#and some of them have become almost as close as blood

[middlingmay]

Soldier!Bucky AU

This idea has been floating around in my head for a while, but:

Bucky was never a pilot before the war. He wanted to join the airforce when the war started, but it stressed Mama Egan TF out so he "settled" for the Army.

He climbs the ranks quickly, still becomes a Major quite young, and is aces at quelling disputes because he can turn anything into a joke (usually with himself as the butt of it, but people aren't arguing when they're laughing together, right? May as well be at him.)

The Brass are well aware of the less than stellar relationship the Army boys have, and as well as "cultural lessons" before they ship out to Britain and the rest of Europe, Bucky finds himself informally appointed as his squad's babysitter.

Which he doesn't like. Because the higher ups have mistaken his charisma for responsibility. Which Bucky hates more than those drab army coats.

Speaking of which, he still has the sheepskin! He won it off an airman at a card game, and refuses to wear anything else. He's gotten in trouble for this many times, but his superior officer more or less gave up after he used it to get his guys out of some trouble.

With the RAF. Who, yep, he still hates. Because he admires the fuck out of the US Airforce.

So the RAF are insulting some US soldiers in a pub, but pretending they're not. But Bucky notices the worst culprit is a lieutenant. And a fight is brewing because his guys are bored, and spats have been breaking out for weeks now, and his CO genuinely might shoot them all if there's another issue.

So he swaggers up to the RAF lieutenant, introduces himself as Major Egan (which tips his boys off to the fact he's up to something, because Bucky never pulls rank unless some shit is going down).

But he's still an American, so the RAF Lieutenant isn't entirely swayed, until he turns around to face Bucky (because of course he just walked on up behind the boy and he knows he's "a big lad" as that farmer's wife called him, and he enjoys taking people by surprise). RAF Lieutenant is face-to-neck with Bucky who's grinning down at him, and his fellow Brits mutter "No worries, Sir," and that's that.

Towards the end of the war, he's in Europe. Has been there for some time. Got separated from his men and captured by the Germans and still ran through the forest starving and afraid, and almost killed a kid, and faced down a blood thirsty mob and escaped from a pile of dead bodies with brain on his cheek - but he still considers himself lucky. Because he got away and rejoined his men.

And they're looking for POWs - their own and allied men. They've heard about the stalags and the camps and the death marches, and they're doing their bit not to lose a single man. And Bucky, who knows what it's like to be afraid and alone and close to death out here, is zealous about that mission.

They're about a day away from the Danube, when two men stumble upon their unit at night, frozen, shaking, barely able to keep to their feet.

Airmen.

American Airmen.

Bucky barks out orders and opens his canteen and holds it up to the man nearest him. Hair that might have been blonde. Blue eyes - like the song. And he had no idea then and there that he'd just met Gale Cleven, who was going to talk Bucky into doing something very risky and very stupid to save a column full of allied airmen - just because he looked him in the eyes and said softly, "Please, Major. I just left them alone - help me save my men."

It was the first of many, many dumbass things he would do in the name of Gale Cleven.

#mota #gale cleven #john egan #headcanon #alternate universe #soldier!bucky #buck x bucky

[skelly-words]

Hey! If cool I was wondering if you could write tentacle smut. I’m not too sure on the plot but wanted reader to be very much in some sort of public setting with loads of people just watching as she gets railed by a tentacle. The kinks I wanted to ask if they could be in there is Voyourism (public sex), public nudity, squirting and/ watersports and overstimulation.

If not that is totally okay! I just wanted to ask :) and am exited to see what you come up with if your comfortable with writing this

okay cool so....

Not proofread, tags in the ask + spit a lil bit, ass eating, idk futa shenanigans, ahhhh milk (i kinda scared myself w/ this at the end)

My brain immediately went to big networking conventions that businesses have where the important people from the different corporate branches come together to drink, schmooze, and brag about sales numbers to each other.

Your boss asks you to come with her to help with the demonstration. The travel expenses and hotel costs are all covered, so you agree to spend the weekend on Wall Street with her.

I hate this, but there's the slightest bit of lore, so i ECOURAGE you to read the other parts first -> masterlist

MINORS DNI, stay away 18+ only

The presentation room of the hotel caters to corporate mixers like this. Circular dinner tables decorated with charcuterie fill out the hall. Your knee bounces nervously as people begin to file in. Saturday had been boring, spent bumming around the all-inclusive spa while your boss attended other company presentations not too dissimilar from this one.

"Relax." Your boss whispers. She sits in the squeaky folding chair beside you. Her hand lands comfortably on your thigh, stilling your knee with her warm touch. "All you have to do is bend over the podium."

You nod and try to emulate her flippant attitude. The bounce returns to your knee anyway because nerves are impossible to hide. The minutes slip by as people settle into their seats. The dimming lights act as a cue to hush the small talk and side conversations.

“Ready?” She gives your thigh a heady squeeze.

“Yea, ‘m ready,” you mumble.

Her gait is steady and comfortable up to the front of the room, and you trail behind in the shelter of her shadow. You smiled unsteadily at the sea of unfamiliar faces. Your boss tapped her knuckles on the podium, clearing her throat to get the rooms attention.

“Thank you all for coming,” she begins. “My branch is testing a few new methods of increasing productivity today. It’s all based on the same principle, ‘a happy mind is profitable one.’

“Of course, we’ll begin with the demonstration, just to prove how much it’ll help you focus on the rest of the presentation.”

An interested hum sweeps through the crowd as she leads you around the front of the podium. You aren’t wearing panties, only a skirt, which immediately becomes apparent as she lifts your waist up to the podium. The sturdy wooden surface slopes slightly up toward the room, propped up for dozens of eyes ogle your bare skin.

The position makes blood rush to your head, almost dizzy from the heavy heartbeat in your ears. Your skin feels hot and sensitive. The skirt tickles, sliding down the gentle slope of your back. You wonder if they can see how wet you are, cunt aching from all the attention.

The speech sounds so far away, like all your senses are dulling to make way for the electricity running beneath your skin. From the corner of your eye, you see a couple workers wheel three tanks up to the front of the podium.

The terrariums are large and damp, too fogged up from humidity to see anything through the glass. They're pushed into a neat line, starting at your side and progressing to the front of the stage in single file. The tank closest to you is the smallest. It's the only one you can properly look into because the creatures have suctioned themselves to the wet panes. Their round bodies flatten into mounds on the glass, little mouths busily opening and closing. You watch them, mindlessly observing them inch in little circles, around and round, maybe spirals if you spent enough time staring. You shiver, imagining the pattern it could suck into your skin. From your position now, you wonder if you look anything like that mouth on the glass to that polite crowd of people.

You feel a warm hand skim over your ass, inviting your neatly pleated skirt to drape over your back completely. The gauzy brown fabric went well with your blouse, and you remember packing it for this conference a week in advance. It feels silly now, to think what you're wearing matters when it's really the demonstration that's important.

The first tank slides open with a squeak, and your boss pulls a writhing blue tentacle out with a cloud of steam following it. You can barely see what's happening in your peripheral vision and only when you turn your head to the side. She wastes no time at all, taking the companies limited resources into account, the conference room was only reserved for an hour. Her other hand traces up and down your back, nails first, to scratch gently through the layers of fabric.

"You're doing great, hun." She whispers the reassurance into your ear, low and husky so only you can hear it. In one motion, she presses the end of the tentacle into your butt. It's bigger than what you had at home, which is what you prepped for. Her hand flattens to soothing circles when the pain comes through in your groans. You quiet to a whimper as the thing flails, twisting to orient itself inside you. It still hurt, but you were adjusting quickly to the pressure in your ass as it slithers down to find your pussy.

Now, no matter how you turn, you can't see what's going on. The suckers drag against you, that much is easy to discern from the sense of touch. The rest of your senses besides that have gone totally useless, so you watch the hypnotic pattern that the specimens in the last tank trace in the condensation.

The blue tentacle pushes into you. It's fat, thick and showy so the people in the back can see. Your eyes might be crossing from the way it slowly stretches you out. A shiny blue slime drips from every pore, sucker, and gland on the thing, making you squish obscenely from every movement. In. Out. In. Out. And your boss is still talking, you can even see the slides she flicks through when your eyes roll back, but it all sounds like white noise as the monstrous size shoves into your cunt, slipping out to momentarily attach an oozing sucker to your clit. Then it squirms right back into your hole, so slick that it runs down the inside of your thighs.

It's hopeless to imagine paying attention to anything else.

"But that's when we ran into the issue of hygiene. Clearly, this doesn't fit corporate dress-code."

That cuts through your thoughts, followed by light chuckles. The second tank slides open with a thunk, and you don't have to crane as much to see the pink tentacle calmy wrap around her arm.

"Oh, f-fuck," you finally make a sound audible over the disgusting squelch of that blue monster. She's trying to press the thick bulb at the end of the pink one into you, leaning real close, almost cheek to cheek as she forces it further past your rim. A glob of spit falls from her lips, you groan as she smears it around with her tongue.

"Just relax for me." And you're not even sure she's talking to you in that raspy tone. The hand on your back has inched lower to keep you pinned in place, and it's making you sore from how the podium’s edge digs into your hips.

Your sounds fall freely now, turning to whines as she licks you to ease the stretch. The hand on your back lightens up as the fat plug slides into place alongside the blue one. An affectionate smack lands on your ass, rubbing her warm palm over the spot as she watches the pink tentacle unfurl and flatten.

You can't see it, only whine as the weight shifts and adjusts inside you. The blue tentacle stops moving as if to behave and play nice with a friend. The gummy feelers attach as the pink tentacle latches on. It cups your swollen pussy, cleaning up the appearance quite nicely to the audience's disappointment. But your moans grow louder, echoing to let you know the sound made it to the back of the room. The little fingerlings lining the pink tentacles interior are so active. They pinch at your clit, making it slip between the soft jelly limbs while the others started playing with the rest of you.

"...And when properly stimulated, this specimen can be prompted to release its reproductive material on command." That faint comment reminds you of the eggs.

Your gasp is mixed between startled and concerned when her hand begins to brush the tentacle wrapped around your crotch. Being stuffed with the twitching blue tentacle makes you wonder where all the slimy eggs will go.

At her light brushes, the tendrils start to pull you apart. They slip inside you, just barely, enough to make your legs start to shake. You can feel them start to pour in as her thumb pushes down, squeezing out the soft spawn like horrific toothpaste as she slides the digit up from the base.

The blue tentacle comes back to life now, helping push the pink jelly into your poor pussy. You can feel the tiny limbs scoop and blue suckers fuck the eggs up against your sore cervix. And still, nobody can see. Your boss stands over you. Her hand trails between your thighs, tapping in the drying slick that's become tacky. She tugs at the tip of the tentacle, pinching firmly at the pink appendage and peeling it back.

Not all the eggs made it inside, rolling down your thighs as the mess is exposed. She's slow with her reveal, trailing her fingers through the juices to try the combination. You've gotten quieter, trying to keep your whimpers silent now that it's easier to hear. She starts to pull at the plug, and you have to bite your lip to keep it down. It doesn't wanna come out of your ass, still pulsing from so recently releasing eggs. Still, she tugs, making you squirm and clench your cunt. You've been on the edge for so long, and feeling the stretch to your rim makes your thighs squeeze together. They can barely shut to rub around your throbbing clit.

"I might as well introduce the last one then." She gives up on freeing the pink tentacle with a frustrated sigh and finally steps behind the podium to reach the tank in your eyeline. "They fit perfectly under your bra, so we'll both be demonstrating."

Your eyes follow her hand, from the lid, to inside the tank, to the buttons on her shirt. You strain to look up at her because she's standing so close, watching with jealousy as that thing sucks on her nipple. Her breasts look bigger too, spilling from her bra when she tries to squish them back into her shirt. A glance back down makes you blush. A bulge starts to bubble from her pencil skirt. It wouldn't be very noticeable if it wasn't a few inches from your nose.

"My turn?" You look up at her from between watery lashes, bending to smiling crescents when she nods. She lifts your chest just enough from the podium to let the green lump latch onto you. It doesn't seem to mind being squashed against the wood when she lowers you back down. They feel good, sucking at your breasts in a perfectly alternating rhythm. You start to feel weird, hotter as your tits get sore. The mouths pinch a little, not enough to hurt, barely more than a warning bite. You groan, the throbbing in your ruined pussy is getting worse. It makes you imagine what your boss is feeling. The pre dripping into her underwear. You probably could take her cock too if she asked you. She's still giving a presentation, talking through a slide as the buttons on her dress shirt strain. Her hand slips back to your butt, where it was yanking the bigger plug out of you.

She braces the opposite hand on your asscheek, rocking the pink tentacle back and forth to coax it out. You can barely hold sound back, dissolving into pitchy breaths when the fat blue fucker decides to start up again. It starts slow, but that pace doesn't last. After packing you with eggs, it's eager to let its cum out. Every loud thrust makes the eggs probe deeper. You can feel it in your tummy, pressed flat to the uncomfortably hard podium.

Your sensitive nipples pulse in time with the relentless suckers. You can't even care to be surprised as they spurt milk, moaning instead from the toy twisting in your ass.

The pink tentacle finally slips out of you, put back in its tank where it belongs. But you're sore, hole left gaping for the blue one to fill in as it swells. It gets bigger in your pussy too, larger with each beat. Even as she talks, her fingers can't stop playing with you, either pinching at your skin or dragging a digit through your slit. Her microphone is ther only thing keeping her intelligible over your cries, strung out from the pleasure.

Her fingers swirl around your clit, so sensitive. The touch isn't any more than light nibbles on your chest, but it makes you gasp and jump against her hand. You start to cum when she twists harder. The moans inside you spill out in one cry as you squirt. The pinch to your clit makes you spurt all over the front of her clothes.

She gasps in disgust and yanks you off the podium. The flooring is carpet, soft enough for your sore ass when you slump against the sturdy wood.

Your boss brushes off the interruption like nothing, simply indicating the conclusion of the demonstration as the slides flick to a new segment. She steps carefully between your legs when walking back to her place behind the podium.

The front of your blouse is halfway unbuttoned, however much was needed to get those creatures on, and now you notice how swollen they made your tits. You whine as the blue thing keeps moving between your thighs. There's more leverage at this angle and you don't know if you should moan or cry. In a few stunted thrusts, cum starts to fill you up, thick ropes of it that still somehow leak out from between all the eggs and the fat tentacle.

The pretty blue sheen coats your inner-thighs and the conference room floor. Something’s still wrong though. The ache between your legs isn't gone, not completely no matter how much your sore body begs to stop. It's the milk, or the hormones that come with it asking for just a little more. The demonstration portion is over. You're done, everyone's supposed to be focused on the woman speaking.

You slip a hand to your clit, circling the bud with shaking fingers. Just one more, and you'll be fine. Your boss doesn't even notice the room's eyes drifting lower. The blue tentacle indulges you, lazily moving in your cunny along with a few pumps of its warm seed. You can look at the lump it makes in your stomach from this angle.

This time, the orgasm builds fast and you have to muffle soft pants against your hand as you cum. Your poor pussy hurts, but you still need another and the tight circles on your clit don't let up.

There can't be that much more time before the hour is up and she has to get these things off you. Yet, your wrist is getting sore and weak dribbles of piss leak out of you at each peak. You notice people in the crowd hiding their arousal, and that somehow makes your crazy mind even hornier. Your abused clitty gives a heartbeat to your thumb each time someone palms their crotch or crosses their legs, still trying to be politely discreet.

The lights brighten as the presentation ends and a few odd bursts of scattered applause break out at a few tables. You still don't have the decency to leave your needy cunt alone, finally closing your legs around the blue tendril still curled up inside you as the people leave the room to pick a brochure up.

I had another anon ask abt going to find a new tentacle with the coworker from pt.2, but I kinda decided they were aliens (pink and blue both would normally use a host for mating and the suckers kinda do the same thing but for food, ig they're all just parasites sorry if that's gross), so i added a new variety into this one for you <3

A/N- how'd she do that? i would've gone ngh~ *squish* IMMEDIATLY, sry can you tell idk anything about an office job? oh well, stfu and enjoy the smut then (this is way over the top 😭) Also why did i give myself the displeasure of two (2) unnamed characters, give me names for Ms. boss or i'll start adding y/n (a threat)

#skel replies sometimes #skel writes tentacles #tentacle smut #tentacular #nsft tentacles #tentacles #monster fucker #terato #teratophillia

[fieldofdaisiies]

azriel x eris | 2,9k words | warnings: mentions of domestic violence | masterlist

His senses are numb. The past minutes have become a blur. Beron dismissed them, denied them a healer, and, under the threat of using more of his power against them, chased them away from the Forest House. 

Eris feels broken on the inside, even more than he was before this day. And he feels remorse. Cenka, his loyal spy, is somewhere in the dungeons, wounded, in pain, dying and he brought this upon her. He let her get hurt. He let his little brother get hurt. 

Eris moans when Kallax urges him to go faster. The two brothers have been holding each other up while stumbling outside, almost like they were young boys again and their father had punished them for something silly and they ran away from the Forest House, seeking shelter from his rage somewhere within the forest. 

They are heading into the forest, trying to get as far away from Beron as possible with both of them wounded and broken. They couldn’t stay there, or anywhere close to the Forest House, it could have ended terribly... 

A trail of agony is left behind on Eris’ skin in the form of open wounds. He loses track of time, of space, of everything except the relentless onslaught of suffering. It hurts so much, every small part of his chest and arm, and his soul. It bleeds. 

He can’t believe his father still uses his firepowers on him – the lashes, the faebane, he took it all, but the firepowers? The powers of a High Lord…this was too much even for Eris to take.  

Kallax helps his brother lower himself to the ground, his wounded knees touching the dewey moss first. He braces his hands in front of them, Kallax’s hand resting atop his back. “This fucking asshole,” Kallax growls, swallowing a sob. 

Eris is bent over, his back bowing from all the pain he is feeling, all the wounds still fresh and open whereas on Kallax’ body some already start to heal and seal. “He deserves to die, painfully and slowly. Eris, do you hear me?” Kallax pats his older brother on the back. “You need to end this.”

“I…” The oldest Vanserra brother’s voice is a bit muffled, due to saliva and blood mingling in his mouth. Before he continues, he spits onto the ground, then stiffens his spine so he can look at his younger brother. “I will end it. I will make him bleed.”

Eris shoves his hands harsher into the ground, knuckles turning white, crunching dirt and pine needles between his fingers. “For what he has done to all of us, I will make him suffer.”

Kallax growls in approval, patting Eris on the back one last time (obviously careful of the wounded skin) before climbing to his feet. “I’m not sure…but I can leave you?” he rasps, voice full of uncertainty and remorse. 

“Where are you going?” Eris asks in an equally husky voice, turning his head so far that it doesn’t hurt, but he can see his brother. 

“To her. I need to see if he...if he did anything to her.”

Eris understands without Kallax offering any more explanation – he knows where his brother is going. To his forest-Nymph.

His expression softens with gratitude when he takes in his brother’s face. Kallax all of a sudden looks so much younger, so much more breakable but nevertheless strong, and fierce. 

"Thank you," Eris murmurs to his younger brother, acknowledging the unspoken understanding between them. 

A cool breeze rustles through the branches, making goosebumps appear on Eris’ skin when he repeats his words. “Thank you, Kallax.”

His brother only nods. “Will you be fine, Eris?” He straightens up and brushes his hands down his thighs. “Can I leave you alone?”

Eris assures him that he will be fine. He won’t keep his younger brother here, not when out there there is someone who will take care of him and tend to his wounds. He should go see her, and be safe with her. As far away from their father and his wrath as possible. No longer within his reach and his fury. 

“I will take care of myself,” Eris assures his younger brother, his voice soft but determined, despite the pain he feels. Like I have done my whole life, he leaves unsaid.

Eris notices the uncertainty in Kallax's expression and looks at him steadily, showing both strength and honesty in his gaze. “I will be fine, you can believe me.” 

His younger brother inclines his head, then rolls back his shoulders. He pins Eris with a look. “I just want you to know that you can count on me.” Kallax drags in a deep breath, the lift of his chest visible causing him pain. “I said it before, Eris, you are my brother. Whatever happened between us… we share the same blood and you…can always count on me.” He gives him one more glance over his shoulder and then he is gone. Winnowed away, hopefully to his nymph who will take care of him. 

Eris sends a silent prayer to the Mother to keep his little brother safe and then he lets the pain reach the surface. He allows the hurt to show, knowing that his little brother no longer has to witness it. A cry of agony parts his lips and his arms give in, the whole extent of the pain that Beron caused him hitting him with full force then.

He cries out and pain pulses through him when he slumps to the ground. 

Eris lies on the damp grass, bloodied and battered, his chest marked by burns and scars. The thoughts of his brother and their father's cruel actions weigh heavy on his mind, filling him with a mixture of anger and agony. Beron hurt Kallax and he wasn’t there to stop it. Beron hurt Cenka, and will continue to hurt her unless gets to save her. He has to heal. He has to fight for her.

