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eetherealgoddess · 3 months

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Before you continue, this ends dark as hell so I’m gonna warn you rn!!! Hope you like it anyway! ♡︎♡︎

ꨄEscaping Bonten is for Scrapsꨄ

Oneshot - Yandere Bonten/Assassin Au

❦You are an assassin that’s after a target Bonten already has their paws on❦

Sano Manjiro, Hanemiya Kazutora, Sanzu Haruchiyo, & Haitani Brothers x Reader

Not fully proofread

MY TR FANDOM WORKS ARE ONLY ON TUMBLR, AO3, AND WATTPAD UNDER EETHEREALGODDESS! REPORT IF YOU SEE IT POSTED UNDER ANYONE ELSE BUT ME!!!

I apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

Notice:

✩Y/n is 18+. I picture her as a black female but you can see her however.

✩Some parts of the story may not be realistic or factual. After all, this is a work of fiction.

✩Although it's a dark 'romance,' I do not condone any of the behavior displayed.

✩Dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit sexual content, etc.

✩There may be scenes that involve non con and/ or dubcon so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable

✩That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Enjoy!

Escaping Bonten is for Scraps

You eye around the busy nightclub, pushing through the crowd as you search for your assigned target. Eyebrows furrowed as your nose scrunches at the thick tobacco smell mixed with alcohol and a variety of cologne and perfume.

“Where is this guy?” You hiss, shoving a drunk person to the side as you head to the back of the building. Once you push the doors open, you see the tall staircase, sighing before stepping on.

Why did I have to get assigned to a club?

It’s not that you were against the party scene, it’s just not ideal for a mission to find someone you need to kill. Your boss chose you for the assignment created by a bitter divorcee. You roll your eyes as you remember the file stating, “Please murder my cheating ex husband.” Of course, your company is underground and perfect for not being caught, though why risk going to prison over a cheating spouse?

Fortunately, this should be fairly quick. The soon to be deceased spouse is known for his drinking habit, speaking belligerently as he drunkenly walks from bar to bar which makes him an easy target. You followed him here, his third club of the night. You couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him considering he is just minding his business and drinking on his lonesome. Sure, he’s bitter as well and is a slob but it’s probably just a down point in his life.

At least I’ll put him out of his misery.

Once you reach the top of the staircase, noticing that the whole floor is empty, you pull your gun out, readying it to use. You hold it down to your side as you walk from room to room, searching for your victim. When you see that the whole upper stairs is empty, you hide your gun, and walk towards the exit of the room you just entered. Your eyes widened when you heard a scream coming from behind you.

You turn around and quickly move to the window, squatting, hiding yourself behind the wall so the people outside couldn’t see you. Easing your head up, you peeked to the outside. Standing at the back of the building, a group of men in suits hover around a kneeling man who’s covering his head as one of the men slams his foot against his side, causing him to fall over. You notice a smaller man who stood in the middle of the suited men walk closer to the male on the ground.

Your eyebrows raise when the man is forced to put his arms down as the shorter man crouches in front of him, realizing the guy is your target.

“What did this guy get himself into?” You whisper to yourself before moving quickly to crack the window so you can decipher what’s occurring.

“You owe us a lot of money, Nakamura.” A man with two blonde strands says, his wide eyes staring deeply at the victim.

“I-I know! I’m going th-through a divorce. I j-just need more time!” He coughs out blood in between his words. The short man in front of him leans in.

“You’ve wasted my time.” He stands up before moving back, motioning for the purple haired man holding the baton to walk forward.

He swings his arms back before slamming them down with a smirk on his face. He repeatedly hits the man over and over again with so much force that blood splatters on his own suit. The man cries out in pain as he becomes light headed.

You wince as you watch this painful sight.

Damn, now I’m feeling even more bad for this guy. I think I’m just going to go ahead and shoot him. Help him out, forreal.

Standing up completely, you aim at the man’s head perfectly with the gun. Without needing the other guy to stop beating him, you pull the trigger, a shot ringing out loudly. The bullet penetrates his head, killing him on the spot. The men, startled, looked around their surroundings as the pink haired man turned to the window, his blue eyes catching yours before you turned on your heel and ran.

“Fuck, he saw me!” You hiss as you run down the stairs, gun hidden as you push through the crowd.

Fortunately, it looks as though you all are into some shady business, though that doesn’t mean you want to catch their attention. You run out of the exit and rush to your car parked at the side of the building.

“Shit, shit, shit!” You rush to unlock the car before hopping in. Before you could close the door, a hand blocks the door. Your wide eyes meet purple orbs before you're pulled out of the car by your shirt. Before you could grab your gun, your front is forced against the car as your gun is grabbed and aimed at your head. The man with the purple mullet holds your arms behind your back with one hand. Before you could say anything, the butt of the gun meets your head, darkness engulfing your vision.

When you first wake up, your eyes meet a dimly lit warehouse, a throbbing pain at the side of your head causes you to pull against the restraints you didn’t know were there to touch your head. Groaning your eyes, the rope strategically tied around your ankles strapping you to the chair.

“Damn.” You breathe out. The click of a gun sounded next to your head causing you to make eye contact with the blue-eyed man you saw before.

“You’re an assassin working for an underground company, right Y/n?” You look up to see the short man sitting on a chair in front of you at a distance. The men stood around him, eyeing you.

“Who am I answering to?” You question, resulting in the gun being pushed against your head harder causing you to wince, the spot where you were once hit feeling raw under the barrel of the weapon.

“I don’t repeat myself.” The sunken eyed man states, his white hair hovering over his face.

“Yes.” You spit out, frustration being the only emotion to decipher at the moment.

“You work for Bonten.” You gasp at the familiar name.

“What the hell are you talking about?” The gun smacks against your face, forcing your head to lean to the side as you squeeze your eyes shut in pain.

“Watch your mouth.” The pink haired man growls, using one hand to force your head back in place before replacing the barrel in the same spot.

“You will keep your assassin title and you will work under the executives.” Your eyebrows furrowed.

“Or what?” You hiss. The pale man signals for the taller short haired man to walk towards you holding his baton. He smiles before pulling it back and slamming it against your stomach. You lean forward before coughing out blood.

“You die.” Your new boss states.

A few months pass before you’re completely used to the yakuza scene. There are times when you wonder what exactly did they see in you to ‘hire’ you as an assassin working under the executives. It wasn’t a hard job, basically like the one you were used to besides the power dynamic. Although you worked under an old boss, he treated everyone equally and you had normal coworkers who you’d go out to the bars with occasionally. You were free to live your own life as long as you didn’t get caught.

Working under Bonten, you weren’t allowed the same freedom as your executives. Your job title was assassin but considering their low respect for you, sometimes you were a maid, assistant, butler, etc. At least that’s what it felt like when you had to run errands for them that didn’t involve shooting a bullet in someone’s head. Sure it’s nicer than killing but who wants to work to serve a bunch of disrespectful men?

Not to mention, you weren’t allowed outside without being accompanied by one of the executives. Of course, the executives you wouldn’t mind being around such as Mochi, Kakucho, Koko, and Takeomi weren’t the ones who accompanied you. It was always the Haitani brothers, Kazutora, or Sanzu. Even when you’re supposed to be off the clock you were always around at least one of them. You no longer have your own apartment and have to stay in a designated room in a penthouse that holds all of your rooms, though everyone else owns their own homes.

Currently, you are sitting in the vip section of one of the Haitani brother’s clubs, arms crossed along with your leg as you lean back on the couch. Kazutora plops next to you with a drink in hand along with one of the strippers in the other, her bare breasts out as she holds onto him.

“You don’t look so happy, Y/n. Should we have taken you to a male strip club?” He taunts, finding amusement in her pouty face.

“I’m glad you find humor in my suffering. I just want to go to bed.” You respond.

A dip on your other side causes you to turn your head to meet Sanzu who has a speck of white dust under his nose. He wipes using his sleeve before handing you a cup of alcohol.

“Live a little, yeah?” You raise a brow as you push the drink away. You had to admit how interesting it was to see the different contrasts between the infamous mad dog. One minute he’s all serious for ‘his king’ and the next he’s sniffing angel’s dust off of a stripper's ass. Interesting indeed.

“I don’t know what you put in that.” You state before turning away from him.

“Then take this. It’s just champagne.” Rin smirks as he hands you another glass from a separate chair, man spreading as he smokes a blunt.

“And I should trust you, why?” You roll your eyes before standing up.

“Where are you off to?” Ran asks as his hand grips the butt cheek of the stripper sucking his neck.

“Bathroom.” You state before walking out. You eye the guards before heading to the restroom.

You walk to the sink and lean over, staring at yourself in the mirror as you think your life over and what brought you to this point. You swiftly turn your head when someone walks into the bathroom. You notice the woman is wearing a poorly done wig with a coat on. You contemplate whether or not you should knock her out and disguise yourself so you can make a run for it.

My morals have always been skewed anyway. I’m sorry lady.

Before she could walk into the stall, you grab her and press her pressure point, catching her before she falls. You undo her coat and set the purse on the ground, lying her head on it gently before pulling her wig off. Setting the wig on as well as the coat, you walk out of the bathroom.

You walk at a steady pace to look anything but suspicious while keeping your head down. When you successfully pass the guards you make a run for it, rushing out of the club and finding a taxi to pick you up, throwing your phone out of the window for safety from a tracking device.

Your adrenaline pumps as the hairs on your body stand. You breathe heavily as you give the taxi man the direction to your old company’s headquarters. When you got there, you ran into the building in search of your boss. When you find his office, you push the doors open and run towards the man who looks at you with shock.

A year passes and he helps you back on your feet. Staying as an assassin would have been dangerous considering the first place Bonten searched for you was the headquarters. Fortunately, he has a family who owns different businesses so you currently work at a bakery on the farthest side of a city hours away from where you used to reside.

One night, you were cleaning up the floors, closing the store. You had already locked the door so you were confused when you heard someone entering the building. Looking up, you dropped the broom when you recognized Mikey standing in front of the door with a gun pointed at you. Before you could move, a hand wrapped around your mouth as someone grabbed your arms, pulling you against a chest. You struggle in their hold.

Your eyes widen when you see your boss and his family consisting of his wife, two of their adult children, and one child being dragged in wrapped in rope and bags over their heads. You scream against the hand.

“Relax and everything will go smoother.” The voice she recognized as Kazutora states behind her.

Once the other men force everyone on their knees in front of her, they pull the bags off their heads.

She screams once more when she makes eye contact with all of them, tears running down her face for the first time at the face of death.

No they can’t do this! This can’t be happening!

Complying to Mikey’s order, Kazutora removes his hand from her mouth as he locks arms with hers. She pulls against him as she tries to release herself, to no avail. The Haitani brothers watch in amusement as they stand behind the two adult kids. Sanzu stands behind the child as Mikey moves to stand behind the boss.

“This is your fault.” He says to you, glaring before he sets his gun to the man’s head. The child cries along with the mother and the children. The man’s eyes are wide as he looks to the side in the direction of his family. They were prevented from talking, mouths bound shut as they squeal and groan.

“Mikey! M-Mikey please don’t do this! I-I’ll stay this time I swear to god! Please… just kill me or something d-don’t take it out on them!” You cry out, devastated by the display as the guilt takes over.

“Sanzu.” He states. Everyone watches as he sets the barrel of the gun on the child’s head, pulling the trigger before anyone could think. There was a pause as the shot rang out, the blood and brains splattering against his siblings, the wall, and the floor.

“STOP! NO MORE!” You let out a blood curdling scream. You pull and pull against Kazutora as he grips you tighter.

Your boss wails against his restraints angrily, falling over when he attempts to stand up, lying pitifully on his side as he kicks his feet and pulls against the rope. The wife and their children cry out, tears dropping fast as they squeeze their eyes shut.

“Haitanis.”

“NO! NO MIKE-!” The shots rang out, more blood and brains splattering as their limp bodies fall to the ground, one sibling with half of their head gone as well as the other along with an eyeball, their blood reaching their mother as she completely bends over and cries.

Mikey aims at the wife shooting her twice before her limp body falls, the husband still as he weeps for his deceased family. Kazutora allows you to drop to your knees. Hands placed on the ground as you become light headed. Finally, vomit shoots up your throat as you release the contents on the ground. Gagging and belching as your body shakes, wet with sweat.

This must be my karma for all of the wrong doings. This must be how people feel when they see their loved ones die.

“I-I’m so sorry, Akihiko. I’m so fucking sorry.” You whine out, tears and snot falling as you become a wreck. He looks at you with despair.

“Please, escape the-!” Before he could finish his sentence, Mikey had already blown his brains out.

You gaze at the messy floor with a blurry vision and wide eyes. Footsteps stop in front of you, missing the vomit. Mikey crouches down and pulls you by the chin to look up at him, gun still in the other hand.

“If you try to leave again, I’ll blow your legs off.”

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schrodingers-romy · 7 months

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As You Sleep [Choso x Reader]

Pairing: Choso x AFAB!Reader

Summary: The creature under your bed has been watching you for a long time...waiting...you may not remember him, but he remembers you.

Warnings: Reader has AFAB anatomy referred to with fem terms, but no other gendered terms are used. Graphic smut (MDNI). Referenced past voyeurism. Dub-con at first, becomes fully consensual quickly. Tentacles (can't believe myself). Vaginal penetration.

Word Count: ~2,300

Notes: posting a little later than I would've liked, but still on-time. Part of my little event, Strange Lovers, which is a collection of monster!character x reader oneshots for October! This, like the giyuu one, is surprisingly sweet for how nasty the concept is lol. I feel like this could've been better, but I had fun writing it so eh whatever.

[Ao3 Link]

The room is silent.

You’re not quite sure why you woke up so abruptly. It’s still dark outside, and you’re not awake enough to check your phone for the time. You should just close your eyes and fall back asleep. But you can’t shake the feeling that something woke you up.

And then you feel it. Something is lightly caressing your bare ankle.

You jerk your foot away, suddenly very awake. Your first thought is that it must be some kind of insect, and the thought makes your skin crawl. You stare intently at the place your foot used to be, but of course you can’t see anything in the dark.

You reach over and grab your phone, fumbling to switch on the flashlight. Turning it onto the rumpled bedsheets at the foot of your bed reveals nothing. You pick up the edge of the blanket and jerk it to the side, expecting something to skitter out. Nothing.

You almost decide to turn your phone light off and lay back down, brushing the feeling off as your half-asleep imagination. But then you see it.

It is some sort of…shadowy tentacle. It’s ridiculously fast too, as it’s wrapped around your ankle before you can shuffle yourself back again. It’s soft and cool to the touch, but deceptively strong. You try to flail and break its grip, but all you manage to do is drop your phone flashlight-side down on the ground.

The room is once more in darkness. Your heart is pounding. You don’t know what the fuck is going on, but you hope it’s just a bad dream. It must be, right?

Whatever it is, it has multiple tentacles. Because soon your other leg, still kicking wildly to try to free its twin, is restrained by another tendril.

You curl forward and try to use your hands to claw the thing off you. You barely graze the velvet surface of the tendril before more appear to grab both your arms.

At this point, your limbs are all pinned to your mattress, starfished out in the shape of an x. You can’t move them at all. You’re trapped.

There is no longer any trace of sleepiness left in you, washed out in record time by the tsunami wave of adrenaline sent through your body. The worst thing is the adrenaline has nowhere to go; you can’t move no matter how much you struggle, so your limbs tingle restlessly. Your eyes flicker around the room, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever is doing this to you, a futile task.

The room, for a moment, is filled only with the sounds of your panting. And then you see it.

‘It’ being two bright, purple points of light, glowing in the perfect darkness. The points are looming over the base of your bed, trained on you…almost like eyes.

You’re frozen as those points of light creep closer. You can feel more tendrils caress your legs as the thing crawls up on top of you, pressing you down even further into the mattress with its solid weight. The lights are now hovering right above your face now. They slowly flicker out of existence for a second, before reappearing. The lights must be eyes; the thing above you is blinking.

You feel like it’s examining you; slow-blinking gaze trained on your face as you feel the tentacles slither across every inch of your body. Some have already crept up to tangle in your hair; even more concerning are the ones teasingly rubbing at the skin under the very edges of your clothing, as if waiting to slip under it.

You try once more to move. It’s impossible. You are at the mercy of this creature.

The only thing you can feasibly do is scream; yet you cannot muster the volume. All that comes out is a garbled whine, almost animalistic from the pure anxiety imbued in it.

The thing above you makes some sort of rumbling sound in response. The noise is low, and hard to decipher, but it gets clearer the closer you listen to it.

It’s trying to talk to you.

There are only a few scattered words, the rest just pure sound. It seems to be trying to sooth you.

