the brim with the tools of Eden’s trade – blooming flowers permanently encased in blocks of amber, the shells of insects hollowed out and ground into a fine powder, pots, everywhere, some empty and some not, the largest placed over a smoldering hearth that never seemed to grow dimmer, despite how often Eden forgot to tend to it. There was something inside, a substance you didn’t recognize, bubbling and black as a starless sky. It was already solidifying around the edges of its cauldron, crystallizing into rows of jagged, silvery edges slowly creeping along the coaction's surface like an infection. Like a parasite. Like something that shouldn’t have existed but continued to, regardless.

Eden must’ve caught you staring. The needle stilled, and instead, he took to dabbing something cool and smooth around the edges of your scars. A rag, or a balm, or a dozen other possible remedies. You didn't try to look. “It’s for you,” He explained, as if that made it any better. “One of my father’s incomplete recipes. He never figured out how to stop it from hardening once it’s exposed to open air.” Eden clicked his tongue, pulling the thread he was working with taut, and you cringed, tying to ignore the slight pinch. It didn’t hurt, not really, not like it used to. It didn’t hurt at all, if you were being honest, but it felt like it should’ve. “The color isn’t right, either. And I’ve already fed enough dye into the damn thing to poison a small village.”

You should’ve laughed. You wanted to, you knew it was the reaction he was looking for, but it was all you could do to avert your stare, to let your fingers curl around the edge of the table he’d perched you on. "They really don’t like you.”

“I’ve noticed.” A blunt response, not abrasive, but not encouraging, either. Not as dismissive as you would’ve preferred. “And yet, they manage to stomach my cures regardless. It’s funny how quickly pain softens the heart, isn’t it?”

“They say it’s unnatural.” You were pushing, now. You should know better than to push. You never found out anything good, when you tried to push. “They say your father used to dabble in things that shouldn’t be.”

Eden sighed, pushing himself to his feet. There was a short silence, interrupted only by the sound of glass knocking against glass before he dropped what he was holding, stepping in front of you and cupping your face with both hands, instead, forcing you to face him, to meet his dark eyes. Black eyes. Lightless eyes. A contradiction when compared his tanned skin and warm smile. A contradiction you tried to overlook as he bent down, kissing the top of your head so gently, you could almost bring yourself to ignore it altogether.

“My father was a toymaker and a healer. My mother died in childbirth. He did what he could to take care of me, and there is nothing unnatural about that.” He took a moment to laugh, to hold you, and you couldn’t be help but be thankful for it. Only weeks ago, he’d been afraid to touch you, afraid to watch you break all over again. Now, it was all he could do to let you go long enough for his arms to fall to your waist, for your face to find his chest, his tunic, a place to hide yourself away from the rest of the world. You didn’t want to go back, not to the village, not to the marketplace, not to the lonely, hurtful, desolate world outside his cottage. You didn’t want to go back to a place filled with so many people so determined to separate you from Eden. You didn’t want to return to a life you couldn’t remember, one where you wouldn’t have the man who’d saved you by your side. “He loved his family, just as I love you.”

For once, you didn’t have to convince yourself to believe him.

~

Witch hazel, to stop the bleeding.

You’d need it. You’d need a lot of it, more than you should for such a small cut, a jagged line drawn from the corner of your eye to your opposite check, thin but deep and bleeding, pouring out, washing over your hands as you tried to clutch at your face and rub away the damage, like a child trying to blink away a bad dream. Your legs might’ve been bleeding, too, the sides of your ankles, the backs of your thighs, your skin scraped raw in all the places you’d hit the ground as you tripped, falling over your own feet at your stumbled backward, but you didn’t check, you didn’t want to check, you didn’t want to see how bad it was. You didn’t want to take your eyes off the man in front of you, his towering stature, his grim expression.

His sword, silver and unsheathed and pointed at your heart, as it had been from the moment he first caught sight of you.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. No one was supposed to be here, in Eden’s forest, only minutes away from the cottage you’d come to think of as your safe haven. He hadn’t asked for your name, he hadn’t mentioned Eden, he hadn’t said a word to you, not before there was a dagger flashing across your line of sight, a weapon quickly discarded for something more intimidating, something that’d let him stay at arm’s length while he approached you, his stare holding yours, his lips pulled into a thin frown. “I—” You tried, but your voice gave out quickly. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had threatened your life. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been so scared. “Please, I didn’t mean to get in your—”

“Stop talking.” His tone was flat, apathetic, the barest hints of rage seeping through a weathered veil of neutrality. Immediately, you fell silent. “Who said you had the right to use that voice?”

You opened your mouth, but you thought better of it, biting down on the inside of your cheek as you bowed your head. You wanted to get back to Eden, back to his cottage. You wanted to be anywhere but here. You wanted to run, but you wanted to get out of this with your head on your shoulders, too. “Are you going to kill me?”

“It will not be a true death.” There was a pause, a reluctant hesitation. You pulled your knees into your chest, your hand still pressed to your wound, but the gesture didn’t seem to earn you any pity. “But, I am going to make this—”

He stopped, abruptly, his head attention towards something behind you. You heard it a moment later – measured footsteps, barely making a sound against the dead leaves and branches that littered the forest floor. You didn’t turn around. You didn’t have to.

Not when there was only one person who’d ever bother to save you.

“Adam,” Eden called, already positioning himself at your side. His hand was already on his satchel, toying with the buckle. Like he’d done this, before. Like he already knew it wouldn’t resolve itself peacefully. “There are easier ways to introduce yourself. If you put that sword away, I’m sure (Y/n) could still find a way to forgive—”

“Do not call it by that name.” He was focused on Eden, now, leaving you to fade into the background, to observe as his hands began to shake and he glared, baring his teeth, as Eden had done more than try to play peacekeeper. “That is not (Y/n). It doesn’t deserve to pretend it is, none of your abominations do. It won't bring— It can't—” He trailed off, his sword falling back to his side, his eyes clenching shut. You almost felt bad for him, your would-be murderer, but Eden’s expression remained cold, unbothered. Slowly, almost idly, he reached down, taking you by the arm and helping you to your feet, letting you tuck yourself against him as Adam finally found his voice.

“(Y/n) is dead. Nothing you do can change that.”

A moment passed in silence, still, deathly, frigid silence.

Then, Eden spoke.

“I can handle this on my own.” He didn’t deny it. He wasn’t denying it. Why wasn’t he denying it? “I need you to brew tea, Chamomile. Gather as much lavender as you can on your way home, until your pockets are full and you can’t carry anymore. Can you do that for me, love?”

You nodded, but you were still shaking, still unsure, still so, so confused. You weren’t dead. You could breathe, and you could think, and you ate and you slept and you weren’t dead. “I’m not.” You didn’t know who you were talking to – Adam, still clutching his sword, still ready to behead whoever his blade could reach or Eden, your Eden, the gentle protector who hadn’t looked at you once since his arrival. You just wanted someone to say it wasn’t true. You just needed someone to say it wasn’t true. “I’m not. I’m alive. I’m not de—”

“I’m in love,” Eden said, his voice soft. As if he hadn’t heard you at all. “Why does everyone act as if that’s so monstrous?”