He can't shake the overwhelming guilt that gnaws on him. Each wound marring his skin is a painful reminder of his failure to protect the people who mean everything to him. His brothers. His mother. His loyal spy.

Anger simmers beneath the surface, a flame fueled by fury and pain. He clenches his fists, his nails digging into his palms and he grinds his teeth. He won’t ever let anyone suffer again. This has to end. It has to end now. 

This evening Beron won, but it was the very last time. 

With each laboured breath he sucks in, he gains strength to fight for redemption, for justice and freedom within this court. For himself, for his brothers and for his mother.  

Eris finds himself drifting between consciousness and oblivion, but his goal has never been clearer before. Once he is healed, he will make him pay. He will end Beron’s reign. He will end his father!

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

“Tamlin may have caused a lot of damage but he won’t support Beron.” Nesta places her hands on her hips, tilting her head to the side. 

“You don’t know that, girl,” Amren cuts in, narrowing her brows. “He is unpredictable. We can’t trust anyone from another court – safe for Varian.”

“We can’t trust anyone else?” Nesta throws back. “We can trust Eris.”

Azriel shifts a little at the mention of Eris’ name. He has been standing at the door for a while, not moving an inch or saying a single word, just observing. He watches Amren’s expression closely, hoping to see what she truly thinks there. And if she truly mistrusts Eris. Azriel tightly tucks in his wings when he approaches Rhysand’s desk around which the others are crowded. His scarred hands are folded behind his back, his demeanour unreadable despite the rising curiosity within him. 

“No.” Amren’s answer is so matter-of-factly, so cold, Azriel’s mouth almost falls open. Why would Amren think they can’t trust Eris?

Azriel internally thanks Nesta because she says, “Eris might be cruel and mean, but we can count on him. We can trust him. We are in this together with him, we have the same goal, we want the same for Prythian.”

“What if he wants to become High King of Prythian?”

“He doesn’t entertain this thought,” Rhysand finally says and rises from his chair, his broad hands now braced on the table beneath him. He slowly inclines his head to look on a stack of papers on the right side of the table, then languidly taps his finger against the dark wooden surface. “There was no thought of this in his mind.”

“He probably wouldn’t let you see it if he thought about claiming this position, boy.” Amren throws Rhysand a look, almost in a reprimanding way, but he gives his head a shake. 

“His goal is Autumn and courts that are united, that work together and support each other.” His spine straightens and he shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants.

Azriel wants to inform them about Beron’s plans with Koschei, which Eris shared with him, but Nesta beats him to it. She reaches for Cassian’s arm, curls it around her middle and says, “Eris is not Beron and I think it is finally time for all of us to understand this.” 

She looks at Rhys first, then at Azriel who offers her no answer. Also no reaction. He only looks at her, and then his features soften the slightest bit. Especially when Cassian speaks up as well. 

“You all know how much I hate Eris, probably even more than Az does,” the general chuckles, “but my mate is right. We only know one version of Eris, the version he wants us to and everyone else to see. And I agree that we should and can trust him.” His arm tightens around Nesta, but this time Azriel doesn’t look away. He looks at them, and sees their love and doesn’t feel envious. He allows himself to happy for them… 

And with this realisation, that he is not bad and doesn’t grant his brothers their happiness, he fixes his posture, now standing tall, his shadows calm around him and then opens his mouth.

“Beron is planning on a meeting with him. Eris informed me that his goal is to destroy Day and Night first, and then march all over Prythian; all of that with the help of Koschei. And Keir,” Azriel says in a loud and steady voice.

Silence blankets the room.

“Keir…” Rhysand breathes, but seems once again speechless afterwards.

Azriel wants to confirm Keir’s name, but he can’t. He suddenly feels a sharp pain pierce through the left side of his body. He doesn’t let it show, only shifts so his hand is holding onto the elbow of the other. Maybe it is heart, reacting to his lack of sleep, or he hasn’t drunk enough today, or his training was too hard the past days… 

Once the silence is interrupted by Cassian’s loud “Fuck!”, chatter and discussions begin about what Azriel has just revealed. But the shadowsinger is no longer able to really listen or pay attention. He bounces his foot when the pain increases. He is confused about where it comes from, what causes the pain. It is not directly in his heart it is…in his soul. 

His breathing quickens and he untangles his arms, bringing one hand up to rub over the back of his neck. 

“This is exactly what Eris told you?” he hears Rhys ask and can only nod in answer. The pain is so damn strong, he has to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment. Sweat starts to break out on his forehead and Azriel stumbles backwards. Pain scrapes through his whole body making him wince internally. 

Azriel drops his hands, clenching and unclenching them, his heart rapidly beating. A breath whooshes out of him. He folds a hand over his heart and takes another step back, slumping against the chair. “I need a moment,” he tells no one in particular but all eyes shoot to him. 

“Az?” Cassian carefully asks, moving closer to his brother and placing his hand atop his shoulder. 

Azriel? What is going on? Rhysand asks him mind-to-mind.

“I just need a moment,” the shadowsinger repeats when the pain within his chest only increases, it has spread out through his entire body and hurts so damn much; almost like flames burn through his veins, setting his whole body on fire.

But it can’t be…it can’t be fire that causes him this pain, unless– 

A wail pierces through ear drums and he knows exactly who this voice belongs to. Azriel’s Illyrian leathers stick to his skin from how much he is sweating by now. His shoulders curl forward, caving in his chest. 

Between quick shallow breaths, Azriel manages to say, “I’m sorry, I think I need to go home now. I’m not feeling well. I feel a little…dizzy.”

“We won’t let you leave like this, Az,” Nesta is quick to cut in, crouching down in front of Azriel, her hands resting on his left knee. “You really don’t look well. You think you caught something?” 

He wants to tell them. He wants to tell them so badly, but he can’t. First and foremost, because he has no time. He has to go to the Autumn Court now. He can’t stay here a moment longer. He has to leave and check on Eris. He has to find out what is causing the Autumn Court male this pain, but he already guesses that he knows the answer. Beron. 

Azriel has no doubts that this pain comes from Eris. They are connected through a fucking mating bond, and there is no more denying it. His want and need stems from this bond. He wants Eris because of this bond, and now he is going insane with panic and terror because someone hurt his mate. Not someone. Beron hurt his mate. And he has to find him now. 

It could be a trap but he has to be reckless, he can’t sit here and pretend nothing is happening. He can’t shove the damn bond away. 

“I think so. I must have caught something,” Azriel murmurs, and lifts his chin to look into Nesta’s eyes. She can see the lie in Azriel’s hazel ones, but only bows her head. “I guess you should lay down and rest then. Sleep always helps me,” she tells him and Azriel nods. 

Azriel’s heart is racing when he pushes up onto his feet. “I’m really fine, I just need rest,” he assures Cassian who grimaces at him. “Lack of sleep and too little food today…nothing tragic,” he lies and bows into Rhysand’s direction, his mental shields tightly sealed. “Inform me tomorrow about what you discussed when I was absent.”

Rhys says nothing, only tips his head in answer. He also doesn’t believe his brother but he also doesn’t try to stop him. The cold between them hasn’t faded yet, there is still a lot to talk about. 

The moment Azriel is outside, the cool air wraps around him like a snowstorm. He unfolds his wings and allows himself to roar with the ache all throughout his body. Then he takes off and shadow-winnows the rest of the way.

This is reckless and completely foolish, but this is what the bond makes you turn into. A reckless fool with only your mate in mind, and all kind of rationality having left you. 

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

His booted feet touch the ground and a thump hollows through the empty and dark forest. Azriel’s heart shatters when he feels the whole extent of Eris’ pain. The shorter distance between them must have enhanced the feeling. It knocks the life out of his soul and in his mind there is nothing but fear and terror. And confusion. 

He has never allowed himself to entertain the thought of them truly being mates, that the feeling within his chest is really the bond, but now there is no denying anymore.

He and Eris Kian Vanserra are fucking mates, and no one, not even the Mother and the Cauldron can change this. 

Azriel drags in sharp breath. The shadows and mist are like a curtain around him, making it hard for him to see, but the goal is clear: he has to find Eris within the next few minutes.

tag list for ACOCD @hnyclover @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @queercontrarian @fandomsmultiverse @acourtofbatboydreams @chunkypossum @baileybird71 @beckkthewreck @hells-sluttiest-new-arrival @owllover123 @acotarobsessed @goldenmagnolias @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @v3lv3tf0x @talibunny30 @allyhill @popjunkie42 @skyesayshi @going-through-shit @mybestfriendmademe @12334555666 @nickishadow139

general Azris tag list: @azrielsbabyg @lady-riel @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger @ladyelain @banasheefan56 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @ofduskanddreams

#acotar #acosf #azriel #azriel x eris #azris #eris vanserra

[brucewaynehater101]

In the scenario of Bruce arriving after some years, could you expand more about the good and bad scenario? Also, in the bad scenario what would Tim and Jason do. Would they pick a side?

I've linked the post to this ask for anyone new to it! For those who don't want to click on it, the concept is what would happen if, because Tim never found the portrait or something, Bruce safely spent a bit more time away in the timestream?

Regardless, I'd be happy to expand on it a bit more! There's a multitude of ways that Bruce could react to all of this, and it really depends on how someone hcs Bruce (canon has various versions of him). Feel free to choose whatever route you think is best.

So, when Bruce comes back after a few years, the family would have learned how to operate without him. He's simply not needed. He's wanted, he's loved, but he's used to being the center of the family. He's used to being the patriarch and deciding factor. He's used to calling the final shots.

When he comes back, Tim and Damian don't need him. By that point, Tim would be a legal adult almost in his twenties. Damian is used to deferring to Dick and Alfred for parenting and rules. Tim and Bruce would get into many arguments if Bruce tried to parent and restrict Tim. It would be similar to the 17 year-old Dick and Bruce, but Bruce hasn't been there the past few years (intentionally or not).

Damian and Bruce wouldn't know how to interact. Regardless of how close they were before Bruce "died," Damian has changed a lot. He's grown to accept that he doesn't need to prove himself, he doesn't need to uphold legacies, his place in the family is permanent (not based on good behavior, work, or blood), and he's loved. Despite that, Bruce coming back might dreg up those insecurities (especially depending on how Bruce treats the adoption).

In a good light, Bruce works with everyone. He spends time relearning his children, finding where they might have new boundaries, having many discussions on his role in their life, and assisting them with what they need. He doesn't enforce his expectations on them and maybe even seeks out family counseling. He would understand that time changes things and that the relationships the others have built were to support each other. As long as no unhealthy or negative relationships had developed (like codependency), then he should respect these changes and work with them to accommodate his sudden reappearance in their life. A good situation would be Bruce's appearance shaking the boat but overall making the family stronger with his connection to it.

Now... a bad scenario depends on a lot of factors and is, in my opinion, a more likely outcome. With this, we're gonna be using the more abusive comics!Bruce version.

Bruce, in this turn of events, would try to separate and damage the bond between Damian and Dick. He could do that in a multitude of ways, including emotional manipulation, emotional abuse, legal actions (anulling the adoption, restraining orders, etc.), physically separating their living situations, and assigning Dick long and distant missions. If Bruce was feeling particularly vindictive, he could punish Dick in various ways. There's subtle alienation, physical retaliation, grueling work loads, verbal abuse, etc.

This would probably be Bruce's main focus. He would also probably have issues with how the other Bats are running Gotham and how they now don't rely on him.

The way the rest of the bad scenario pans out depends on how Tim and Jason interacted up until Bruce arrived. In the other post, I mentioned that the two would either ignore/avoid each other or become close/teammates.

If they ignored each other, it would be easier for Bruce to exert control over them both. They are more independent, less supported, and less likely to reach out for help. He would have an easier time manipulating them while they are in Gotham. They would fight back, obviously, but they wouldn't have someone helping them. This could either be their downfall as they get sucked into a cycle of abuse with Bruce, or this could push them to rely on their siblings/the other Bats.

If Jason and Tim were closer or even became a team together, Bruce would be hard pressed to get them to fold. It's extremely dreadful and tiresome fighting against verbal/emotional abuse. You start to doubt yourself, your feelings, the events that occurred, your recollection, and whether you were justified. By the two of them working together, they can combat this approach by Bruce. Tim could collect evidence for whatever occurred and keep records. Jason could ensure that they met their emotional needs and enforced their boundaries. Manipulating someone alone, especially the two of them who are on the outskirts, would be easier than a team who supports each other.

Anyways, whether Tim and Jason take Bruce's side of Dick's really depends on their relationship with each other. They would support Dick, no matter their current grievances towards the man, if Tim and Jason were a vigilante team and like brothers to each other.

Also, an important note about the bad scenario is that it wouldn't play out immediately. There would be this relief and happiness that Bruce is home as he slowly tests out the boundaries until he manipulates the situation to his benefit.

Now, we could get into the other Bats too. Alfred might be on Team Bruce regardless. That would suck but it does fall in line with some of his bystander and enabler ways. Bruce has no control over Barbara, and they both know it. I like to imagine she would protect Steph and Cass to the best of her ability. She would give aid to the batboys, but she wouldn't be able to protect them as much. Cass is a toss-up on whether she would be able to protect herself against emotional manipulation by Bruce.

I'm hoping Duke is happy with his parents if this is the bad scenario. If he isn't, there could be tension because Duke didn't become a vigilante under Bruce's approval. Therefore, there would be a meta vigilante in Gotham that Bruce didn't approve of.

If this is the good scenario, dealer's choice on whether Duke's parents are fine while Duke becomes Signal prior to Bruce's return. He could be an independent vigilante the Bats provide support for without sucking him into the family.

Let me know if you want any more info, want more explanation, or you think it could go a different way!

#dc comics #tim drake #dc universe #jason todd #bruce wayne #dick grayson #damian wayne #thank you for the ask!!!! #dc au #sorry this took so long i took a nap lol

[codebianchi]

Under Grease-Stained Bandages Pt. 1

summary: charles is a mechanic who has made a name for himself and max is a racer who has been admiring his work for a while. the blonde wants charles on his team, but charles prefers to fly solo.

Charles had always had an affinity for cars. His blood flowed red, but in the same red that paints a Ferrari. That same blood dribbled down; his fingertips torn bloody after messing around with the engine of the client who sat nearby in the waiting room. Sweat prickled at his brow. The room was stiflingly hot. The sun poured heat through the open garage door. During the summertime, regulating how hot it was in the shop was almost impossible. The smell of hot rubber tires smothered him, an combination of sweat and oil coating him like another layer of skin. He raised his arm, wiping away the bead of sweat to realize how destroyed his fingers had become. Almost instantly after his realization, he felt a surge of pain in his fingers.

Wiping his hands on the rag he had half-tucked into his pocket, he stepped back from the car. He bent down, tugging at the toolbox drawers until a package of band aids came into sight. He took a few from the box and wrapped his fingers. He sighed, shaking his head as he readied his customer service persona to talk to the individual in the waiting room. The cold metal door handle felt heavenly against his hot skin. Pushing open the door, Charles leaned against the counter in the waiting room. He basked in the cold, air-conditioned room, staring intently at the blonde man who was completely enraptured in whatever was on his phone. If you had asked Charles to describe the man sitting in the waiting room, he’d say he was just like any other rich white boy who grew up in a safe cul-de-sac away from the dangers of the world.

“Your car is set,” Charles broke the silence, his voice still soft as if he was scared to be too loud. “I didn’t know my mechanic was French.” The blonde teased, sliding his phone into his pocket as he stood up. Charles rolled his eyes. He didn’t mind some light teasing about his accent but calling him French always ruined it. Charles spun the man’s keys around his finger before quickly tossing them towards the blonde. “Take better care of your car blondie.” He murmured, sliding behind the counter to close the guy out. “Yeah, yeah...” the blonde reached for his pocket, retrieving a wallet and pulling out a card. Charles took the card, and with a newfound curiosity, he flipped the card over to learn the man’s name. Something about the man having his last name abbreviated to fit on his license plate was amusing to Charles. “What?” The blonde man, Max, questioned. The brunette shook his head, fighting a giggle that was slowly rising up his throat, and handed back the card. “Nothing, nothing at all mate.”

Max shoved his card into his pocket, exiting the shop swiftly. As soon as the bell lightly jingled, Charles let out a small giggle as he ran his hand through his hair. He looked down at the register screen again, frowning when he realized the time. Dragging his feet, he walked back to the shop and closed the garage doors. He stooped down, locking the doors to notice a small gold pin had been left on the floor. He scooped it up, pocketing it for later. Usually, he would never close his shop so early, but he had appointments that he’d been pushing off for months that could no longer avoid. As he walked back into the waiting room area, his eyes immediately went to the mysterious pile of cash that had appeared on the counter. He furrowed his brow, walking over to the counter with unsure strides. There was $1,000 discarded on the counter, neatly bundled, and a cream card. The card had a faint bull design in the background, and in dark red writing, a small smile was drawn. Charles slipped the card into his pocket and tucked the money into his savings jar that he’d left under the register.

The next day, Charles followed the same routine he did every Thursday morning. He woke up at 5, went for a run at 5:15, showered at 7, ate at 7:30, got dressed at 7:45, and was at work by 8:30. Usually, work would be slow until 9. But when Charles turned into the parking lot of his work, there was already a car waiting. The engine idled, a rhythmic beat gently vibrating the ground around it. The brunette took a deep breath, parked his car, and walked into his shop. Ignoring the lobby, he made a B-line to the shop. He unlocked the three garage doors, pushing them up to let the cool morning air fill the shop.

“So, do you ignore all of your clients?” Charles jumped, spinning around to see the same blonde from yesterday leaning against the large frame of the garage doors. The man had a waggish look on his face, a mischievous glimmer in his eye as he pushed himself off the thin frame to walk towards the brunette. “Or am I special?”

#f1 #f1 fanfic #max verstappen #charles leclerc #lestappen #formula 1 #formula one #f1 fic #enemies to lovers #max verstappen fanfic #charles leclerc fanfic

[tabswrites]

The Tomb of Light

Summary: In a country where magic has been outlawed, four strangers are sent on a quest to find the last source and destroy it—but something or someone has other plans for them.

Genre: NA Fantasy

WIP Intro

Chapter One: The Pledge

CW: Violent imagery, mentions of death

 WC: 3,507

The bell’s resounding chime summoned him to his retribution.

Adrin’s eyes slid over to the dust-covered window and his mouth pressed into a thin line. He dipped a finger into the jar of flaxseed oil his mother had boiled down for him the night before and brushed some into his hair with more urgency.  The reflective glass that hung on his bedroom wall hung slightly crooked, but instead of setting it straight he simply tilted his head to the right. For a guard in training, it would have been more convenient for him to keep a shorter hairstyle, but it would have been yet another thing that made him look like everyone else, and he was already a stranger to himself. If someone had told him long ago that he was to be sworn into the High Guard, he would have thrown his head back and laughed. His father had tried in vain to encourage even a flicker of enthusiasm for the job, but a guard was not who he was meant to be. It was who he needed to become.

With his blonde hair slicked back against his head, he secured a heavy white cape around his shoulders. The city’s crest, a large tree with bare branches, was embroidered on the back with black thread. The roots dangling beneath the tree were in the shape of lightning. Rothar was proud of their violent history, and he would be in defense of it for the rest of his life. He stared back at the downcast face in the foggy glass and bid farewell to the boy who once wished to escape it. The floorboards creaked beneath his weight as he slouched down the narrow hallway into the kitchen. He slipped through the front door just as his mother’s groggy voice called his name.

Once he was certain she hadn’t followed him outside, he paused at the end of the dirt path, turning to look at the massive oak tree that embraced his house in its shadow. A high-pitched ringing in his ears replaced the sound of the morning breeze. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. His sister’s smiling face appeared to him, but was quickly replaced by a look of sheer terror. Her pale skin turned sickly gray and her yellow hair dripped with blood.

He opened his eyes and found himself on his knees at the base of the tree and pressed his ear to the rough bark as if he could hear a heartbeat. His eyes drifted down to the long grass that dampened the knees of his trousers with the morning dew. It was almost impossible to tell someone had been buried there now. With a hand almost as white as the cape he wore, he plucked a meadow violet from the ground and tucked it safely into the cloth bag tied to his waist. He had doomed her the day he joined the High Guard, and in doing so had doomed himself. It seemed only fitting he carried a reminder of where his heart belonged–in the weeds, decaying alongside the only person who truly understood him. 

Rothar was struggling to wake, much like himself. Shuttered windows and quiet streets greeted him as he continued further into the city center. The baker, as always, was well into her workday, and as she waved to him from behind her long counter she created a snowstorm over her head. He brought a hand to his left temple and gave her a half-hearted salute. Freshly kneaded loaves rested beneath a damp cloth on the table beside her and he inhaled their comforting scent, letting memories of family dinners and his mother’s exemplary cooking skills quiet the anxious thoughts that plagued him. 