“…safe…..don’t be scared…..won’t hurt you…..just wanna touch…” the thing intones. It brings what you assume is its forehead (it’s above its eyes at least) down to nuzzle against yours. It feels like someone’s skin, if you ignore how perfectly smooth and cool it is, similar to the tentacles writhing over your body.

“What are you?” you say. You mean to shout it, to question it aggressively…but your voice comes out small and hoarse.

The thing pulls back to blink at you again. “Choso,” it rasps.

“Choso?” you whisper back. The name sounds familiar to you somehow, but you can’t recall what from.

“…don’t remember?” it asks, its strange, inhuman voice tilting up at the end in a question.

Then it hits you.

The memories of it are scattered and hazy; you were so young when it happened. But you used to have an imaginary friend named Choso. You thought he lived under your bed, and you would talk to him in whispers at night. One time he even talked back. He even told you his name.

Of course, as soon as you told anyone you knew about Choso, you were immediately ridiculed. Eventually, you stopped speaking to him, and left him behind with all the other fanciful imaginations of your childhood.

He never spoke to you again.

Until now.

You didn’t recognize him at all until he said his name. Your memories were patchy, but you thought his voice was higher, more childish when you first met. Perhaps he was a child then too, or whatever the monster-under-the-bed equivalent of child was.

You did not even notice when you relaxed, but you did. Your heartbeat went down, and you were no longer tensing against your restraints. It was absurd that you calmed down. Just because this thing claimed to be your childhood imaginary friend. Ridiculous. Imaginary friends weren’t real.

But neither were creatures like the one lying atop you; yet he undeniably existed.

The thing—Choso—shudders above you. “Forgot,” it—he—says mournfully. “…forgot me…”

You feel a pang of sadness. You did forget about him, but to your credit, it’s not like he ever gave any other sign he was real until now. It was understandable you forgot. But you still felt bad.

“I remember,” you stutter out. “I remember you Choso. It’s okay. Were you with me this whole time?”

“…yes…” he says. He doesn’t sound as upset now, but it’s hard to tell with his voice. “Was waiting. Couldn’t.”

“You were waiting for me to remember?”

“Thought you didn’t wanna talk…didn’t wanna talk to me,” he warbles. A creature like him shouldn’t be able to sound as dejected as he does.

“Aw, no…” you are slightly panicking now. This is not at all how you thought your night would go; it has been plot twist after plot twist. Your sleep-deprived mind wonders if this is what telenovela characters feel like. “It’s okay, Choso. I remembered you. I just wasn’t sure you were real. Thought I imagined you.”

“Okay…” he says. You think he is slightly mollified. “Don’t forget again.”

This is not something you will ever forget. You tell him as such.

“Good,” he huffs. He seems to settle on you fully now, flopping heavily like a disgruntled cat. He tucks his face into your neck, and you can feel his chilly breath tickling your ear.

He’s very clingy, you realize. Now that your fear has mostly dissipated, you can focus back on what is happening to your body, on what he is doing to you. The tendrils haven’t released you or stopped moving; in fact, they have only become bolder. Some have fully slipped their way under your clothes now, the tips of them stroking against your sensitive skin. You become hyper aware of them.

“Choso,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady even as one of the tentacles flicks at one of your nipples. “What are you doing?”

“Touching you.”

“I noticed that—AH” your voice goes up an entire octave as you feel a thick tendril poke at the entrance to your pussy. You hadn’t even noticed it creep under all your layers, but now all you could think about was the way it rubbed curiously between your folds. “CHOSO.”

“…wanted to touch you so bad….all the time,” he replies. You find out he has a tongue because he starts gently lapping at your neck.

“Okay, but you can’t touch there,” you say, voice wavering. You are almost reluctant to stop him, because, shamefully, you feel yourself starting to get wet from his clumsy touches. It’s been too long…and it’s hard not to slip into the full-body sensation that the tendrils are granting you; they stroke over every part of you, caressing every sensitive spot of skin you didn’t know you had.

“…you do,” he says stubbornly. “Watched you. You felt good….when you touched here. Could smell it…” He buries his face further into your neck, breathing your scent in big, wet huffs, making you shiver at his breath on your skin. “…wanna make you feel good….”

Your face is hot. The thought of Choso watching you masturbate in your bed should have been mortifying, violating, but it only made you get wetter. It was undeniably wrong, but you couldn’t help but imagine him hidden, watching you lazily rub your clit, curl your fingers inside yourself until you gushed. You wondered if things like him even felt arousal…you wondered if he felt it when he looked at you. If he felt the same heat you felt between your legs now. If he wanted to be the one making you feel good, instead of your own hand.

You find you actually don’t want him to stop. “Okay,” you murmur. “You can touch more.”

He doesn’t respond verbally, but you can feel the tentacles pull you tighter to him, almost in a facsimile of a hug.

And then he sets to work.

There are tendrils tugging at your nipples, pulling them to stiff peaks. Others caress all over your body, focusing on the areas that make you shudder. Choso continues to kitten-lick your neck and around your collarbones, but every once in a while you can feel the graze of razor-sharp teeth.

More tendrils make their way past your underwear. The thickest of them continues to prod at the entrance to your cunt, which is slowly getting wetter as your arousal grows. You jolt as a smaller tentacle slithers up to your clit, rubbing at it curiously. The touches get firmer once he hears your broken gasps, until he’s drawing small rapid circles on your bundle of nerves.

You can feel the heat building up in your abdomen, a slow, liquid build. Unlike your own hand, he doesn’t change pace or falter as you get close to coming, keeping a steady pace until the heat slowly overflows into an orgasm.

You shudder and whine your way through climax, whispering nonsensical praises to the creature draped over your body.

Just as you edge your way into oversensitivity, you feel him penetrate you.

You don’t get any time to adjust before the tentacle is filling your pussy.

It’s a strange feeling, not like a cock at all. The tendril pulses oddly, not thrusting so much as squirming against your walls. It wiggles around inside of you, making strange wet sounds with how aroused you are. Your overstimulation is turning back into pleasure as the tentacle finally finds your g-spot and starts rubbing against it, copying the other’s rhythm on your clit.

You can feel another orgasm creeping up on you, faster than your previous one. Choso continues to abuse every sensitive spot on the outside and the inside of your body. You’re so, so close…and then you feel another tentacle at the entrance to your cunt.

All it takes is the stretch of another, smaller tendril pressing deep inside you for you to come.

It’s much stronger than your first orgasm, pleasure burning through your body as opposed to the gentle waves of the first. You swear you can feel yourself squirt as you clench down around the dual appendages in your pussy.

Even if Choso wasn’t still holding you down, you know you wouldn’t be able to move. You almost dissolve into the mattress after the last shudders of your orgasm wash over you, feeling sleepy and sated.

Choso seems to agree with you, his strangely liquid body melts over yours. The tendril abusing your clit slips away, as do the ones around your nipples, but the ones in your pussy stay, twined around each other to make a single thicker tentacle. They’re still now, but they still stretch you out almost to the edge of discomfort, but not quite. You find you don’t mind them remaining inside you.

He continues to take in deep, heavy breaths, almost like he’s trying to huff in your scent. You think he must be smelling your pleasure, like he did when he watched you masturbate.

“…good?” he asks. It sounds less like an actual question and more like he’s prodding you for praise. You’re sure that he can already tell how good he made you feel, can taste it in the air. You let out a huff of laughter.

“Yes, you were very good, baby,” you tell him, voice raspy.

He shivers in happiness at the pet name, nuzzling his face deeper into your neck.

He doesn’t move from where he is covering you, but you feel yourself start to drift off to sleep anyway.

He continues to vibrate lightly, like a purring cat; the sensation helps lull you to sleep.

You hope this wasn’t all a dream; you would like to see him again when you wake.

#choso x reader #choso kamo x reader #choso smut #jjk choso x reader #jjk smut #choso #jjk choso #choso kamo #jjk x reader #romy can write #strange lovers event #cw // monsterfucking #afab reader

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unseededtoast · 8 months

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We'll Be Alright | Spencer Reid x F! Reader

Summary: In which you discover that the line between love and hate is quite fine. Your actions are done out of love, but they only make you hate yourself more and more. Inspired by "Fine Line" by Harry Styles

Cross posted on Wattpad and AO3 and here is my masterlist!

WC: 9.1k

Warnings: Angst, a lot of angst, pining, mention of Ed Gein, mention of blood, use of guns, that sorta thing

a/n: Back at it again with another Spencer Reid oneshot. I hope you all like it, I think this is one of my favorites so far.

"I could live with you hating me, but I couldn't live in a world without you."

With a smile on your face you listen to Spencer ramble on about how he put the pieces together to find the unsub while you two ride to the scene together. He speaks with such passion and you don't think you'll ever get tired of listening to him, his mind is a brilliant thing and you make sure to remind him every chance you get. You can tell that sometimes when he gets fired up about something he starts becoming insecure, fearing that the others will make some snide comment or dismiss his thoughts. But not you, you listen intently every time, hanging onto every word.

Spencer has played a very vital role in developing you into the analyst you are today. Where the others were satisfied with letting you learn on your own, and showing you pointers here and there, Spencer took the time to explain nuanced ideas to you. He showed genuine interest and care, and you gave him your undivided attention. This dynamic created a tight bond with the two of you, allowing you to work together seamlessly and at times, it's like you read each other's thoughts.

"I knew you could do it." You tell him as you pull onto the scene. He utters a thanks as the two of you get out of the car and join the rest of the team.

The unsub is nearby and the team is just waiting for him to show up; Garcia had been able to track his phone and his movement aligned with the area you and Spencer had narrowed down as the next area of interest. Hotch, Morgan, and Emily give you both a nod of acknowledgement and the five of you begin scouting out the area to look for any signs of the unsub, he should be here by now.

This particular unsub sent a chill down your spine, and not much gets to you anymore. His modus operandi was always to kill his victims, skin them, and use their flesh for various purposes. It's like he was trying to be Gein's prodigy, except he never dug up a grave, he preferred to kill them all himself. The team had found his workshop early in the investigation, but the unsub was nowhere to be found, until now. Seeing household objects made of flesh isn't going to soon leave your memory, you're sure of it.

"There he is!" Morgan yells and points to a man crossing the street with a paper bag in his hand. Everyone takes off in a sprint towards him and you pull your firearm from the holster strapped to your thigh. The unsub takes off, trying to evade you all.

Emily and Hotch split up from the rest of the team to try and cut him off up ahead, leaving you, Spencer, and Morgan trailing him. The little man is fast, you'll give him that much. Eventually, he ducks down an alleyway, unaware it's a dead end, and turns back to look at you all with wide, stunned eyes. You see the panic in his eyes and as Morgan shouts instructions at him, you see him reach inside of his jacket.

The unsub pulls a gun of his own and aims it right at Spencer. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears. Spencer puts his hands up in surrender while you and Morgan keep your sights trained on him.

"Put the guns down or I'll shoot him, I swear I'll do it, just like the others!" The unsub declares while switching the safety off of his gun. Your hands begin to shake with adrenaline, but you don't put your gun down. Faintly, you can hear Morgan informing Hotch and Emily of the situation via radio but it's like you have tunnel vision on the man in front of you.

"Do it now!" He screams erratically and you see his finger dance on the trigger, just about to pull it.

An internal battle wages itself inside your mind, trying to quickly assess the pros and cons of listening to the man. Just as you go to lower your gun, you see the man grin sickeningly at Spencer with an evil glint shining in his eye; you've seen that look before. Without thinking, you turn and knock Spencer out of the way just as you hear the shot go off. Spencer slams into the brick wall beside him, chest heaving with panicked breaths. Behind you, you can hear Morgan yelling something but his voice sounds miles away.

All you feel is a blinding, white-hot pain.

Blinking rapidly, you look down and see that your shirt is quickly becoming stained a deep scarlet red. Your heart is pumping at an alarming pace, you can feel your pulse in your neck. The red stain keeps growing but your mind can't comprehend what's going on. Large hands obscure the stain from your view, and you finally look up to see Spencer's hazel eyes, wide and afraid.

He gently brings your body to the ground, leaning you against the brick wall you had shoved him into. His hands apply pressure to the wound, sending a shockwave of pain through your entire body. It feels like you can't catch your breath, you fight for oxygen every few seconds and even that makes your body feel like you've just been set ablaze. The edges of your vision start going black, and you can't really see anything clearly anymore. Your mind is a jumble of incoherent thoughts that just sounds like static.

"Hey, hey look at me. Come on now. Stay with me. Please." You feel a tap on your cheek and your blurry vision can make out Spencer's form, his fingers coated in red. A wave of nausea and pain racks through your system, and you try to reach out for Spencer, but your arms are just too heavy, and words take too much effort. It's easier to just close your eyes.

-----

A constant beeping sound stirs you awake. You don't even remember falling asleep. Trying to open your eyes feels like an impossible task, like they've been bonded shut with super glue. Your throat feels like a desert, and you start to panic, not remembering where you are. Mental images of the unsub's flesh creations flash through your mind and you start panicking, thinking that somehow he got you.

The panic is enough to make your eyes open, and you're greeted with bright lights. Flinching, you squint your eyes and look around. This isn't the unsub's workshop, no, this looks like a hospital. Your eyes travel down your body, seeing lines embedded in your arms, a plastic piece clamped over your finger, and a large white bandage wrapped around your stomach. As if on cue, your stomach starts to burn like hot coals had just been placed there. An image of Spencer's hand covered in bright red flashes behind your eyelids.

A nurse walks through the doors and smiles when she catches your eye. She comes to your bedside and sets down an IV bag full of clear liquid.

"Glad to see you're finally awake. How do you feel?" She asks and you go to answer her, but your throat is too dry, so you just end up coughing. The nurse crosses your room and returns moments later with a plastic cup half full of water. Greedily, you take it from her and drink the water, a lone stream wandering down your chin. Once the cup is empty, you decide to finally answer her.

"Not great." You admit, trying to reposition but unable to do so because of the pain. The nurse nods as she hangs the new IV bag from the metal rack beside your bed.

"I imagine so. I'll give you something to dull the pain." She tells you, resting a gentle hand on your upper arm. Your eyes are glued to her hand and you nod, anticipating the relief of pain medication.

"What exactly happened?" You ask, only able to remember tiny bits and pieces. The image of Spencer's hand refuses to leave your mind but you just can't remember what happened before, or after, that moment. The nurse looks down to the bandage covering your torso.

"An ambulance brought you in last night. You got shot through the abdomen and had to be rushed into surgery. There was sustained damage to your liver and other intestines, but nothing life-threatening. You gave your coworkers quite the scare though, they didn't want to leave but we had to send them home." Her voice is soothing despite the words leaving her mouth, like she was used to delivering this sort of news. Which she probably is. You stare down at the bandage on your stomach, trying to remember anything else, but being unsuccessful.

"So when can I leave?" You ask, knowing that there's an incident report or two waiting for you on your desk. Truthfully, you'd rather do anything but those reports right now, seeing as how you can't even remember a major event, but you know the job doesn't allow for much downtime.

"Probably tomorrow or the next day depending on how well you're doing." She reassures you, and you can live with that. If the team wants the paperwork done that badly, they can bring it to you. Otherwise, you're perfectly content to stay here for a little while. The nurse exits the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

From what you can remember, Spencer was definitely there when you got shot. His hands were covered in your blood, that part you can vividly remember. Your heart sinks as you are able to recall the look in his eyes, how scared he was. You hope he doesn't blame himself for what happened, you know it isn't his fault even if you can't quite remember how it all went down. If the roles were reversed you can't even imagine the wreck you would be; the thought alone makes you sick.

-----

The next day your doctor clears you for discharge, and you call Hotch to come pick you up. You have no family to call to get you or take care of you, Hotch and the team are the closest thing you have. You had almost called Spencer, but decided against it because you're not sure if you're ready to see him just yet. Hotch's car pulls up to the curb and he hops out to help you in the car but you wave him off.

"I got shot I'm not immobile." You try to tease as you grimace, pulling yourself into the passenger seat. Hotch closes the door once you're in and quickly returns to the driver's seat. His hands grip the wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white. He starts the route back to your home without a word, but you can tell something is bothering him.

"What's up?" You break the silence, the curiosity of what he's thinking becoming too much. Hotch glances at you from the corner of his eye before training his eyes back on the road.

"You're off of field duty for the next few months. Technically, you should be on a leave of absence for a while but I know you won't abide by it. But, you have to promise me you won't overwork yourself. You got shot, you need to take care of yourself." His words come out slow and even, which contradicts his body language. There's something else going on, but you know him well enough to know he's not going to tell you.