You didn’t want to hear Adam’s response. You didn’t want to hear anything, not from him, not from Eden, and certainly not from your own frenzied thoughts, racing and only growing louder as you ran, sprinting, stumbling through the forest in any direction your legs would carry you. A crooked sob racked over your chest, and reflexively, you moved to brush away the tears blurring your vision, but you couldn’t feel yourself when you should’ve, it wasn’t flesh that met your cheek. Your eyes darted to your hand, a sneer already playing at your lips for whatever mud or decaying foliage had plastered itself against your skin, but…

But, you found a small trail of crystals, instead, silvery-glass that coated your palm, rows of jagged edges that hadn’t been there before, that shouldn’t have been there, where your blood had stained your skin only minutes ago. Or, where you thought your blood should’ve stained your skin. You hadn’t looked.

You hadn’t looked.

You froze dead in your tracks.

Slowly, our raised a hand to your face, to the cut carved into it, to what should’ve been a bloody, bloody wound. Something jagged met your fingertips, but you ignored the slight sting. It didn’t hurt. Not as much as it should’ve. Not as much as you wanted it to.

By the time you pulled away, your hand was covered with it. Thick, cool, forming webs between your fingers as you spread them apart. Dark. A kind of dark you’d only seen once.

As black as a starless sky.

[masterwords]

running toward nothing

Summary: Hotch is injured in an explosion while on overseas assignment, putting Derek in a difficult position both with the team and with Spencer who has spent the last few months inadvertently falling in love with him.

Warnings: explosion, injuries, headache

Words: 3.6k

Pairings: Hotch/Morgan established

Notes: This is for @tobias-hankel' s Spencer Whump Challenge. My assigned prompts to do my evil with were Derek Morgan & Betrayal, and if you know that going in... well I'm sorry. I am truly hoping this is just two parts, but let's just say we'll play it by ear. We have a long way to go before Spencer is truly whumped, huh?

Read on AO3: Running Toward Nothing

****

Spencer felt the first twinge behind his eye the minute Dave stepped out of his office and onto the catwalk. Opening his mouth as he leaned over the railing to announce that Hotch's plane had landed, the twinge turned into a sharp stabbing pain, there and gone in an instant. Shrugging it off, Spencer nodded and got up with the intention of letting Derek know.

The twinge in his eye became a dull throb in his forehead at the sight of Derek's closed door, lights off. For three months, two weeks and four days (hours give or take) Spencer had been the focus of Derek's attention. They'd been having dinner together almost nightly, carpooling, Spencer had a key to Derek's front door. That he would leave without saying a word seemed almost impossible...but there it was. Hotch was back, and if what Dave said was to be believed, in bad shape.

(x)

Penelope had intercepted the information. She hadn't meant to, but since the little hacking incident when Kevin was considering a highly confidential job in Karachi, she'd managed to keep that on the radar in case it popped up again. Like a nervous tick for a while, and then it settled into the back of her mind, completely forgotten until she saw the word Karachi on her screen. Just a blip, a flight coming in direct to Quantico. That didn't seem right, it didn't just happen and some nagging feeling in her gut told her that it was not just a coincidence that she saw it when she did. Not sure what to do with the information, or if it really was anything at all, she kept it quiet. If it really was something, they'd all know soon. And if it wasn't, well she wasn't supposed to know anything about anything and she'd rather not get in trouble again.

The way Rossi kept glancing at her while they ate lunch in the round table room told her what she feared wasn't silly. They'd all been eating in there as of late, as often as they could, the smaller the team had gotten the more they tried to band together. Now it was nearly full again, and Rossi was looking for a break in conversation...a moment that he could make an announcement that was killing him. He'd been eating Tums, not his sandwich, and that told her what he was about to say was bad and it all screamed Karachi at her. He looked pale; this wasn't just bad it was bad bad. She wished she had a Tums too.

When everyone's mouths went full and quiet, he spotted his opening.

“There isn't any good way to share this kind of news, so I hope you'll forgive me for being blunt.” He paused anyway, made sure he had everyone's attention and Penelope nodded at him, letting him know that she was at least somewhat aware...she'd seen. He figured as much. “Hotch was injured in an explosion overseas,” he was careful not to say Karachi but Penelope felt it in her bones. He lost himself in the dead silence and found it hard to continue around the lump in his throat. “It's bad. Happened about a month ago. The job, as you know, is confidential so there was no alert...it never happened...” That last part came out with characteristic Rossi sarcasm and frustration. He sighed. “It's been touch and go, but he was stable enough to make the flight home. It arrives here at the Quantico airstrip tonight at 4pm. He'll be taken to Georgetown immediately...I don't know more than that right now.” So please don't ask, that's what he meant to say but didn't have the heart.

Of course, they all had questions but none of them dared to go there, they maybe didn't want whatever answers Rossi could provide and just kept quiet. All except Emily, whose eyes had gone wide and bright. “Is he going to be okay?” She knew that was the most childish way she could have said it but “is he going to make it?” sounded too damn awful. She thought of the way he protected her, that this was how he kept her secret and kept her safe and she wanted to put her fist through the table. Or his face.

“You'll know when I know.” That felt like a damn lie, she figured, but his vault when it came to Hotch was sealed airtight.

(x)

The dull throb started pounding without mercy when Spencer's phone buzzed against his thigh. Staring into Derek's office, the plants glistening in the dark, he felt something surge through him. Hot like anger but more than that. He couldn't think of the right word, his mind had gone white hot. The buzzing at his thigh a second time startled him from the pain. The first had only been an email from Dave that he didn't want to read, it probably had to do with Hotch and he didn't want to know anything, not yet. The second was a text from Derek asking him to please stop by his house after work to let Clooney out into the backyard for a bit. There was subtext there, he was at the hospital, he was with Hotch. He didn't need to say it, and it certainly shouldn't have surprised him.

Grab yourself some takeout and sit with him for a few, yeah? Feel free to snag a beer and sleep over if you want...I'll give you some cash tomorrow. Thanks buddy.

Buddy. Buddy. He pressed the heel of his palm into his eye socket and saw stars. Buddy.

(x)

The hospital was quiet, or at least everything that went on outside of Hotch's quiet room seemed to fade into a sort of background noise that Derek didn't register. He stared at Hotch in the bed, roughly a month out from an explosion that took his mobility and his eyesight. Temporarily, they kept assuring him. Just a few weeks out from a crude hip surgery, nothing like he would have gotten at home but given that his station was highly confidential, and he'd been living out of a tent for months, it was holding. The surgeons were top notch and the hospitals were good but they weren't there for comfort and they had to push him through quickly. They had options in the future. Opening him back up felt like a wallop to the gut, a step backward, and his hip being crushed was really the least of his concerns. His eyesight, that would be a matter of time, simply waiting. Derek was, justifiably, most concerned with the way Hotch looked at him and didn't seem to really know who he was.

That wasn't entirely the truth, though. Hotch did know, but sometimes his thoughts were crystal clear and sometimes they were scattered and washed out. Everything was there but none of it fit together. His mind was a beach after a great storm, memories scattered in the sand and surf, partially buried. It was a treasure hunt. In those moments of confusion his eye (the other was taped under thick gauze) went faraway and Derek longed to know what was going on in there. Sometimes he was there in the hospital, and he knew about the Humvee that had blown to bits one hundred yards away. Just a football field between he and molten metal. He remembered the way the air stilled and then pressed hot against him, forced him in the opposite direction. He remembered his feet pounding the hard sand as he tried to find safety, listening to the screams of people who hadn't been so fortunately far away. He remembered hearing the wheel screaming through the air before it slammed into him, throwing him sideways and knocking him out. He didn't remember anything between that and waking up in the medical tent with pain he couldn't account for.