“Valic! Hey, Valic!” A gruff but friendly voice snapped him out of his melancholic reminiscence. 

He spotted the other novice guards lining up just ahead, identical crests emblazoned on the backs of their billowing capes. A short, sandy-haired man with a round belly waved at him. He bit the inside of his cheek and plastered a smile on his face.

“Alright, Milvar?” He quickened his pace to catch up to him. “I thought I was the early one.”

“No one else had to stop and grease their hair, pretty boy.” Milvar landed a solid punch on his arm and grinned at him with crooked teeth. “Maybe give the rest of us a fighting chance with the birds, yeah?”

Adrin gave him a half-smirk. “You strut around here in that uniform and tell anyone who will listen about your pink roses and I assure you, the ladies will find you–but in order to keep that uniform, you might want to actually make it to your pledge.” 

He ushered him through the iron gates that lead to the Veritas Compound, a small cluster of buildings that comprised the guard barracks, watchtower, council chambers and school. The barracks, a round tower of pale limestone, was closest to them. A large group had spread out in front, a  ring of iron torches placed into the ground around them to stave off the haze of dawn.

The High Guard consisted of nearly a hundred men and women, excluding the novices to be sworn in. They stood together in five neat rows, the highest ranked among them front and center. Each of them wore the same uniform of gray trousers, a long sleeved linen tunic and a black leather breastplate with matching bracers. The sea of white cloaks was bathed in a pale orange glow as the sun rose lazily in the sky. Adrin and his comrades formed their own line facing the others, and he held back a groan as he recognized another familiar face. 

If parents were allowed to pick and choose their children based on desirable traits, Lieutenant Rothe would be his father’s pride and joy. The young prodigy had enrolled in guard training at 19, two years before Adrin had finally caved. It had been a year since Adrin and Milvar’s first attempt to join the guard, and they had returned to a version of Rothe even more grating than the last.  

The lieutenant’s delicate facial features and dashing smile stole hearts, but his sharp intelligence and natural gift for swordsmanship had seemingly earned him the respect of everyone who knew him. Adrin saw what they ignored. The young lieutenant was gifted, sure, but he was also a vortex of apathy that left destruction in its wake. When he wasn’t barking orders or having his ego stroked by the captain, he lounged around his family’s sizable cabin spending his inheritance on all the spirits and opium he could find. The council turned a blind eye to their cherished guard as he led naive women into his home night after night. They ignored the scent of alcohol that always lingered on his breath and the dilated pupils that swallowed the icy blue irises everyone loved to admire. It was for these reasons, among others, that made it difficult for Adrin to embrace his new role. It sickened him to think of swearing loyalty to such hypocrites. The ceremony was just another sacrifice for the sake of his parent’s happiness and his penance. For Sophie. 

A dark-skinned woman wearing a black cape and a blank expression stood beside Rothe. Her impossibly shiny hair was secured in a long braid that wrapped around her head and was pinned in place, highlighting her prominent cheekbones. Her gaze was inscrutable as it swept over the rows and rows of guards, but her voice was welcoming when she spoke.

“Lieutenant Rothe will be swearing you in,” her sickly sweet voice rang out, and the hissing whispers of the eager recruits fell silent at once. 

The ebony-haired man straightened at the sound of his name and immediately, the novices stood at attention, hands clasped behind their backs. He sauntered forward, the golden sheath at his hip swaying with each motion. A short young woman with mousy brown hair and a timid demeanor hovered near his elbow, a small wooden chest tucked under her arm. Adrin stared at it with a sense of dread, tasting blood as he chewed the inside of his cheek for the second time that morning. 

“Thank you, Captain Hollowar.” Rothe turned to give her a polite nod before addressing them. “Today, you will dedicate yourselves to the protection of Rothar.”

Adrin was surprised that his voice did not waver, and instead echoed with righteous authority.

“You will dedicate yourselves to your fellow guardsmen and the Veritas Council, the guardians of Caledon.” The lieutenant looked out at the novices and a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. 

 He let his words linger for a moment, testing their patience further. At last, he nodded to the brown-haired guard. “The chest, please, Havoc.”

Her face flushed, perhaps at the notion that he had remembered her name. She unhooked the latch and opened the lid before holding it out to him. Inside appeared to be thin silver bands of  polished metal. The bands were left partially open with a half inch of space between each end. Rothe lifted one with a single finger and held it aloft, letting it catch the light of the rising sun.

“These bracelets will be permanently closed around your wrist after you have been sworn in. It will serve as a reminder to you all that you cannot simply turn your backs on responsibility. This is a role you will have for life.”

It took every ounce of self control that Adrin possessed for him to hold his tongue from unleashing a biting insult. For most of his childhood he had seen his father brandish his own bracelet with great pride, but for Adrin, it was a shackle.

“Guardsman Valic.” His name must have been funny, for Rothe had turned to address him with a sneer. “Is there a problem?” 

Adrin swallowed. “No problem, sir.” He straightened his shoulders and focused his eyes on a point somewhere to the left of Rothe’s amused face.

“Good. Let’s move on, then.” He snapped his fingers and Havoc placed a large book bound in black leather into his outstretched hand. “You can start us off. Repeat after me:

I pledge myself to the good of mankind and its quest for advancement.

I pledge myself to the Council and vow to uphold their ways.

I pledge myself to a world without magic and vow to protect the citizens of my city and my country from its corruption for all time.

I pledge myself to Caledon, from now until I die.”

Adrin received his bracelet from Havoc and shuffled resignedly to the blacksmith, who stood by a torch with a pair of tongs. The old man was silent as he snatched the bracelet and held it in the center of the flame. A small line began to form behind him as he watched the metal change from red to orange.

At last it emerged from the fire and the blacksmith snapped his fingers at him. Adrin held out his left wrist and sought out the shredded flesh of his cheek with his tongue as the heated metal came closer. His flesh sizzled and steamed as the iron slid into place. A gloved hand pinched the metal closed, ensuring it wouldn’t budge. He tried to ignore the smell of his own bubbling, burning skin and gave the blacksmith a courteous nod before stepping aside for the next novice. 

The sun shone brightly above them now as the newly minted guards flashed their matching bracelets at each other, not one of them seeming to take issue with the permanence of their duty, though there were more than a few stifled yells and carefully disguised tears. Adrin stood apart from the others and waited for Milvar as he examined the red skin and puffy welts on his wrist. He welcomed the pain. It kept him focused.

The novices were granted recreational time to run back home and share their excitement with their families before reporting for their first official day of duty. Adrin slumped back to his house with a gently weeping Milvar, who had invited himself along to partake in breakfast.

“Why didn’t they warn us?” He moaned with a pathetic pout on his bearded face. “Can you die from burns?”

He gave his friend a sympathetic smile. As the son of a cobbler and a teacher, his family lived in South Rothar with the other tradesmen, saving him from the high expectations of the north. Unfortunately, as someone who was also desperate to be one of them, he saw Adrin as the model for an ideal lifestyle. If Adrin had left Rothar years ago as he had planned to, Milvar would have been right there by his side. Instead, his sweet, simple friend went against his own nature and followed him into danger. It seemed that Adrin was destined to destroy lives, not save them. 

  “Have my mum look at it, you twit. She’ll have something for the pain.” He pushed Milvar to the other side of the path with a low chuckle. “Come on, now.”

The city center was more than awake now, with delectable aromas of smoked meats and warm bread assaulting their noses the moment they stepped through the compound gates. He had to drag Milvar away from the baker, who had moved on from bread to fruit tarts since Adrin had last seen her. Golden brown triangles filled with spiced pears, apples, vibrant cherries and plums had been lined up in eye-catching concentric circles on a large silver tray. The baker sprinkled a handful of sugar into a large mortar and pestle and set to work grinding it into a fine powder. Milvar leaned across the counter towards her.

“You make the whole world sweet, you beautiful lass. Never stop,” he murmured as Adrin grabbed his arm and tugged him away.

Indeed, as Adrin smacked his lips together he could taste the sugar and for a moment the throbbing pain in his wrist vanished–but only for a moment. He kept a firm grip on Milvar as they passed the other shops and released him only when they had turned down the northwest road. Sophie’s tree waved to them with wide hands covered in green leaves that were starting to show spots of yellow. Beneath its outstretched arm was his house, a modest but well-kept cottage of cobblestone with a bright red door and matching shutters. On either side of the dirt path were patches of purple clovers that sprouted through sparse green grass. Milvar picked up the pace, jogging towards the door with purpose.

Inside, his parents were waiting for them at their kitchen table, a faded and cracked squaretop surrounded by mismatched chairs. Plates of fat link sausages shining with grease, slices of malt loaf speckled with dried plums and a half dozen fried eggs covered the table. His stomach grumbled its approval, but his attempts to reach the food were foiled by his father’s large, broad-shouldered body rushing towards him.

 “Let me see that!” He grabbed at his left wrist, avoiding the seared skin but still sending a fresh wave of throbbing pain up his arm. “Now you’re just like your old man!” He slapped a thick hand across his back, his own bracelet still encircling his right wrist.

Adrin forced a painful smile on his face. “I would have preferred a necklace, I think.”

“Well I think you look very official.” His mother called over her shoulder as she stirred a large pot of porridge over the fire. She slid the spoon through the pot’s handle and wiped her hands on the patchwork apron tied around her waist. “Both of you. Let me take a look at those wrists, boys.” She swatted his father on the back and he made way for her.

Milvar stepped further into the cramped room and held out his right arm, his watery blue eyes refusing to look.

She clicked her tongue and held each of their hands up to her face. “Such a brutish ceremony. Sit,” she commanded them, then dashed to the shelves on the far wall. Glass jars containing flowers, herbs and salves stood in rows of six. She tied her silvery hair back with a scrap of fabric from within the pocket of her apron and examined the jars with interest before selecting one filled with what looked like wood shavings.

“Hush, woman,” his father chided, but his expression was soft. “I survived, didn’t I?”

“After days of ceaseless whining.” She retrieved the kettle from the fireplace and brought it to the table. “Adrin, join us please, and stop hovering like a stranger in your own home.” 

He pulled out the creaking wooden chair next to Milvar and seated himself in front of a large platter of sausages, lifting one to his mouth with a trembling hand. He tore off a large piece with his front teeth and swallowed it whole, wanting the meal to pass by as quickly as possible. His mother’s pale grey eyes studied him with interest as she sprinkled a few pieces of the shavings in two clay mugs. Steam from the boiling water flushed her cheeks, and she fanned herself with her free hand as she set one down in front of him and Milvar in turn. Milvar leaned forward and sniffed his with narrow eyes.

“Willow bark, for the pain,” she informed them. She claimed the last chair for herself–Sophie’s chair, with painted daisies and sunflowers along the back. 

As the men tucked in, she turned her attention to Adrin. He shoveled bite after bite into his mouth, pretending that it was hunger that caused him to ignore her. Heedless of Milvar’s sharp eyes, she tucked a loose strand of Adrin’s hair behind his ear and continued to watch him, only taking a few nibbles from her slice of bread every now and then.

“I’ll put some honey on that burn for you tonight after your shift,” she said, and pushed his tea towards him. “Make sure you stop by too, Milton.”

“Please eat something, Mum,” Adrin urged her, cutting off Milvar’s cry of outrage in response to being addressed by his first name. “There’s no need to worry, I promise.”

“I always worry,” she murmured into her lap.

 “Enough of the fussing, Laurel. This is a day to celebrate,” his father mumbled around a mouthful of sausage and egg. He swallowed before adding, “I’m proud of you.” There was another, longer pause. “I know Sophie would be too.”

The negativity that had been eating away at Adrin all morning suddenly burst out. His fork clattered against the table as it slipped from his fingers.

“You know that’s not true,” he hissed.

Milvar, sensing that the time for pleasantries was running short, began to eat at a much faster pace.

“Adrin–” His parents shared a look of concern.

“I apologize, but I’ve had about all that I can stomach.” He pushed away from the table and rose to his feet. “I will meet you at the barracks, Milvar.” He left his tea untouched, letting his anger and guilt drown out the burning bite of metal against skin. The front door closed with a loud bang, sending clouds of dust into the air. 

Adrin was surprised to find himself among the last to return to the barracks. He glanced behind him, wondering if Milvar would be willing to sacrifice his rank for another helping of sausages. He did his best to exchange pleasantries with the others while his head fought a futile battle against the dark thoughts raging within. He had never completely meshed with the other novices, or the guards for that matter. Everyone, save for Milvar, looked at him differently in the year since Sophie’s death.

No one had anticipated a death during what was meant to be an innocent night of camaraderie in the woods, and no one could have predicted that their most boisterous recruit would become so somber.  He was permitted time to grieve, of course, and Milvar the loyal had waited to pledge with him–but time would never make things right, make him right.  The loud clanging of the watchtower bell interrupted his mournful introspection and heads whipped around as if the source of the commotion was right in front of them.  

Captain Hollowar exited the barracks alongside the lieutenant. The two of them stalked across the plush green lawn with closed expressions. Their black and white capes whipped back and forth in the wind, and slowed to a flutter as they stopped in front of the group. Hollowar gave them a moment to fall in. 

“One of our gatekeepers received a warning today from a traveling merchant.” She brandished a crisp piece of beige parchment. “An old enemy of Rothar has been spotted making arrangements to enter the city.” She cleared her throat. “The woman has been identified as none other than Mara Wilkes.”

All eyes flashed to Lieutenant Rothe.

#wip: tomb of light #fantasy writing #full chapter #writers on tumblr #writeblr

[supercutszns]

Luke x reader where a girl, daughter of Aphrodite, flirts with him and insults the reader, causing her to avoid Luke, but later he manages to find her and confesses that he actually likes them... I don't know if they should already be together or not, but I believe in you!!! you write very well :ooo

Sorry if the idea is bad or you wouldn't want to write something like that, if that's the case please pretend you never read this 🤡🤡🫶

true colours; luke castellan

wc + pairing: 3.6k, luke castellan x child of iris! reader

synopsis: everyone wants luke castellan, including you. curse your mother for getting your hopes up.

warnings: friends to lovers, reader is very insecure, bullying, lee fletcher & will solace cameo!! some angst with a fluffy ending

notes: thank you for the request!! as always this is longer than i anticipated but hope you like it :) i also combined it with another request for a child of iris reader (i also identify as a child of iris sometimes so i lovee writing for them) also i’m pretty sure lee + a lot of parts of this are ooc sorry but i havent read the books in about a year so hopefully everything’s fairly accurate!🌈

You knew this summer would be different because your mother sent her wishes twice as much. On the first day of July, when children flood into Camp Half-Blood like a hive of wild bees, a rainbow always lights up the sky. 

This year, there were two. 

As a child of Iris you’re technically supposed to be in the Hermes cabin. But your love for art, for music, for fun, has made you a particular favourite of the Apollo cabin. Most of your friends are there. They tolerate you singing in your soft, often unsure voice. They love when you catch sunlight and filter it into prisms of colour on their cabin walls. 

You’d probably move in there permanently if it weren’t for Hermes. Or rather, his son.

Over the last few months, in the sticky summer heat, your mother knew you would fall in love. 

It's not any surprise you love Luke. Everyone loves Luke. A fact that's becoming more obvious every passing day. 

It used to bother you less. You’ve always been his meagre, hopeless friend, never any real competition to these girls. You’d basically taken yourself out of the running and instead decided to pine after him in the very back of your mind. A safe, deluded fantasy that would never happen. 

Until recently, where it seems less like a fantasy and more like a terrifying possibility. 

Over the past few weeks Luke has gone out of his way to be sweet to you. Or at least you think so. He’s spent extra time talking to you at lunch, laughing at your half-formed jokes almost in earnest. At bonfires he saves you a seat, grabs you a marshmallow on occasion. You even made him a friendship bracelet of sorts—admittedly a little ugly—but he’s never taken it off. Not since the day you gave it to him. 

Not to mention helping you last week before the archery competition. His hands lingering over yours as he steadied your bow, the curls of his breath on the back of your neck when he stood behind you. 

“Don’t be nervous,” he says, a tinge of mirth in his voice. “You just steady your aim and first is as good as yours.”

(You came in fifteenth.)

You don’t want to say that it’s him weakening your aim, making your pulse beat out of your neck. His nose brushes against the back of your jaw as he leans forward and you smell the pine on his skin. Is this friendly? Is he this close on purpose? Are you delusional?

It’s all you’ve been thinking about these past few days. So when Luke Castellan’s endless admirers come to the forefront of your mind, you feel like all those moments of potential buildup have been ripped away. 

“You alright there, sunshine?” 

He takes you out of your spiral with a teasing lilt you love. When you look at him, his face is a shimmering warmth, complete with boyish smile. 

“Yep,” you reply, trying to ignore the nickname making your insides flutter even though you know he’s saying it ironically.

You’ve always had a gift for identifying colour. It’s the thing you pay attention to most. Something inherited from your mother, you suppose. So you’ve memorized the way Luke’s eyes melt in the sunlight. How his scar blends with his pinking cheeks when it’s hot outside. You never told him, and you probably never will, but you’ve painted him from memory quite a few times in the Apollo cabin—always with the excuse that you were practicing. It's so blatantly obvious you're in love with him there's no point in your friends bringing it up.  

The two of you are meandering around camp before dinner, a tradition Luke started early on in the summer. You talk about high points of your day (mostly you) or share nuggets of gossip you’ve heard around camp (mostly him). It's the thing you looked forward to every morning. A time when his words are just for you. 

Idle chatter flows as you keep walking. Sometimes your arm brushes his and you have the embarrassing urge to tug yours away. You do your best not to stare at him too long or laugh too loud at his jokes. 

“Hey, Castellan!” Someone calls. 

Luke’s head turns. Your heart plummets. A beautiful girl, Aphrodite cabin, you think, is heading towards you. She’s all honey-spun hair and dazzling pink lips, and it’s obvious she knows it. You don’t know her name. But Luke does. 

They fall into conversation the second she arrives. It’s just greetings, pleasantries, but there’s a coy smile on the girl’s face that betrays any sense of disinterest. “Heard you’re not too keen on pairing up with us for the Chariot Race next week. What gives?” Her tone is pouty and playful as she taps Luke’s shoulder. She side-eyes you, lips curling imperceptibly. “I’m sure you’ll have a better chance with us.”

He lets out a strained chuckle. “Dunno, just thought it was fine to switch it up.”

Just like that, you’re out of the loop again. More of her friends flock after her, and soon Luke is tangled in a whole other world. They’re all glowing with a kind of righteousness you only get when you’re popular. You know Luke has friends, tons of them. He's the leader of the cabin with the most campers. Not to mention assertive and gorgeous. His presence is so inviting it’s a challenge not to fall in love with him. 

So you can’t blame this girl, the one that keeps touching his arm and giggling. It’s not like you’ve staked your claim on Luke—no one even knows you exist. As much as you want him to be yours, you know you’ll never stop someone from taking him first. It’s your fatal flaw, you think. Cowardice. 

You end up sidelined completely. Watching him swathed in people more charismatic than you plants an ache deep inside you. All your wishful thinking feels sour now, a pipe dream, a bedtime story to help you sleep better. Somehow it hurts more knowing that it’s nobody’s fault but yours. These people can’t be doing this on purpose. It’s just who they are. It’s who you are—always a step behind, always daydreaming. You are your mother’s daughter, after all. Just a prism reflecting everyone around you. 

Eventually, one of the boys in the group takes notice of you. He’s not nearly as captivating as Luke is—you don’t find the colours of his eyes hold as much depth. There’s also a haughtiness when he looks at you. He sneers, “What the hell do you have on your face?”

It draws the attention of others in the group. You feel like a naked sculpture in an art gallery. “Uh, what?” You stammer. 

Some of them purse their lips. The girl with Luke lets a laugh slip. You’re pretty sure you look like an idiot, waiting there with your brows wrinkled in a daze. Their gazes keep flicking over to your cheek, so your hand flies up there before you can delay any more. When you press your fingers to the side of your face, they come away tacky and pink. Mortification constricts you.

Paint. It’s leftover, half-dried paint. The colour of Luke’s cheeks in the sun. 

“Oh,” you say dumbly. It’s drowned by snickers. All you can do is find Luke, the only face you know, and ask, “Why didn’t you tell me?” without sounding too hurt. 

You know you failed when your voice comes out wrong and his ebony brows push together. “I thought it looked—”

He never gets to finish because the golden girl laughs a little louder, the pink tones in her face a little darker. “Oh my Gods, you’re that Iris kid that’s always singing, right?” She giggles sharply, cornflower eyes darting between her friends. There’s something in there you can’t quite pick up on, until it flushes the pupils of all her friends, and they all grin with a secret knowledge they want you to see. “You’re, like, really good!” The girl simpers, but her bottom lip pulls between her teeth to soften another laugh. 

“Oh, so good!” Another friend piles on. 