"No field work, got it." You agree, knowing it's the best deal you're going to get. When another agent was shot on the job about a year ago, they made her stay out of the office for four months. You'd go crazy under those restrictions.

The two of you ride in silence until he pulls up outside of your quaint home. The lights are all off and the mail has gone unchecked. Dark clouds in the sky start emitting light sprinkles, likely to turn into a storm. With a sigh, you look to Hotch, whose eyes are already on you and you smile weakly at him, trying to mask the pain shooting up your spine.

"Thank you, Hotch." You say and open the door despite your body's protests.

"If you need anything, don't hesitate to call." He tells you with a father-like authority. You nod your head, knowing he means it.

"I will." You confirm and close the door. Hotch drives off and you check your overflowing mailbox before heading up the short stone walkway to your home. You're thankful for the stair railings as you have to pull yourself up each step to reach your front door. From what should be a simple, few-second task, it feels like you've run a marathon. The keys fumble around in your hands but you're able to unlock the door after a few attempts.

Your home is unusually dark and cold inside. The mail finds itself scattered across the dining room table and you go around turning on a lamp or two to bring some life back into the space. Clutching the back of your couch, you catch your breath and look down at your torso. With careful hands, you lift your shirt and look at the bandage. Thankfully it doesn't look like the stitches have broken, it's just a lot of pain. The doctor had given you two prescriptions to fill, but you probably won't go pick them up, you can't imagine how painful it would be to drive a car right now; moving your arms and legs, straining your abdomen. It's just not worth it in your mind. And you're surely not going to inconvenience anyone to pick it up for you, they probably couldn't anyways seeing as how one of them is a narcotic.

Instead of doing anything else, you go around and lay down on your couch, propping your head on a throw pillow and pulling the blanket draped over the back overtop of you. Thunder sounds off overhead, and you know the rain will put you to sleep if the pain doesn't do it first.

The plush material of the blanket soothes you somewhat, it definitely feels better than the hospital blankets. Thick raindrops start pelting the window situated on the wall perpendicular to the couch, giving you the perfect view through your sheer curtains. Your eyes droop as you watch the droplets race each other to the bottom but you don't want to sleep, it's pretty much all you've done the past two days.

While your eyes concentrate on the raindrops pelting the window your mind races with all the thoughts you've slept away in the hospital. Since first waking up, you've been able to recall most of what happened, the doctors told you it was a normal thing to experience, but it freaked you out as you just kept remembering what happened. You can hear Spencer's voice begging you to stay awake and you remember shoving him out of the way so he wouldn't be shot.

While the pain of being shot is like nothing you've experienced before, you know you'd do it all over again to save Spencer. And that terrifies you. It's for that reason you haven't contacted him yet, but you see the messages he's left on your phone, asking if you're okay and if he can do anything for you. If it had been him that got shot, and he didn't pull through, you know you'd crumble, you'd absolutely lose yourself. And that shakes you to your core. You knew you and Spencer were close, but you never realized just how deep your love for him runs.

Being shot made you understand that in this line of work it's not smart to form these personal ties, for reasons such as this. If the roles were reversed and he did die, you know you wouldn't be able to continue doing your job. It's been made abundantly obvious to you during your time on the BAU that these deep connections could pose a threat to your safety, and that's never been more clear to you than it is right now. It's precisely the reason you don't answer Spencer at all. You feel guilty, but you know it's better like this in the long run. You can't stomach the thought of him taking a bullet for you, so you have to distance yourself, for his safety.

-----

Five days later you decide to return to the office. You're feeling slightly better, the pain is still strikingly difficult to deal with, but you can't stand another day being cooped up in your house. Plus, you know there's at least one incident report waiting for you.

You leave early to give yourself enough time to get there, and you find out that you were right about driving, it definitely does not feel good. You reach the office later than you usually do, but you don't really care. The team isn't even expecting you for another two days, so there's no punctuality expectation. After you get out of your car and make your way across the parking lot you find that a pit of dread has taken residence in your stomach, right next to the aching pain; and you're nervous to walk through the doors that have become so familiar. But the elevator ride is too short for your comfort and you find yourself staring at those very doors before you're truly prepared.

With one hand lightly resting on your abdomen, you force yourself into the office, where everyone is busy with their daily duties. Maybe you can just slip in here without anyone noticing you. Your steps are drastically slower than normal, and you make it halfway to your desk before you hear someone calling out your name.

"What are you doing here? Thought you weren't supposed to be back until Monday." Morgan asks, tossing a file on top of his keyboard. You clear your throat and try your best to smile.

"Just couldn't stay away I guess." You say and finish the journey to your desk, feeling your legs start going weak. Within the days you've spent at home, you couldn't bring yourself to exert much energy getting food, you mainly just spent time wrapped up in a blanket on your couch. Your body is weaker than it ever has been, from both malnutrition and the gunshot, but nobody needs to know that, then they'd start to hover. You'd much rather just suffer in silence and take care of yourself. Morgan follows you over to your desk and you're hypervigilant to keep up a good appearance.

"We've been worried about you. Nobody's heard from you since Hotch picked you up." He says and you glance over to Hotch's office, seeing the door closed.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I've just been trying to rest and heal up." It's not a total lie, just not the entire truth either. You meet Morgan's eyes as if to seal the deal, and thankfully he doesn't push you further on the matter, he just puts a hand on your shoulder.

"Well it's good to have you back." He says before departing back to his own desk.

You open the cover of the file that's sitting on your desk, seeing blank pages waiting for you to fill them out. Grabbing your favorite pen, you start jotting down your notes of the incident report up until you get to the part where you were shot. The pen hovers over the page for minutes, and you can't seem to find the right words. The opening of Hotch's door distracts you and you see him and Spencer walk out. Spencer's eyes lock with yours immediately and he wastes no time abandoning his conversation with Hotch to come over to you. You knew this time would come, you were just hoping to avoid it for a while longer.

"How are you? Are you okay? You weren't supposed to be back until Monday." A flurry of questions gets thrown at you while Spencer looks you over as if he's expecting to see another bleeding wound on you.

"I'm fine, thanks." You keep your answer short, too short for his liking and you know it. Guilt sits heavily in your heart, but you remind yourself that this is for his benefit and wellbeing. You can deal with a broken heart, you can't deal with Spencer dying and that's why this is necessary. His eyebrows scrunch together, confused about why you're acting so strangely.

"I tried to text you." He says, lowering his voice, eyes tender and full of worry. If only you could reach out to him, to feel his soft skin under your fingertips and tell him about the hell you've been going through. Instead, you lick your lips and nod shortly,

"I saw. I just, I wanted some time alone." You lie straight to his face and watch as he buys it so easily. Disappointment paints itself all over his face, but he nods anyways and shoves his hands into his pockets.

"Right. Sorry, well, um, you know where I'll be." He says in a hushed voice before turning and walking to his own desk. Your eyes clamp themselves shut and your fists clench, leaving crescent-shaped indents in your palms as you take a deep breath and fight away the tears that threaten to spill.

Once you've regained control of yourself, you pick your pen back up and focus on nothing else but getting this report done. You force yourself to write robotically, stating only the concise facts of what happened and not a detail more. You're sure the other agents' reports will make up for yours, you just need to get this done and filed so you can leave. The air in the office space is suffocating.

After what feels like a short eternity, you've finally completed the report and you shut the front cover of the file and push yourself out of your chair, gritting your teeth the entire time.

"Need help?" You hear Morgan's voice behind you, and you're quick to shake your head.

"No, I'm fine, thank you." You say as you stand as straight as you can, grabbing the file off your desk with one hand, the other rests over your wound, which feel unusually warm. Fearing the worst, you make your way to Hotch's office, biting your cheek the entire way there.

When you enter his office he looks at you with uncharacteristically soft eyes. He waits for you to make the first move and you put the folder on his desk, letting out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. He opens the folder and reads over your work before tossing it on top of a pile of other folders.

"What's going on with you?" He asks and stands to shut his door. Hotch closes the blinds on the office windows as well, so that the other agents can't see into the room and you're thankful. Your bottom lip quivers as a sharp hot pain radiates from your wound and you feel your throat constrict. Grasping the back of a chair situated in front of his desk you lean your weight on it to try and alleviate the pain, but it isn't working.

"Let me see." Hotch stands from his desk and stands beside you. Once you feel you can stand on your own you lift the edge of your shirt up, exposing the bandage wrapped around you. From your vantage point you can see the warm red skin peeking out from the bandage.

"That's not good, that looks like it's becoming infected." Hotch's voice is thick with worry and he delicately peels back the bandage to examine the wound and you bite down on your hand to keep from crying out. The air coming into contact with it feels like he just pushed a fire poker right through the stitches.

"We're leaving right now, that's definitely infected." Hotch secures the bandage back and you shake your head.

"I'll be fine, it's just part of the healing process." You try to downplay the situation. In reality, you know that it's not good for your wound to be that red or warm, but if the two of you leave right now the others are going to know something's up. And that will inevitably lead to them hovering over you.

"No, it's not. You're going to come with me or I'll call the squad." Hotch threatens and you see no trace of a lie in his eyes or in his tone. Relenting, you agree to go with him. He leads you out of the office and you keep your head down, compelling yourself to not look at Spencer, who's undoubtedly tracking your every move.

Once you reach the parking lot Hotch begins questioning you. He helps you into his car and you let him, not having the energy to fight him.

"Have you not been taking the medicine prescribed to you? I know they gave you an antibiotic." He scolds, knowing the answer. If you had been taking them, you wouldn't be showing up to the office with an angry gunshot wound.

"Hurt too much to drive and get them." You keep your answer short and he huffs in annoyance, but starts driving somewhere to get you the medical attention you need. Deep down you're thankful Hotch cares this much, he's the closest thing to real family you have.

Last Thanksgiving the team found out that you have no family to spend the holidays with. You had never meant to tell them, but holiday plans came up in conversation and yours were painfully dull and lonely compared to theirs. But Hotch invited you to his family's Thanksgiving dinner. At first, you had declined, not wanting to intrude on his family time away from work, but he wasn't taking no for an answer. Now you're glad that he persisted and you went. His wife, Haley, took you under her wing and everything just fell into place; you're practically their surrogate daughter at this point.

After Hotch makes sure that you get looked at by a doctor, and that you actually have your intended prescriptions, he drops you off at your home and makes you promise that you'll send him a video of you taking your medicine on schedule. Knowing that if you don't, he will most definitely drive over here and count the pills, you agree. And as a punishment for not taking the medicine in the first place, he makes you agree to stay out of the office for another week.

-----

The week passes too quickly for your liking. Each day Spencer had texted you, asking if you're okay, that he's worried about you, and that he misses you. It broke your heart to not reply to him, every fiber of your being yearned to text him back, to let him know that you're okay. The temptation to abandon your decision of distancing yourself from him grew stronger each day. It became so tempting that you forced yourself to let your phone battery die and then you buried it underneath the clothes in your dresser so that it would stay out of sight.

But now, as you stare up at the office building from the parking lot, you know that you won't be able to avoid him today and you know that you're going to have to not give into temptation. Every time you want to slip, you're going to have to remind yourself that this is for his safety. You remember that you can deal with the heartbreak, the possibility of him hating you, but you'll never be able to go on if he dies. So you have to do everything in your power to make sure he will never have a reason to make a decision to take a bullet for you, like you did him.

Eventually, you walk into the office, admittedly in a lot less pain than last time. Who knew that taking your prescribed antibiotics would make your life easier? As soon as your foot crosses the threshold of the door, you feel like everyone's eyes are upon you. Instead of looking around to confirm your suspicions, you make a straight route right to your desk. But, of course that doesn't stop people from coming over.

"Back again. You look better this time." Morgan smiles and slides to sit on the edge of your desk. You smile back at him, feeling refreshed and healthier than last time.

"Feel better too. Any new cases?" You ask, hoping to establish some normalcy back into your routine. Typically, you and Spencer carpool to work together and his missing presence from your morning routine didn't go unmissed. Morgan licks his lips and nods,

"Yeah we just got back from one out in Colorado. I think there's another briefing at ten." He tells you, taking a sip of his coffee. You know you won't be let into the field yet, but you at least want to sit in on the briefing. More than likely you'll be paired with Garcia, and you're fine with that.

Morgan slides off your desk and as he moves you see Spencer staring straight at you. His eyes look bloodshot, there are dark circles under his eyes. He looks like he hasn't had a decent night of sleep for a month and his hair is a mess. His lips fall open as you two make eye contact, but you're quick to look away before you go over to comfort him. The inside of your cheeks burn from how hard you're biting them.

Once ten rolls around the team files into the conference room, and you're careful to stand in the back instead of taking your usual seat. Prentiss gives you an odd look but she doesn't say anything. It's glaringly obvious to everyone that something is off, but you assure them you should stand to help your blood circulation. As Hotch starts going over the next case you feel a familiar pair of eyes lingering on your face, but you stare right at Hotch.

Soon enough, the rest of the team is off to work a local case, and you stay in the office to help Garcia. She pulls up a chair for you to sit on, and the two of you get to work without saying a word. It's weird for there to be a silence so thick between the two of you, you two always work so well together and you love Penelope. As she waits for something to load, she taps a pen on her desk and takes a deep breath.

"What's wrong?" You ask, not being able to take it any longer. The tapping pen stills and she looks over to you with an uncertain look on her face.

"What's wrong with me? Nothing, I'm perfect as a peach." She tries to lie, but you can read her too well. Your eyebrows raise, and you push her further.

"Come on, Pen. I know you better than that. Tell me." You implore and she bites her lower lip, conflicted with herself as if she should say anything or not. But eventually your staring gets to her and she breaks.

"Fine. Fine, but you didn't hear this from me. Spencer thinks that you blame him for getting shot and that's why you've been dodging him." You've never heard such ridiculous words come out of Penelope's mouth, and you've heard her say a lot over the years. Taken aback, your mouth falls open and you blink, trying to come up with something to say.

"No. Of course it's not his fault. I pushed him out of the way, he didn't pull me into the bullet's path." You say, wanting to set the record straight. Your heart aches at the thought of Spencer beating himself up, thinking that you blame him for your own actions. You know you won't tell him this directly, but you're certain Garcia will relay the message. And that will have to be good enough.

"What's going on with you two then?" Her voice is uncharacteristically soft. You know you can't tell her what you're really doing because you know she'll fight you on it and try to dissuade you. So you choose to dodge the question altogether.

"There. The victim's information loaded." You point at her screen and she scowls at you, but turns in her chair and resumes her job anyways. While she does her research you busy yourself with putting pins on a map, trying to figure out where the unsub is going to strike next.

Later, the team returns to the office before going home for the day. You're at your desk, shutting down your computer and making sure your file drawer is locked, and when you grab the jacket off the back of your chair, you see Spencer talking to Morgan at his desk. He catches you out of the corner of his eye, and you brush past the two of them before either one of them can say something to you. Your heart shatters a little with each step, but you remind yourself why you're doing this. If you didn't, you're convinced you would have turned back and never let Spencer go.

-----

Three days later, the case is solved. The unsub basically handed the team a map right to himself and chose not to lawyer up when Hotch questioned him. It's almost like he wanted to be caught. You don't dwell on the thought too much, you're just glad another murderer is off the street. While everyone else cheers about the victory as they fill out their reports, you keep to yourself at your desk. Unlike the last report you filled out, you make sure this one is extensively detailed.

"What does everyone say? Celebration drinks tonight?" You hear Morgan's voice, eager and happy. The man loves to celebrate sometimes. The rest of the team agrees, and you finish your sentence, hoping they keep you out of it. If you stay quiet enough, you're sure they'll forget you're even here.

"Oh did someone say drinks?" Penelope walks into the bullpen to give Hotch something. Morgan fills her in on the details and of course she agrees.

"I'm assuming you're coming too, right?" You hear her voice but choose not to look up, hoping that she's talking to someone else. Unfortunately, she was not talking to someone else, and taps on your shoulder to make you look up. You see Spencer standing in the background with everyone else, but you keep your eyes trained on Penelope like he doesn't even exist.

"Oh, I don't know. I was thinking of calling it an early night." You admit, knowing full well that you had planned to sit on your couch all weekend binging some trashy reality show to distract yourself from your reality. Penelope frowns,

"Come on, you've never turned us down before. It'll be good for you." She says, and you can tell by the tone of her voice that she's not going to take no for an answer.

"Fine, I'll be there." You relent, with a tight smile on your face. She cheers and goes back to talking with Morgan, and you swivel around in your chair to finish the report. While you scribble words, you're already forming your escape plan for the night.

You'll stay for about an hour, after everyone has already had a few and then you'll excuse yourself. If you have to, you'll use your gunshot wound as an excuse; and yeah it's a cheap cop out, but if that's what it takes you'll do it. And then once you're out the doors you're free. It's a simple, yet effective, plan.