“Where is here?” Hotch asked, blinking himself awake for the second or third time that hour. He couldn't seem to keep from falling asleep. The drugs in this hospital were stronger than he'd been used to, and though they couldn't seem to touch the throbbing in his hip or the wailing pain in his head, they did make him sleep through it. Derek was beside him, ever dutiful, and sometimes he understood that it was because there was something there...love, he recognized it, but that felt far away, like it belonged to someone else.

“Georgetown,” Derek replied for the second or third time that hour. Each time it was met with a scowl and each time he smiled at that, because that was Hotch. He was still in there. “They're gonna let me break you outta here in a few days I bet.” Wishful thinking or lies, he didn't really dare to break it down.

(x)

Spencer's head hadn't stopped pounding since Hotch's plane touched down. He didn't mean to associate his pain with Hotch's return, but they were tied together inexplicably. He didn't know why and it was probably a fluke, but with the lights off and an ice pack resting on his forehead, he couldn't help but wish that Hotch was still in Karachi. Of course he didn't want him hurt, nothing like that...just there. It should have been longer. He knew that was just as wrong, whether he was hurt or not, but he couldn't seem to move past it.

Three months. In that time, he and Derek had spent a lot of time together. He'd begun teaching, asking for reassignment from the BAU to somewhere that he could try to heal from the loss of Emily rather than just burying it in piles of work that only served to remind him of what he'd lost. Hotch deciding to take a post overseas had affirmed his decision...they all needed to figure some things out and her empty desk didn't help. Derek started leading the team, small as it was, and they had to make more of an effort to see each other when they didn't work in the same department.

Three months of dinners, of getting a key to Derek's house to care for Clooney when the now very small team had to leave town. Three months of the guest bedroom in Derek's house mostly belonging to him.

So, if his headache started the minute Hotch was back on US soil, and his headache continued while Derek pulled away from him...well how could he associate it with anyone or anything else? Derek wasn't pulling away, he supposed, not yet, but he hadn't heard from him outside of that one text message in a couple of days. Normally Derek would send him silly memes or ask him questions, invite him over to watch a movie...radio silence was deafening.

A knock at his door barely roused him from the darkness of the pit he'd been falling into. He glanced at his watch, squinted until it came into focus and almost thought he was dreaming. Who came to his place at 1am? Who came to his place at all? He'd passed out on the couch with his record player going, now just crackling and popping to let him know the album needed flipping...every light in the place was on, but that was nothing new. He slept that way.

“Hey kid,” Derek said, slouching in his doorway. Spencer moved out of the way to let him in, but Derek came only a little of the way inside. “I can't stay, I was just driving home and saw that your light was on...thought I'd say hi. It's been a rough few days.” Spencer smiled wearily and jammed his thumb against the throb in his temple.

“Fell asleep on the couch I guess. It's good to see you though.”

“You want to come over for dinner tomorrow night? I probably won't cook but I'll spring for take-out. Your pick.”

“I'd love to.” It was as simple as that. Derek never came any further in, and there was no ceremony over him turning and walking out the door. The lights stayed on the but the record was put back into it's sleeve and he went back to sleep on the couch. His headache didn't keep him awake.

(x)

Spencer's feet were kicked up on the coffee table, a sign of familiarity that he didn't often affect in another person's home. But he could here, he had a key, he practically lived here. More than that, he was in socks, toes wiggling in the warm dry air where the fire hissed and popped to keep them comfortable. The first frosts of winter were just settling in, the emerald blades of grass would be glittering and stiff in the washed-out gray of dawn. Derek sat on the same couch, though his feet were curled beneath his thighs while Clooney snored his dog dreams beneath him. His paws twitched and Spencer wondered if he was dreaming of the squirrel he'd chased into a tree earlier that night. Hours he'd spent, and he couldn't seem to make himself leave...this felt like home. The room was quiet, dizzying and sweet, and Spencer couldn't help but lose himself staring at the way Derek basked in the glow of the embers. It was late, he was sure he should leave but it was so nice there with Derek, so easy that instead of making the announcement that he'd be heading out, he drew nearer.

Derek didn't shy away, he let Spencer lean toward him happy and warm. “You wanna stay tonight?” Derek asked, his voice thick like honey dripping over Spencer's washed-out muted senses. He was two glasses of wine deep, which is more than a lot for him, it was basically unheard of. The orange chicken and rice sat like lead in his belly, holding him firm where he sat.

“Yeah, I probably should.” He was planning to take a cab, that was easy, but this was better.

He was already leaning toward Derek, thinking this is the moment, he's just been invited to stay the night and he was richly inundated with velvety red wine...it was now or never. (He didn't give even one thought to Hotch being in the hospital. He'd feel bad for that later, but it didn't cross his mind now.)

Now or never. That was all he could think. Like a skipping record, he felt it in his chest.

“Derek?” It was a familiar voice, rasping and raw from the darkened hallway. The sound of Clooney's tail thumping the floor broke Spencer from his reverie and a moment later Hotch came limping into the room all messy hair and squinty eyes. His hair really was everywhere, his features grim and drawn beneath shards of matted black. He was leaning hard on a crutch, barely putting weight on his right leg, hopping a little as he came to a stop. Derek jumped up from his perch on the couch and went to him. Just went right to him, drawn like a moth to a flame, he didn't even hesitate. His arms flew immediately to Hotch's sides, as if the crutch wasn't enough, and maybe it wasn't but still. He just left Spencer sitting there swimming in the moment that never was. He blinked stupidly, wondering if he really would have kissed Derek or if he would have chickened out.

“What are you doing up?”

Hotch blinked slowly at him, and Spencer could see that he was trying to sort out the situation. He saw Spencer on the couch, two glasses of wine, a fire and he could see it clear on Hotch's face...he thought this was a date. Date night. He used to have those but that was all fuzzy and gray. The room was fuzzy too, he really couldn't see well, everything was a mess of color and shape framed by blurry black nothing. Out of focus camera lenses.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered sadly. “You have company...I've interrogated you.” He frowned, that wasn't the word he was looking for. Spencer's stomach twisted in a knot, he hated seeing Hotch like this, but he was hardly paying attention. It was Derek he was watching. The way he was gently holding Hotch upright, waiting as he searched for the right word. “Interrupted, I mean.”

Derek let out a soft laugh and shook his head. “It's just Spencer...from work?” He added that last part with a nervous edge, wondering if he was crossing a line, making too strong an assumption. Sometimes Hotch was crystal clear, and sometimes it just took a little longer, a little slide sideways through the murk, before he could catch the recognition he needed. Muddled and shaken up, not gone.

Hotch squinted with the one eye not covered in gauze and nodded slowly. “Right. Spencer...hi Spencer. Good to see you.” Spencer forced a thin-lipped smile and waved; it was an awkward gesture that made him feel slimy after what he'd just been thinking about doing. Derek turned his attention fully back to Hotch and Spencer was able to let out the breath he'd been holding.

“Did you need something?”

“I...” he began, licking his dry lips with his dry tongue. “I was thirsty.” A look of complete bewilderment crossed his features, as if what came out of his mouth might not have been true. He knew it was though, he just didn't trust himself.

“I left a glass of water on your nightstand; did you see it?”