Their passive-aggressive chuckles start to sound like hail on a window. You shift further away from them. Dirt slides beneath your shoe, and you long to kick up more of it, displace yourself, disappear. 

You don’t look at Luke. The giggly, flaxen girl has already turned back to him, and you’re sure he’s enthralled once more. You try to stir up the image of Luke’s closeness during archery practice, the lilac bruise on his knuckles when he angled your bow, but it doesn’t take. Now, it feels like you’ve dreamed it. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Luke leaning down to catch a whisper from the Aphrodite girl’s ear. The boy that first commented on your cheek leans closer to you again. He’s suffocatingly smug when he grins, “Why are you still here? Shouldn’t you go … wash that off? You don’t want to look like that at dinner.” He snorts. “For an Iris kid, you really aren’t good at taking a message.” 

If you were a more confident person, maybe you’d point out how that didn’t really make sense, or how stupid it sounded coming out of his mouth. But the sentiment of it wounds you, and you’re weak enough as is. 

"Guess you're right," you mumble. You wipe your face of paint as you leave. The memory of Luke’s skin stains you until you wash your hands off in the sink. 

You haven’t talked to him since. 

It’s been a few days of you avoiding him, and it’s hard to explain to anyone why you’ve been doing it. How do you tell the truth? Luke Castellan is a work of art and you are … a weird doodle, or something. Despite your adoration, you know there’s no reason he should feel the same for you. Everyone loves him for a reason. Everyone must ignore you for one, too. 

“Why haven’t you been talking to Luke?”

The question breaks your concentrated silence in the Apollo cabin. You’ve been sitting here for a while now, humming to yourself over a mostly blank canvas. The cabin is dusted with a lilac haze, thanks to your manipulation of the light streaming through the windows. Helps you feel less like you’re at camp and more like you’re in a fairytale. 

“Helloooo, lady, I asked you a question.”

You begrudgingly look up. Lee Fletcher, head of the Apollo cabin, is at the mouth of the cabin, gazing at all your supplies strewn about the floor like they’re a bunch of unsavoury substances. “It looks like a hurricane came in here. Now why aren’t you talking to Luke?”

“How do you know I’m not talking to him?” You mutter as Lee sits beside you. 

“Uh, because you’ve been sleeping here multiple nights in a row and you never do that. And you don’t sit with him at dinner. And whenever we see him you drag me in the other direction—”

“Lee!”

“I’m just saying, you should probably talk about it. My beautiful voice can heal wounds, yes, but not of the heart.” He splays a hand across his chest in mock theatrics.

You don’t say anything. The familiar weight of the brush against your fingertips is far more comforting than trying to talk, so you busy yourself with your canvas again. “He waits for you, you know,” Lee continues, quieter. “In the morning. And before dinner. He always asks if you’re here.”

“Oh,” you say, and your wavering voice betrays your expression. But you think of everyone else at camp, their gleaming smiles and their celebrated parents, their own cabins and friends and dreams, how you don’t seem to have any of those. You think of the girl whispering in Luke’s ear. All her shades of beauty. You know it’s wrong to compare yourself, to be jealous. You’re just … sad.

The cabin darkens from a lilac to an imperceptibly gloomier shade. A blue sort of longing gets caught in your throat, blurring the colours on your canvas. But you keep your brush steady, focused on the scratch of its bristles so you don’t have to hear what you say next. 

“I think I love him, Lee.” And then, “But I don’t think he loves me.”

There’s no sound except the scraping of your brush when it’s run out of paint, and a sniffle when a tear rolls down your cheek. 

“Oh,” Lee fills the silence the way you did just moments before. Then he says your name, laced with pity, and hugs you on the floor of his lavender cabin. 

“You want to help me lead the bonfire song tonight?” He asks after a minute. “Or at least … come to the bonfire song?” 

“No to the first, yes to the second.”

You wish you said no to both. 

The spot you choose after dinner is right next to the fire so you can distract yourself with the golden flecks of flame. Fire is so fluid, so complex, from a colour perspective. But no matter how close you get, the searing warmth can’t hide Luke’s gaze peering over the embers. 

He will not. Stop. Looking at you. 

The singing from the Apollo kids usually soothes you but tonight it’s just making you anxious. All this attention so close to you. Will Solace has been sitting next to you this whole time, your unofficial assigned companion for the night thanks to Lee. One of his siblings beckons him over, and he shoots you an apologetic look, hesitating. "Just go," you wave off kindly. "It's all good." He's not entirely convinced, and you aren't either, but he squeezes your shoulder with thanks and leaves you anyway.

Now you’re acutely aware the space next to you is wide open. And so is Luke, it seems. There’s an awkward moment where your gazes slide over each other and he weaves out of his current crowd towards you. So you do the most mature, sound thing you could possibly do in this situation:

You say you have to go to the bathroom to no one in particular and get out of there. 

It’s dark, but you’ve got sharper eyes than most. Soon the noise of the campfire is behind you. You traipse through the camp towards the bathroom,but you don’t get far before you hear something that makes your stomach drop in the worst and best way. 

Luke, calling your name. 

At first you think you can get away with not hearing him. Then he calls a second, a third, a fourth time, punctuated with, “Come on, I know you can hear me, can you just turn around?”

He’s got longer legs than you so the next time he speaks it’s practically in your ear. “Hey, just look at me. Please. I want to talk to you.”

There’s something so tender in his voice that it makes you cave immediately. But you already feel so fragile, you can feel the tears behind your eyes. You know you won’t have the strength to talk to him. 

His hand curls gently around your wrist and it sends warmth all the way up your arm. He says your name again, softer, and you love the way it sounds. You can’t meet his eyes, but you already know what he looks like. Even in the dark you picture him crystal clear. 

“Look at me,” he repeats. “I just—I need to know what I did wrong.”

His dark eyes are full and apprehensive when you heed him. You notice how much you’ve missed studying his face—the slight bunch of his brows, the tensing in his jaw. And you almost delude yourself that he’s missed you just as much, the way he squeezes your wrist and rakes over your expression.

“Why are you ignoring me?” He asks. 

“I’m not—”

“You are. I know you. Just tell me why.” 

He looks so sweet, so earnest, and it kills you. You think of the way he looked when all his friends made fun of you. It all comes up before you can help it. 

“Do you always let me walk around looking like an idiot?” You ask bitingly, staring at the floor. “The thing, with the paint on my cheek—why didn’t you tell me? I looked so stupid and all your friends just laughed at me!” 

His face falls. “I tried to tell you, I thought—”

“It’s okay to say you don’t like me, or that you’re embarrassed, or whatever, but I …” You swallow, tears thick on your lower lashes. “Everyone makes fun of me. I don’t know why you don’t.”

“Because I do like you,” he states, hand moving up to your forearm. 

“Don’t say that,” you whisper. “You’re so much … better, you know you are, and I don’t want your pity, or your spare time. I just—I made something up in my head that wasn’t there and I only noticed it the other day after you talked to that girl and that guy made fun of me and I’m really, really sorry—”

“It looked cute. I was trying to say I didn’t tell you about the paint because I thought it was cute.”

There’s a lull.

“What?” You blink stupidly. 

“I know I should’ve told you about it, but I swear I was going to before dinner, I didn’t think we’d run into anyone before then.” His cheeks tinge red. “I had this whole dumb thing planned out where I’d wipe it off your cheek and tell you how cute it was once you got embarassed. I was waiting to tell you. I was thinking about it the whole time.”

His hand on your arm is a frighteningly grounding thing. You're dumbstruck by that alone. Your lips part, but all that comes out is, “Why?”

A gentle laugh tumbles out of his throat. “Why do you think?”

His other hand comes up to brush your cheekbone, where the paint had been, and you can imagine him doing it to you on that day. How you'd probably react just the way he said you would, the way you are now. A warm orange glow blooming in your chest. “But the girl—”

“She tried whispering to me how much she liked my bracelet,” he smiles fondly. “Told her you made it for me. It shut her up. I don’t know what that guy said to you but I chewed ‘em all out the second you left. They knew I wasn’t happy. I tried looking for you but you were gone. I don't like them, you know."

You don’t know what to say. It’s too difficult, too uncertain for you to jump the gun on this. So you just stare at all the shifting colours on his face as he moves closer to you. All this time going over his every detail, and there's still more to be enthralled by.

“I found the paintings,” he says, voice so close you can feel it brushing your skin. “The ones of me. I was looking for you in the Apollo cabin a week ago and you left one out. I knew it was yours because ... I mean, there’s no one in the world that can make me look that … beautiful.” 

The last word is apprehensive but it’s spoken with an unimaginable tenderness. He looks a little teary himself. You think you’re dreaming. “I knew I had to tell you after that. I’ve been trying to tell you. But you started pulling away from me so I thought I was making it all up.”

“Tell me what?” It’s a ghost of a question between you, an impossible thing, but the hand on your arm slips around to your back and he presses it there with such certainty. 

“You’re really gonna make me say it?” He cocks his head, but you nod. “I’m in love with you, I think.”

The words cascade over you in ribbons of warmth. Your brain feels fuzzy, seperate from the rest of your body. Your mouth opens multiple times but you can’t seem to control what comes out. “Luke, are you joking?”

“Not even a little.”

“But you’ve got so many other—”

“I want you.”

“I am literally the most incompetent person alive; I can’t sing, I can’t talk to people, I have a weird knee—”

"Your knee is fine!"

"I'm just saying, this makes no sense from an outsider perspective, it's—"

“Okay, clearly the telling thing isn’t working so I guess I’m just gonna have to kiss you.”

It happens so quickly you don’t have any time to think (probably for the better). You let out a surprised “oh” before his mouth silences you, stopping every other thought. He’s gentle, thumb still rubbing your cheekbone, other hand still firm at your waist. You want to panic—where should you put your hands? How do you know you’re doing this right? But he steadies you, the way he always does, and you give in. 

He starts to smile against your lips. You’re almost positive the intensity of your heartbeat could summon a storm. When he pulls away, he kisses the corners of your mouth and you think you’re going to evaporate. “I don’t think I’m very good at this,” you whisper.

“You’re perfect.” He grins a little when your hands tentatively tug at a curl on the nape of his neck. “And none of that stuff you say is true. I mean, you’re definitely a better singer than me.”

Leaning close to your ear, he warbles out a song you know but gets the words horribly wrong anyways. You can’t help but laugh. “Okay, maybe you have a point.”

He hums and chuckles with you. You swear the moon gets brighter when he wraps his arms around your waist to kiss the side of your face. “Next time you paint me, I want to be there when you do it.”

You blush harder than you ever have in your life. “Only if you try painting me,” you say quietly.

“Of course. You’re very pretty, so I’m sure my horrible artistic skills won’t even make you look bad.”

Luke lets you press your face into the crook of his neck. You soak it up for all it’s worth. 

In the morning, you wake up in the same position. Your nose tucked against his collarbone, the shade of pink you love freckled across his cheeks. You can't wait to paint him again.

When you look out the window, you say a silent, grateful prayer to your mother.

She's given you two more rainbows.

#perrie’s fics #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #charlie bushnell #perrie's requests #pjo #pjo x reader #pjo fic #luke castellan fic #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan fluff #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo tv show #heroes of olympus #percy jackson

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Decoy [S. R.]

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

word count: 6.9k

summary: when you go after an unsub who catches students making out, the unit is called upon to resort to desperate measures. Or in other words, where you and Spencer become the decoy to catch a voyeur.

warnings: +16. Making out, mentions of alcohol, mentions of violence, insinuation of smut, sexual tension

Do yourself a favor and imagine Spencer in these clothes during the case

You sighed, completely frustrated, while you looked for the thousandth time at the blackboard with some information from the profile that you had made for the criminal in this case.

You believed that the unsub was a Caucasian man between 30 and 35 years old, whose motive was to spy on and photograph university students who were escaping in their cars to make out at night, then force them to have sex in front of him and finally kill them cold-blooded. You imagined that he was a person with a mediocre job, that he felt insufficient, and that his voyeuristic behavior probably came from sexual frustration, something that could be corroborated by the violence that he inflicted on the genital area of the students whom he stalked using a knife, his mark on all homicides. You also believed that perhaps the rejection or abandonment of his last partner (preceded by a bad streak from his youth) due to his impotence had been the triggering event for all his repressed impulses to come to light.

All the psychological analysis was fine, it wasn't something you hadn't seen before, but the hard part of all this? Because he only threatened and killed people, he didn't rape them, at first it was almost impossible to tell who it was. He already had 20 victims in total and you weren't even close to catching him. In the last scene he had made the mistake of leaving a fingerprint and Garcia had been able to trace his true identity: Oliver Davis, a guy who fits the description perfectly. Unfortunately, this turned out to be useless because beyond the accusations of being a pervert, the man didn’t have much information that would give a clue to his whereabouts, you had even called the job that he had registered and all you had obtained was that he had several months without working there, which coincided with the beginning of the murders. After that Rossi suggested that he probably lived in a trailer (old, due to his lack of employment) where he developed the photographs and kept his trophies. That only made more sense when you thought that it would make it easier to transport or escape in case things got messy.

But words on paper and intelligent conclusions were of absolutely no use to you. You needed a plan to catch him.

"Do you have something, Reid?" Hotch had asked. You had already interviewed some students, you had set up guard duty to look for any suspicious behavior and you had even shared the photograph of the suspect in the media, but nothing had worked; The only thing left was to carry out the geographical profile to know the area in which he was attacking and thus be able to search for possible targets.

“I triangulated the locations we have of his previous homicides and I'm guessing he hits in this specific area,” he muttered, pointing to a space on the map he had on his blackboard with his middle finger. “Considering it's an area frequented by the age group due to its proximity to the universities and that it has several parks that the students told us they use to drink or go out as a couple”

"So what?" Morgan said from his spot. "We just wait until he kills someone else and hopefully we're near the scene to hear the screams?"

“Maybe we can ask the cops to patrol the area for the unsub's car,” JJ suggested.

“He's smart, there's a trailer park right here. It wouldn't be strange to find one on the streets as well.” Reid was visibly frustrated like everyone else and he ran a hand through his hair with some despair.

Your options were running out and frankly you couldn't think of anything else.

“And if we give him a target?” Emily murmured. Noticing that none of you said anything, she went on to explain her plan, “We ask police officers to send any young people they see around to home so we force our unsub to get close to who we want”

"And what are we going to do? Hire a couple of college kids to stalk them?”

“We can use our own team”

"Not to offend you, Prentiss, but we are no longer in the prime of youth"

"We don't, but Y/L/N and Reid do" when you heard your last name you were surprised, but when you heard your friend's you practically froze. First you looked at her and then at the doctor, whose gaze reflected the same stupefaction as you "You two are young, you might look like students"

"Are you saying you want to send us straight into the hands of a sexual predator?" you couldn't be offended, after all, those risks were part of the job, but you did feel somewhat reluctant about the idea.

“Do you have a better suggestion?”

“It doesn't sound so bad” Rossi murmured “It's a smart move”

“Besides, we would be watching around and we would intervene before that madman got close to you. Once we catch him, the photographs and personal items that he probably has in his trailer will be enough evidence, in addition to the fingerprint from the last crime scene” to your surprise, Derek was also pretty convinced of the plan that Emily had just devised.

"Reid, Y/L/N, would you guys be up for it?" Hotch exclaimed with his usual serious tone, looking at you and then at your partner.

Thinking objectively, the suggestion was very good. But thinking about it personally, you felt worried about the danger you two would be running into… oh, God. It wasn't until then that you realized that the plan to catch the suspect involved the two of you making out like a couple of hormonal college kids. 

You knew that the options that remained wouldn’t be as opportune as that and taking into account the temporary nature with which Oliver operated, in addition to the fact that he was already deteriorating as a murderer, it was most likely that he was already looking for new victims, so if you did that same night the chances of success were quite high. You were between a rock and a hard place and all you could do was look at him while the gazes of the rest of the room were divided between the two of you.

“I… I'll only do it if you say yes” you exclaimed in his direction, with a cautious voice and a fearful look. You knew your friend and you didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable in any way, even though you knew that both you and he knew that your personal interests would take precedence against the possibility that another couple of victims would lose their lives if you refused. It was your job, you had to do it. 

"Are you sure you guys are going to catch him before something happens?" Spencer asked your boss. You thought that with his background the last thing he wanted was to end up kidnapped or seriously injured again, even though the truth was that he was caring just as much about himself as he was about you. He had seen the photographs and knew that women were the most affected by the murder weapon… he didn't even want to imagine something like this happening to you.

"Of course. You will have communication with us and if something goes wrong we will get you out of there immediately" Aaron answered and your friend sighed nervously and then looked for your approval. You nodded slightly and he delivered the verdict, to which everyone agreed.

He was still standing, but after that he slumped into the nearest chair as he listened to everyone brainstorming ideas for setting up the scene, distributing the crew, and what they would tell the local police to do to make the decoy effective.

At some point you lost the whole point of the conversation, to start thinking about what was implied by what you were about to do.

The feeling of attraction for your co-worker had been latent in you for a couple of years, but you had never confessed it to anyone to avoid creating tension in the team or suffering the humiliation of certain rejection. Also, you knew that a crush meant distractions from what was truly important and you had tried, in vain, to eliminate it completely. But even if it hadn't completely gone, you had known how to control it, only allowing yourself to look at him with loving eyes from time to time and avoiding being too confident with him during group drinking outings. You even limited physical contact, not because you didn't like it but because you knew your greed would demand more and more of you until it became inevitable to beg for his touch. But now all that good work holding you back was screwed because in a few hours you would have to be passionately making out with him.

Still with the internal crisis, you raised your head to look at him and realized that he too had been submerged in his own tide of thoughts, which you hoped would be more positive than yours. At some point Spencer felt you watching him and when his eyes met yours he gave you that tight-lipped smile that was strangely comforting, to which you responded with the same gesture. After that it didn't take long for everyone to leave the room to fulfill their respective tasks, but you stayed seated because you honestly didn't feel enough energy to move. Besides, you had nothing entrusted to you, you were the bait.

"Hey, are you sure you're okay with this?" Spencer asked you, once everyone else had left. He looked so tired of everything, but at the same time there was a kind tone in his voice about him that made you smile.

“It's just kissing, Spence. I think we'll be fine" you assured him, trying to swallow all your embarrassment and nerves "And you?"

"I agree. I just hope we get lucky today or we'll just have to keep trying” 

"Reid, I need you to tell the cops what area we'll be in," Hotch interrupted you from the door. "You still have time to regret it," he added, looking at the two of you.

You immediately denied and after that Spencer withdrew from there in the company of Aaron. When you were about to drop you exhaled, completely concerned about the last thing your partner had said.

We will just have to keep trying. You didn't know if the idea excited you, or terrified you.

As night fell, Spencer drove the old pickup truck the unit had managed to rent for the two of you to drive into the park, with you in the passenger seat and a six-pack of beer in the backseat.

Although you were sure that it would be cold, you had decided to wear shorts and a button-down shirt that you normally wore for work, but that you had adjusted to make it look more youthful. Spencer was wearing an outfit that Morgan had gotten for him from a department store, simple jeans with a rather baggy cotton shirt and some nice boots that you didn't know where he got from, since in Quantico you had never seen him wear anything like that.

Both of you had showered at the hotel (separately of course) and you had made sure to brush your teeth and put on a good amount of deodorant and perfume before getting in the car. You had paid special attention to your appearance, not because it was necessary, but because you wanted to look perfect for him. Even with all this, you were a nervous wreck next to him, not saying a word along the way and only soft music from the radio filling the air.

When you stopped, the two of you put your headphones on to the channel the team was supposed to be on, and Morgan answered in the affirmative.

"Remember, he doesn't have to see the communicator or your weapon," Rossi spoke, who was also in the van, along with Prentiss and Hotch. "García will be watching with the security cameras and he will warn us if the trailer is coming"

"And meanwhile what do we do?"

"Pretend to be a couple, sit on the tailgate and drink beer, laugh, I don't know"

“Did you ever run away like that in college?” you asked, directly at Reid.

“Do you remember that I was like 16 when I studied at the university, right? I wasn't even old enough to drive, much less a car" he muttered and you gave a short laugh "I guess you did"

“I was too busy being the best in the institution to even think about going out and making out with idiots,” you replied, proud of yourself for that. “I mean, it's not like you're an idiot, but they were. You're very smart," you rambled, still twiddling your fingers, "Hotch, you guys will tell us when we're going to start kissing, will you?"

“When the suspect approaches, yes”

"Okay, well... then we have to go out, huh?" you muttered to him as you reached for the beers and tried to open the door to get out. You turned, expecting to see Spencer do the same as you, but noticed that he had lingered in the car for a moment, checking himself in the mirror and applying his lips with chapstick.

My God, could that man make you more nervous?

When he finally caught up with you, you went to the back of the pickup, where you opened the tailgate to sit down with a little hop. Spencer was tall enough to keep up with you just by leaning over the edge, where you watched him cross his arms. You were silent for a few moments, listening to the sound of crickets and cars in the distance.