Hours later the team huddles around a table in a crowded bar. Usually you're all over celebratory drinks, you use it as an excuse to remind your coworkers of just how brilliant they are. But tonight, while the rest of them are chatting away happily, you sit on the edge, nursing your drink and looking out of the bar's front window. Spencer is seated across the table from you and you keep accidentally meeting his eyes, which makes the alcohol in your system warm your skin even more.

Spencer sure does make it hard for you to ignore him. After all, his puppy-dog eyes practically plead with you, silently begging for you to say something to him. You can see how hard he's being on himself, still probably convinced that you blame him for your wound. Even if Garcia told him otherwise, you know he will have a hard time buying it considering your actions completely contradict what you had said. While the others might not notice how miserable he is, you can tell. He hasn't gone on a random knowledge tangent since you've been back and he's been reusing the same coffee cup without washing it for the past few days.

You hate how hard Spencer makes it to actually dislike him, you hate how he's such a kindhearted person because it makes all of this ten times more difficult. If he had at least one dislikable trait then this would be easier, then you might have a chance of convincing yourself that you can't stand him, that you never liked him to begin with. Though you're not sure you could ever convince yourself of that, truly. As you take your last drink, you come to one reasonable conclusion: You hate that you love him.

Suddenly feeling like the room is closing in on you, you stand from your seat and make your way to the bartender to close your tab out for the night. Maybe you can just sneak out of here and nobody will notice. The bartender hands your card back to you, and you start heading towards the door. But of course a team of FBI agents noticed that you had left, and are now heading towards the door. Morgan is the first one to confront you.

"Going home already? It's not even nine yet!" He teases and you give him your best smile.

"Just starting to hurt a little." You ghost your fingers over your healing wound for extra measure, knowing they won't chastise you about that. It seems you've taken the low road after all.

"Want someone to take you home?" Penelope asks, and you're quick to decline, knowing exactly what kind of plan she has in store.

"No, thanks. That's alright, I don't live far. Have a good night everyone." You smile at Morgan, Penelope, and Prentiss before you leave. As you walk to your car you notice that everytime you turn away and leave Spencer, your heart fragments more and more. But you remember what's at stake, and you pick yourself up, the best you can, and keep moving forward. You know that the pain and turmoil you're feeling now will amount to nothing if something ever happens to Spencer.

-----

Months later your gunshot wound is practically completely healed. There's a scar that's going to be left behind, but you don't mind it. You're one week out from being cleared to go back into the field, and you're undergoing your evaluation now. You thought that you'd be happy and eager to get back out there, but instead you find yourself hesitant and nervous about it. Working with Garcia had made you feel safe and secure. So now, as you sit in Hotch's office, you try to find the words you're looking for. He's staring at you expectantly.

"I just. Hotch I don't know if I can go back out there." Your voice is shaky, and you're afraid this admission will get you dismissed from the team. He leans forward, elbows resting on his desk.

"You're saying you don't want to return to the field?" He tries to clarify. You take in a deep breath,

"I want to return to the field, I just don't know if I want to do it right now. I mean, I still get nightmares about being shot and it feels so real. What I'm trying to say is that I don't know how well I'd react in stressful situations right now." You tell him, hoping that this makes more sense. In a way, you're figuring out what exactly it is you want. His eyes narrow, trying to get a read on you. Hotch writes some words on the paper in front of him and sighs.

"I can give you another month. And I want you to start seeing a therapist." He says and you scoff immediately. Hotch holds his hand up to stop your protests before they even start.

"Listen. I don't know what's going on inside your mind since this all happened. But you haven't been yourself. And you haven't spoken to Spencer once. You two used to be the best of friends. It's none of my business to know, but you need to tell someone about it. Being shot like that is not something that someone gets over easily and without ramifications." He explains, and deep down you know he's right. You just don't want to confide to anyone about your issues.

"Sure." You agree, knowing that he's going to force you to see a therapist one way or another. If you tell him no now, you're sure someone will show up in the office next week to conduct some sort of "random psych evaluation". Hotch dismisses you from his office, and you make your way to the break room for some much needed caffeine.

The coffee in the pot is hot, like it's been freshly brewed. You pick a mug at random and fill it, then you sprinkle in a modest amount of sugar before tasting it. It's warm and comforting, like a hug from the inside. You close your eyes to help yourself destress from what happened in Hotch's office, but when you open them you see Spencer standing in the doorway. His hair is still wildly curly, there are still circles under his eyes from sleep deprivation. Even his clothes are wrinkled now, it looks like he doesn't take the time to iron them out anymore.

You two stare at each other with so much left unsaid, and you make a move to leave the room before you fold under the pressure. Your shoulder brushes his on the way out, and you hear him speak.

"Please. I'm sorry." You hear him plead with you and your steps falter, wanting so badly to just stop and turn around. To hold him close to you and apologize, to tell him you miss him so bad it makes your chest hurt and how life is dull without him. But instead, you take a scalding sip of coffee and keep moving forward like you never heard him. Each day that passes you find yourself hating how deeply you love him more and more, it's almost a constant burn in your veins.

You spend the rest of the day tucked away in Penelope's office, nose buried in a screen, doing the most menial research as if the fate of the world depends on it. Penelope doesn't say anything. She just sighs and helps you with the research.

-----

A few more weeks pass, and fall is now in full swing. There's a crisp chill to the air, the leaves are all turning colors and falling to the ground. And with fall comes your birthday. You have no real plans to celebrate, Hotch had given you your gift in the parking lot before work this morning, knowing that you don't like a lot attention being drawn to you, but it is nice to get a simple "happy birthday" from your friends.

The team packs up for the day, and your heart sinks with disappointment. It seems that nobody but Hotch had remembered your birthday. You convince yourself that this is a stupid reason to get sad, that they all have busy lives to keep up with. Plus, it's not like it's a milestone birthday anyways. Grabbing your jacket, you leave the office for the day with a heavy sadness taking residence in your chest.

When you arrive home, you turn some lamps on and toss your jacket over the back of the couch. You put Hotch's gift on the table, and go to the kitchen to open a bottle of wine. You don't bother pouring it into a glass, straight from the bottle will suffice just fine. Taking the bottle with you, you go to your room and change out of your work clothes. As you rummage through the drawers, you find your phone still sitting in the bottom of one of them.

You had never found the courage to charge it back up, afraid to see what words had been left for you. But tonight, you figure it's about time you confront your own feelings. You plug the phone in and set it on your nightstand, taking another swig of the wine and waiting for it to charge.

After what feels like hours, the phone finally turns back on. And within minutes, the notifications start pouring in. Text after text after text rolls in and the missed calls start to pile up. With another drink, you take your phone in your hand and read over the messages. There are exactly fifty seven messages from Spencer and thirty missed calls.

Your eyes scan the texts he sent you, his words sinking into the fibers of your very being, and you're saddled with an intense sorrow. Tears fall from your cheeks onto the phone's screen and you stop reading, not being able to take it anymore. All of his texts were him apologizing to you, begging you to please talk to him. You listen to the voicemails he left, hearing his voice crack and listening to him sniffle as he pleads for you to please just say something, anything. You can almost visualize him in your mind, wiping his tears as he tells you how sorry he is and how he misses you more than anything. He's begging and apologizing as if he's the one who has done anything wrong here. You hate yourself more than anything for letting him suffer like this.

You leave your phone on your nightstand and grab the wine, returning to your kitchen table, where Hotch's gift sits perfectly wrapped. Taking it in your hands, you unwrap it and look inside the box, heart stilling as you see what's inside. With trembling fingers, you grab the frame and hold it in front of your face. Hotch had given you a framed photo of the team, a picture in which Spencer is holding you tightly against his side, and you're looking up at him with stars in your eyes. The frame slips through your fingers and clatters onto the table.

You support yourself on the back of a chair, and you finally let yourself feel everything you had suppressed over the last few months. Sobs shake your body and the tears fall onto the photo. Your hands clutch the back of the chair until your knuckles turn white, afraid that if you let go you'll collapse to the ground.

A knock at the door catches you off guard and you try to level out your breathing, using the back of your hand to wipe the tears from your cheeks. You aren't expecting anyone, and you almost consider just leaving it be, but your curiosity gets the best of you. Knowing that you probably look deranged and pathetic, you open the door anyways.

Spencer stands in the doorway, a small box in his hands along with a bouquet of your favorite fresh-cut flowers.

Your mouth falls open, and you think your heart might actually jump out of your chest. He looks you over, an obvious concern coming over his face. You should shut the door on him, tell him to go away, but your resolve has crumbled, like dust in the wind.

"Can I come in?" He whispers, and you nod, letting him inside your home, where he's been so many times but now it feels like the first time all over again. Your house is in a state of disarray, and if you hadn't just been sobbing over a photo of him, you might care more. You wipe more tears from your eyes and you clear your throat, not exactly sure what to say or do. But thankfully, he speaks up again.

"Happy birthday." His voice is soft, and he gives you a small smile, but the sadness is evident in his eyes.

"You didn't have to get me anything." You say, looking at the beautiful flowers and carefully wrapped box, topped with a ribbon of your favorite color. He takes a step towards you, and hands you the flowers first. As you take them, your fingers brush his and it feels like the air has been kicked out of your lungs.

"I know, but I wanted to." He says, meeting your eyes. You catch the scent of the flowers, appreciating their freshness and the life they bring to your otherwise sad home. Making your way into your kitchen, you find a vase to put the flowers in and then you set them on the table. Spencer's eye catches the photo, and you know he can see the wetness that still adorns the frame. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to put the pieces together.

"Thank you, Spencer." You say after you position the flowers just right. Willingly, you catch his eye and you know you can never go back to ignoring him after this. He glances from you, to the photo, then back to you before he hands you the box. Lifting the top off, you see a beautiful gold chain inside that has a beautiful gemstone pendant hanging from it.

"I picked the stone because it reminded me of your eyes." He sheepishly admits, and you look up at him through your lashes with the purest and deepest love flowing through you. But through that love, the guilt eats you alive.

"Spencer, this is too much. I've been horrible to you lately, I don't deserve this. And I definitely don't deserve your kindness." You say, looking into his gorgeous, kind eyes. The tension is noticeable between you, and you wish it would melt away and that you two could go back to how things used to be.

"I've missed you so much." Is all he says, voice cracking and you see tears gather in his eyes. Unable to help yourself, you set the necklace on the table and close the gap between the two of you, resting your hand on his cheek. Your bottom lip trembles,

"I'm so sorry Spencer. I'm so sorry." You say, tears once again flowing down your face. He sniffles as a tear runs down his cheek onto your thumb.

"Why?" Is all he asks but you know exactly what he means. You decide to come clean to him, there's no use of lying now.

"When I got shot, I realized that if you had been the one who got hit, and you didn't make it, that I wouldn't be able to live. The thought of living in a world without you is too much. So I had to make sure that I didn't give you a reason to make the same choice I did. I could live with you hating me, but I couldn't live in a world without you. I wanted you to hate me so that you wouldn't risk your life for me." Your thumb gently brushes his cheekbone, trembling with your words. He closes his eyes as tears keep falling down his cheeks. One of his hands comes up and grabs yours that's on his face, and he grips it tight.

"When I realized you had taken the bullet for me, I knew that nothing would be the same between us. I thought I was going to lose you. Your blood was on my hands, and it's the only thing I have nightmares about anymore. And this made me realize that I can never stop loving you, no matter what happens." He admits, causing you to cry harder. The remorse you feel for putting him through so much torment feels like it's eating you from the inside. You should have been there for him.

"I'm so sorry." Is all you can say, it's all you can express to him right now. He needs to know that you didn't mean any of it. Spencer pulls you in for a hug and holds you tight against him. One of his hands cradles the back of your head, the other is secure around your waist. Your tears stain his sweater, and the two of you let out everything.

When you finally pull back from the hug you grab his face with gentle hands, making him look at you.

"Spencer, I love you so much. I need you to know that I did what I did because I love you too much to lose you." You admit to him and he smiles. A genuine smile that you haven't seen in months. Through the tears and emotions, you two smile widely at one another.

Spencer closes the gap between the two of you, and tilts your chin up. Your lips connect with his ever so softly, and you pull him closer to you, your hands trailing down his torso, collecting fistfuls of his sweater. One of his hands rests on your cheek, brushing your cheekbone and the other keeps you close to him.

Everything that has gone unsaid is spoken loud and clear as you kiss one another. When your lungs start burning, begging for air, you break away and lean your forehead on his chest. He brushes your hair with his fingers and you feel him press a tender kiss to the top of your head. You stay entangled with each other in a comfortable silence before you look up at him,

"We'll be alright." You tell him, knowing that the two of you will be able to mend each other in time. And things may never be like they were, and that's okay.

"We'll be alright." He confirms, kissing your forehead.

Eventually, you two move to the couch and you ask him to clasp the necklace around your neck. In the soft, warm glow of the lamps you look into his eyes and can see all of the love he holds for you. You take one of his hands in yours and he positions himself so that you can lay back against him. He's warm, and being held by him feels like home.

Laying in his arms, you decide you don't want to return to the field. After all, if you're not in the field he won't ever be faced with the decision to take a bullet for you or not. As long as he's in your life, and you're in his, things will be okay. Before you drift off to sleep, you lean up and press a kiss to his temple.

You have everything you need right here in your arms.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid comfort #hurt/comfort #hotch #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #derek morgan #penelope garcia #spencer reid fluff #harry styles #Spotify

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penny00dreadful · 7 months

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So... some of you may have noticed my fics have come to a screeching halt the last couple of months which is not like me and I am here to explain myself.

Babygirl, I have been preparing.

The end of this month is my 1 year anniversary of posting in this fandom, of posting any of my work online after not doing it for like fifteen fucking years and it has brought me so much incandescent joy, I decided I had to do something for it.

(I've also hit like... several milestones which is fucking insane like you all know I'm just some cranky bog witch, right??)

I have been working on my WIPs for over the last two months. All... holy mother of god... like nine of them???

Some of these have been completed, some I am still writing and some are mostly done.

So starting from my anniversary date, 23rd October, every second or third day, I'll be posting a chapter of something.

I have so much material built up this shit could go on until 2024

@hbyrde36 called it my own personal Penny00Dreadful BigBang... and yeah kinda! 😅

I wanted to do this to show just how much I love this community. Your kind words, your support, your unhinged ramblings, your obsessive love, your talent (for free??) it's all amazing it's so amazing and I wanted to explode forth with my love for it so I figured why the fuck not do this stupid idea??😅

All of these will be posted both to tumblr and AO3 so subscribe over there to keep updated or follow me here!

OH! And let me know if you wanna be tagged! If you wanna be tagged for a specific fic or for everything I'll add you, whatever you want.

You've made me so happy and so warm for the last year. The way I know if I'm having a bad day I just need to hop onto this side of tumblr and everything will be peaches and gravy again.

I love you guys so much. 😘🖤

Updated Schedule - (18th Feb 2024)

Fic list with blurbs below the cut, this will (roughly) be the order they're posted in:

Return of The King - COMPLETE

Steddie Vampire AU with a twist! Vampire Steve comes back after falling to the bats. There is two more chapters left and those chapters have been completed.

Comeuppance - COMPLETE

Dustin just wants Steve to be happy. So he tries to parent trap him with Nancy. Clearly they should be together. But Steve's heart doesn't even seem to be in it at all! How is he so bad at this? And Eddie is being less than helpful

Rookie Mistake - COMPLETE

My Steddie Established Relationship Spies AU oneshot that will have a multi-chapter prequel fic coming very soon after!

Eddie is "retired" and Steve has been injured on the job, so he's supposed to be taking it easy. How hard could a walk to the gas station be?

Before He Cheats - COMPLETE

Songfic! Carrie Underwood - Before He Cheats

I literally have no excuse for this one. The rotted brainworms were behind the steering wheel with this one.

One evening, Eddie gets a call from some guy named Steve dropping the news on him that his boyfriend has been cheating on him. With this Steve person and Steve had no idea up until that day.

And Eddie rarely takes that shit lying down.

Steddievember Smut - COMPLETE

No Nut November is here! One can play however he wants. The other just has to wait for December to roll around. I have no other words to describe what this will be, it does what it says on the tin. I blame the STWG discord server. Currently we're looking at four little ficlets for this.

Cat and Mouse - COMPLETE

The Steddie Spies AU Prequel! How they got together and the extreme ups and downs their enemies/rivals to lovers journey goes through. I had so much fun with this one.

And They Were Roommates! - COMPLETE

omg they were roommates.