Spencer watched the interaction with some vague interest. It wasn't what they said that he cared about, but Derek's body language, the way he gently surrounded Hotch there, made sure he stayed steady on his feet. His voice was so quiet that Spencer almost couldn't make it out, filling him with an oddly itchy feeling. Like being a kid and spying on your parents in some adult moment, arguing in hushed voices or kissing in the hallway, nothing big but just not for your eyes. He pressed the heel of his hand into his right eye and breathed through the low throb that had appeared again. It had been quiet all night.

Hotch shifted and looked down at his feet, stared hard at his black and gray wool socks like the answer was there. His voice dropped to barely audible and almost sad. “I knocked it over.”

Derek nodded in that sagely way he had and didn't press further, and Spencer was thankful as they left the room. Back down the hallway, Hotch limping badly against the crutch with Derek's arm slung around his waist in a way that made Spencer's stomach twist. Hotch's hip was screaming at him for being upright, but it sort of just screamed and throbbed all the time no matter what he did. Sometimes he forgot why it hurt and those were the worst times. Right now, he remembered that much. The tire flying through the air, turning to run and the feeling of it slamming into him, knocking him to the ground as flame and shrapnel swirled around him. Each step reminded him with a sort of bright white clarity, but Derek's hand on the small of his back felt disconnected from anything here. That moment, that feeling was different and pleasant...they'd been at a beach somewhere in Florida with Jack, Derek's hands rubbing sunscreen all over his pale skin, dragging sand from the small of his back upward. He glanced over to take in the sight of Derek beside him, desperate to hold onto this clear moment, this piece of memory that Derek held firm against him with warm fingertips. The clarity was beautiful, but it brought with it the knowledge that it would fade into the gray fog again. He hoped it wouldn't stay away as long this time.

Back in bed, it was all Derek doing the work. Maneuvering his limbs, propping pillows in all the right places. He could do so very little for himself right now except get angry at his limitations and it took every ounce of energy he possessed not to take that anger out on Derek. “Do you want me to stay with you?”

“No,” he replied, closing his eyes. He felt his lashes drag against the inside of the gauze, damp with tears. He could take the gauze off, but the look Derek gave him when he saw his eye, that he couldn't bear. It burned under light, and he saw the world through a haze of red, easier to keep it shut away. “Goodnight.” He almost tried to say Derek's name but second guessed himself, worrying he'd get it wrong. He'd done it before and the look in Derek's eyes when he'd said the wrong name made his stomach hurt. Instead, he just settled with his eyes closed and willed the hours from now until his next dose of medication to pass without incident.

Derek collapsed into his place on the couch a different man than the one who had left. Spencer didn't think much of it, he too was a different man than he'd been before when the wine warmed his belly and made him think of kissing Derek. The sensation now was something else, something ugly. And his head hurt worse.

“I didn't realize he was out of the hospital yet,” he muttered with more than a little salt in his tone. Derek hadn't told him, kept that a secret. Maybe he wouldn't have said a word if Hotch hadn't come in looking for water. “Is he...”

“It's complicated.” Derek ravaged his face with his hands, dragging them up and down again like he was trying to rearrange his features. “Everything is right now.” He was trying to hold it together, but all at once his face seemed to crumble, fall and his eyes shone bright with what Spencer thought were probably tears.

“What can I do?”

If Spencer's hand fell into place on Derek's thigh as he asked, neither of them paid it much attention.

Next Chapter ->

[bookishofalder]

Rainy Days

Spencer x Reader

Request: @starwithoutdarkness - Hey! I heard you were looking for requests! Maybe Spencer Reid x reader fake dating fluff? Combined with Request: @paulaern  - Hello!  What about Spencer Reid x reader when they realizes they love each other? Like reader makes something for Spencer and he thinks like "I can't deny anymore, I'm completely and hopeless in love with her" or something like that  (G!neutral if you want)

A/N: Thank you so much for sending in requests! Hope this makes you smile!

Warnings: Swearing, moderate BAU violence, creepy men, fluffiest fluff, intense headache description. Set randomly post prison Reid but Hotch is still there because he should have been! WC-2,488

Spencer was staring at the geo-profile he had been working on all day, very glad to be inside. The weather in Seattle had stayed consistently rainy for the two days the BAU team had been in town assisting in catching a killer, who had been committing serial robberies/murders with no apparent rhyme or reason. And while Spencer didn’t mind the rain, he did mind loud, busy cities. Combined, they usually led to a headache that would take a day or two to recover.

The door to the conference room he was working alone in burst open and slammed shut so suddenly he nearly jumped out of his skin, turning to see-

You.

Spencer hated it when you appeared without warning, catching him entirely off guard and presenting the risk that you would notice the visible effort it took for him to compose himself around you.

While he’d noticed how beautiful and hilarious and empathetic you were the moment you joined the team, he’d fallen in love with you when you had your first case with them. Spencer had begun to ramble about the specifics of casinos, and how ‘beating the house’ was nearly impossible, when the rest of the team had tuned out. A temporary member, Agent Seaver, had sneered ‘I’m sorry I asked.” Effectively shutting him up. But then you had turned in your seat next to him and, after shooting Seaver a look had asked him to continue. And though he didn’t have that much more to say, and it wasn’t all that interesting, you listened to every single word and thanked him.

It had been years since that had happened, your friendship had blossomed into best friends, something Spencer cherished immensely. This was partly why he shoved his feelings down. The relationship did not need to change for Spencer to remain happy; as long as he got to spend time with you at work, or watch movies and make tent forts in his living room. And visit his mom (who adored you and always gave you book recommendations that you would be sure to read the moment you could), or go to comic conventions and museums...yes, as long as he could always do those things with you, he was happy.

No need to risk changing a perfect thing.

Now though, you were shutting the door and giving him your most panicked look, wide-eyed, with your hair damp from the rain you no doubt had run through to get inside, accounting for your breathlessness. If it weren’t for the worry that had sprung up inside of him upon seeing your expression, he would have fixated on how beautiful you looked at that moment.

“Spencer, you’re my boyfriend.” You whisper yelled at him, quickly stepping closer and setting your bag down on the conference table.

“Wha-“ He began, but you cut him off frantically.

“I’ll explain-just, oh fuck-“

Spencer stood frozen to the spot as the door reopened and one of the senior detectives sauntered in, a friendly smile somewhat overshadowed by the almost predatorial glint in his eyes. You awkwardly stepped closer to Spencer, raising a hand in hello.

“Agent (Y/L/N), great to see you’re back, I was hoping to catch you before the end of the day!” He said merrily, placing two hands on the back of the nearest chair. Something about the way his hands gripped the chair made Spencer feel...on edge.

You gave the fakest little giggle Spencer had ever heard from you, “Oh, nice to see you too Detective! Just had to catch up with Agent Reid here...”

When his eyes moved from you to assess Spencer briefly, he felt a protective force rear up, instincts entirely at alert. Without hesitating, he casually draped an arm over your shoulder, brushing some hair back as he did, and replied, “And you promised we could get some coffee from the Starbucks down the road, hon.”

He enjoyed the way your cheeks flushed and noticed the pulse in your neck pick up. You glanced up at him, trying to look coy but he knew you too well and could see you were partly surprised, and also trying not to laugh.