"Do you think it's a good idea to drink?"

"Only a little. I'm having a hard time thinking while sober, I don't want to ruin the little reasoning I have left” you exclaimed as a joke. Or maybe you weren't joking so much "Just empty a couple of cans and leave them on the floor so he'll think we're really drunk." Spencer was about to do what you said when you noticed an important detail and called him over to look at you "Come here, let me fix your hair."

"What's wrong with my hair?"

"You're very well combed, it's not the image we expect" you carefully took his hand until it was close enough to pass the other through all his golden locks, messing them up enough to give him that relaxed touch that he should have. He looked so handsome, but not in the style of a fancy FBI agent but just like a young intellectual who went to parties and smoked weed “Like this. Perfect"

“Do you think we have to think of some backstory?” he asked and you looked at him with a frown. “You know, something about us. What degree are we studying, what are our names…”

"This is not a play"

"It's rude to eavesdrop on conversations, Prentiss," you said visibly annoyed, although looking at your partner that expression softened "As you wish, Spencer. Although being honest, I would say that you study… literature”

"Really?" he exclaimed with slight enthusiasm. You knew that his mother had been a teacher in the subject and you wondered if he had ever considered it.

“Morgan wasn’t wrong to choose those clothes for you. It suits you” you complimented him and Morgan whistled from the other end of the line. You felt like you were having too much fun for the situation you were in, but you needed to talk about something else to put off the reminder of what you had come to do for as long as possible. “I think you would have that hopeless philosopher/romantic vibe who flirts by whispering memorized poetry in your ear.”

“I actually know some good ones”

"Sure you do" you smiled gently, suppressing the thought of him sighing close to your neck at Bécquer "I'd probably study science or something."

"The unattainable scientist with whom the captain of the soccer team has a secret crush, but she is completely unaware"

"Where did you get that? From a 90s movie?

Spencer's laugh was one of your favorite sounds and today that was precisely not helping your situation. You felt intoxicated by how handsome he looked, like you'd discovered a side to him that no one else had, and the thought of kissing him made you tremble a little with anticipation.

“Do you want to share a beer?” he murmured, carefully opening the can and offering it to you first. You knew your partner wasn't the most enthusiastic about doing anything that involved germs, so it made you feel good that he took the lead. You took a big gulp of the drink to gather something of value and when it was his turn to drink he kept looking at you intently, you would even say that he seemed entranced.

You had made sure you were in a strategic position, with enough light for the unsub to see you and quite lonely, except for the patrol cars and the van that had been positioned at a safe distance.

“How does voyeurism develop?” you asked quietly, with genuine interest, as you shifted a bit to get closer to him.

“Voyeurism usually begins in adolescence and since during that age it is usually seen with greater tolerance, there are people who continue with these behaviors until adulthood. When voyeurism is pathological, they spend considerable time looking for opportunities to watch, often at the expense of not fulfilling important responsibilities in their lives, and people reach orgasm by masturbating during or after watching. Although if you think about it a bit, everyone is a bit of a voyeur."

"Why you said so?"

“Many men and women enjoy viewing pornography, which can be classified as voyeuristic behavior. It's not a worrying thing, but it's interesting to think about it” he explained, with those expressions on his face that he had every time he shared knowledge with you. He liked that about you, that you were always willing to listen to his data and statistics even at the most inopportune moments.

"I'm still a little scared that Oliver is trying to do something to us."

“I have my gun. If he tries to do something to you, I'll use it" you knew that killing the unsub was always the last option Reid considered, so you widened your eyes a little to show your surprise "All lives are worth, but when that life has already taken so many and it puts you at risk, I would not doubt it. You have nothing to worry about” he assured you and your heart warmed a little at feeling so protected.

"Do you know if Oliver attacks at a specific time?"

"No, he doesn’t. Just as we can be here for ten minutes, we can also be here all night."

You exhaled loudly, before taking another gulp of beer.

“Drink some, boy. I feel kind of selfish around here."

"I am nervous"

"And why do you think I'm drinking?" you exclaimed wryly, still holding out the can to him, and when he finally agreed he drank a little more than you expected “Have you ever…” you started to say, but suddenly remembered that literally the whole team was listening to you. If the answer was embarrassing, you didn't want to hear Morgan and Emily taunting you all week, so you covered your microphone for a moment and spoke again, but so quietly that only he could hear you. "I suppose you kissed someone, did you?"

"Yes," he said quickly and you sighed with relief. It comforted you a little to know that it wasn't his first kiss, because you didn't want him to have such a bad memory “Do I look so inexperienced?"

"No, that's not what I meant" you smiled "You're handsome, I know you've probably kissed a couple of girls"

"You don't need to tell lies, you know I'll kiss you anyway"

"But it's not a lie. I really think you're handsome" you confessed, gathering all the courage in you, while you smiled at him in the most serene way possible "And if we weren't literally waiting for a murderer, you know I'd be happy to do this with you"

"Smooch me?"

"Having this bad date attempt, Reid," you hissed, flushing red, as you slammed your palm into his forehead with just a little bit of force. Spencer seemed quite pleased that he made you nervous, rather than the other way around, so he grinned, “Though I think we should have brought food. I'm starving,” you pouted, swinging your dangling legs back and forth.

"That's not a picnic, Y/N"

You hated for a second that everyone was so intent on the conversation. A part of you wanted a moment alone with the brunette, even if it was in the midst of such a strange situation.

You began to talk pleasantly about things completely unrelated to the case for a couple of minutes, staying where you were, until Hotch's interruption made you jump a bit in place.

"Garcia intercepted an approaching trailer, get ready” your heart immediately sped up and you noticed him tense beside you, too, probably with the same thought flooding his head.

"Okay, come closer," you exclaimed, trying not to panic, as you spread your legs a little to allow the man to step into the space between. He wasted no time and just as you wrapped your hands around his shoulders you heard the sound of another car pulling up.

"Is that our unsub?"

"It is"

You were about to turn your head to peek when Reid grabbed your cheek and stopped you.

"He's smart. If you look at him, he'll realize it” he reminded you with a serious voice. You were so worried about everything that you were forgetting about your training “Okay, so I… Is it okay if I put my hands here?” he asked with a different tone, nervously placing both hands on your waist. You had always admired the size and anatomy of those hands, but until now you had not had the pleasure of feeling them on your body in this way.

“Tonight everything you do is fine. I promise"

"It would be a good time to start, he'll see you" Emily reminded you and you could only sigh shakily.

You two were adults, why were you so scared about kissing?

"Close your eyes" Spencer whispered to you, masking his nerves better than you "I'll kiss you, just close them," he asked you and you did.

You felt his body lean against you a little until his chest almost touched yours and then his lips shakily pressed against yours. You would always remember your first kiss, which in essence was such a brief caress that you didn't even know if it could be counted as one, the one where he wordlessly asked your permission to explore your mouth. Still with your eyes closed, you pulled him by the neck towards you and started a new kiss, a little more confident and deep this time, allowing you to savor the beer mixed with strawberries and that strange flavor that each person has.

“We…” you started to say, once you separated “you have to do it slowly, what he wants is a show” you exclaimed. Spencer felt unable to say any words and your hands caressing him so deliciously wasn't helping at all “Slow,” you repeated.

You arched your back a little to get even closer and when you finally looked up you met his caramel eyes. You needed a moment to recover and you unconsciously licked your lips, as if you needed to pick up and savor his presence in your mouth again, something that didn’t go unnoticed by his attentive look at your movements. 

It didn't take long for you to give up, as beginning the third kiss you felt that you no longer had any control over your body, your heart, or your mind. And while it was true that neither of you were experts on the subject, you guys managed pretty well as the seconds ticked by. Spencer gasped as he simultaneously felt you pull the hair from his neck and caress his lips with the tip of your tongue, while you were taken by surprise when his hands left your waist and lowered to the height of your hip, where his thumbs gripped firmly on the clip of your shorts.

There was a kiss, then another and another; they became too many to count. You didn't want to touch him anywhere and at the same time you wanted to touch him completely, in the grip of the fantasy that this was real and not just a performance. And even if you were aware that it was all fake, that would probably only have encouraged you to enjoy something to the fullest that you knew would never come back. Amid everything you didn’t know which of the two situations would be worse.

The sound of your lips colliding became so obscene that you were embarrassed, but you had no plan to stop. Your hands slid gently down the length of his neck until you reached his chest and cupped the soft cotton of his garment in your fists to make sure he didn't move away from you. The heat of the moment just went up and up, but a voice on the intercom brought you back with a jolt.

“He started the trailer. He's going to go"

Spencer closed his eyes in frustration, and you sighed. From the position he was in it wasn’t possible to get around him without being seen, so keeping all his attention was on you and him.

Maybe you weren't doing it right? You wondered what the hell this man wanted to see if you were practically eating each other, but suddenly you remembered that his motivation was even more sexual than a couple of wet kisses. Maybe he was getting bored because he needed to see that you were about to… well, do it.

"Take off my shirt," you said immediately, still too close to his swollen lips and looking right into eyes that seemed to be pitch black.

"Take... what?"

"Take off my shirt" you repeated, with a tone that made the man shudder completely. With the hands that were still holding his shirt you pulled him to you and he held his breath “And kiss me better. Like you really want me"

But Spencer didn't need to pretend that he wanted you. 

He made you completely dizzy when he began to kiss you so hungrily and you managed to keep enough composure when you felt one of his warm hands travel under your blouse, limiting yourself to letting out sighs that were drowned against his lips. But what finally caused you to let out an indiscreet and unwelcome moan was when he pulled you by the hip until you were on the edge of the tailgate and you could feel the growing bulge in his pants pressing against you. Spencer had almost managed to suppress his, but in the end, you having your own situation down there didn't help one bit. 

His trembling fingers fussed with the buttons on your shirt until it ended up somewhere on the floor at incredible speed, leaving you half-naked before him and the collection of FBI agents standing around. You might have been embarrassed if your brain could connect two coherent thoughts, but you'd lost that from the moment Dr. Reid first dared to kiss you.

You carefully guided his hands to the beginning of the curve of your breasts and now you both sighed in unison, feeling goosebumps on every inch of your skin. You pushed yourself forward just for the satisfaction of hearing that guttural sound again and your prayers were immediately answered, for it was enough for him to feel the slightest friction and he would go crazy. It was inappropriate to need him like that, but you couldn't help it.

Holding your lower back, he leaned over you and at the same time pulled you towards him until your breasts collided with his chest. In that position, your neck was exposed and your partner’s hot lips didn't hesitate to go down there, while you sighed agitated just at the height of his ear. Spencer asked you, between each kiss, to look in the direction of the trailer to see if he was still there and as you could you answered yes, which was victory enough for both of you.

As he could, he maneuvered to lay you down carefully on the cold metal of the truck without stopping kissing your neck, and by inertia you wrapped both legs over his hip. When you were hidden by the panels of the pickup he finally looked at you.

"I hope it's enough to get his attention," he said, sounding as agitated as expected, and although the circumstances meant that you two would be taking a break you flatly refused, pulling him back to kiss him.

That kiss did take Spencer by surprise and it was perhaps the sincerest of the night. It wasn’t as passionate as the previous ones, but rather it was loaded with softness and you would even say that a hint of supplication. You were begging for him not to stop, for the night to get stuck in an infinite loop where the two of you could kiss for eternity. And suddenly you felt how he, who had been so tense the whole time, completely relaxed against you, as if he understood exactly what you wanted to say. His hands came to rest on the sides of your head to be able to kiss you more comfortably and you dared to take him by the waist with the same care that you were kissing him, feeling even above the cloth the softness of his skin. 

And then he broke up with you. You feared you had done something wrong due to the suddenness of the movement and your frightened eyes searched his gaze for a sign of the reason, without finding anything. He just looked at you with something you couldn't describe, but that made you feel butterflies fluttering all over your stomach... and he stayed like that for a few seconds: just looking at you, as if he wanted to memorize all your features.

You opened your mouth to say something, but your words were drowned in a new kiss, totally different from the previous ones. Spencer was taking time with him, trapping your lower lip between his and sucking on it gently, pressing himself a little more against your body, sighing heavily into your mouth.

Your hand was already running up his side to make its way to his cheek just as screams filled the silence and you hugged him reflexively. The screams had come from Morgan, who had already moved across the park to take down the unsub and was now wrestling with him to get the knife out of his hand. Spencer hesitated for a moment if he should come over to help, but he preferred to hold you better against his body to protect you and wait for Emily to place the handcuffs on the man under her partner's knee.

From a distance you saw that he only brought with him, in addition to the knife, his camera, and a small backpack with some other murderous instruments that they managed to confiscate without any problem.

"All clear, we've got him," Hotch spoke over the radio. As you exhaled in relief too many emotions washed over you, combined with the adrenaline coursing through your body and the arousal still flowing into your crotch.

"Are you okay?" Reid's gentle voice called to you, as he pulled away to check with his eyes that everything was in order. His hair was messy and his lips were so swollen that it was almost painful to look at the image without launching yourself to kiss him again "My God, your shirt..." he said, completely embarrassed, as he bent down to pick up the garment. You looked him up and down and blushed when you noticed how tight his pants were, feeling your stomach turn a little. When he got up, he took the opportunity to look at your chest covered only by the black lace bra and a big gulp of saliva went down his throat.

You thanked him quietly and put your shirt back on, feeling the sneaky glances Spencer was giving you, just before Hotch walked up to you.

"How are you?"

"Very good, excellent" you stammered.

You could perfectly feel your swollen lips, the light sheen of sweat on your face, the heat flowing from all the places Reid's fingers had been, and the abundant moisture between your crossed legs.

After Hotch congratulated you on your performance, the two of you walked as best you could toward the rest of the agents, who were already placing Oliver on patrol. Another group was analyzing the trailer and they managed to pull out enough evidence about the murders that would be very useful in prosecuting the man.

"All good?" Emily asked in your direction, once things had settled down and the rest of the team had gathered in a circle by the van. You and Spencer just nodded at the question.

“I honestly think I'm going to need therapy after what I heard,” Dave murmured, so serious that you couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"Don't you even dare make fun of this"

“No, we won't. I'm just saying you guys seemed to be enjoying it there."

"That's supposed to be the plan, right?" Spencer said nervously, finally daring to look at you and looking away almost immediately as he smoothed his hair back.

Once your boss said you could retire you escaped in a patrol car as fast as you could, wanting to get home so you could take a cold shower and soothe what wasn’t satisfied by the man. You could hardly sleep that night, still haunted by the ghost of the kisses you received from your gorgeous coworker, and the next morning you hoped that double coffee would do the trick. But apparently you weren't the only one who thought so, because at the same time that you arrived Spencer Reid crossed your path.

"Hey," he said, in that high-pitched voice that came out when someone caught him off guard, "How are you?" 

"Fine, and you?"

"Fine too"

You knew that the two of you wanted to talk about what happened, but it only took one of you to have the courage to speak first. At the same time your phones rang indicating a message and you mistakenly assumed that it was JJ contacting you to announce a case. What was your surprise when you opened the file and found a collection of photos from the night before. You knew from Spencer's face that he had received the same thing.

"Garcia did you… did she send you the same evidence?"

"That's right," he said nervously. You had to admit that if Oliver had one quality it was that of a photographer: you were sensual and perfectly captured the desire that had existed between you. Well, the one you had pretended to feel… right?

Spencer held his breath as he came to a picture of you topless in which his hand was practically on your breast, immediately remembering how that had felt. He just hoped his memories didn't affect him too much or it would be embarrassing enough to walk into the boardroom with a boner.

"They're good," you said to the air and he suppressed a laugh "But I can delete them if that makes you feel uncomfortable"

“No, no, I… I think I want to keep them too. After all, the bureau will have them in the files as evidence of the case, I prefer to have access too”

"I just hope she doesn't send them to anyone else, I wouldn't want to see my bra photos going around."

“I'll tell Garcia, don't worry,” Spencer murmured, rushing to type something on his phone.

While you waited for him to type you took another look, feeling your whole body heating up again at the memories. A part of you was grateful to have such material in your custody.

"I never thought of being the protagonist of an erotic photo session and here we are," you said ironically.

“Speaking of which…” Spencer started to say, “Not the erotic sessions by any means, don't think I'm planning on inviting you to one or that, because it would be super weird and inappropriate, but I was thinking if… huh…”

“Sell them online? I thought so too, but it depends on how much profit there is. Garcia can help us find the highest bidder and not get charged for tampering with evidence."

"What? No!" he said, completely shocked, and you laughed because you got the reaction you expected with your joke "Why would we do that?"

“Just kidding, Reid. Those photos are something I prefer to keep to myself" you clarified and your smile made him feel shy "Seriously, sorry for interrupting you. What did you want to tell me?"

"What…? huh, yes, right. It's just that this morning I was thinking about what you said yesterday, about how under normal circumstances you would have liked to have a bad date with me, right? and it just kept spinning in my head, so I was asking if you wanted to go for a drink sometime. Not like a date, of course, I'm not saying it is if you don't want to. I can just be like… well, go get a drink. As friends"

Yesterday Spencer had practically eaten your mouth and now he was nervous about asking you out. So adorable.

“You're not doing this just as compensation, are you? because you know that it is not necessary…”

“I do it because I want to. And I want to believe that… that I didn't misunderstand what happened yesterday."

You no longer even cared that it was unethical to date team members, or that if things went wrong, you would probably go into the worst of depressions. What mattered to you was that Spencer was interested in you, even if he had implied it, and that he was asking you out alone with him. Just the two of you, with fun and alcohol involved, without gossipy colleagues or mortal danger.

"Then I'd love to, Reid."

“Wow, excellent then” he smiled, feeling lucky that you agreed “I know a great bar near here, the atmosphere is generally calm, I like it because they don't play loud music. What day is right for you?"

“I'm available any day you want” you responded genuinely, grinning from ear to ear just being around him. That was the effect Reid had on you.

It was stupid to try to deny that you were still attracted to him, especially since now you had a taste of what he could do with you. You wanted to kiss him again, of course, but you were also anxious to earn that completely adoring look you'd received the night before.

“Today?”

"Yeah, why wait?" you responded, more excited than you wanted.

“Hey, I didn't ask you, but I wanted to know if I didn't go overboard with you last night. I mean… did something bother you?”

It was a smart move, you could see it clearly. It was obvious that Spencer cared about you, but you also picked up on his intentions to find out if you were interested in him too. Well, that's how it was from your perspective, because that probably would have been your motivation being in his place.

Even if it wasn't the case, you weren't going to miss the opportunity to take a little advantage of the situation.

"The kisses on the neck were something he definitely didn't expect, but they weren't unpleasant at all," you assured him, feeling your cheeks heat up again. "Did it feel good to you?"

"It did"

"So everything's perfect," you murmured, shrugging off the matter. But you both knew you couldn't see each other in the office and acted as if nothing had happened.

Something had happened. Those kisses had only fueled the tension that had always existed between you but that you wanted to ignore.

"Do you want to go after work, then?"

“Sounds good to me”

Spencer gave you one last smile and then went to prepare his usual cup of sugar with a dash of coffee. All day you were thinking about him and more than once he caught you looking at him, but you didn't even care.

So, at nightfall, with a few drinks on you and more courage in your body, you finally confessed that kissing was something you had wanted to do for a long time. You almost didn't believe it at first, coming from him, but when you finally accepted it, it wasn't hard at all to rush at him and kiss him feverishly. And this time there did not impede for you to give free rein to your desires, which led you to the soft mattress in your friend's house and kept you awake until a few hours before dawn.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #jason gideon #JJ #penelope garcía #david rossi #emily prentiss #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut

[lady-ashfade]

Our comfort

Platonic!Yan!Camp Half-Blood x Comfort!Goddess!Reader. (Percy, Annabeth, Grover)

—£ Yes I know I haven’t finish the book but I actually couldn’t wait anymore. So, this is me with little knowledge so bare that in mind.

—£ Warnings: Book/show spoilers, Yandere! Behavior, Being bound to a place, Possessive behavior, Obsessive behavior, Manipulation, Characters fighting for the reader’s attention. Short.

You weren’t a known for too long goddess, much younger then rest of the gods. A teenager like age compared to them. It was strange to have more powerful gods look to you for comfort but you love it. As you are the goddess of comfort.

But, as the other gods started to have many demigods you saw how miserable they could get. You hated the fact they didn’t care for their children so you decided to stay at the camp for half-bloods when the time came.

The campers cling to you. You bring a comfort they never quite felt before. It was like a warm hug, like the ones they wanted from their parents.

You couldn’t leave, and at the beginning you were glad to accept that fate.

Almost always you are found surrounded by demigods and they just relax in your comfort. You are the one they go to with every worry in their mind.

Being close to Aphrodite, her seeing you as a sister and a younger child. Stories of your love for one another are still told today, as she gave ideas to the mortals of how great your relationship was. But in reality there wasn’t much to tell.

So her children have a mentality that they are your favorite and because of their mother, they have some sort of claim to you above the others. But that never works because you love the children equally.