Steve and Eddie don't hate each other exactly. They just... tolerate each other. But one night Eddie doesn't come home for hours. Long after he's supposed to and it's not like Steve is worried or anything... he's just... concerned for a fellow human being... that's all.

Through The Valley

Post-Apocalyptic AU. Eddie, Dustin and Nancy have a nice little community of survivors outside of Hawkins that they take care of, surviving day to day. Everyone's a little broken, missing the rest of their Party just hoping that one day they'll find each other again.

Devotion

Dungeons and Dragons AU. Steve is the golden boy of the small town of Hawkins. Harrington in name and now a Paladin with his very own oath to hunt down the Bard, the witch Eddie Munson and bring him back to justice under High Priest Henry Creel.

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solaneceae · 5 months

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consume

a team bolas oneshot (read on ao3) tw: cannibalism, fuga impossivel references

“Hey, Slime. Can I eat your leg?”

The hybrid makes a huh of confusion, still adjusting his trusty gas mask over his face as he loots his own dead body, codified arm still glitching from fresh respawn. Cellbit can hear Jaiden and Étoiles conversing nearby, Bagi and Tina not too far from them, and the entire area reeks of blood and death.

Red Spawn had, strangely enough, become some kind of safe haven for now — people from all teams that were begging for a break, for a chat, for any modicum of normalcy had started to flock there as the end Day Four drew near: separated lovers falling into each other’s arms, Étoiles coaching everyone on PvP techniques regardless of affiliation (because the guy just thrived on being kind and helping people become the best version of themselves, it seemed. Cellbit appreciated that), his very presence a deterrent to anyone who would dare to come and break the temporary peace (BadBoyHalo).

And now that they didn’t have to look over their shoulder every second, the cat hybrid had started to think. A risky endeavour in a place such as Purgatory, but after exchanging a heated kiss with his husband and getting the sudden urge to bite his mouth off, he had started to wonder.

There were so many bodies around their spawn. He had seen many for the past few days, most of them belonging to his own team, but the urge to chow down on fresh meat had been nowhere as strong as right then with Roier, not even close. (First day had been the odd one out, as everyone in red team had lost their minds to the fog and joined in on that fucked up banquet.)

A hypothesis is blooming in his mind. He needs to test something. “Can I eat your leg?” he repeats to a befuddled Charlie, who looks at him, then at his body, then back at him. “I mean. Sure? Knock yourself out.”

Cellbit does — and it’s disappointing. It starts off nice, his heart hammering inside his ribcage as he severs muscle and bone and tendon to rip Slime’s leg off his still cooling body, saliva pooling in his mouth as his pupils dilate to eat up all the blue, and he can feel it, the thrill, the desire, the manic joy; but then he bites into it and the leg loses solidity, turning into green goop that tastes like grass and it’s so sour, like an unripe lemon. He spits it all out, grimacing — his palate and tongue almost feel burned. He forgot slimes were corrosive. “Tastes like shit,” he huffs, and Charlie lets out a disappointed aw.

Results: inconclusive. Cause: negative bias, because Charlie is a fucking slime and hence an outlier.

He asks Jaiden next, and she shrugs and tells him to go for it. (Maybe they should be worried about how flippant they’ve all become about cannibalism, but that’s a problem for post-Purgatory them to deal with.) And this time, it’s good. Her flesh is tender and moist, just the right balance of muscle and fat, and he gets a sick sense of satisfaction as she watches him tear into her thigh with morbid fascination. “How do I taste like?” she asks him. He tells her ‘delicious’ between two mouthfuls of prime cut, and she smiles. “Nice! I’m glad.”

Contrary to what some might believe, he hadn't eaten anything off the Federation workers he had killed. Hadn't reached that point at the time. But now there he is, seeking an enemy body among the dozens of Jaidens lying around. When he finally does, he stares down at it for a long moment, and finds that he has no desire to sink his teeth into it at all. Mmh. He looks up to find Roier, still silent to mind his recovering lungs and plopping down signs that make Étoiles crack up, and he’s so funny and cute and strong and Cellbit wants to crawl into his chest cavity and— “Ah,” he realises, something old and crooked at the back of his mind finally clicking into place.

He thinks of Pac. He thinks of Alcatraz, of that desire that had torn its way into his brain as soon as he had seen that youthful, terrified face for the first time. He thinks of those nights tossing and turning, tongue flicking out in a nervous tick as he obsessively rotated the new guy into his mind from every angle, trying to imagine what his screams would be like, how his flesh would taste, how it would feel going down his throat. He thinks of the pure, unadulterated pleasure of finally making that fantasy a reality, details blurring into red-mist bliss and the song of Pac screaming and crying. He finds that if he had to do it all again, right now, he would, but not like this. This time, dream-Pac would offer himself willingly, repeating I trust you, I trust you as dream-Cellbit reverently slices through his flesh.

He thinks of that thing humans have, when they experience the urge to squish or bite when they see something cute. He thinks of the result of his observations, that he only enjoys eating people if he cares for them.

(Maybe he had loved Pac once, in a fucked up version of a crush distorted by his mania and lifetime worth of trauma. Maybe that was why he had done what he’d done. Now the engineer was more akin to a brother to him, close and important, but that obsessive attraction wasn’t there anymore.)

Maybe it’s just in his nature, to consume the very things he loves. “Something on your mind?” Jaiden asks him later, sleepily, her head resting against his side as the rest of the family dozes off within the Nest in a tangle of limbs and soft blankets. Cellbit shakes his head. “Just. Processing stuff.”

Jaiden hums, and Phil drapes one of his large black wings over them both. The conure chirps, flock, home, and the crow replies with a quiet yesyes.

#qsmp #qsmp purgatory #team bolas #fanfic #cannibalism as a metaphor for love is kinda based actually #cellbit #q!cellbit #tw cannibalism

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melonchollychillie · 1 year

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ROTTMNT MASTERPOST -

Oneshots/Funnies

Leo's misfortune

Don and Leo in the morning

Tea for the team

Little Times

Glitching Pupils

Dancing turtles

Be Back Soon AU

(On hiatus)

!TW- Blood, disassociation, lots of blood, swearing, violence, SH, probably horror aspects, hallucinations. !

I have no idea what I’m doing! But here’s my Be Back Soon AU part of this masterpost

It’s very obviously my first comic, so please bare with me while I figure out what I’m doing and hopefully make a story within the barriers of ‘ok’.

Be warned- I really love my angst

About- If Leo ended up stuck in the prison dimension for over a year while the others had 4 months to mourn.

Parts-

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 /

Inside a Timeless Cage

Cause I swallowed the bubble gum, these seven years will be pretty dumb.

Other

I have an ao3 account!

MelanchollyChillie

I wasn't sure if i should add it or not but its here ig if anyone is interested! :)

I post stuff on there sometimes (all rottmnt)

I hope for some friendly criticism but I wont tolerate any bullying please and thank you. (Whether its me or other people)

(Unless it isn't obvious i kinda hate everything i draw so please tell me what you think <:3 i crave validation)

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by-glass-and-waves · 5 months

Note

Do you have a link to your AO3 COTL au?

I've written Courtship of the God of Death! The other parts in the collection are oneshots. This fic is a Narinder wins route, except the Lamb is not sacrificed. New oneshot should be posted soon :o

I think the best way to describe it is a kpop fan marrying their favorite kpop star 🙃

Depression Quest (Lamb wins route, Narinder has a Bad Time™) was its prototype, and I also have Restart (Narinder dimension/timeline hops and takes Lamb's place against the Bishops) and 19th Century AU (disguised Prince Narinder who dipped from his duties Amenthes and Lamb argue like a married couple). All of those I've written notes, doodles- and in 19th Century's case, scripts- posted on this tumblr. I do want to write these out and post them at some point!

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vldsideblog · 8 months

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Okay so this is my most recent oneshot. It’s been up on ao3 for a few day, but I decided why not post it here as well

It’s set right after they get back to Keith’s shack after finding Shiro and is silly and a bit heart felt. I hope you enjoy

Before the beginning

Shiro was still unconscious as Keith carried him from the hoverbike. Technically, Lance was also carrying Shiro cause he refused to be normal and just let Keith do it. But he still bore most of the weight of his brothers limp body.

“This is where you live?” The short kid with bushy brown hair asked incredulously. They looked familiar, but Keith couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Before the group stood his small desert cabin. Well, cabin was a nice word for what was basically a shack.

“Yeah,” Lance added from Shiro’s other side. “It looks like it’ll collapse if we go inside.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “You’ll be fine city boy.” And with that he kept walking, half of his miraculously alive brother's weight on his shoulder. Lance was forced to follow, though he obviously wasn’t very happy about being called a city boy.

“Are you sure we won’t be traced back here?” Asked the tall boy with an orange bandana tied around his forehead. He was fidgeting nervously with his hands as he spoke. “We had a lot of cars on our tail. What if they followed us?”

Keith didn’t bother looking at him while he answered. “They’d be crazy to jump that cliff. Plus no one knows about this place. I’ve been here for a year and no one’s ever bothered me.” The porch creaked beneath his boots as he jiggled the doorknob and pushed open the door with a foot.

“You jumped that cliff, doesn’t that make you crazy?” Asked the big guy.

“Who do you think taught me that trick?” Keith nudged his head towards Shiro and the other teens eyes went wide.

“Wait,” Lance glanced over at him, peering over Shiro’s bowed head. “Why’d you come here, don’t you have family or something?”

Keith saw the bespectacled teen stiffen out of the corner of his eye but chose to ignore it for now. “That’s none of your damn business.” And he stepped through the doorway.

Nothing much had changed in the two hours or so he’d been gone, but it felt different now that there were people milling about and touching his stuff. Lance and he carefully set Shiro down on the couch and Keith threw a blanket over him. Now that the sun had set the ground would soon lose its heat and the chill would set in. As much of a reputation for scorching heat the desert got, it could also be cold as all get out, as his Pop liked to say when he would tuck Keith into bed with his big blanket. I don’t need to think about that right now. There’s other stuff to worry about. He shook his head to dispel the bitter memory.

Keith settled himself down on the arm rest on the couch and crossed his arm defensively. He wasn’t a fan of new people, especially ones who were quite literally invading his home.

“Oh, we should introduce ourselves right?” The small one with glasses spoke up from the other side of the room where they were looking at the few books stacked on the floor. “I’m Pidge Gunderson.” They stared directly into his eyes at that, as if daring him to say otherwise. Weird.

“Oh, hi I’m Hunk,” the tallest one added.

“And I, as you know, am Lance.” The brown eyed boy finished his introduction with an extra hand flourish and Keith just felt like rolling his eyes. Why do there have to be other people here? Shiro’s my brother, I don’t need a group of random Garrison recruits to help him.

“Great.” Keith drew out the word sarcastically. I’m Keith. Now can you all stop touching my stuff.” It wasn’t a question.

Hunk immediately pulled his hands back from where he was inspecting a sheet on the wall and Pidge put a book about aliens back on the dusty shelf. Lance hadn’t even bothered messing up his house and was staring at Shiro with confusion.

“How is he alive,” he began in awe. “Like, didn’t he crash in space?” Keith grated his teeth and just shouldered Lance out of his way, he didn’t like other people being near his incapacitated brother, not after he just got him back. Lance threw up his hands and stalked over to Hunk in annoyance.

Unexpectedly Pidge spoke up, so far he’d been pretty quiet. “Well, it’s obviously some kind of conspiracy. The Garrison's best pilot disappears into space with the rest of the crew, only to show up a year later alive, and with a metal arm. That’s suspicious. Especially since as soon as he showed up they knocked him out.”

“D’you think they all got abducted by aliens?” Hunk questioned.

Pidge pushed up his glasses. “It would have to be that right? That spacecraft definitely wasn’t from earth. We don’t have that kind of technology.” Pidge decidedly sat down on the worn pine floorboards and began tapping at his jaw with a finger. “That means the rest of the crew might be alive as well.” It was almost a whisper, as if a hope only he understood. But Keith got it. Matt had been a friend, and Mr Holt a good man. He sincerely hoped they were alive somewhere.

Hunk lowered himself to the floor as well with Lance following suit. The lanky teen leaned against his friend's side with a huff of fatigue. Keith seated himself on the floor leaning up against the couch. He almost felt like a guard dog, protecting his brother from harm. Though he feared it might be too late for that sentiment to mean much.

“We won’t have any exact information until Shiro wakes up,” Keith said with gruff resignation. “It’s probably best if we all rest. I’m assuming you can’t all sneak back into the Garrison and leave me alone?”

“Nope,” Lance said with his eyes beginning to droop. “We’d get our asses handed to us if we tried to go back.”

“I guess you can stay for the night then.” Keith accepted his fate. “But don’t mess with my stuff.”

Everyone nodded their agreement.

“Do you have anything to eat here?” Hunk asked with a bit of hesitation. “It’s been a while since we’ve eaten.” There goes the ‘not touching my stuff’ plan.

Keith groaned but pointed at the small makeshift kitchen. “There’s some canned beans and meat in there, knock yourself out I guess.”

Hunk looked a bit offended at the prospect of canned beans and meat with nothing else but he got up anyway and walked the few feet to the kitchen.

“Wow, dude. You don’t even have condiments in here.” Hunk said bluntly.

“There’s ketchup in the back of the fridge.” Keith called out.

“Seriously, ketchup. I am a chef, what am I supposed to do with ketchup?” Lance snickered and Pidge ignored the entire scene, opting to pull out a tablet.

“I usually mix it with the beans.” Keith stated, standing up to grab some things from a small closet.

“You're a disgrace to food.”

“This is my house, leave my taste out of it.”

Hunk grumbled something as he set about heating up the meat and beans. He opted to leave the ketchup in the fridge.

Keith huffed as he grabbed the few spare blankets he had. Most were ripped in places and overall worse for wear. But there were enough for everyone sans himself. Not like it’s my first time going without a blanket.

“We’ll be sleeping on the floor tonight,” Keith said gruffly as he passed out the blankets.

Lance squaked, “The floor? How am I supposed to get my beauty sleep on the floor?”

“Get over it pretty boy.” Keith quipped before settling back on the floor against the couch. Lance gasped and put a hand over his heart in offense, a small dusting of red graced his cheeks. Then realizing his expression he stuck his tongue out at the other boy, ruining what little grace he’d had. Keith ignored him.

A thin silence had spread over the small cabin, only the noises of breathing and Hunk scraping at a metal pan indicated life. Lance was leaned up against the wooden door with his blanket, he seemed deep in thought. Pidge was writing something down in a small notebook, and Keith realized why he looked familiar. The kid across the room looked like a carbon copy of Matt, glasses, askew hair, freckles and all.

Katie. I haven't seen her in a while. Keith almost spoke up before realizing that everyone had referred to them as Pidge, using he/him pronouns as well as a fake last name. Huh. She must be undercover. She pulled that stunt before I left and got banned from the campus. She’s probably trying to dig up the Garrison’s dirty laundry. Honestly, good for her. She definitely got farther than I did.

He chose not to blow their cover, but maybe he could pull her aside later for a conversation.

A few tense minutes later Hunk called from the other room. “Heyo, I finished heating this stuff up.” Lance bounced up at the prospect of food, and Pidge stuffed his notebook back into his bag, zipping it closed.

Keith stood and took a look at the sleeping face of his brother. It was definitely Shiro, but with the scar over his nose and metal prosthetic something must’ve happened to him. Keith shook his head, he didn’t have the energy to think this all through right now, he needed to eat.

Pidge stared into his small portion of food with distaste, the spoon he held was old and bent out of shape from use. He scarfed it down as fast as possible as to avoid the taste.

Hunk and Lance had a similar reaction to unseasoned canned food.

Keith grabbed the ketchup from the fridge and squirted a large portion into his bean and meat mix. It tasted like childhood.

Hunk made and face and finished off his food.

Pidge and Hunk made a show of washing the dishes in his dirty sink while Lance wandered back into the main room where Shiro slept. The brown eyed boy plopped down by his designated blanket and lay down on the pine floorboards, not without complaining about the situation though.

Pidge and Hunk joined him soon after and chose to rest as well, it was late and the sun had gone down hours ago. Lance snuggled up to Hunk opting to use him as a pillow.

Keith wanted this all go on in silence from his perch on the kitchen counter, before standing up and turning off the overhead lights. He didn’t mind the dark, he’d always had excellent night time vision, a thing that had always baffled Shiro and Adam when they found him up late at night eating dry cereal in a dark kitchen.

After looking out of each window to check for possible danger and sat himself down by the couch, his back up to it. He pulled the blanket over Shiro a bit snugger and whispered into the night. “Good to have you back ‘Kashi.”