“Um, of course, I nearly forgot, babe, let’s go in about 5-unless, did you need something specific, Detective?” She broke off to glance back at the now scowling man, who gave an annoyed jerk of his head before stomping back out of the room.

Once the door banged closed behind him, you let out the biggest sigh of relief, raising a hand to your face in dismay.

Spencer hadn’t removed his arm yet, “I’m assuming I just helped you avoid being asked out, but why-?”

“Uhg, Spencer, I’ve already turned him down TWICE since we’ve arrived! He’s literally the kind of dude who doesn’t take no for an answer unless another man has some fucking misogynistic claim over the woman!” You exclaimed, before moving to stand right in front of Spencer and lean just your head to his chest, staring down at the floor, “I hate everything.”

Spencer laughed, patting your back softly, but internally making note that he wouldn’t be letting you go anywhere alone for the rest of this case-that detective gave him the creeps. And while you were beyond capable of protecting yourself, he just knew he wouldn’t be able to focus on anything if he thought you could be hurt.

“Well, just so we’re clear I would never want to be called ‘babe’ in a relationship.” He joked and the desired effect was his immediate reward when you lifted your head and giggled-your genuine, beautiful little giggle-and then grinned.

“Spencer, you called me ‘hon’ like we were 70.”

Spencer considered a moment, “We could be, you’ll be Gladys and I’ll be-“

“Winston!” You supplied eagerly, and he frowned at you, trying not to laugh.

“Winston?”

“It’s really very dignified, the kind of name where people call you ‘sir’.” You replied cheekily, and while Spencer grinned, a part of him felt a swoop of pleasure when your lips formed the word ‘sir’.

He decided very quickly that he liked the idea of you calling him that. And then, just as swiftly dismissed that train of thought and chastised himself.

As you both stood together and laughed, the door swung open and Hotch and the team followed him in, all in various stages of the results of exposure to the rain, looking equally grim. Spencer and you abruptly stopped when you saw their expressions and launched back into work mode seamlessly.

———

Two days later, the team was closing in on the unsub and everyone was on high alert. Taking the profile and applying it to the geo-profile he had been working on, Spencer had narrowed down this grubby old apartment that sat above a nightclub as the most likely spot the unsub was staying at. Of course, they were arriving at night which meant the club was busy and loud, people lined up out the doors waiting for their chance to enter, pay too much for a drink and grind their bodies against strangers.

Spencer’s headache from the unforgiving rain was thrumming now with the music that seemed entirely unencumbered by the walls of the stairwell, the team slowly climbing. It was bad enough that his eyes narrowed somewhat, but he didn’t lose focus.

You were behind him, watching his six as Hotch and Morgan approached the door ahead and prepared to breach. Spencer slipped a hand behind his back and, on cue, you’re pinky wrapped with his. A brief promise to each other, ‘I’ve got you.’.

They had anticipated violence and heavy arms, so when their announcement was met with silence and the door was kicked open, the tactical response was to secure positions and carefully proceed. Agents and SWAT members lined the building and were, at that moment, securing the club below to ensure the unsub couldn’t flee into a room full of potential hostages.

Spencer and you were the third pair to enter, quickly moving ahead of the others to secure more rooms, eyes peeled for movement. The floor was covered in litter and random spots of dirt and dried substances. It smelled like body odour and axe body spray-which immediately went to Spencer’s headache and caused it to throb in protest.

“Freeze!”

You had shouted right as Spencer noticed the movement from a back room down the hall, as the unsub leaned out and, not abiding by the command, opened fire. Spencer grabbed you and swung you both behind the wall of the kitchen, out of the line of fire while he shouted the unsubs location.

You recovered quickly, dropping to the ground and leaning out to return fire as Hotch and Morgan ran across to the living room to join the battle. It only took a few moments after that before Morgan managed to get a shot to the suspect's shoulder and he fell with a cry of anguish.

You popped up from the ground, watching as Prentiss and Rossi moved forward to secure the man, and barked into your radio for medics to come in.

Spencer, meanwhile, was reeling. When the shots in the room had all joined together in a cacophony, sound and noise piercing his skull, it had converted to pain and panic in his skull, overwhelming him. He had used his own body to shield yours when he pulled you with him into the wall, and the caution he took with you meant he hadn’t caught himself carefully enough, his head bouncing lightly off of the stone wall.

Which, on a normal day would have simply been annoying. But today, with a headache so severe he was beginning to get spots in his vision, it was detrimental. The scene was secure, so he allowed his eyes to shut, a meagre reprieve but at least it was something, at least he didn’t have to see the beams from the flashlights or the pulsing of the neon signs outside of the windows...

“Winston, take my hand.” Your voice was so, so soft. Spencer let his mouth open slightly, a small rush of air all he managed, trying to say ‘I can’t-it hurts, make it stop’ but you grasped his hand tightly and pulled and he followed, his other hand reaching and grabbing that back of your vest, he let you lead him.

He knew from the reduced foot traffic of agents and crime scene workers that you were taking the rear exit, a stairwell that was narrower than the main. He peeked through his lashes to take the stairs, and then suddenly, the cool night air hit him and the door was closing behind you both.

You kept walking with purpose, leading Spencer further away from the loud building. The rain spattered his face but with each step the noise reduced and after a short walk it became relatively quiet.

“Sit.” You murmured, halting. Spencer opened his eyes and saw that you had led him to the farthest spot in the parking lot from the building, where trees lined the lot along a community park that was probably utilized by vagrants and drug dealers more than families. But there was a bench, and you were waiting for him to take a seat. You had pulled out a compact, expandable emergency rain shield from one of the pockets on your FBI utility belt and tossed it on the bench, protecting you both from soaking your underwear.

Spencer sat, setting his elbows on his legs and leaning forward with his hands pressed to his face. He took deep, steadying breaths as you joined him, your hand on the back of his neck. At first, he thought you were just resting it there because his FBI vest would have prevented him from feeling your hand on his back, however, a moment later it was joined by your other hand and a very cold object.

Resisting the urge to pull away, he gasped at the contact, “What-?”

“On-the-go cold compress, Doctor.” You explained, leaving it in place and then rummaging again. Spencer wanted to look but the compress, combined with the quiet, was already doing wonders. He continued to take deep breaths.

“When you’re ready, try this.” You said softly, pressing something to his hand. Opening his eyes, he saw a mini flask that had his name written on the side.

He turned his head slowly so as not to move the compress and met your eyes, which were assessing him with concern. “(Y/N), when did we start drinking on the job?”

You giggled quietly, “It’s just water mixed with this like, vitamin powder that’s supposed to be good for rehydrating you quickly. I did some research on how to help headaches like yours on the go, just in case, and I made this ‘Spencer’ care bag.” You rambled a little when he didn’t reply.

Spencer looked back at the flask and opened it, quickly downing the contents. It tasted pretty fruity and he realized he was thirsty, this taking the edge off.

“Is it okay?” You asked. Spencer raised his head and met your eyes, searching them.

He was overwhelmed, the headache already fading, in its place an intensely warm feeling building inside of him as he considered the time and effort you had taken to care for him. He hadn’t asked you, or hinted, you had just taken it on to find a way to help him and you were right there when he needed you the most.

You had always been there when he needed you. When he had been shot protecting Blake, when he struggled to care for his mother, when he had gone to prison, when he was freed, you were there.

The words tumbled out, unable to be contained a second longer.

“I am hopelessly in love with you.”