The demigods have less nightmares with you around and watching over them.

Ares children fight often for your affection. They will constantly get into fights with others to show they deserve more time with you. Which you always scold them but it never sticks. They kiss their weapons each time to you, like a sign of good luck. Aries children are one of the worsts ones because they get aggressive at times, even with you. But the golds make them stop by punishing them, mostly their father.

Hermes children are hard to explain really. They aren’t aggressive, but they are mischievous. They take their revenge of stealing things from the other campers, pulling pranks. Or trapping some of them up and go straight to you before they can get there. Luke for instance, is always looking around for you and talking about his day. He’s either laying down next to you, or making you watch him train.

Many games of all houses take place just for you.

AnnaBeth, is constantly by your side when she has free time. She scares off people with a glare behind your back, knowing that she could put plan them. She also trains and makes you watcher her and needs your praise. Maybe, somehow you are her older sister. But, sometimes she just chills by your side not saying anything, she’s like a lost duck at times.

Grover however is actually a lost duck. You comfort him when his past missions fail and he loses kids. You are so nice to him and makes him feel special and brave. When he has to leave he keeps a coin in his pocket with your face on it and prays a lot. He’s not possessive much. He’s willing to take what he can get and is just happy to be there. But maybe if someone comes in when he’s “crying” and having you fuss over him then he’ll be a bit mad but never does anything about it.

When a new camper arrives you devote your time to them because they need it a little more. They come into a world they know nothing of, waiting for the parent they hardly know to claim them. You claim them like your own until the time comes.

So when Percy comes you feel something off with him, like he is special and in need of a lot. He lost his mom, taken from the world he knew.

Percy becomes the most possessive out of all of them.

He feels out of place but you are always there to listen to him. It doesn’t help that you follow him to make sure he’s okay. At the beginning you’re both following each other around.

“It’s okay, Percy.” You brush his hair lightly like his mother used to do. “You’ll get claim, and you’ll have glory.” And he doesn’t care if you say that to everyone because you make him feel special. 

Also, you protect the new bloods. So you’ll show up when he gets bullied and just raise one brow and they all back off. Can’t risk making you mad at them.

When Percy gets claimed he’s all alone again, no friends and the campers looking at him funny. Being one of the top threes son isn’t fun or easy. He shares a cabin all to himself.

So he starts to be the worst of them all. Raising his voice when you try and leave him and he manipulates you to stay with him. Can’t you see how alone he is?

He can’t sleep unless he knows your watching over him.

You pick no sides of the war. Your family will figure it out themselves, while you take care of their children.

#disney plus percy jackson #plantonic percy jackson x reader #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #yandere percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #platonic #yandere #grover underwood x reader #yandere annabeth chase #annabeth chase x reader #annabeth chase #grover underwood #yandere Grover underwood #yandere greek gods #yandere annabeth chase x reader #I stand peter Johnson

[onlyswan]

summary: in which leaving the past behind is not as easy as forgetting, and you want to be everything jungkook wants to know.

idol!jungkook x f!reader, est. relationship / angst, fluff / wc: 7.9k

playlist: strange by celeste / sinking by clairo / manta rays by chloe moriondo / ceilings by beabadoobee / iris (cover) by phoebe bridgers & maggie rogers

content/warnings: [deep breath] no one will know the violence it took to become this gentle / it’s their first winter as a couple / oc’s ex bf slaps oc / jk beats up the ex / blood and bruises / crying :( / mention of cheating (not in our main’s rs we don’t tolerate that in this household :]) / mention of s*x / jimin as both their older brother and friend :(

in which masterlist!

note: greeting 2024 with angst woopsie… i literally ugly sobbed writing a particular scene T_T… anwww i hope it’s a good read <3 as always reblogs and feedback are appreciated! i’d love to hear your thoughtsss 🥺

—

the word VICTORY flashes across the screen.

with a proud smirk adorning his lips, jungkook pushes down his headphones to hang around his neck.

he rises from his seat, resting his crossed arms over the partition dividing the computer that you’re renting from his.

“hi, baby. are you almost done?”

he chuckles to himself when he realizes that you didn’t hear him, not with the music blasting from your headphones. you direct your attention upwards when endless song by no reply is abruptly put on pause; the cushions of the headphones are pressed up against your cheek by your boyfriend’s doing.

“what?”

“hi, baby. are you almost done?”

“oh, yes…” your focus returns to the screen, fast fingers dancing along the keyboard without an ounce of hesitation weighing on them. “i just… need to… send the file to my email.”

jungkook blinks at the long rows of words you’re masterfully curating, thinking to himself — how the hell do you think and type that fast at the same time?

it was his suggestion to stay at a pc bang tonight so you could be together while you each do your own thing. he spent his half of his day-off playing games, and during that time, you worked on your research paper and finished an essay that isn’t even due for another week. you took a break every hour, munched on some snacks, and cheered him on while he was diligently playing. perhaps he could’ve done something more productive today, but it couldn’t have made him happier.

he holds out the last slice of gimbap in between chopsticks, lightly poking your lips, and his heart flutters when you offer him a sweet smile after welcoming the big bite with some difficulty, cheeks full and nose scrunched.

“is there anything else you want to eat?”

you shake your head, and unable to speak while chewing, you gesture for water as if you’re playing charades.

a kiss is granted to your forehead.

when he comes back with a bottled water, all your tabs have been closed and you’re wearing your white beret again, re-organizing your belongings in your backpack.

“ready to leave?” he inquires as he hands your order.

you hum as a reply, standing from your seat as you swing the backpack over your head to wear it with little to no effort.

jungkook thinks you’re so cool.

you visit the restroom as he settles the bill. when you come out, he’s already pulling out a credit card from his wallet. you decide to head straight for the door then, wait for him outside as the air inside the room has started to feel a little too stuffy after you stepped away from the computer.

you’ve always thought about it— how time stands still when you experience something traumatic, how that moment feels stretched for eternity… how utterly barbaric that is. you’re forced to memorize frames of the origin of your scars, relive it over and over again, eyes closed and open. moments of happiness, on the other hand, are fleeting. they are sand slipping through the gaps of your fingers. getting out of bed is scooping them in your hands and praying that they will hold on to you in the following rotations and revolutions of the earth. they never do.

there he stood at the bottom of the stairs, just as horrified as you.

his face is the last thing you want to see on a winter night.

because you still recall the amalgamation of emotions in his eyes two winters ago. his skin was flushed from the cold, but he turned redder with anger and your stomach coiled in shame.

“juwon?”

the name felt odd in your mouth. it’s like when you eat a food you haven’t had in a long time, and it doesn’t quite taste like you remember it.

and to be honest, you didn’t know what you expected to happen when he carried on to climb the remaining steps that led to you. but it definitely wasn’t… this.

the first hand to carress your bare body, as if it was in disbelief of its existence, and the rings you used to blindly adore— they collide with your cheek with a sound that resonates in your eardrums.

the slap thins out into a ringing noise.

“are you insane?!”

it continues to assault your hearing even as you scream and hit him back.

it ends when someone bumps against your shoulder in a haste, and the next thing you register is juwon lying on the ground with jungkook sitting on top him, balled fist throwing unforgiving punches at your ex-boyfriend’s face. juwon is held hostage by the shock and is unable to reciprocate jungkook’s aggression. he attempts to fight back but your boyfriend dodges easily.

“jungkook! stop, stop, stop!”

you run down the stairs with panic thundering in your chest, nearly in tears as you forcefully grasp at the back of jungkook’s coat to pull him away, but with his strength and the adrenaline flowing through his veins, your efforts prove to be fruitless.

“you fucking bastard! i’m gonna kill you!”

“that’s enough-” you cry out. “please!”

“how dare you lay a hand on my girlfriend like that, huh?!”

he is furious, gripping the collar of juwon’s sweater and slamming him to the ground.

“your girl?” coughing, juwon faces the side to spit out the blood in his mouth, which then shapes into an arrogant smirk. “didn’t you know? ____ was mine first. i was the first!”

the next punch he receives cuts his lower lip open, and a stronger metallic taste assaults his tongue.

“jungkook!”

before jungkook could inflinct more permanent damage, you resort to holding back his arm with both of your hands.

your gazes connect, and your heart drops to your stomach. he is seething with anger. your blood runs cold and a thick haze clouds your thinking. you can’t move your limbs. what do you do? what do you do? what do you do?

“____, let go. i’m not fucking finished with him.”

“please,” you beg, ignorant of the tears that have begun to slide down your cheeks. “that’s enough. look at him!”

“and why should i care?” he spits out as he shrugs you off.

“ah, jungkook! i said that’s enough! why won’t you listen to me?!”

your desperate tantrum falls on deaf ears. you squeeze your eyes shut when he re-assumes his stance, tucks his thumb over his folded fingers, exactly what he taught you about making a proper fist to avoid injuring one’s self when boxing.

“stop it! you’re scaring me!”

that throws a bucket of ice over jungkook’s head. the anger in his eyes is replaced by vacancy, and with that, juwon seizes the opportunity to finally strike him with a jab and escape from underneath him. jungkook finds himself pushed aside on the ground with a throbbing cheek, mostly likely to be noticeably bruised in the next hours.

“love-” you gasp, and you rush over to him but your path gets rudely obstructed by your ex.

“is this the guy you cheated on me with?”

he is extremely near that you can feel him panting on your face. two years later, your stomach coils in disgust. your glare is venomous, and if only looks could kill, if only looks could kill…

“just leave, won’t you? what’s the point of all this?” you roughly push him away with your remaining shred of energy, driven by exhaustion and frustration. “it was so long ago! get a fucking grip!”

he huffs in disbelief as he wipes the blood from the corner of his mouth. it also drips from his nose and eyebrow. strange enough, you do not feel guilt nor compassion for this man. not anymore.

“are you seriously crying just because he got punched one time…? isn’t that a little unfair? you loved me too. once.” he snickers, but he is visibly pissed off. he can no longer look at you in the eye. “shit, is he that much of a better fuck than me?”

your skin crawls. bile creeps up your throat. technically speaking, this is the consequence of your own actions, but you can’t help but to be resentful.

“you are…” your voice trembles, but your glare remains unwavering. “still as despicable and shallow as ever… and i don’t regret what i did.”

and it may have been a long time ago, but you still know how to hit him where it hurts the most— his ego.

you purposely bump against his shoulder as you make your way to jungkook, leaving him speechless as he stares at the ground. the night the two of you broke up, you were crying and begging him for forgiveness… what the fuck happened?

“let’s go home.” you demand quietly while refusing to meet jungkook’s stare— a mix of confusion, offense, and rage.

but the thing about juwon? he always needs to have the last word.

“you better keep a close eye. you might think you know ____, but whores never change. especially those who became one so young.”

“dude, how are you still speaking?!”

it’s too late when you realize that jungkook has left your side. he swings at juwon’s face with a force that sends the man stumbling backwards. he completely loses balance then collapses on the ground with a curse that almost misses your ears.

“don’t ever go near ____ again! don’t even think of it! if you show your face to me again, i might really end up fucking killing you. you hear me?!”

—

jungkook doesn’t recall a time when he felt a rage this intense and consuming. witnessing you get slapped, his vision went dark and he was shaking with fury. everything was a blur after that, but he knew one thing: this man violated the most precious person to him, and he won’t allow him to get away with that unscathed.

and that must be why he feels restless until now. neither one of you has dared to utter a word for the past couple of minutes. he can’t see your face as you’re walking ahead of him, leading the way with his wrist in your cold hand. however, he can hear your sniffles, and he can see you wiping your tears dry with the back of your hand. he thought he has experienced heartbreak, but this pain cuts deeper than anything he has ever felt.

“baby, let’s go back.”

he breaks the silence, standing infront of you to stop you on your tracks. he almost reeks of desperation as he intertwines your fingers together.

“please? there should be a cctv camera infront. we can sue him.”

“are you even hearing yourself? you’ll also get into trouble!”

his insistence only fuels the urge to cry and scream and break things. it’s an understatement to say that you’re ashamed. it was foolish of you, really, to assume that leaving the past behind would be as easy as forgetting. it may be out of sight but it is everywhere, and it sneaks up on you without tell and mercy.

“you attacked him out of nowhere! he can sue you for that too!”

“out of nowhere?” he repeats your words slowly, hurt flashing across his face. “i was protecting you, ____! who knows what else he could’ve done? and the shit he was talking about you? was i just supposed to stand there and do nothing?”

“and i’m protecting you too! why did you even have to punch him again?! he was obviously just trying to provoke you! god, i-” you release the air in your lungs you didn’t realize you’ve been holding. “thank god he didn’t see your face.”

that struck a nerve for some reason. he harshly rips off the mask that has been concealing half of his face all along.

“he hit you! look- fuck, you’re bleeding-”

oh, his rings must’ve grazed you.

jungkook brings out a clean white handkerchief from the backpocket of his pants, pressing it softly against your cheek. the sharp sting forces you to grit your teeth. it’s not only the wound… your skin is still warm and tender from the assault. you’re terrified to look at the mirror. you don’t want to feel sorry for yourself.

“and that’s what you’re really worried about right now?”

“okay, then i’m sorry for caring about my boyfriend and his career! i’m sorry, okay?!“

he dies a little inside when you harshly push his hand aside.

so this is what it feels like to be at the other end of your anger… shitty. it feels really shitty. after what happened, there is no sadness or fear. the twinkle in your eyes have been replaced with sharp daggers and it is gutwrenching to watch. it clicks for him then: you weren’t scared of him. you were scared for him.

he doesn’t allow you to go further than ten feet away. he seizes your arm before sneaking his hand on your waist to tug you closer to his body.

“you think i’m letting you out of my sight again? it’s not happening!”

you click your tongue in exasperation, left with no choice but to admit defeat as he hails the approaching taxi. you cover your face to hide from the blinding headlights.

ever the gentleman, jungkook opens the door for you.

“get in, ____.”

and the first thought that enters your mind: the air freshener is nauseating. it has to be something mixed with lemon.

you roll the window down as your boyfriend dictates the address of your destination to the taxi driver. not yours, but his. you send him an unimpressed scowl, but he only looks back at you challengingly under the warm dim light. the soft cloth is placed over your wound again, rudely snatched as you turn away from him. you hold it on your own as you watch the world outside the window, streetlamps with blurry light streaks and homes you will never set foot into. in the midst of your musing, you register the weight on your head, or its lack thereof. your beret landed on the ground in the aftermath of the first strike. what is there left to lose?

you thought you could be happy at last, but beside you is another soul you’ve stained with your bloody hands.

juwon was right, you never change.

—

“i still don’t think it’s right that i know the password.” you whisper as you push the door open.

“but i have a key to your house. what’s the difference?”

“i don’t know…” you begin removing your boots, carefully placing each one in the middle level of the shoe rack. “you live with six other people.”

“namjoon-hyung and yoongi-hyung are in their studios. the others went home.”

you enter the living room with jungkook hugging you from behind. his cheek rests on top of your shoulder, and he doesn’t want to let you go. the ride here was suffocating. he thought you wouldn’t talk to him for the rest of the night anymore.

you blink at jimin who is sprawled out on the sofa, a gray blanket that matches his sweatpants is covering his naked torso.

“why does he sleep here? doesn’t he have a bed?”

“the sofa is more comfortable.” he mumbles loud enough for you to hear as he opens his eyes halfway, but then he gives up and closes them again, curling in on himself to resume his slumber.

“okay… now i know what to get you for your birthday.”

for a brief second jungkook assumes that you’re joking, but you sounded way too nonchalant.

“a sofa?”

“a new mattress,” you blankly stare back at him, before proceeding to break free from his embrace to search for the bathroom.

he follows you like a lost puppy, whining. “why does he already have a birthday gift and i don’t?!”

“quiet!”

he winces. “sorry, hyung!”

—

you’re perched in the space between jungkook’s thighs, legs swung over one of them as he tenderly presses a cold compress against your left cheek. you’ve changed into the pair of pink cooky pajamas he wore a few times and has kept in his closet specially for you. sinking into his mattress, drowsiness has also begun to seep into the depths of your bones. it’s been an arduous week, and you’re exhausted of fighting in every sense of the word.

“he deserves more than what he got away with.” he mutters through gritted teeth.

“jungkook, enough.” you chide at him with a sigh. “let’s just forget about this.”

“your face is going to be bruised for atleast a week! how am i supposed to ‘just forget’? are you hearing yourself?”

your rhetoric question from earlier comes back to gnaw at your thread-like sanity. you feel backed into a corner. you can’t think of a solution that will put this issue at rest, much less make either one of you feel better.

“he’s not worth it.”

“you are to me.” he declares.

it’s impossible to argue with that. you want it to stay true. you want him to keep believing in you.

“i’m tired.” you whisper, removing yourself from his lap. “let’s go to sleep.”

he gazes at you with longing.

you are lying on his bed but you have never felt so far away.

“are we really not going to talk about this?”

“not now. i’m tired, jungkook.”

“baby…”

“juwon is a terrible person, but i had it coming…” you mumble. “that’s all there is to it.”

foreboding silence falls upon the bedroom. you can’t bring yourself to look at jungkook, so you close your eyes and pray that when the sun rises, this night will simply turn out to be a nightmare orchestrated by your wicked mind.

“whatever that is, it doesn’t warrant what he did.” he plants a gentle kiss on your forehead, and it takes everything in you not to fall apart into a thousand shards. “and i’m sorry that i couldn’t stop it from happening.”

—

jungkook returns after his shower, not yet done with drying his dripping hair with a towel. you’ve drifted off to sleep in the time that he was gone, lips slightly parted open as you breathe out puffs of air in a steady rhythm. your hair is a halo and you’re an angel snoozing on a cloud.

he heard it loud and clear, and you haven’t denied it either, but there’s not a part of him that believes it. is he blindly in love with you? is this what he was warning him about? are you not an angel, but a siren?

wary of waking you up, he attaches a bandaid to your cheek. he flicks the lightswitch but he turns on the night lamp so you won’t have to manuever the dark incase you wake up in the middle of the night in need of the bathroom.

shit, shit, shit. he curses in his head when you begin shuffling as soon as he settles himself on the bed, but it’s just you unknowingly seeking for warmth in your sleep. he gathers you in his arms and your pillow is abandoned in favor of his naked chest. it always feels fitting, like his heart is the stuffed toy that you can’t go without at night.

he swallows the lump in his throat, brushing your hair away from your face to gently caress your soft skin. you look so serene. but your ex’s fingers can be traced on the red bruise that has tainted your cheek and his jaw clenches, hand momentarily balling into a fist to release the leftover anger still boiling in his blood. everyday, you feel the need to act tough because of people like him, and you are… but deep down, he knows, that you just crave to be loved.

“you loved me too. once.”

however, that has lost its meaning when juwon didn’t love you the way you deserved to be loved.

and jungkook admits it’s not as easy for him to do in a whole different dimension. he leads a kind of life not everyone survives, but that never stopped him for trying his damn hardest.

—

you’re awoken in the middle of the night by jungkook’s forehead accidentally knocking against yours. his snoring doesn’t cease, however, and you had to remind yourself that this is the same boy who continued sleeping despite rolling off his inflated sleeping bag on camera.

you slowly sit up as you rub the sleep from your eyes. you spend an unknown amount of time spaced out, barely blinking. afterwards, you force yourself to leave the comfort of the bed, taking the cold compress along with you. you drain the melted ice over the kitchen sink before opening the refrigerator to refill it with ice cubes. you can’t help but to allow your eyes to wander around, which then leads you to contemplate on whether to cook ramen or not… but then again, it’s already 3am and most likely, you won’t be able to sleep again if you do.

“yah! why are doing just standing there?”

the deep voice echoes throughout the kitchen. you yelp in shock, nearly dropping the ice bag as you tap on your pounding chest.

“i told you to stop doing that!”

jimin bursts into a fit of too delighted giggles, hunched over the kitchen counter as he places a hand over his belly. he’s fully clothed this time, fresh from the shower, judging from his hair.

“it’s not funny!” you whine. “one of these days i might be holding a knife when you do that!”

“ey, what would you be holding a knife for? jungkook never lets you lift a finger while you’re here.”

that’s just because he knows you’re not very talented in the kitchen.

the wide smile on his face then fades, expression morphing into one of concern as he studies your face bathed by the refrigerator light.

“what happened to your face?”

fuck, you’ve completely forgotten about that.

“it’s a long story.” you sigh, closing the refrigerator.

“it’s alright. i have all the time in the world to listen.”

“you know that i really appreciate that and i’m grateful but…” your smile borders on a wince. “no, you don’t. get some more sleep, please.”

your unexpected response causes jimin to scratch his head shyly. the two of you stare at each other for a few seconds before laughing at the same time.

“oh, that’s right!” you pause on your tracks when an essential item pops in your mind. “do you have healing ointment? for cuts and bruises and stuff?”

“it’s for jungkook,” you add.