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skyward-floored · 11 months

Text

Breath of the Wild - oneshot

Another oneshot cross-posted from ao3 :) I love botw so so much, it holds a special place in my heart as one of my favorite games (I played it daily for more then two years straight, I was obsessed), and this was my little way of capturing some of my love for it.

Ao3 link

————————————————————

“Link, where are we going? You can’t keep me in the dark forever,” Zelda’s voice asked, trusting, but likely tired of the fact that she hadn’t been able to see for the past almost-hour.

Link smiled at the huff in her voice, before remembering she couldn’t see it due to the fact that her eyes were closed. She’d been wearing a loose blindfold on the trip here, but he trusted her enough not to peek now that they were close. In fact...

He gave her arm a light tap, and pulled her to a stop, looking out at where he’d brought her.

“Well, why don’t you see for yourself?” he asked, feeling his smile grow, “we’re here.”

Zelda opened her eyes, blinking a little to adjust, then let out a surprised oh!

Link had brought her to the shores of Lanayru Bay, the two of them standing only a few paces from the water. Waves lapped at the shore, wind softly whistling through the rocks, and the sky was perfectly clear above their heads, stars dazzlingly bright. It was the picture of calm, and Zelda looked around at the small beach, watching a crab scuttle by, admiring the stars, turning backwards to watch the fireflies in the grass behind them.

Link watched her with a smile, for once not too concerned about their surroundings.

He’d snuck over early that morning to clear out any and all monsters that might’ve returned since the last time he’d been here, endless lizalfos scattering the hills and lurking in the water. And while he still sported several dark colored bruises from the lynel that had been around as well, it had been completely worth it to see the look now on Zelda’s face.

Her smiles were always much too few and far between.

Zelda slipped off her shoes and toed closer to the water, and Link followed her, watching the way the breeze blew her golden hair.

“It’s beautiful out here Link, but I must ask... why this spot?” she questioned, and Link hummed.

“Do you remember when we were talking about what you could see while you were holding back the Calamity?” he asked quietly, and Zelda nodded, face falling just a little at the reminder of Ganon. “You... mentioned this was one of the places you wanted to visit sometime.” Link scratched his neck a little self-consciously as he spoke, but Zelda nodded, and he continued. “And when we were in Hateno, Purah told me the stars would be special tonight. I thought since we were already in Kakariko, it was a good time to come out here.”

“Oh the Loft meteor shower, I’d forgotten!” Zelda gasped, excitement shining in her eyes. “I suppose we’re right around it’s peak, aren’t we?”

Link tilted his head in a confused way at her, and Zelda smiled, wide and bright.

“A meteor shower Link, that’s what Purah meant. Oh this is wonderful, we’ll get a great view of it out here!”

Zelda hopped back out of the water, grabbing her shoes but not putting them on as she walked up into the grass and towards the hills.

“Come on, let’s find a good spot to watch!”

Link blinked, then quickly followed after her with a chuckle, jogging a little to catch up with her strides. Zelda soon found a spot she was happy with, and settled down onto the grass, eyes sparkling as a few streaks of light began to flicker across the sky.

Link settled in next to her, and they watched the stars in contented silence for a while, Zelda making a quiet noise of excitement whenever a particularly bright one streaked by.

As fascinating as the sky was, Link soon found his gaze slipping from the view above him to the girl he sat next to, her green eyes bright with starlight as she watched the meteors fall. She was sitting almost against him, their legs only a few inches apart, and the urge to close the distance and put an arm around her shoulders suddenly hit him like a guardian laser.

...Could he? Was he allowed to do that? Things were certainly different after a hundred years, but could he just do that?

Would she mind?

Mouth suddenly dry as he made up his mind, he swallowed, then inched closer to her, cautiously extending an arm. His fingers had almost touched her shoulder when Zelda suddenly let out a loud gasp, and he jumped at the noise.

Link grabbed at his sword in preparation for trouble, cheeks a bit pink, but he soon realized there was no threat. Zelda was still staring up at the sky, astonishment on her face as an extra-bright streak of light flew by, and Link perked up at the familiar sight. It streaked toward a nearby hillside, and Zelda continued to stare at where it had flown.

“Link, that looked like it hit the ground, I didn’t know— is that a light? Did it really land?” she gasped, and Link grinned at her and extended his hand.

“Why don’t you come see?”

She took it with an excited smile, and they trekked across the hillside, fireflies drifting out of their way. It didn’t take them long to reach the glowing site where the star fragment had landed, and Link kneeled down and picked up the perfectly formed crystal.

Zelda kneeled next to him and watched him hold it out to her, another small oh! escaping her lips at the sight of the glowing stone in his hands. The warm light from the crystal made her eyes sparkle as she looked down at it, her hair lighting up into liquid gold when she leaned closer, and Link found himself staring at her again as the gentle glow almost seemed to increase in proximity to her.

“Link, what is it?” she asked in fascination, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“A star fragment,” he said quietly, offering it out to her with a smile.

Zelda took it with an almost reverent hold, settling back onto her knees and admiring the crystal as she cradled it in her hands. Link felt a tingle go up his fingertips when he handed it over, his hands brushing Zelda’s, and felt warmth run up his arm at the point of contact.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, running a hand along one of its grooves. “Where do they come from?”

“I’m not completely sure,” he admitted, leaning back and looking up at the stars. “Somewhere in the sky I guess. There is a story that says they’re made of pure gratitude to Hylia...”

“A bit hard to prove I think,” Zelda hummed, gently turning it in her arms. “I’ll have to ask Purah, perhaps we could run some tests on it. Or perhaps Impa would know, she tends to be knowledgeable about things of this sort—”

Link couldn’t help but smile as Zelda slipped into her theorizing voice, excitedly studying and wondering what the smooth crystal in her hands could be.

Her words, soft but growing louder as she grew more excited, were music to his ears, her accented tones a soothing lilt in the breeze. The sound of it always calmed him, and he loved hearing her speak, even when she raised her voice in annoyance or anger, to a point.

It was the first thing he remembered, the thing that had woken him, guided him all throughout his journey, that had warned him of blood moons and directed his steps. The one scrap of familiarity he’d clung to in a strange world.

He truly could listen to her voice forever.

“Link?”

He met Zelda’s eyes, bright in the glow from the crystal, and tilted his head to indicate he was listening.

“Thank you for showing me this,” she said, voice full of gratitude. A soft look overtook her face as she glanced up at the sky again, and she smiled. “This is wonderful. I... I really needed this, I realize. I’ve barely had a moment to breathe since the Calamity, and everything lately has just been...”

Her voice fell, the smile slipping from her lips.

“It’s been truly... overwhelming,” she whispered, as if afraid to speak louder. “I’m realizing just how much we lost in the past century, and fixing it seems impossible. Not to mention being sealed in the castle for a hundred years...”

She sighed, and Link felt something ache in his chest at the exhaustion in it.

“It’s just left me so... disconnected from everything,” she whispered. “Sometimes I forget what it’s like, being a person and not just a force of light to hold back the darkness. To not have to focus and constantly resist, and feel as if one slip up would doom the world. Doing it for so long, even now that I’m out, sometimes I forget and I feel like I’m still... still in there. With him.”

A shudder ran through her, and Link ignored the old instinct that refused to bridge the gap between princess and knight, and slid closer to her, gently resting a hand on her arm.

Zelda swallowed, and held the crystal in her hands a little tighter.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this,” she whispered, and Link hated how miserable it sounded. “I’m sorry.”

“Zelda, I don’t mind, don’t— don’t apologize,” he said, quick to reassure her. He hesitated, then fully put his arm around her, keeping the hold loose so she could pull away if she wanted.

She didn’t though, and they both relaxed a bit, Link slipping closer.

“I like listening to you Zelda,” he continued, the glow of the crystal dancing between them. “Truly. Even if it’s just your worries. I just... wish I could do more to help you.”

“You help plenty Link,” Zelda replied, looking a bit better. “You brought me out here didn’t you? You knew I’d love seeing the stars tonight, and showed me the bay as well. And don’t think I didn’t notice the distinct lack of monsters around, you’ve done so much for me Link, not just tonight, and I truly appreciate it.”

Her smile returned, though it wasn’t quite as brilliant as before.

“Being out here, and seeing for myself that the fight was worth it, that through our efforts we preserved this,” she said with a wide gesture to the landscape and sky, “it helps remind me of what we’re working towards, and why Hyrule is worth not giving up on.”

She ran a hand along the crystal again, the light shimmering off her face as she looked up at the stars.

“And I can’t thank you enough for that,” Zelda said softly, meeting his eye.

Link’s mouth suddenly felt too dry to respond, but he managed a nod and a smile, and Zelda returned it as she leaned into his hold a bit more. Her head came to rest on his shoulder, and they both looked back up at the stars falling across the sky, leaving streaks like crystal rain in their wakes.

And with them, the star fragment in Zelda’s arms seemed to shine just a bit brighter.

#legend of zelda #breath of the wild #botw #loz botw #zelink #botw zelink #breath of the wild fanfic #legend of zelda fanfiction #writing from the floor #oh right this fits with this too:#courage of ages #coa Slate #woke up so sick with anxiety I barely ate breakfast so I’m trying to keep busy hahahahaha #I’m going to be a mess all weekend #probably all next week actually

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eetherealgoddess · 3 months

Text

♡♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎

ꨄWhy Talk to Others When You Have Meꨄ

Oneshot - Yandere Toxic Bf Au

❦You mess up when you’re greeted by an old friend from middle school❦

Sano Manjiro x Reader

Not fully proofread

MY TR FANDOM WORKS ARE ONLY ON TUMBLR, AO3, AND WATTPAD UNDER EETHEREALGODDESS! REPORT IF YOU SEE IT POSTED UNDER ANYONE ELSE BUT ME!!!

I apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

Notice:

✩Y/n is 18+. I picture her as a black female but you can see her however.

✩Some parts of the story may not be realistic or factual. After all, this is a work of fiction.

✩Although it's a dark 'romance,' I do not condone any of the behavior displayed.

✩Dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit sexual content, etc.

✩There may be scenes that involve non con and/ or dubcon so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable

✩That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Enjoy!

Why Talk to Others When You Have Me?

No matter how hard you tried to ignore it, you couldn’t help but notice your boyfriend’s piercing glare at the old friend who stood in front of you. You tried so hard to focus on the story he was cheerfully going on about, but you could feel Mikey’s nails penetrating the back of your hand as your fingers were locked. You bit your lip to refrain from yelping as you subtly tried to release yourself from his grip, to no avail. You kept your eyes straight as you smiled and responded to the person you hadn’t seen since middle school.

The two of you were never really close enough to hang out other than when you shared classes, but seeing a familiar face can be refreshing when the only people you can be around are your boyfriend’s family and friends. You couldn’t pass the opportunity, desperate for communication when he tapped your shoulder to get your attention. Honestly, if you would’ve known that Mikey could see you from where he stood at the Musashi Shrine, you would’ve tried to end the conversation faster.

“Alright, it was nice to see you! We should get together soon!” The friendly male states, dismissing himself after you both exchanged social media profiles before waving and walking away.

You didn’t want to meet your boyfriend’s gaze, though if you don’t, it will show that you feel guilty for something you shouldn’t have to feel guilty about. Swallowing your anxiety you turn your head to face Mikey, who stares at you with a cold expression.

“I know you’re an attention whore, Y/n, but that doesn’t mean you have to talk to everyone you pass by.”

Your eyebrows furrow as you glance around at his fellow gang member friends standing around you both. They had followed him there, you think so he could just humiliate you in front of them, as he always does when he’s angry with you.

“Mikey, you know I’m not an attention whore. Stop being an asshole.” You say as you snatch your hand out of his grip, crossing your arms before attempting to walk away, only to be snatched by your bicep and forced to look at him.

“So you flirt with a random guy in front of my face and then call me an asshole? Y/n, what’s wrong with you?”

“That’s not fair. Nobody was flirting with anyone and you know that! Don’t be insecure.” You state angrily.

“Hey Y/n, you should calm down. The way you’re acting towards Mikey isn’t cool.” Baji growls as he walks closer to you.

“This has nothing to do with you! Why are you always butting in?” You exclaim as you throw your hands in the air.

“Why are you being so defensive, Y/n? Flirting with someone else isn’t okay.” Draken states with his own arms crossed, scowling at you.

Your eyes widen in disbelief.

“I wasn’t flirting with anyone!” You hate feeling as though you have to explain yourself to a bunch of men you never get along with. They never seem to understand your side of things. You understand their loyalty to Mikey, but this is ridiculous.

“We all saw the display, come on. Just admit it and apologize.” Mitsuya adds on. You shake your head before turning to Mikey, who stood with a stoic expression. You turn away, missing the slight curl of his lips as you stomp away from them.

He dismisses himself from his friends as he follows you to the apartment you both live in which is a short distance away. When you make it to the door, you snatch it open before walking in, heading to the bedroom to lock yourself away from him.

“You’re acting like a brat, Y/n.”

Before you could shut him out, he blocked the door from closing, scoffing before walking in the opposite direction of him only to be stopped by him pulling you into his chest before he grips your neck. You gasp as he narrows his black eyes angrily.

“Delete him right now.” You gaze at him with wide eyes before grabbing your phone out of your pocket and removing the old friend. You threw the phone on the bed.

“This isn’t fair, Mikey. I don’t care about deleting him but it’s not right that you can have your friends but I can’t have my own.”

Especially when they’re so insufferable.

His grip squeezes your neck tighter until you begin to lose air, reflexively grabbing his wrist with both of your hands as you struggle to breathe.

“What’s not fair is you flirting with a guy in front of my face, then you disrespect me in front of my friends. That’s not being a good girlfriend, Y/n.” He says as he lifts her off the ground, using his other hand to wrap around your neck as well. Your eyes tear up as your throat closes, feet dangling as you pierce your nails into both of his wrists, drawing blood.

“You even added him on social media. Why? Why did you have to do that? You think he’s gonna come in and take you from me? You’re mistaken.” He releases your neck before dropping you to the ground. He walks to the bed and sits while you cough, hands on the ground in a kneeling position.

“You should be a good girl and apologize to me. You should be thanking me for not killing him on the spot.” He chuckles the last sentence, though serious with his statement. Little did you know he had already sent his delinquent friends to take care of the problem permanently, as he always does when you meet new or old friends. He can’t risk having you taken away from him. You already know what’s coming next, the scene repeating as it always plays out.

“I don’t want to do anything right now. I’m still angry.” He scoffs.

“Beg me for forgiveness.” He demands.

Although you didn’t want to, you know you’re already not going to win this fight by the past experiences you’ve had to endure. So you swallow your pride and count to five in your head before standing up and turning to him.

“I’m sorry Manjiro. Please forgive me.”

“Sorry for what?”

You paused as you refrained from giving him a glare. Sighing, you answered, “I’m sorry for flirting with that guy, adding his social media, and disrespecting you in front of your friends.”

“Hm.” He mockingly put a finger to his chin.

“Show me how sorry you are.”

You frowned before walking towards him and kneeling in between his legs. He leans back on his hands as he smiles slightly, eyeing you as he loved to see you this way. He loved to see you below him like the pretty little slut you are. His slut.

You reluctantly reach for his erection, pulling it out as you leaned forward. Before you began, you moved your head back and looked at him.

“Mikey, I don’t want to do this right now. You really hurt me.” You say. He sighs as he uses one hand to caress your head.

“Baby, you know I hate it when this happens. It wouldn’t have to be this way if you would just be my sweet girlfriend. This is the only way we can truly make up. It’s only fair since you really hurt my feelings.” He cooed with a concerned expression.

You sigh, yearning for more of this sweet moment considering he’s so detached normally. There have been a couple of times where you’ve tried to leave and he wasn’t having it, always going to far lengths to secure you in his grip. You ached for him to be nice to you, trapped in the cycle of temporary happiness and struggle.

“Come on baby, let's make up. I’m gonna take care of you after this. We can cuddle and watch movies together. How does that sound?” He leans over and pulls you in for a quick kiss.

“Fine.” You huff out. You wrap a hand around his erection and encircle your lips around his head, sucking and licking around the lining as his cock twitches in your hand. He holds the back of your neck as he massages your head with his thumb. He releases a soft moan as you take the full girth into your throat.

You pull your head back before continuously bobbing back and forth, closing your eyes as you use your hand to gently grip his balls, wanting him to orgasm fast so you could get to the affection, your heart corrupted with a heavy weight.

“Look at me.” You comply, his heated gaze boring into your orbs as you continue taking him in your mouth.

He grinds his hips against your mouth as the grip on the back of your neck tightens. He accelerates his speed as saliva and pre cum oozes out of your mouth.