Your mouth opened and closed in surprise, taken entirely off guard. Though he worried what you would say, he couldn’t deny the relief he felt having finally said it out loud. He watched patiently as your mind processed his confession, holding his breath.

“I-Spencer,” And then suddenly your lips were pressing into his and the pain from his headache ceased entirely. Spencer was consumed by the feel of you against him, of your hands holding his face and the hum of content you gave when he returned your passion, dropping his flask and sliding his hands up your neck, gripping tenderly.

After what could have been hours, weeks, or years, you both broke apart, pulling back just enough to make eye contact without your eyes crossing. Neither of you let go, your breath puffing out in wisps in the cold night air.

“I love you too,” You breathed, “I could grow old with you, Winston.”

Spencer laughed, relief and happiness swooping through him at your words, “Gladys, I couldn’t imagine anything more perfect.”

Did you enjoy this story? Please consider reblogging or commenting to ease my inner turmoil as a writer. Likes are basically just a bookmark!

You grinned back at Spencer, and then he kissed you again.

[undermattsun-archive]

taste

(skate rat) kawanishi taichi x fem!reader | w.c 3.5k

a/n: SURPRISE it’s a sequel to mouth <3 my original skate rat sin i suppose, and also like my first real fic/drab for the fandom. god bless. as always thank u to @bakatenshii​ + @sugardaddykenma​ for putting up with me ranting about this fic (and also putting up with me since mouth)

big big thanku to #1 wife @pomsuki​ for reading this for me and yelling at me to finish this damn thing <3

18+ university age | pls read ALL warnings

warnings: drugs, public sex, dub/noncon exhibitionism, degredation, humiliation, dubcon, blood, slight injury (it’s a bloody nose), toxic behavior, misogynistic energy? vibes? you’ll know when u see it honestly

reading mouth isn’t necessary but it is appreciated! and pls check out melt + nightingale syndrome for they exist in the same skate rat universe (+ they’re delicious fics) also the people who wrote em r BIG SEXY

There were more than enough reasons to quit Kunimi Akira. He never texts back, he doesn’t go to class, he’s fucked a few of your friends and he couldn’t commit if you paid him. He was simply a waste of time, it was like every second spent with him was another mark ticked off a test, a percentile lowering on your next paper.

But chucking Kunimi would be like trying to sort grains of rice, difficult and damn near impossible. He always knew how to draw you back in and he enjoyed the mind games a lot more than his bored expression would let on. 

Despite the impossibility of quitting him you had to at least try, so you swore up and down that hooking up with him at Oikawa’s party some odd months ago was truly the last of it, that you were done with him and all of his irritating skate rat friends.

Which begs the question of how you ended up at the little concrete amphitheater on campus, sandwiched between Hanamaki and Matsukawa on one of the steps, a blunt being passed between the two of them without so much as a second glance towards you.

“Say, when’s the last time you and Kunimi had fun?” Makki’s grin is nothing short of lascivious, a slimy feeling weighs on your tongue as you shrug off a shudder.

“Say, was that ever any of your business?” You retort, snatching the blunt from his lips bringing it to your own and inhaling deeply, revelling at the warmth creeping down your throat and filling your chest. 

“Quit it Makki, she’s not gonna fuck you. Kunimi got her ‘round his little finger,” Mattsun coos, taking back the blunt, “besides, heard she’s a fuckin ice queen in the sack. Boooring.”

A sharp inhale keeps you grounded, the sound of Iwaizumi’s board slamming back down onto the pavement reminding you where you are, who you’re with. You’re not going to fall for Mattsun’s little games too.

“Tch.” Daggers prick at your lips, but you bite your tongue knowing that fueling the fire will earn you nothing but a headache. It’s not like you’re waiting for anything, or anyone, stealing a few more hits and leaving would be the best option.

“Oh? Nothing to say? But I heard your mouth was your only redeeming quality.” You focus your gaze on Iwaizumi telling Oikawa to stay out of his way, trying not to let your growing discomfort scare you away. The stubborn refusal of letting Mattsun’s words win only letting a dull ache grow at the base of your skull, prickling further when he and Makki let out low mocking laughs.

“Hey fucknuts!” Your head whips over to see a blur of crimson race by, followed gradually by a few other familiar faces you’ve seen around at parties and on campus.

“God, not these assholes.” Makki laughs as Oikawa makes faces at one of the newcomers. Your eyes drag across the unfolding scene as the number of rowdy idiots grows. You swallow hard, knowing that staying any longer would only cause your headache to further bloom.

“That’s my cue to leave.” You sigh, it’s not like you were waiting for Kunimi in the first place. You weren’t. You were just...killing time.

“Leaving?” Your head tips back to look up at the source of the question, Kawanishi Taichi, of course. 

“Yeah, dunno why I’m here in the first place.” You brush off his quirked brow and shove Mattsun hard with your shoulder as you stand up. With a curt nod, you smooth a hand over your jeans, turning on your heel to brush past Kawanishi, ignoring the low whistle that falls from his lips. You make it a good distance down the walkway before the sound of crunching footsteps behind you prickles at your ears as you ready yourself to tell whoever it is to get lost. 

“Want a ride?” You let out a huff as you look over your shoulder to see Kawanishi standing so nonchalantly, hands tucked into his pockets as he chews on a toothpick.

“Shouldn’t you be skating around with your little boyfriends?” The comment slips out, followed by your tongue sliding over your bottom lip as if it’ll soften the sharpness of your tone. 

“Nah, just droppin 'em off,” his eyes rake up and down your figure as you turn to face him, “where’s yours?”

“My what?”

“Your little boyfriend. You were waiting there like a lost puppy for him.” A protest rises in your chest, curbing it when you see a flash of something akin to flirtatious teasing in his normally passive eyes. 

“I... I don’t have one.” The words are slathered in honey, punctuated with a flutter of your lashes as Kawanishi takes another step forward. 

If Kunimi likes playing all those stupid games, why not play a few of your own?

“Is that so?” His head tilts slightly, you feign shyness, fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you smile sweetly at him, confirming your statement with a nod of your head. “My car’s just over in the parking lot.” He tips his head in the direction of the closest lot, before turning to start walking. Without hesitation you easily fall into step beside him, trying to dampen your rising nerves.

Despite the dumb little hookups peppering your dating history, you had only gone so far with most of them, Kunimi being one of the few —and the only one you crawled back to— that you had made the unfortunate pleasure of going all the way with. You keep pushing away at the thoughts of inexperience as Kawanishi approaches an old, beat up, black Corolla, the paint flaking off with dings and dents littering across the body, the impeccably shiny rims on the wheels making you snort. 

It was a rather famous car across campus, seeing it around with stupid skate rats crammed in there with the windows fogged with smoke was an almost daily occurrence, especially highlighted by how it’s tied to one too many stories of girls having varying encounters with Kawanishi –and sometimes one of his friends– in said car.

“Wanna smoke or skip to the real fun?” He never minced any words, always up front or just completely skipping out on the conversation. It always made him the best project partner in the odd classes you’ve shared over your uni years.

“I don’t like waiting.” The fuzziness nipping at your spine from the few hits you took earlier were just enough, not wanting to dull your senses completely during this encounter. The bluntness of your answer causes a smirk to play at Kawanishi’s lips as he opens the door to the back.