“doesn’t he have that?”

“it’s not here,”

your sweet smile tells jimin everything he needs to know.

“ah, that kid really comes home to different houses now. he’s all grown up.”

“…and how many exactly?” you arch an eyebrow.

he purses his lips together, jokingly pretending to think hard. “the dorm… and then his family… then there’s you?”

“anywhere else?”

“nope!”

“sooo, do you have it or not?”

“i’ll go downstairs and buy it right now.”

he offers you a kind smile and pats on the head. a protest dies down in your throat as he goes straight for the front door.

“thank you!”

“you’re welcome!”

—

despite your active efforts to avoid making any sort of noise, the door produces a small ‘click’ as you cautiously close it behind you. you discover that jungkook has flipped over to face your side, his arm outstretched as if he was reaching out for you. you almost feel bad for leaving him alone in bed, so you sit next to him, positioned on the lower half of the bed since he took up your space.

a short snore escapes him, one that rises then falls so abruptly, like a note on the piano pressed on accident. you cover your mouth to muffle your giggle.

how adorable. you have grown to tolerate, and even adore, his snoring.

stolen kisses on his bruised knuckles, tiny and featherlight, apologetic most of all. their bad condition brought upon by boxing worsened when he used his dominant hand bare, knuckles of his two longest fingers ripped. it seems that he did the bare minimum by putting a stop to the bleeding then washing them clean, then nothing else. he didn’t even tell you, didn’t complain or show any sign that he was in pain.

you hold the cold compress over his bruises, switching between his cheek and knuckles, mindful of not touching the wounds as to not aggravate him in his sleep.

you’ve been stripped down bare— your pride and dignity dismantled into pieces that create a picture of you that you do not like… but could be the love and sincerity in your heart be enough to live by? even if no one is awake to witness it?

you’re saved from drowning in your thoughts by the front door being unlocked. for the second time, you tiptoe your way out of jungkook’s bedroom.

“this is for wounds, and then…” jimin returns the tube inside the paper bag to grab the other. “this one, for bruises.”

“thank you. i’ll pay you back.”

“yah!” jimin expands his eyes threateningly, which you mimic in challenge as you hug the paper bag to your chest. “i’m also your older brother, okay? i should do these things for you.”

you scrunch your nose, to express disagreement at first, but later on it only makes your smile appear brighter.

“doesn’t it hurt you to smile? please use them well too, ____. do you understand? that’s why i bought the biggest ones!”

it does hurt.

“thank you…” you reply shyly.

you’ve forgotten how it feels like to be taken care of by family.

—

“baby, where did you go?”

jungkook’s raspy voice is music to your ears.

he woke up a mere minute ago, caught in the middle of sitting up on the bed once it caught up to his sleep-muddled brain that you’re no longer beside him.

“nowhere,”

you sit at the edge of the bed without another word, putting his hands over your lap to apply the healing cream to his afflictions.

his eyelids flutter in sleepiness as he watches your every movement.

a small dollop at the pad of your finger, transferred over his torn knuckle and smeared with the lightest of touch. occasionally your finger pauses, unsure, calculating— the last thing it wants is to hurt him.

he kisses your lips— he feels suspended in time—hasn’t quite reconnected with reality and with his body. wide-eyed, you seem taken aback by the display of affection. his mouth then softly curves with fondness.

“i love you.”

“i love you, too.” you whisper timidly.

your actions have become hurried, but jungkook is far too drowsy to notice your discomfort.

for the final part, you rub the cream on the bruise on his cheek. you press a kiss on the corner of his lips. “all done. go back to sleep.”

“let’s go,”

he hooks his arm under your knees, eager to carry you over to your side of the bed, but he gets interrupted by your protest.

“wait, wait, wait- i need to pee first.”

“wha- hurry!” he complains with a peeved frown, which you fail to catch a glimpse of because he has squeezed you taut against his body. “i won’t be able to sleep without you here.”

—

eternally cursed with the ability to feel too much of everything.

you push your back against the bathroom door, breathing heavy and labored as you blindly pat around for its lock. the click serves as the cue for your salty tears to drip from the edges of your eyelashes, cascading down, down, down your chin. some of them crash on the collar of your pajama top, the rest on the white tiled floor. this room is a stranger to your shipwreck, but old habits die hard.

the intense pressure of the water collides with the porcelain sink. rain and thunder and the gusts of wind being your gasps for air. an isolated storm undetected in the city of seoul you’re forced to brave alone, on the floor, tucked into yourself to protect the beating sacredness inside your ribcage. the sobs claw their way up your throat rather than soaring like exhales do.

no one has ever raised their hand at you. not even your parents. not even when you broke your grandmother’s precious china, or lost their big paper bills to the wind, or cursed at them for embarrassing you infront of your friends.

you want to be mad and say that juwon deserved what he got. you want to say that you hope his nose is broken. but you don’t know how one is supposed to react when something like that happens. you don’t know if it justifies everything after that. if the roles were reversed and you slapped him, won’t no one bat an eye?

…and you know jungkook has questions you still haven’t figured out how to answer. you know he now has reasons to doubt you. you know in his eyes, you may now be a hypocrite and not the advocate he adored. these days, you don’t really want to be seen as anything less or more than who you are, but you so desperately wish to be someone he is proud to love.

you feel mocked for even daring to dream of it.

“i’m tired, i’m tired, i’m tired.”

incoherent mumbles further stirs the unbridled chaos.

“i’m so sick of this. why… why do bad things keep happening to me?”

you don’t expect an answer but you yearn for some sort of meaning. you don’t mind suffering but you wish it could only be to an extent where you don’t have to fear.

echoes of rumbles and thunder. you’re nearer the sky but farther from heaven.

—

it’s been more than a week. you’ve been waking up with a gaping hole in the middle of your torso. you climb out of bed, cover up your cheek with make-up, good as new, and go about your day as if nothing happened. life on its own is already too much of a burden for you.

jungkook checks up on you everyday, though, despite his busy schedule. mostly through the phone, and whenever he can, he goes straight to where you are after work to dote on you no matter the time. he kisses you on the cheek, claims himself to have healing properties, and says i love you. and during those periods of time you were together, he hasn’t said another word about the incident. and it has been driving you absolutely insane.

you glance down at him, sat on the floor with an ipad balanced on top of his propped up knees, wearing one of your anti-radiation glasses as he finds himself absorbed in drawing the view a foot away from him. you.

“why do you keep looking at me?” he scolds you lightheartedly. “go back to studying so we can go to sleep.”

“can’t help it,” you mumble as you reposition your pen over the paper. you’ve been reorganizing your notes the whole night for your upcoming tests, but your mind keeps flying everywhere else. “my boyfriend’s too pretty.”

“ah, it can’t be helped then. sorry about that.” he smirks cockily, pulling the dramatics by switching his eyes between you and his back. “should… should i turn around then?”

“did you box again?”

the accusation is spat out before you can think twice.

“oh, you did. your knuckles are all messed up again.”

he pouts, crossing his legs. “but baby, i have to train... i wrapped my hands properly!”

“still,” you sigh. “can’t you just let them heal for a little while?”

you turn to the cabinet on your other side to bring out the pouch of healing ointments you’re now suspecting he brought and didn’t accidentally leave behind.

you lay out your hand, and jungkook puts his on top of yours, dragging himself close.

you both smile when you see that he has laid his hands over your thighs like he’s getting a manicure. silly boy. you pull them closer by his fingers so you can reach his red knuckles.

“why are you trying so hard?”

your finger is stained with his blood. your voice is as gentle as your touches, and that’s why it hurts.

jungkook doesn’t know either. he’s been trying to extinguish his leftover anger and bitterness through work and boxing— suppressing the onslaught of negative thoughts threatening to poison what the two of you have. jungkook doesn’t want to know. he doesn’t want anything to change. right now, he can’t afford them to.

“there’s no one to fight.”

“turns out there is,” he argues.

he regrets it as soon as your hand trembles.

“it’s okay… to ask. we’re in a relationship. you’re entitled to know things like that.” your eyes are unafraid again, and it scares him, like you’re always prepared to let him go. “i won’t get offended, or anything like that. if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“i trust you,” he says simply. “so i don’t need to know. especially if talking about it makes you uncomfortable. it’s okay… we’re okay, baby.”

stillness washes over the room like a tide that swallows everything up, and for a moment jungkook is convinced that the two of you will never bring it up again.

but the words you utter next are a punch to the gut.

they almost sound like a plead.

“but i can’t live my life that way, jungkook.”

strands of your hair descend to your face, framing it perfectly, but your eyes become hidden from view. you rip a bandaid open and blanket it over his two knuckles, still wounded as before, if not worse.

“if you intend to be with me for a long time, then i need you to need to know…” because there will be things i’d want to tell you, but wouldn’t feel the need to.

“then tell me,” he replies, prompted by a renewed determination. “i don’t just intend to be with you for a long time. i want way more than that.”

—

jungkook fiddles with the hello kitty bandaid using his thumb, mind reeling and grappling to process the overload of information told by your storytelling voice. all of a sudden, he’s grateful that you decided to lie down on the bed for this conversation.

“juwon was your boyfriend before me, no?”

“no, no, no. he was…” your lips part as if you have something more left to say, but you eventually give up. “yup, no.”

“so you found out that he’s been cheating on you for-for two mo-”

“three-”

“three months, and you…” he blinks. “slept with a stranger and let him catch you?”

“i was really petty. i was seventeen after all… my pride couldn’t take it. my friends- they tried to stop me but… but all i could think of was how to make him feel the way i was feeling.” your voice sounds small, smaller as you squeeze yourself into his side and curl up to hide your face. “so i let him think i was the bad guy.”

he understands that you were vengeful, but he doesn’t know if you comprehend the scale of what you have done.

“he looked so sad and hurt that i started to feel guilty. i don’t know if i was still acting when i was apologizing to him.” you scoff with eyebrows knitted together. “i felt so dirty… i still feel like a bad person, you know?”

you took the face of juwon’s demons and he didn’t like what he saw.

“i had it coming,” — he now has a grasp of what you meant before.

“so how has he been doing this to me for such a long time? how does he stomach it? knowing what i was going through? that’s what i thought… it makes me so upset…”

jungkook doesn’t try to assess you as you speak. he only listens, until your voice cracks. his heart is split into two as tears flood your eyes, escaping past the corners and slipping down to soak the fabric of his t-shirt.

you sniffle. “and the sex wasn’t even that great. i regret it even more.”

he flinches, abruptly squeezing his eyes shut. not that great? okay… okay. the mental image of you being physically intimate with someone that isn’t him definitely doesn’t sicken him to his core. at all. nope, nope, nope.

“fuck, baby, please,” he groans as if he is in pain, putting an arm over his eyes. “hearing about you have sex with other guys is making me want to punch something again. fuck.”

“that’s what you took away from the story?”

“yes!” he exclaims with conviction. “we should’ve met a year earlier. i would’ve let you use me!”

you gasp, scandalized. “oh my god! jungkook!”

“argh-” he animatedly clutches at his chest that caught your fist.

“you’re crazy!”

“uhuh, about you.” he proudly replies, pulling you closer to his side, as if that was still possible.

the subtle upwards of the corners of your lips gives him a sense of relief. he tenderly cups your cheek, his thumb ghosting over the bruise that has turned a darker shade of blue and purple.

“listen to me, i- i’m not here to tell you what’s right or wrong. i’m not that type of person. but what i can do tell you is that this…” he briefly shakes his head. “didn’t change the way i see you at all. he hurt you. he cheated and you were hurt, ____.”

your eyes gleam with uncertainty, a fresh wave of tears threatening to escape. “are you sure?”

“of course i am. why wouldn’t i be sure?”

“because you’re crazy about me.”

the sweet innocence of your eyelashes fluttering elicits a chuckle from him. you’re so fucking cute.

“that’s the reason i’m sure.” he tilts up your chin to plant a kiss to your lips, mumbling. “i’ve never been wrong about anything i’m crazy about.”

“thank you,” you say quietly, melting into his embrace. you nuzzle your face against his chest, and at last, you grant your eyes rest. “i can finally sleep peacefully again.”

fuck, it’s been weighing on you this whole time and he didn’t know.

“i’m sorry i only dated assholes before you.”

“aish, why would you be sorry about such a thing?” he kisses the top of your head, gentleness contradicting his following sentence. “i’d crush each one of those assholes for you.”

and he’d beat himself up the worst if he ever becomes one of them.

you yawn, sniffling right after. “mhm, i bet you will.”

he carefully rolls over to the side so he can wrap both arms around you, and you keen in contentment.

“jungkook?”

“yes, baby?” he coos.

“i… really… love you so, so, so much. you are… the one person i’d die for before i hurt.”

goddammit, it’s an angel sleeping in his arms.

“that’s a relief to hear. you’re very smart and scary when you’re mad.”

“eh, jungkook! i swear i’ve grown up! i’m not like that anymore!”

“okay, okay!” he laughs at your childish whining and squirming as he ushers you back in his embrace. “i believe you! i trust you! i love you too!”

—

although you spend more nights together in your apartment for your safety and convenience, in all honesty, you like staying over at jungkook’s more. his smell evokes the sentiment of home, and when you stay long enough, it becomes a temporary part of you. you’re gradually more well-versed in the organized and unorganized corners of his room. you like that you know where he keeps the safety pins and you know to be careful when walking so you won’t trip over his dumbbells he leaves lying around. and it’s a little ridiculous but… you like that his mattress is on the floor and you don’t really know why.

your boyfriend is still blissfully asleep as you climb over him, landing on the floor without a sound like a veteran spy. however, you rush to step out of the room before the rumbling of your empty stomach could wake him up.

“yah, thief! what do you think you’re doing?!”

“fuck!” the pack of ramen hits the floor when your hands fly to your chest to clutch at your painfully pounding heart. “i swear to god, you’re going to kill me one day!”

and unsurprisingly, your chagrin is countered yet again with jimin’s all too pleased laughter.

“____, you look so suspicious! why are you using a flashlight? we have electricity! we can pay for it!”

“i don’t like it too bright, okay?” you grumble as you pick up your supposed midnight meal.

“let’s just turn on this one then.”

“uh-” the objection dies down in your throat when the light over the dining table was switched on.

“i’m hungry, too. grab two more packs of ramyeon, please.”

“who’s the other one for?”

jimin fills the pot with water from the sink while you pick up two more of the same pack from the pantry.

“just us. don’t you agree that one pack is too small for one person?”

“it’s just enough for me though?” you rip open the packs one by one to retrieve the packets of seasonings. “with your job, though, i’d definitely have a bigger appetite.”

“alright,” he pouts, pretending to be upset. “let’s have just two then.”

“no, no, no-” you chase his hand, tightly gripping the last pack that he stole. “let’s have three! let’s have three! i didn’t eat dinner!”

—

“my mom brought a lot of kimchi yesterday. there’s an entire box in the fridge. i’ll pack you some before you leave later.”

“put some more in,” you say cutely as you peer down at the pot of ramen beside jimin. “please?”

he chuckles, adhering to your request before handing the container to you.

“thank you!”

you hop on the counter infront of the stove, chewing on a mouthful of kimchi with a joy akin to a child receiving a sweet treat. leaving the ramen to cook for the next five minutes, jimin sits a few feet away.

“aigoo, are you that hungry?”

“this is so delicious!” you praise his mother’s cooking instead of answering the question. “i can really eat this on its own.”

“ey, don’t fill yourself up yet! we have a lot of ramyeon to eat!”

“sorry, sorry!”

your giggles fill the apartment with warmth during this freezing winter. jimin didn’t doubt it when jungkook said that you light up every room you enter, he just didn’t expect that he would also gain a friend.

“how’s your cheek?”

“as you can see,” you motion at your face. “yellow. soooo… uglier.”

“that means it’s healing well.”

“i know,” the apples of your cheek become plump as your lips curve. “it no longer hurts to smile.”

“that’s a relief to hear,” he returns your kind smile. “jungkook has been worried about you.”

that’s the end of what he can tell you. jungkook won’t be pleased if you learn that he cried when he talked about the horrible thing that happened to you.

“thank you,”

“huh? for what?”

“being jungkook’s happiness.”

from his peripheral vision, he perceives your surprise. however, he is too flustered to meet your eyes while he is speaking from the bottom of his heart.

“the past year was physically and mentally draining for the team. as you know, we… we were considering giving up and disbanding. and of course it’s hard on all of us, but i’m really, really worried about jungkook. but!”

he chuckles at the dramatic rise of his own voice.

“i’m less worried now that you’re in his life. and i’m not saying this to put pressure on you or anything! but you see, when he’s tired, he bounces back quickly because of you. he’s smiling more because of you. and i know it goes it also goes the other way around. mhmm… i-i guess what i’m saying is that i hope you can continue being each other’s strength? be each other’s cheerleader?”

you have begun to feel emotional as you listened to his sincere and heartwarming words, but you can’t help but to cackle at the fact that you just witnessed the park jimin say the word ‘cheerleader’ while daintily waving his hands around as they were holding pompoms. how awfully endearing.

“…or something like that.”

uncontrollable giggles vibrate his body, dramatically slipping down the counter and onto the tiled floor to enshroud himself in extreme sheepishness.

“ah, ____! this is driving me crazy! don’t laugh!”

“what are you doing lying on the floor?” you playfully scold him, recording with your phone in secret. “why do i suddenly feel like the older one?”

“what’s with the noise?”

you whip your head around, wide curious eyes greeted with a shirtless jungkook who is still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“is that ramyeon…? i want some too.”

jimin groans when he feels your foot poke him lightly.

“mister, can we add more? my googie is hungry too.”

—

“hyung, ____ told me something recently that really put a lot of things into perspective.”

and with that, jimin pours another bottle of beer in his and jungkook’s ice-filled mugs. “let me hear it.”

“if you intend to be with me for a long time, then i need you to need to know. at first i didn’t understand what it meant? then after we talked, something clicked for me. ahhh, i see it now. ____ didn’t want us to trust each other blindly… because that… that isn’t a good… foundation? for something that i want to last for a very long time. you, me, the members… don’t we all trust each other because we know that we’re good people to our core and we’re good at what we do? isn’t that why we have come this far, and why we keep going? besides army, of course!”

jimin blinks lazily, glossy eyes from the alcohol underneath it all. “that’s right. we wouldn’t have started this anyway… without that kind of trust. i don’t think it’s a connection you can just build with anyone too.”

“oh, that’s it. that’s right!”

“living together for a long time doesn’t guarantee it.”

“exactly.” jungkook nods repeatedly, probably too passionately, a guaranteed ticket for a hangover later on. “we talked about that last time too.”

“right? so we should protect it… maintain it… never lose sight of our purpose…”

the lack of words that follow does not equate to silence. glasses clink against each other and teeth rip bags of chips open and noodles are slurped. they’re overseas and they can’t go to a korean restaurant and grill their own meat. the hotel steak would take forever to arrive and quite frankly, they had it yesterday and it was not good. this is not exactly ideal, but it has its own charm.

jungkook takes another swig of the bittersweet alcohol, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand afterwards.

“____ has become an important part of my life that i would do anything to protect too. how do i say it…?” he exhales to relieve the heavy weight on his chest. “i feel like i gained more purpose in life, hyung… to be honest, i might have a harder time because of that. i know it but… i’m happy. seriously, i’m happy.”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook one shot #jungkook imagine #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook au #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts fluff #bts reaction #jungkook smut

[ghostlygeto]

let me be your mirror | astarion

pairing: astarion x gn!tav / reader

warnings: spoilers for early romance w astarion, fluff, kind of follows canon dialogue, reader pining hard, reader is an artist this has been done with this exact scenario surely, astarion calls reader “darling”, “my sweet”, also “dove” which isn’t canon, reader and astarion aren’t really together but i mean. yeah they are. not proof read!!!!!

word count: 1.1k

you had been drawing astarion for much longer than you’d care to admit. though the dates scribbled on the bottom of each page betrayed you, exposing that you had drawn astarion close to every day for a month.

it started off innocently, you drew all of your party members when you had first met them. you were stressed and overwhelmed with your situation at hand, the tadpole snugly sat behind your eye squirming to remind you of your devastating truth: you’d soon become a mindflayer if you couldn’t find a cure. on nights you couldn’t sleep or mornings you’d woken up early, you found yourself drawing. it had always been a way you’d let off your steam, now was no exception.

when the stress of your situation died down, as did your drawings of your now friends. you had a couple day’s worth of gale and lae’zel, and probably a week of shadowheart. but astarion? it seemed every time your tool of choice hit the paper he had been the outcome.

you weren’t ashamed of it by any means. astarion is a gorgeous man, blood sucking monster or not. his eyes captivated you (as proven by the amount of drawings of them alone), and his voice had your attention like no other. if the nature of things were any different, you might be willing to confess you were in love with him.

so when the night came and everyone had fallen asleep but the two of you, and astarion had let it slip that he hadn’t seen his reflection in two hundred years, your heart broke. he didn’t know the way his curls hooked around his ears, or the way the corners of his mouth would turn up ever so slightly when he’d successfully kill a goblin. and his eyes, gods his eyes. you’d have to be dense to miss the way they light up at the very sight of you. knowing he didn’t get to enjoy the very things you adore about him devastated you.