“This feels so good. Just like that.” You bob your head against his hips, matching his speed before he grabs your head with both hands and ruts slowly against the walls of your mouth and throat.

“Yes, fuck.” He whispers as he sits up more, aiming himself as he slightly lifts off the bed, fucking your mouth deeply as he brings himself to releasing, the cum shooting down your throat as he holds you there to swallow it all.

You both breathe heavily when he releases you and you pull his milked cock out of your mouth. He pulls you on top of him as he holds you tightly.

“I love you so fucking much.” He whispers against your ear as he presses your head to his neck.

“I love you too.” You breathe out as you ignore the shame and attempt to embrace his love for you.

#yandere tokyo revengers #yandere #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev x you #tokyo rev smut #sano mikey manjiro #sano manjiro x reader #tokyo rev x y/n #tokyo rev x reader #yandere au #yandere x you #yandere x reader #boyfriend au #boyfriend #toxic relationship #toxic love #toxic boyfriend

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tss-storytime · 5 months

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2024 TSS Storytime Big Bang FAQ

If you’re already familiar with the Big Bang, jump down to the Word Count and Communication and Check-ins sections for this year’s changes.

The Basics of the Bang

What is a Big Bang?

A Big Bang is a challenge that encourages writers to create long stories (25k minimum) within a certain time frame and artists to create works to pair with those stories. Basically, the fandom gets a lot of long stories and awesome art all at the same time! Every writer gets fanart, every artist gets inspiration, and everyone gets to enjoy the final product.

Is this Big Bang limited to a certain pairing, genre, or rating?

No. Most ships (except incest) and gen stories are welcome. Likewise, AUs, crossovers and fusions, all genres and all ratings are also welcome, including NSFW fic and art.

Only adults (18 or older) may work on M+ or unrated works. NSFW works must be clearly indicated as such so that no one ends up partnered with someone whose work will make them uncomfortable) So long as the primary focus of your story is Thomas Sanders and/or the Sanders Sides, you are good to go!

How do I sign up? Will there be an email or a message so that I’ll know that I’ve actually gotten through?

You can sign up via the Google Form linked at the bottom of the pinned post! It’s via google forms so you should receive a confirmation message on the site once you hit submit. We’ll also post a list of everyone who has signed up about a week before sign-ups close.

Roles

I am both a writer and an artist, would I be able to sign up for both or should I just sign up for the one I’m more interested in?

You can absolutely sign up for both if you think you can finish both! You can even sign up for more than one story as a writer if you think you can finish more than one.

Can I sign up as both an artist and a beta?

Absolutely! You can sign up for all three things if you think you can manage them!

I want to participate but am not a writer or an artist. What can I do?

Please consider signing up as a beta or offering to cheerlead creators you follow. Writers and artists need and appreciate all the support they can get!

Writing Requirements

What’s the minimum word count? (Updated for 2024)

25,000 words.

This is a six-month challenge, from Feb 1st to August 1st, and you should use all the time available to you. So start writing as soon as you sign up, and make the most of all the time you have!

Writers must have a minimum of 1k words by April 1st. We recommend writers have at least 5k by the time artists begin to sign up in May.

Can I write more than one story?

You may, but please note that the deadlines and word counts hold for each story you submit.

Does my story have to be completed by the end of the Big Bang? Is it okay if I get past the 25k mark but by the time August rolls around it’s still going?

The story you upload in August should be complete on its own. You can definitely write a sequel and continue to explore the characters and the setting in future stories, but the one uploaded for the challenge should have a beginning, middle, and end and have its main plot threads resolved.

I’ve started a fic that I’d like to turn into a submission. Can I do that?

All works should be created specifically for this challenge. However, if you are working on a prequel/sequel piece to something you have already written, that is acceptable, as long as you link to the piece it comes before/after in your submission and it can be read and understood on its own.

That said, so long as you have not posted any of your fic, you may use it for the challenge (this means don’t post chapters or large portions on your tumblr/AO3/etc. until your posting date. You can use your usual feedback methods so long as it’s not open to people you’re not personally conversing with).

Can the work be chaptered, or does it necessarily have to be a very very long oneshot?

We strongly recommend you chapter your work, however you will not be disqualified if you prefer to keep it as a oneshot. Be sure to meet the word minimum and have the fic complete and posted in its entirety by your posting date.

Does the work need to be a 25k words chaptered story or can it be several short stories set in the same universe following a loose timeline? Or just oneshots unrelated to each other but with something in common for each one shot?

It should, if possible, be one story. Several snapshots from the same universe that have a unifying theme and follow a timeline would qualify under that—it’s all part of the same life story - but unrelated oneshots would not.

Does my story have to be beta read?

It’s highly encouraged, but not a necessity. However, there will be a list of betas you can ask to beta your fic and we will include any beta readers you are working with in your team channel on the event Discord server.

Art Requirements

I’m an artist, not a writer. How do I participate?

In May, artists will get to choose among anonymous summaries the writers submit. They will be posted about halfway through the challenge and artists will be given time to read through these and submit their top three choices. Once they have their assignment, they should work with their writer so that the finished product is something they both love.

Does the art for the project have to be digital or regular? And how massive of a piece is it?

The piece of art does not have to be digital or traditional - so long as you can get traditional art scanned, you can definitely use pencil/pens/markers/paint/etc.

As for how massive, you should expect to do one or more illustrations for the story you end up with. If you’re creating a large full color painting - either digital or traditional - you’d only really be expected to do one. If you’re going to create uncolored lineart, maybe two or three, etc.

The art should be commensurate with the level of effort the writer is putting into the event.

You’ll also be working with your writer directly, so you can coordinate with them once you’ve been assigned to each other to see what will work best for both of you!

What exactly do they make for the story? Can it be anything, like for example a comic of a scene in the story, or like a ‘cover art’ for the fic?

Basically, yes. You’ll work directly with your writer, as they’ll need to give you access to their rough draft and plans so you can gain inspiration, so the two of you can work together to see what would fit best and is most exciting for both of you. But you can do any of those things. A comic, cover art, a single scene illustration, chapter headings, character portraits, whatever most inspires you and moves you!

The artist sign-ups are for drawings, paintings, and likely more if you can make a convincing argument to us and your writer! Writers are also indicating if there’s any kind of art they don’t want to receive you can be certain the person you’re paired with is more than happy to get your type of art for their story!

Beta

Are beta readers assigned to writers, or would the writer have to reach out to them?

There will be a list of people who offered to beta with details of their preferences so you can contact them directly or ask for someone in the discord. If you’re having trouble finding someone, you can reach out to us and we’ll do our best to match you. However, we do want to avoid matching up everyone individually.

Do beta readers work exclusively with one writer or are they expected to beta multiple works if multiple writers reach out to them?

That’s up to the individual beta! If you wish to work with only one person, you can let us know once you have arranged things with them and we’ll take you off the list. If you wish to work with multiple people, you can do that, too. Just remember not to stretch yourself too thin!

Can we have our friends edit and look at our story if they are not a part of the Big Bang?

Absolutely! You can use any beta/editor/cheerleader you’d like. Just be sure the story itself isn’t up for general viewing until your posting date. But someone doesn’t have to sign up to be an event beta to help you edit. The beta sign-ups are to help writers who don’t already have someone to look over their work. It’s also a great way to make new friends :D

Communication and Check-ins

Communication: Discord and Tumblr

All announcements will be made on Discord first. We will cross post to Tumblr, but Discord is the place to be for the latest information. After you have signed up as a writer, artist, beta readers, or a pinch-hitter, you’ll get the link to the Discord.

We ask that all participants join the event Discord server.

What does check-in mean?

Since the sign-up period is quite long, there will be regular check-ins to be sure anyone who signed up way back on Feb 1st both still remembers signing up and is still interested in participating. This is a long challenge and people do move fandoms/have life things happen.

What if I’m not available/busy during a check-in?

With the exception of the minimum 1k word count in April and the 5k word count by the end of artist sign-ups, you don’t have to have a particular amount done by a check-in. It’s simply to let us know you’re still working on it. We’ll also create a post and send out messages/asks about a week before the check-in date as a reminder—both on tumblr and on discord - so as long as you’ll be able to shoot a quick “yes, still working!”, you’re good!

You can also check in early, it’ll be done in the same manner as the sign up—via google forms that are posted about a week in advance of when the check-in is due.

Collaboration

What if there was an uneven number of participants like 40 artists signed up but 80 writers. What would happen then?

Initially there will be more writers signed up than artists but by the second check-in some of those writers will duck out (quack) which usually evens things out a bit.

That said, in some years, several artists have volunteered to create art for more than one story, and we will put out requests for more if it’s incredibly unbalanced. There will also be pinch hitters to jump in in case we need to replace an artist later into the event.

Alternatively, if we have many more artists than writers, multiple artists will be assigned to the same story. No matter what, every writer who finishes will receive art!

What’s a pinch hitter?

An angel. 😇

Someone who is willing to jump in to create something they otherwise wouldn’t have because someone else backed out. In a Secret Santa, these will usually be people willing to write a story if one of the participants doesn’t, for example. In this case, we will likely ask for people who would be willing to be ready to jump in as artists if a writer’s partner isn’t going to finish, or disappears, or something like that. Hopefully they won’t be needed, but their willingness to step up makes a challenge of any kind run much more smoothly!

How much should you share with your partner?

You’ll share your draft with your artist and your beta reader, but not with anyone else. You should be ready to show them everything you have once they get assigned to you, and to send them updates—that way they’ll be able to gain inspiration from all parts of the story. Many teams use Google Docs and Drive to make it easier to collaborate.

In May, we’ll post the summaries writers supply for the artists to choose among, but those should just be two or three paragraphs at most, basically what you’d read on the back of a book to get you to buy it.

Is a title required for the summaries that will get posted for the artists?

Nope! If you have one, it will be posted with the summary, but no worries if you don’t - and no worries if it changes between then and posting!

Posting

How will the works be posted?

There will be a schedule for the month of august for when which works will be posted so that all works are spread out and get the attention they deserve without overwhelming people. Works can be posted on AO3, on your own tumblr, or wherever you feel most comfortable. The work should be posted in full somewhere. If it’s on tumblr, just @ this blog on your post(s) so we can reblog it here, if it’s exclusively somewhere else just @ this blog on the post with the link.

Can you post all of your fic on one site, but post it at different dates for another? For example, could I post the whole thing on AO3, but then post daily chapters on Tumblr?

Sure! As long as the full fic is available online on your posting date and not before, you can post it in another place however you like!

As writers, are we allowed to post teasers of our stories on our blogs to let our followers know what we’re working on, or do we have to hold all the content until the very end?

So long as it’s just a teaser and doesn’t go up until after the summaries have been claimed and artists assigned, yes. Summary claiming is anonymous to be sure everyone’s story gets the same chance among all the artists so please don’t indicate which summaries is yours/what you’re working on in detail before that publicly.

#sanders sides #tss storytime 2024 #tss storytime #thomas sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #remus sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #ts roman #ts remus #ts janus #ts logan #ts patton #ts virgil

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theysherobinbuckley · 5 months

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I wanna write more that I'm graduating soon and I would really love to actually write/finish this childhood friends au in 2024 so! help me decide how to share it :)

#platonic stobin #stobin #ej talks #ej polls #nlmda tag #stranger things #steve harrington #robin buckley #I'm hoping that some engagement keeps me writing?? we'll see. i hate not finishing shit i start posting so

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hermesserpent-stuff · 1 month

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@lirabuswavi

I got bit. Ill post this to ao3 when i can think of good oneshot tags.

but here we are for the mystic misunderstanding au

Hiccup groans into his hands as he and the twins are locked up in yet another dragon hunter ship hold. The twins had been trying to pull off some crazy new stunt. Which would have been fine if it had not been in the midst of a long distance flight with no warning. They had crashed into Toothless rather harshly and sent Hiccup plunging down into the waters below. Hiccup had tried to get to his best friend midair, but the winds were against them and they had hit the water and then nets had been cast over him before he could even think to start swimming towards his dragon.

The twins had also fallen into the waves and gotten captured before they could fly away. Hopefully, the other dragon riders would be along soon. He and the twins had been scouting ahead and were expected back soon.

He sits on the ground and just tries to mentally think his way out of this latest capture.

“Dont worry Hiccup!! We got this!”

Tuffnut grins brightly and Hiccup sighs. He knows better than to try and fight them on that. He looks to the ceiling and breathes deeply.

“What sort of name is that? What does that even mean? Arent you guys vikings? Not particularly fierce.”

The hunter guarding their cage says and Hiccup feels a shameful flush filling his cheeks. While he has grown used to his name, and even found moments of pride from it, it still is embarrassing to know at his core what it means. Anddd then Ruff starts talking.

“Oh yeah, Hiccup means runt! Its enough to scare off the goblins for this long!”

“H here was born all gangly and tiny.”

Tuff adds with a chirpy grin and Hiccup wants to die.

“Thank you Ruffnut and Tuffnut, for the amazing commentary.”

The last thing he needs is Ryker and Viggo calling him a runt while he is trying to take them down.

“You're welcome!”

They chirp together and he recovers his face, groaning louder.

“What?”

But there seems to be a hint of fear in the hunter’s voice. Hiccup looks up. The man looks worried.

“You were born early?”

The man asks, voice shaking ever so slightly.

Hiccup sighs.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. But that doesn't mean I any less of a threat!”

Hiccup straightens and rises from the floor. He puffs out his chest and tries to look intimidating. The twins snicker but the hunter steps back.

“I would never…”

The hunter’s eyes widen, shakily moving his hands in abortive motions.

“I-I need to grab- Captain... Yes the captain.”

The man mumbles to himself and darts away.

“What was that about?”

Hiccup asks looking at the twins. They shrug and then start banging on the cell door to try and get it open. It does not work but Hiccup supposes he can appreciate the attempts.

The hunter returns and then unlocks the cages.

“Please accept our apology for the inconvenience. Please please dont hex us. Here. Take this.”

A sack of… something is pressed into Hiccup's hands and the guard leads them all up the stairs and to their dragons that are sitting on the deck, not in cages or chained. Hiccup immediately goes to Toothless, crooning to his best friend and checking for injuries. Toothless churrs back and licks his hair before getting Hiccup to mount. The hunter from before touches his arm to stop Hiccup from launching into the sky and speedily draws it back as if burned when Hiccup looks at him.

“Please say that you are not anergy with us…”

The plea sounds so genuinely scared and…

Hiccup’s father is feared.

Stoick the Vast, able to pummel the world and make enemies flinch and think twice with just his name.

But Hiccup.

He does not want to be feared. Not really. Fear had led Vikings and dragons to war much longer than either side really should have back on Berk.

Fear almost had him kill Toothless when they met.

But mercy earned him his best and first friend.

So he reaches out and touches the hunter.

“No harm was done to me or my friends. All you really did was save us from the water and hold us for a little bit. I see no reason to be mad. If you were not dragon hunters and killers, I would almost call your actions friendly.”

He ends with a chuckle and a pat.

“What is your name?”

He figures he should ask, given all the strangeness abounding.

“Henrik.”

The man whispers.

“Well met Henrik. Come on Toothless lets find the others before Snotlout annoys Astrid too much.”

And they launch into the air, with the twins not too far behind.

What had that been all about?

#mystic misunderstanding au #hermes speaks #httyd au #httyd #how to train your dragon #hiccup haddock #tuffnut thorston #ruffnut thorston

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darsynia · 1 year

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Repeat After Me | Oneshot

(Tony Stark/Reader, Soulmate AU Canon Divergence 'Mob AU')

Summary: You're thriving in Loki's Empire as the most respected smuggler out there. You earned that reputation by remaining neutral, traveling between the city-states run by powerful Magnates like Loki's thrall Tony Stark in NYC or the relocated Wilson Fisk in Miami. It's lucrative business, but the real reason you have to stay moving is written on your arm.

Length | Rating: 3,635 | T (for language)

Notes: Set ten years after Loki successfully mind controlled Tony Stark and took over the world in 2012. My tongue-in-cheek take on a mobster-style AU, series potential if folks are interested.

THIS IS MY VOTE FOR 'SOULMATES' IN ROUND 1 OF TROPE MADNESS 2023 which is run by @thestanceyg! (note: also posted on AO3, same title tho!)

Also written for @caplanbuckybarnes's Three Words Challenge, using 'Don't look back.'

Tags: @ronearoundblindly @chickensarentcheap @themaradaniels @starksbf @tiny-anne @starryeyes2000 @my-soulmate-is-mycroft

Repeat After Me

You might be the only person who has both soulmate Words written on your body.

Repeat after me: don’t look back.