“Well then, ladies first.” He gestures to the gray cloth seats, you make a point to ignore the questionable stains littered across it as you slide in, trying to focus instead on figuring out the heady scent permeating through the car. Cheap cologne, cigarettes, weed and maybe stale beer, and something that was distinctly him. 

Your eyes are drawn to a stain on the roof that looks oddly similar to an eagle, the thought unfinished as Kawanishi practically dives in after you. The sound of the door slamming preempting hands roaming over your body and lips moving against your neck. 

“Kawa-”

“Just Taichi.” He clips as he works the buttons of your jeans, a coarse hand working against your spine as he unhooks your bra.

“Eager much?” You laugh as he pushes at your shirt and bra exposing pert nipples to cool air, simultaneously managing to work your jeans past your hips and down your thighs.

“You said no waiting.” With a chaste kiss to your lips he’s maneuvering you onto your stomach, raising your hips in the air, face shoved halfway between the seat and door.  You let out a huff as your hand braces itself against the door, while the other on the seat below you, trying to find some semblance of comfort in the cramped setting.

“Mhm.” It’s the best reply you can manage as he grinds his clothed cock against the cleft of your ass, already hard. You can only imagine how many women he’s had in this situation to award all six feet and three inches of himself the ability to move so successfully around in the cramped backseat. 

Nimble and worn fingers circle around your hip, dipping down to tease at dampening lace, eliciting a soft moan from you. You push back against him, delighting in the soft grunt he lets out as he curls himself over you to scrape his teeth over your nape. His fingers continue to run up and down against your clothed cunt, pressing at the growing slick spot marking your wanting hole.

“Excited huh?” He mumbles as he skims his tongue against the shell of your ear, you manage a low hum in reply as he slides his hands back up, tugging down the flimsy piece of clothing, exposing your needy cunt to hungry eyes. He wastes no time pressing his fingers against your twitching hole, causing you to wiggle your hips just enough to earn a low chuckle and send the message of just how much you want him, need him. 

Without any further hesitation he slips in a finger, your back arching with the realization his fingers are longer than Kunimi’s, chest burning at the fact you could even think of another man in this situation. As if he can sense your wandering thoughts Taichi works in another finger, another following quickly after. There’s no urgency in his movements, each twist and thrust of his fingers methodical, curling in just the right way, making sure to brush his thumb over your throbbing clit to send a stinging pleasure up your spine. 

You can’t deny the way he’s taking you apart so sweetly, the tightening deep in your belly achingly sweet, as he starts to thrust his fingers even deeper, tiny gasps and whines starting to grow louder and louder as you careen towards bliss. With a particularly rough curl of his fingers you feel yourself come undone completely, punctuated by a shameless moan.

The sound of knuckles tapping against the fogged glass pulls you out of your blissful haze, still acutely aware of the way Taichi has his fingers lazily twisting inside of you. 

“It’s open.” He tugs you back by the hips slightly as he retracts his fingers painfully slow, listening as he unzips his jeans. Your heart races as the passenger door opens, shifting uncomfortably to try to catch a glimpse of who’s slid into the car.

“Oh, so that’s where you went, Mattsun said you were hanging around.” Your blood runs cold, your state of undress tightening your chest as you become painfully aware of the situation you’re in. The passive tone of Kunimi’s voice nips at your skin, tears away at the search of mindless fun that you had tried to pursue with Taichi, filling your chest with raw embarrassment.

“What do you want?” The tear of a wrapper following the question, whatever protest you had silenced by a hand coming down to grip harshly at your ass.

“You have my grinder.” Kunimi slips into the passenger seat, the sound of the glove box popping open making your eyes squeeze shut. 

“Yeah well close the door at least.” Your eyes widen at Taichi’s statement, you didn’t want Kunimi to just close the door, you wanted him to leave.

“Whatever. Can I smoke in here?” It doesn’t sound like much of a question, more of a declaration with the ‘can’ and the question mark tacked on for decoration.

“I don’t care, do you?” You crane your head just enough to catch the blasé expression on Taichi’s face, a quirked brow directed more at your ass than you.

“Yeah sweetheart, care if I’m in here while you’re whoring yourself out?” Kunimi scoffs, the irritated tinge to his bored tone making you furrow your brows.

“Oh fuck you.” You start to rise on your elbows, only for Taichi’s hand to land between your shoulder blades, keeping you from moving any further. You let out a huff as Kunimi clicks his tongue in feigned disappointment.

“Sorry babe, it’s me who’s fucking you this time around, maybe Kunimi can get the next round.” Before you can even bother with a retort, Taichi drags the head of his cock against slick folds, teasing at your entrance. You let your head hang down, the click of a lighter grating on your nerves more than you would like to admit. 

“Please, fuck me, I want it so bad.” The whininess of your voice annoys even you, but if Kunimi wants to stick around and get on your nerves, then two could play that game. 

“Since you asked so nicely.” Just like before he slides in slowly, carefully, as if to make you memorize what each inch of him feels like splitting you apart so sweetly.

“Shit.” You exhale shakily as you try to adjust to him, it had been months since you last fucked anyone, since you last fucked the asshole sitting passenger.

He sets a leisurely pace, steady and infuriating. There’s a hand clamped down on your hip, fingers digging in painfully to keep you in place, to establish that he’s the one calling all the shots. You huff, still trying to buck your hips to meet his thrusts. There’s something in his actions that makes you feel greedy, desperate for so much more than he’s offering.

There’s no way around it, you’re completely at his mercy, left taking the shallow, slow thrusts that only makes the desperate ache deep in your cunt grow.

“Hook a finger or two in her mouth.” There’s a pause in Taichi’s motions, letting you finally take a deep breath of the thick weed laced air. “Don’t look at me funny, do it and see what happens.”

You hear a non-committal hum as those devilishly nimble fingers skim past your jaw, a whimper preceding his index pushing past your lips with a harsh tug at the corner of your mouth, the painful stretch of your cheek causing you to clench down on his length.

“Oh? You were right.”

“She’s already broken in,” Kunimi takes a long drag of the joint hanging in his fingers, “no point in holding back.” 

It’s as if a flip is switched in Taichi, the statement becoming an immediate challenge as he hooks in another finger beside the other, yanking harshly as the snap of his hips becomes almost painful. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the car, swirling with the heady smoke defiling the air. 

“W-Wait Taichi.” The words are garbled around his fingers, and you’re quickly dismissed as he snakes around his other hand to hook his middle and index on the other corner of your mouth, the stretch in your lips burning as he shifts from the quick paced thrusts to deep, hard strokes.

His only reply is to tug harshly on your mouth as pathetic whines and distored words spill from you. 

You can feel yourself start to shake almost violently, still reeling from your earlier orgasm and suffering at the hands of Taichi’s now vicious pace. Each thrust pushing you into madness, each tug of his fingers bringing you back. 

“Fuck, fuck.” He curls over you again, sloppily running his tongue up your nape. “You wanna cum?” 

“Mhmm,” you yelp at a particularly rough slam of his hips, “please.”

He grunts, moving a hand to grip at the back of your head while keeping his other hand planted on your hip, fingers biting into your hip. There’s no warning as he grinds into you, the hold on your hip finally relenting as he slides his digits back down to pinch at your throbbing clit, the bit of pressure sending you careening over the edge.

“T-Taichi.” Pleasure wracks through your body, your legs tremble violently as you try to move your hand on the door, shoulder aching from holding yourself in place. The second your hand moves, you give into the force of Taichi’s hand on the back of your head, forcing you to slam face first into the door, the impact making your nose sting, blood immediately starting to gush, running down your face and chin. 

You’re not sure if he doesn’t notice or doesn’t care as he continues his assault, the once careful, methodical thrusts turning desperate and depraved as he moves with reckless abandon. His teeth drag across your shoulder, before pulling out completely.

“Don’t need this.” You grip at your nose, trying to ignore the disgusting feeling of blood seeping onto your fingers, looking over your shoulder again to see Taichi pull off the condom. You can’t even protest with the way you’re bleeding profusely, pinching at your bridge at a poor attempt of stopping the bleeding.

“Stay still.” In one swift movement he’s plunging back into you, bottoming out immediately, a muffled yell falls from your lips, arching your back as he drives into you with just a few more hard thrusts you feel his seed spill inside you. 

For a moment you two stay suspended, the head of his cock nudging against your cervix, making you groan in a twisted sense of pleasure of pain. He pulls out painfully slow, delivering another harsh slap your ass as he sits back.

“Oh, sorry ‘bout your nose.” He helps you flip onto your back, swiping his thumb over the blood trickling onto your lip before shucking off his t-shirt and handing it to you. “Don’t have any tissues.” 

“So who’d you like playing fuck toy for better?” For a split second, somewhere between the back breaking orgasm and your nose being slammed into the door, you had blissfully forgotten that Kunimi was still in the car, but now that perfect illusion just had to be shattered.

“Must you be such a dick all the time?” You manage to pull your jeans back up, hissing at the stinging pain in your hips and lower back, ignoring the lewd feeling of Taichi’s cum starting to leak from your abused cunt. 

Beside you Taichi manages to tuck himself back into his pants, reaching under the driver's seat to yank out a hoodie reeking of weed and cigarettes.

“Maybe you two should just get together already.” Taichi lets out a low chuckle as he pulls on the hoodie, getting out of the backseat, slamming the door hard before throwing the driver’s door open. You don’t even bother trying to hook your bra back on as you pull your shirt down, letting yourself slump back down and lay across the backseat as you reach up to check if your nose is still bleeding.

“Like hell.” Kunimi twists around in the passenger seat, looking down at you with an amused smirk, offering the freshly rolled joint to you. “You look like shit. I said she was broken in, not to break her more.” He only gets a wry laugh from Taichi as he starts the car.

“Thanks, right back at you.” You sit up just enough, looking at Kunimi expectantly. He shakes his head before twisting the joint in his fingers and placing it between your lips, producing the lighter. Just as he’s about to hand it to you he brings his hand back a bit, grabbing your jaw with his other as he lights the joint. He picks up Taichi’s bloodied shirt, pouring water from a twisted plastic bottle onto it before passing it back to you.

“Cute, blew her back out and you’re doting on her.” You watch as Kunimi moves to sit back in his seat, not even bothering to spare you a second glance as he shrugs. You dab away at the drying blood on your face, ignoring a few of the splotches that landed on the joint.

“Guess I play favorites, drop us off at my place.” 

“Us?” You exhale after a long drag, narrowing your eyes at the back of Kunimi’s head as Taichi pulls out of the parking spot.

“What do I even get out of doing that?” You can’t help but nod in agreement of Taichi’s statement, feeling yourself growing annoyed at the way they seem to ignore your entire presence.

“You can fuck her again.” Kunimi offers and you almost drop the joint as your jaw falls open at the absolute nerve of the man. 

“Excuse me? I’m right here?” The way that neither of them even flinch at your statement, let alone acknowledge it makes you slump back into the seat, begrudgingly accepting the fact whatever you say isn’t worth shit to either of them.

“Hm.” It doesn’t sound like he’s actually considering the offer, but the quick look over his shoulder as he turns out of the parking lot sends a chill down your spine and your stomach to twist.

“Believe it or not, her mouth’s her one redeeming quality.” The two of them snicker, like two old pals sharing an inside joke.

“Shut the fuck up.” You’re brushed off once again as they toss back a few more comments before Taichi stops at a red light, looking over at Kunimi, then back at you and finally back towards the road.

“Yeah alright.”

[aurora-australis-tumbles]

7 and 28 for the winter prompts, please, my darling 😍🙏

Anything for you, my dearest! 😘 This was definitely an interesting combination, too... I suspect you knew it would necessitate just a touch of angst*, didn't you? 😂

This is for 7 (hangover) and 28 (progress).

*just a touch, I'm still me after all. 😆

-------

Phryne considers herself an excellent navigator.

She has to be, really — an aviatrix who can’t navigate becomes an ex-aviatrix one way or another pretty damn fast.

Still, watching Jack stir a headache powder into his water as his uncharacteristically loose hair threatens to spill out over his forehead at any moment, she has to admit she really has no idea where they are going.

Right now, her ordinarily excellent navigational skills mean nothing. It feels frankly impossible to know if they are even making progress anymore and, if so, what it is exactly they are progressing towards.

Or if they are still moving forward together.

“Burning the midnight oil, Jack? Grappa will do that.”

“I'm sure I was up no later than you.”

“Oh, I was tucked up in bed at a very sensible hour.”

“If you're waiting for me to ask who with…”

Yes!, she wants to scream. Ask me who with! Ask me anything, anything at all to show we’re not completely out of step.

Ask me why it wasn’t you.

She doesn't, though, scream or demand an interrogation of any kind. Instead, she focuses on the case. That, at least, is showing some genuine progress.

Jack, however, still seems distracted.

Grappa will do that.

“So what did you say you were up to last night?” he asks.

“I didn't.”

“Then why are you asking me?”

Phryne wants to laugh.

Why? WHY? Because if you’ve traded nightcaps for gnocchi, Gianni, I at least deserve to know.

“No reason,” she says instead. “It’s called civilised conversation.”

Jack clears his throat and downs the rest of his hangover tonic in one. Phryne tries to focus once more on the account details in front of her, but it’s no use. She purses her lips and turns to him instead, well and truly frustrated now.

“Why did you come here this morning, Jack? You’re clearly ill.”

“I’m… wait what?”

He looks more confused than ever.

“Ill, Jack. Or, ‘still recuperating’ as my father would say. In any case, why did you come here?”

“I — you left a message that you had new information, and — ”

He’s having trouble keeping up, she can tell, but she doesn’t slow down. She’s Phryne Fisher, dammit, and she may not know where they’re going, but she’ll still get them there fast.

“Yes, but we could have discussed it on the telephone. I should have thought in your current state you'd rather be home.”

“Well aren’t I anyway?” Jack mutters, rubbing his clearly throbbing temple. “Really, Phryne, I stopped making the distinction a while ago.”

Oh.

The implications of what he’s just said hit them both at the same time.

She can see, looking in his still slightly blurry eyes, that he didn’t mean to make the confession. But he doesn’t walk back from it either. Because it is the truth.

He is home.

In vino veritas.

(Grappa will do that.)

Leaving Jack a modicum of privacy to process his personal breakthrough, Phryne turns back towards the account book, attempting to hide the smile she can’t quite seem to keep off her lips no matter how hard she tries.

“Quite right, too,” she agrees, because it is her truth as well, before suggesting they interview Pappa Antonio again.

It feels like the right direction to take.

And it seems they are getting somewhere after all.

-------

January Prompt List