At first, you’d found them comforting. After all, they’re predictable in a way almost no one else’s Words are: if you’re right about them, it means you can choose whether to speak those fateful Words aloud. Then Loki came with his Chitauri army, and everything changed.

It’s been ten years since Lord Loki became the ruler of the world; ten years of societal restructure and bleak acquiescence. It turns out that humans are well adapted to be ruled, just as he’d said-- but perhaps not quite in the way he’d intended. Everyone has figured out their own way to survive, whether it’s in one of the densely populated city-states, the agricultural backwaters, or the uneasy suburban sprawl that straddles both extremes.

You’re one of the few who can travel easily through all three, and you pride yourself on that. Pre-Empire, you’d been a top exec at a shipping company, and your talent for managing large egos, ability to memorize maps, and knowledge of machinery was easily translated to a life as a smuggler. Your top rule? You do not take sides. Ever. It’s what made you successful, what kept you alive.

And no one knows the real reason.

“Zephyr, how long before you head out?”

You’re half-in, half-out of your truck, the open door heavy on your ass thanks to all the armor plating. “Weather looks like it’s gonna hold for another hour and a half, I was thinking forty-five minutes?” you guess, squinting up through the tint on the upper part of the windshield.

“Got time to meet with a potential?” Karl laughs at your obvious groan, adding, “Fancy suit says D.C., maybe New York. Probably shouldn’t risk skipping.” You trust your second in command, even if you don’t want to take his advice. Karl Mordo is pragmatic, honest, and a baronic pain in your ass sometimes.

“Fuck. Okay. But I’m going right now, before I de-grease for the trip.” You hop down and hold up your dirty hands, wiggling your fingers.

“What if they’re from Stark?”

You clench your jaw. “His people should know better, even after two years. We just did Fisk a favor, maybe he’ll remind Loki’s strongman that there’s a reason he relocated to Miami.”

Karl nods and heads back to the house, and as soon as he’s gone, you hold still and count to ten to calm your breathing. Tony Stark rules the northeast with a literal iron fist, and no one’s sure whether the mind control has turned him cruel or he’d been released years ago and just likes it. Only people Stark trusts have been close enough to know for sure.

Despite your reputation for neutrality, a few years back he’d sent his clever and ruthless ex-turned-CFO Pepper Potts to ask you to spy on some of the biggest players on the Eastern Seaboard.

It had been the first time you’d gotten close enough to see the electric blue of Loki’s mind control first-hand. Her threats had been articulate and terrifying, but your response ended up having a lasting effect on the way Lord Loki does his business. Word is that the emperor includes additional spells and enchantments to prevent a simple blow to the head from releasing a thrall and undoing years of work.

You still get messages from Potts, filtered heavily by word of mouth, through the Resistance.

When you get up onto the porch, you note with approval that someone’s already gotten the burly, suited visitor some sweet tea. He turns around, and your heart sinks as you recognize him from news articles. Tony Stark’s sweet-faced associate, Happy Hogan.

“Zephyr, is it?” he says warmly, reaching out a hand to shake. You offer him your left hand, and he immediately grins. You wear a binding on your right forearm, and it’s basically an open secret that your Words are there. Words you’ve made very clear you intend to remain a secret, on pain of death. “We have a job for you.”

“That’s truly unfortunate,” you say with a smile. “Your boss burned that bridge years ago. All I have is my integrity, I’m sure you understand.” Leaning up against one of the porch pillars, you send all of your anxiety to your legs, to hold you up and maintain the illusion that you’re not distressed. “Since you’ve come all this way, I can offer to connect you to one of the reputable smaller orgs.”

“Interesting you mention integrity. Did you know your right hand man is a known member of the Resistance?” Hogan’s tone is light, almost teasing.

You do your very best not to react, but on its face, you doubt the accusation. Karl had come to you deeply disillusioned by the Resistance, after working with them openly for a year, spending double that in prison, and being released with an interdict that prevented any employment but fieldwork. By the time you brought him in, he was full of quiet fury and determination to survive. The money you spent to clear his interdict was some of the easiest you’ve ever spent.

“I assume you have newer information than 2013?”

Hogan pulls an envelope from his lapel pocket and hands it over. Inside is a set of pictures showing Mordo speaking with and shaking the hand of Steve Rogers, the most wanted man on the continent. Karl’s hair has only been in that particular style for a few months.

You hand them back, keeping your hand steady. “If you can point and shoot pictures, why not point and shoot that particular problem?” The question is important to your public front, but you also want to know what kind of answer you get, whether it’ll be something you want to pass along.

“One step at a time,” Hogan says, walking over to you. He stops only inches away, a physical power play that masks the psychological threat.

“Which step are you on?”

“The one where you come with me to speak to Stark in person, or we reveal how thin your claims of neutrality really are.”

You nod as though you’re considering it, then say, “What if I dismantled everything and moved to Arizona? Started over.” It’ll sound like a joke, but you’ve considered it. You want nothing to do with Stark.

“You’re welcome to make that decision after the meeting.” The guy’s so confident he slides his hands into his pockets, fully relaxed except for the way his pulse is jumping in his neck. There’s zero chance that Hogan’s anxious because of you, so that means it’s important to his future that you leave with him today. If you have to, you’ll use that.

“You act like meeting with Stark won’t destroy my reputation just as much as your false accusations would,” you point out.

Happy Hogan shrugs. “Stark is prepared to offer you one alternative. Meet with him or give us a credible way to contact Pepper Potts.”

You want to swear under your breath, but instead, you channel all your frustration into a single act of defiance. Lifting your grease-stained right hand, you press it right in the center of his chest, fingers spread so you get his white button-down and both lapels.

Then you shove, letting your hand slip against the resistance he immediately puts up to avoid moving backwards and show weakness. You would have expected anger, maybe even to be thrown to the ground, but Hogan just chuckles. It’s dismissive, diminishing, and does nothing to lower your level of fury. Especially not since he’s got you over a barrel.

You push past him toward the house. “I’m sending Mordo with my load. Your guys fuck with him and I’ll tear down every fucking thing you’ve built or die trying.” Given the clout you’ve accumulated in the last decade, which one depends on whether the emperor is in town to shield his pet Avenger or not.

You hadn’t told Hogan you’re coming with. You both know you have to.

The flight to New York City is stressful, but most of that is because you know how much effort and care it takes to maintain a fleet of airplanes. Now that flights are nearly all restricted to just the Magnates, you doubt the due diligence of their maintenance teams. This is reinforced when you land and walk down a presidential-style rolling staircase instead of into the abandoned airport. It’s hard not to think of what air travel could do for your business. One flight would take so much food from one place to another-- but the safety margins are horrifying.

“What’s with the face?” Happy Hogan asks, after the two of you get into the waiting limo.

“Just imagining how much work it would be to get an orange to Maine nowadays.”

“You don’t have to live in Georgia, you know. The offer’s always open.”

“Fuck your offer, and fuck you,” you say coolly, crossing your arms and looking out the window. There’s a non-zero chance he’ll kill you, but you’ve got a trick up your sleeve that might just carry the kind of irony that would make even a man as powerful as Tony Stark cry. It’s the reason why Hogan wants Potts back, the reason she won’t go, not while he’s in Loki’s thrall.

Midgard hadn’t been interesting enough for the trickster god. No, he’d grown bored by the way most of his new subjects had responded to his rule. Too many of you had accepted that you weren’t strong enough to resist him, and so, with the power granted to him by the staff he always carried, Lord Loki had bestowed each soulmate pair on the planet a random power set.

Pepper Potts and Happy Hogan’s version had been the ability to detect lies.

Tony Stark’s inability to find his soulmate had been newsworthy before the attack on New York, but now that he’s the de facto ruler of the place, his search has become an obsession.

It’s the reason you live in Georgia, the reason you wear the distinctive binding around your right forearm, the reason you’d balanced yourself on the knife-edge of neutrality instead of choosing a side that’s not Stark’s and then leaving yourself vulnerable to being discovered.

Stark’s Words are well known: ‘Don’t look back.’

Ironically, you don’t think he has connected your well-known quirk about protecting your forearm with his soulmate search. He wants you because Lord Loki wants Pepper Potts’ lie detecting powers, and Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff’s soulmate bond is keeping her hidden. Karl Mordo has forsworn his connection to the Mystic Arts, but a man will do many things to prevent his own death, including oathbreaking, so instead of putting pressure on him, they’ll put pressure on you.

And somehow, you’re going to have to resist without speaking a word.

The car is underground when it stops. You nod at Hogan in thanks for his hand as you exit the vehicle, and he cocks his head to the side and looks at you.

“Passive resistance, eh? Good luck.” He leads you through a warren of hallways, stairwells, and locked doors. This display of strength is clearly designed to intimidate and/or give you time to think and fear what comes next, but you wonder whether it’s annoying to Hogan. Undoubtedly he’d be taking the short way if it weren’t for this task, and that kind of time-wasting adds up.

Sure enough, the last leg of the trip is an elevator ride. The doors open out into the wide expanse of the penthouse, a rich space with wall-to-wall windows looking out over the city. A man in a well-fitting white suit walks out from behind a bar area, and you recognize him to be Tony Stark himself. Instead of a tie, the signature blue of his arc reactor glows against the buttons of his shirt, and as he approaches you, you see that it’s matched by the blue tint of mind control in his eyes.

That knowledge is dangerous; already, this man’s leverage over you has doubled. You wonder what you’ll have to promise to get out of here alive.

Tony Stark stops a foot away and looks you over. His brown-blue eyes linger on your right arm, and as you’d planned during your pseudo perp-walk, you shift into a challenging pose, popping your hip out and lifting your chin. Stark’s lips curve into an appreciative smile. It’s attractive, he’s attractive, and you’re annoyed that you’ve even noticed. Everything about him exudes the confidence of a man who is never challenged, and that’s always been your catnip, your kryptonite. You love to bust egos, it could even be said that you live for popping that bubble. This man might be the first one you’ve ever met whose arrogance is well-deserved, though, and that could be a problem.

He gestures, and behind you, Hogan answers.“No weapons that we found, multiple scans.”

Ah, so the many doorways and long hallways had more than one purpose, you think to yourself. Well played. You stay still and expressionless as Stark looks you up and down, eyes lingering on your chest and your arm. He lifts his glass in an appreciative salute before finishing off his drink. Something about the way his throat works makes you feel the burn of the alcohol in your own chest.

“What’s under the armguard?”

“A nasty burn. Sunlight makes it worse.” It’s the truth-- you’d tried to burn off the words as soon as you’d heard about Tony Stark’s search for his soulmate. The magic of the mark protects it, so all you’d managed to do was destroy the skin around it, causing a wound that never fully healed. The vambrace you wear is for concealment, yes, but it’s also there to keep the damaged skin protected and dry. You turn your head and direct a grumpy look at Hogan. “To be honest, this whole meeting could have been an email. What is it that you two want?”

Before you can stop him, Stark steps forward and slides his hand into the hair at the nape of your neck, forcing you to meet his eyes. With a fierce, determined expression, he says, “Repeat after me: don’t look back.”

You can feel the strength in every single aspect of the man, voice, personality, grip, but that just fuels your need to fight back. With all your might, you manage to shake your head just enough to convey your refusal.

Tony Stark’s expression lights up. You realize your mistake immediately: if it didn’t mean something, if the words weren't important, you would have had no trouble repeating them. A million impossible escape routes spill out like marbles in your mind, scattering every other thought.

“Go on, Hap. Keep this to yourself for now,” Stark says. The triumph in his voice is as frightening as it is sexy.

“You got it, boss.”

You fight back a strong feeling of desperate inevitability. Really, your only hope now is to wrench free and follow your contingency plan: to say the words and play them off, avoiding the physical contact that reinforces the bond. If you can convince this man that you planned to trick him into thinking you’re his soulmate, you might still get out of here with your free will intact.

That’ll be easier to do without Hogan there, so you force yourself to remain still. Stark sweeps a broad, warm caress along your neck with his thumb, and god, it’s been so, so long since anyone’s touched you like that. There’s something insidious about it, like some part of you is already lost to him if you enjoy it even a little bit. All you can do is close your eyes, clench your fists, and wait.

The elevator doors close, and Stark starts pulling his hand away, stroking your neck possessively on the way. You do your very best not to like it. In truth, Tony Stark the billionaire, Tony Stark the Avenger was absolutely your type. You imagine that after ten years of mind control and cruelty, there’s probably little of that man left.

“You might as well say it,” he tells you with a smug little quirk in his voice. You open your eyes to see that Stark’s headed back to the bar. “Got a favorite drink?” You shake your head. “You strike me as a Tequila Sunrise type. Fun to look at, goes down easy.”

You cross your arms and glare at him, but it was a cute line for such a tense situation. Wrong, but cute.

Stark gestures to you with the Tequila bottle. “So, what, did you think you’d just stay quiet and run back home to Georgia? Happy says it didn’t take much persuading.”

You smile at him, but not warmly. One thing you hadn’t considered was that Stark might be pleased, might be looking forward to the other… perks of having a soulmate. That might make him more inclined to be kind to you, at least until you try to bluff him. You can use that.

“Don’t think I can’t see how furious you are, little one,” Stark purrs. “I’m still figuring you out, but I’ve had a file on you for years. You want to know what people say about you?”

He rests a large hand on a folder you hadn’t noticed before, pushes it across the bar in invitation. You shrug and turn your head to look out the window, the picture of indifference. You hope it pisses him the fuck off.

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s all trash now anyway, now that you’ve met with me.” Stark holds it up. “They’ll never trust you again.” He tosses it behind him. When it strikes the wall, the many single pages that made up the bulk of the file fly out around him like some kind of monstrous confetti, to the accompaniment of breaking glass. You wonder how many bottles he just wasted, whether they’re even replaceable in this brave new world you’re all trapped in.

You nod, feeling the weight of the coming moment. Mentally you gird yourself, but physically you try to adopt an attitude of casual discourtesy. You want Stark to hate his soulmark, to hate you, enough to send you away or destroy you.

Anything, anything but touch you again.

Letting out a sigh, you spread your hands in a ‘what can you do?’ gesture and say, “Don’t look back.”

The words strike him, so much so that he chuckles ruefully on an indrawn breath. A bitter disappointment sweeps across his face before it hardens into anger. You're grateful; you'd expected something-- a thunderclap, a rush of adrenaline, a gust of magical wind, but there’s nothing to indicate that you’ve both said the Words. Maybe, maybe, you can get out of this, if you’re careful. If you’re just the right level of heinous bitch.

“Did you practice that?” Stark finally says. He walks out from around the bar, and you take the opportunity to make your way over to the window, the picture of unconcerned, unattached, unbothered.

“What do you want, Mr. Stark?” Shit, your voice is shaking.

“I want a challenge,” he snaps, his voice closer than you expected. He’s just a foot away, and you can’t hide your shock fast enough. “You think that file was just for show? I read the whole thing.”

“Then you know I don’t want to be here. I have a business to run, a business you’ve fucked over with--” you back away in the guise of making a dismissive, furious gesture; “--whatever this is. What do you want, so I can get the fuck out of here?”

“What’s wrong, pet? Foot caught in a trap?” he asks, tone suddenly gentle, soothing. You scoff, turning on your heel to stalk away from him--but Stark reaches out swiftly and catches your hand in his.

A jolt of pleasure-fueled electricity floods you with an almost overwhelming need for closeness, companionship-- to be known. It's as if until this exact moment, you’d been empty, and you gasp, screaming against the sudden, insidious desires that have cropped up in your mind.

Oh god, no, this is too much, this is--

What you don’t expect is for Stark to answer.

Oh FUCK yes, telepathy. My second favorite superpower, right after flight.

You snatch your hand away and fall back onto the window, eyes wide. Stark shakes his head almost imperceptibly, then throws both hands in the air as if in disgust.

“You really had me, but there’s just… nothing. I should toss you off of the roof, you know that, right? Faking soulmark words? Ballsy.” He twitches his lips as though he can’t decide whether to be angry or not, and steps closer. “Hold out your hand?”

There’s vulnerability in his expression, something you hadn’t at all expected to see, but you are still reeling from what had passed between the two of you. Tony Stark is one of the smartest men on the planet, and certainly one of the most ruthless. He’ll stop at nothing to get what he wants-- and it’s well known that every inch of his penthouse is under surveillance, not to mention whatever Lord Loki has monitoring his most powerful thrall.

Just like the words written on both of you, neither of you can look back.

Sullenly, you lift your hand, and immediately, Stark engulfs it in an angry grip.

Okay here’s how this is going to go: Do as I say, and we can keep this our little secret. Resist me and I’ll tell Loki I’ve finally found my soulmate. Believe me, you do not want anything to do with what he has in store for us.

Possibly TBC if there's interest...

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