“what color were they before?” you asked, arms wrapped tightly around your legs to hug them close to your chest. “your eyes, before you were turned.” your cheek pressed against your knee as you looked to him.

“my eyes?” astarion sounded surprised you’d asked him such a thing. “i don’t..i don’t remember.”

that felt like the final nail in your coffin. your heart ached more for him now that it had before, if that were even possible. if he didn’t remember his eye color, his hair color was probably long forgotten as well. it felt impossible to wrap your head around, you knew the shade of your eyes and tone of your hair by heart. the idea of forgetting it, well, you were sure you’d have to be dead to forget.

“what’s going on in that head of yours, darling?” his tone almost made you forget your sadness. it seemed anytime he spoke to you now his words were laced with honey, drawing you in and sticking to you.

“you haven’t seen yourself in two decades,” you repeat his previous words back to him, “you hardly remember your own face, is that not the least bit devastating to you?”

astarion hesitated before replying to you, trying to chose his words carefully. “of course it is. but there’s nothing i can do to change it, so why bother being upset?”

you chewed the inside of your cheek. of course you had the solution. you had probably close to twenty drawings of his face alone that could provide him some solace about the entire thing. but what if he thought you were weird for it? none of them knew of your little hobby, he could expose it to the others and they could cast you out for invading their privacy. and well, your infatuation toward him was nothing short of romantic. you weren’t sure he needed to know that, but exposing your drawings to him would make it clear.

“i can feel your tadpole wriggling around, what’s wrong, my sweet?” his voice sent a shiver down your spine before you finally managed to speak.

“let me be your mirror,” you offered, raising your head from your knees. you could practically see his thought process, and you didn’t miss the small smirk on his face. “what do you want to know?”

“i want to know what the world sees when it looks at me,” astarion held his usual cocky tone for a moment, but for a second it faultered. “what you see.”

“close your eyes,” he obeyed, wondering what it was exactly you were making him close them for. it wasn’t until he heard shuffling in your tent beside him that he opened them and called out to you confused.

“what are you doing? what in your tent could ever allow you to be my mirror?”

“hush, would you?” you roll your eyes at him as you step out from your shelter and back toward him. you took a deep breath before sitting back down next to him, offering him the pile of papers. “here.”

for the first time since you had met him, astarion was speechless. he wasn’t sure what he was expecting from you, maybe a few put together compliments for him to tease you about before leaving the conversation at that. but this? he had no idea that you could draw, let alone that you’d use such a talent to draw someone like him.

“i know it might be weird, sorry,” you hide your face from him, afraid of his reaction. “i’m sure it might not be comforting to know someone you had barely known until recently has been drawing you for-”

“i don’t find it weird,” he interrupted you, gently grabbing your chin with his pointer finger and thumb, “look at me,” guiding your eyes to his, astarion offered you a smile. not a cocky smile or his usual smirk, but rather a real smile. one you weren’t sure you’d seen from him before. “thank you…for this. they’re beautiful. and i…i could never express my gratitude to you,”

you removed your chin from his hold and waved your hand at him, dismissing his words. “don’t say all that astarion. you make an amazing muse, it’d be criminal of me to not make use of that.” you chose to pretend the burning in your cheeks had been from the fire and not the blooming embarrassment.

“criminal, hm?” it didn’t take long for the astarion you had grown attached to to return, smirk plastered on his face. he leaned forward to press his forehead to yours before speaking again, his voice low and almost sultry, “well we wouldn’t want you to get arrested again, now would we, dove?”

“you ruined the moment, astarion,” you huff, pulling your legs back to your chest to rest your head on your knees again. “it’s getting late. we should sleep.”

astarion nodded, standing from his place and offering you his hand to help you up. “yes, i’d hate for a lack of sleep to ruin your muse,” he teased again, handing you back your drawings. “i’ll see you in the morning, darling.”

reblogs, comments, and likes appreciated !!

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion baldurs gate #baldurs gate x reader #mine !! #bg3 x reader #astarion fic #astarion drabble #astarion fluff

[yikimiki]

>> bones and ashes

⚔️ sukuna x fem!reader | warnings for: violence, mentions of death, possessiveness (sukuna is as evil as they come so basically every red flag under the sun), non-con that turns into dub-con (Stockholm syndrome), mentions of virginity loss, anatomically impossible size difference (if u know what I mean), blood play, etc | around 5-6k words | also important to note that I absolutely assassinated the canon lore in some points but bare with me

Sukuna doesn’t really have the ability to love. But he thinks he gets close enough when it comes to you. Of course, in his own twisted, macabre way.

Sukuna isn’t familiar to the concept of fondness, let alone anything more profound or meaningful than that. He knows want, desire, possession, curiosity even. But none of those feelings have ever tilted towards the side of affection, nor does he want them to. They’re all narcissistic pulses that keep pushing him forward — towards more power, more control, more of what he can become. He’s not even fond of his own abilities. Arrogant? Perhaps, but not fond. He can’t be fond of something he knows is not at its peak yet, that would just be weakness.

And Sukuna is everything but weak.

He sees you in a cold winter morning and he does what he knows best: he takes. Takes your pride, your virginity, your blood. Takes you like he took the lives of the rest of your village, paints your skin red and watches as the tears wash it away. Sukuna takes and takes until you have nothing left to give, just like he has done countless times before and yet… this time, something switches.

This time, he decides to let you live. Trapped in a dark cell, of course, but alive regardless.

The days move slowly, and you learn to mark their passing by the loud, clanking sound of a metal dish being thrown through a cracked door. The food is mostly raw meet and, after a few days of disgust, you cave in and eat a little of it. Not enough to be satisfied, not even close, but enough to keep you alive for at least a few hours longer.

Sukuna comes by in irregular intervals, and you soon give up on trying to find a pattern in his visits. You know it’s him from the way the door creaks open even further to accommodate his size, and you watch as his large shadow observes your movements for a moment before he kicks the disgusting plate towards you. Most of time time he’s there, you force yourself to eat, afraid of what should come if you turn down his unspoken commands. Once he seems satisfied, he exits without a word.

There is one single advantage in being in a windowless, isolated cell: you can’t hear what goes on up there. You’ve heard enough the day that Sukuna came to your village — the shattering screams, the pleads for mercy, the babies crying, the sound of wood and bone breaking almost too similar to differentiate. You saw creatures beyond your realm and heard awful whispers and threats; held you family as they died and gave up as the snow beneath your hands became as red as the burning sky above. And you know enough about Sukuna’s legend to be aware that it wasn’t an isolated incident.

When evil incarnate arrives, there’s not much you can do but surrender.

Though, when it comes to the legends, you thought that his palace was more of a manner of speak than an actual location. Once again, though, you’ve heard enough legends to know when to stop inquiring about the details.

Sukuna comes in after a week with a plan and a cloud of amusement over his head — frankly, given the state you were in, he thought you would be dead by now. Your stubborn hold on life is as impressive as it is pathetic.

“You looked so small when I first saw you,” his thunderous voice breaks the silence. There’s no food in his hands this time, only the fire cracking behind his form. You’re sitting down on the cold floor, back against the wall, and you don’t even bother looking up at him. “You look even smaller now.”

You don’t answer, because you don’t know what to say. Of course you’re smaller — you’re weak, starving, lacking movement and sunlight. Every muscle in your body aches and the aftertaste of dried blood never leaves your mouth. Smaller is a compliment; you wish you were just bones and ashes by now.

Sukuna takes a heavy step inside the dark chamber. “I killed everyone you’ve ever loved that day,” he says, bluntly. There’s no amusement nor sorrow in his tone — it’s a neutral statement. He lowers himself to your level and, on the corner of your eyes, you see his four arms. He is so wrong, even in a physical sense. Like the scar of something that shouldn’t even exist. “And yet… you live. Do you want to know why?”

You sneer. “I wish you’d just let me die.”

He chuckles, and one hand meets the side of your head. His fingers dig into the dirty, messy strings and pulls on the roots. There are tears on the corners of your eyes but you refuse to let him see them. “That’s exactly why you’re alive,” he says. “I knew you were ready to die when I saw you — all bloodied up, on your knees in the snow. It was quite a sight.” Sukuna’s voice is a malicious whisper as he comes even closer to you — he smells rotten. The tongue that licks up your cheek makes you want to puke. He tastes you the same way as he did on the first day, and you have no idea what he’s searching for. “Tell me, why were you so ready to give yourself to me? Most try to plead at least.”

“Plead for what? Your mercy?” The sarcasm is clear through your tone. The words you mean to say are knotted in the base of your throat and the odor Sukuna reeks is making you dizzy; making you remember everything that came before this. “I— I didn’t have anything else to live for,” you stutter. “You killed… you killed my mother, my father, my baby brother… why would I want to live without them? Why would I humiliate myself asking for mercy from a creature that clearly doesn’t have any to spare?”

Through anger, you look up at him. His eyes are flames bursting through the darkness, and they shine as your words settle on his skin. “Do you only live for love, my little dove?” He asks. “What a purposeless life you have.”

“Do you only live for hate?” You ask back before you can hold your tongue. Somewhere in your mind, you know that he’s capable of unimaginable evil, but you are beyond the point of caution. “What a purposeless legacy you’re leaving behind.”

This angers him. The corners of his mouth twists as he speaks. “You people fear me. Even the strongest of sorcerers doesn’t dare to go against me.”

“I pity you and your ridiculous need for destroying what isn’t yours,” you spit. “And I hate you for keeping me alive. I hate you for everything you’ve done to me and to the people I love. And I hate that you even dare to come here and talk to me like I’m the smaller person for daring to care about something.”

The hands on your hair tighten and he pulls your face against his. Sukuna’s forehead is a furnace against yours, his eyes burn into your soul. “You little insect, I could kill you with a snap of my fingers if I wanted to.”

Your voice shakes but you say it regardless: “Do it, then, what are you waiting for?”

“No,” his answer is more cruel than death could ever be. And he knows that. “And you know why?”

“If you are keeping me alive to have your way with me, so be it, have it,” you say. The tears are obvious now. You wonder if he can smell how fearful you really are. “Violate me like you did before, I don’t care anymore, but just don’t keep me alive just to waste me away.”

His lips are touching yours now, but you can’t pull away even if you tried. Sukuna’s chest is heaving like he’s in the middle of a battle, his voice like a roar in your ears. “Then ask. For. My Mercy.”

“I w-would n-never…”

“Ask!” It’s a loud command that crashes against you like a wave. You sink like there is no adrenaline in your body to keep you afloat; the anger that moved you before is no longer within your reach.

The truth is clear: you’re human. He’s a curse — the king of curses, older than you could ever imagine; probably even more powerful than the legends you’ve heard. His eyes say that there are fates worse than death and you believe them. And maybe, just maybe, if you play by his rules, he’ll grow tired of you and let you wither away.

“P-Please,” you are sobbing now, tears falling down like a cascade. Sukuna licks them and hums in satisfaction, watching as you break apart into a mountain of hiccups and trembling limbs. “Please just… have mercy on me. I’ll do whatever you want just — please, stop torturing me like this.”

“Aw,” he coos. “Was that so hard?”

You want to say that yes, somehow, that took everything still left in you. You want to say that if he wanted to break your spirit, congratulations, he’s done it. But you don’t get the chance.

Sukuna kisses you with the same ferocity you expected, sharp teeth crashing against yours and tongue exploring your mouth with no prior warning. He groans as he tastes you — you, the blood in your food, the salt of your tears — and suddenly it’s all that he will ever crave again. You whimper against his lips as his two lower arms crawl up your thighs and hold onto your hips, pushing you against him as he stands up and presses you against the wall. You feel more caged now than you have felt these past few days.

“Silly little human,” he raps against your lips, then licks your cheek for more of your precious tears. He realizes how much he likes to make you cry. You wince and give out a little sob, which only makes him smile. Finally, his grip on your hair loosens. “What is my name?”

You blink, dumbfounded by the sudden question. “S-Sukuna…?”

He pouts. “Say it like you mean it or I won’t be so nice.”

“Sukuna,” you say more firmly this time.

“There we go, that’s a good girl,” he says. “See how things just work better when you don’t misbehave? Hm?”

You nod. He doesn’t like it. “Y-Yes, I see, I’m sorry.”

“Very good.” The hand that was on your hair moves to hold your face, and it’s so huge that you feel like it would crush your skull with one single movement. As the other two arms hold onto your thighs, the fourth limb squeezes your breast. “Now, this is what’s going to happen, my pretty little human,” Sukuna starts, “I will have my servants take you to my chambers. You will be washed, clothed, and taken care of. They will feed you proper human food this time, whichever it is that your heart desires. How does that sound?”

Sounds like a trap. “And, in return, what do I have to do for you?”

“What do I have to do for you…?” He raises his eyebrows.

“Sukuna,” you complete.

“There’s my perfect little girl,” he says. You hate that something inside you likes the praise. “You will have to wait for me there. Do whatever you prefer, but don’t leave my room. Any attempt at escaping or killing yourself will be futile, and I’ve already warned every single curse that your death will result in a much more dire future for them. So you will be brought back to me. And I promise I won’t be so nice.”

“I understand… Sukuna,” you correct yourself quickly. It doesn’t go unnoticed.

The hand on your breast squeezes tighter, and you bite your lip so you don’t complain. “I knew I was right when I brought you here, something made me spare you. Yet, I don’t know what it is just yet.”

Sukuna is a looming threat above you, his limbs trapping you, and his deep voice is like thunder about to break. You know why so many fear him — you fear him too. And the sooner you act like it, the sooner he’ll grow tired of you. Sooner he’ll realize he was wrong in bringing you into his fortress.

He smirks. “But I believe I’ll discover soon enough.”

- ⚔️ -

Sukuna’s chambers are as spacious and monstrous as himself — corners switching and adjusting like breathing flesh; furniture morphing into different shapes; the weird odor of something old; the feeling for something lurking. The large windows show a world between worlds; a reality that doesn’t seem right no matter how long you stare at it. His palace is in a dimension you can’t reach, and you give up on trying to understand it. If anything, the more you wonder about it, the more you shake under the weight of the sheer power it must take to keep it all existing like solid matter.

Your passage of time is morphed and unreliable, but you would guess that a couple weeks have passed by the time that you come to terms that, perhaps, Sukuna isn’t as easy to bore as you first expected. The fire in his eyes doesn’t seem to diminish as he sees you — if anything, his eagerness to have you all to himself only seems to expand — and the way he takes care of you makes you realize that he isn’t planning on letting you die anytime soon.

Life in his chambers is far more comfortable, you admit, but it’s a prison nonetheless. Still, you can’t say that you are mistreated. In his chambers, you are bathed and clothed, well-fed and pampered. You soon come back to your normal weight and the fatigue leaves your body; there is more space to move, more things to do. The curses that come to check on you seem to be strangely kind and human-like, though you know it’s out of fear and not out of worry, and they keep your mind occupied with several stories and legends as the days move on.

Sukuna is more absent than you would have imagined, conquering and killing as often as he can. When he finally comes to you he is clean, recently bathed, but you can still see he is fresh from a battle, some mindless corruption beyond the horizon that you would rather hear nothing about. There are shallow scars and deep cuts that heal unreasonably quickly; dried blood that hasn’t quite washed away and ashes beneath his fingernails.

You ask whose village he has attacked this time, but he says it doesn’t matter, because there are no survivors.

“I never leave any survivors,” he completes, kissing your forehead, “besides you, my little human.”

You don’t push beyond that information, but the feeling of being special, chosen, starts to blossom like a dangerous rose inside your chest. It stings and stings, but grows regardless, and you see yourself less able to fight against his possessive claims. You start to enjoy them. You start to wonder if life beyond those walls is worth fighting for when you seem to have everything you would ever wish for right here.

You can always tell when Sukuna is about to arrive in this world because the atmosphere switches into something darker, heavier. The air seems thicker and the clouds beyond your windows start to bleed into a deep shade of red. Sukuna returns with the apocalypse on his back, and, when he does, he uses your body as he pleases.

Like the room around you, there is constant change. Sometimes it hurts like hell; sometimes it’s pleasurable. Sometimes you wish it would just end and you end up crying in despair; sometimes you look at him like you might get used to feeling him inside of you. Some days, Sukuna is kinder, more patient, taking time to adjust you to his enormous size and even makes sure that you enjoy it before reaching his end; fucking you full of his cum until you can’t think of one single thing besides him. Other days, you know he is angry just by the way he walks through the door — and, in those days, you are left bleeding and bruised as he uses your body in every single way until he’s close enough to satisfied. That, on itself, can take a long, long time.

You realize that, during those violent days, he could use one of his curses to please himself, but he prefers to use you — because you bleed, you cry, and you suffer. As long as your pain exists, his interest is unwavering.

However, like everything else, you adapt, get used to it. Routine becomes familiar and you learn the tell-tale signs of his rancid mood; learn how to make it a little better and what things to avoid. You stop thinking about getting away — you don’t even have anywhere else to go — and start longing for his presence as he takes more time to come back home. Sukuna is warm, safe; next to him you know you are shielded from any harm. When he appears, no one dares to look or touch you, no one speaks until they are spoken to. Just by being in his gravitational pull, you are protected and no harm will ever come your way again.

Even if it hurts, you start hoping that he won’t get tired of you.

Sukuna, on the other hand, isn’t quite sure how he feels about it all.

It’s not love — he has gone over that one a few hundred times already, has marked off every possible scenario and imagined every possible feeling, and he is sure it isn’t love. To be frank, he doesn’t even think he’s capable of it even if he wanted to, he sold his soul too long ago to even remember how normal humans love. But if it’s not love, it’s something similar — a kind of tenderness, fondness. He has a soft spot for you, to put it bluntly. Though not in the typical sense.

Sukuna adores you like a painter adores his favorite canvas; like an exotic bird in a cage — he adores you with possession, obsession, with the knowledge that you can’t ever get away from his grip. He is fond of you in a way that he would murder anyone who would even dare to touch what is his; but would never set you free. He can hurt you, he can tear you into pieces and build you to his liking. Sukuna can kiss you or bite you; hug or break you, but it’s because you’re his little pet and no one else’s.

He is fond of the way you bend for him; the way you look at him with sheer adoration in your eyes even after he has taken everything from you. He is fond of the way that only he could kill you; that your small life is in his hands and you thank him for it. Sukuna is fond of the way your tight little cunt stretches so wide to take his fat cock; lives for the little whimpers you give out and the tears that stain his satin sheets when he finally allows you to cum for him. If he could crawl inside your soul, he would. If he could take it and eat it and have you forever, he would.

He doesn’t know why he craves you so much, but he knows that nothing else gives him the same high anymore.

So he keeps you.

It’s a heavy stormy night when he comes back the next time, and his room is only illuminated by a few candles and the lightening from outside. You’re in his large bed, looking as small as that day in the snow, and there is a touch of worry in your eyes that he doesn’t miss. But he ignores it.

“Undress,” he commands.

You rush to do as he says, throwing the faint fabric over your head. It falls to the ground as Sukuna walks towards the bed, his massive weight making it dip under his knee as he leans closer to you.

“My pretty little doll,” Sukuna muses. “Missed me?”

He always asks that. And your answer is always the same.

“So much, Sukuna.”

It’s more honest every time.

He hums, satisfied, and smirks as he pushes your hair away from your face. “I have something to tell you, and I think you will like it,” Sukuna says. You look at him with wide eyes as he settles over you, his four arms caging your body as you lay down. The mouth on his stomach open and closes, a large tongue coming out before it vanishes again — it always does it when he’s particularly excited. “Would you like to know what it is?”

You know he will tell you regardless. Like all the tales of his battles, he lives for the glimpse of horror in the back of your eyes. “Yes, Sukuna.”

“Seems like you are famous now,” he starts. You furrow your eyebrows. “Sorcerers are trying to save you. The poor little human girl that Sukuna took as a prisoner months ago.” He kisses your neck, then licks the skin. You shiver — months, it has been months then. “Two of them tried to enter my domain today, stupid little insects,” he continues. Another hand lands on your exposed breast, playing with your nipple. “You have no idea how enraged that made me, my little human. To have someone try to take you away from me; to try and to enter my domain and take you from me.”

His voice turns into a growl by the end of the sentence, and you feel the familiar pulse of terror running through your veins. He’s in a bad mood, that’s obvious, but there’s something hiding beneath that as well.

“What did you do to them?” You ask. “Did they get in?”

Sukuna chuckles darkly, and the hand that was on your breast now settles on your clit, massaging it softly. “I took care of them, my sweet thing, of course,” he says. Your breath hitches at the slow pleasure of his movements, and your eyes flutter shut. “No one will ever take you from me.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” you say without a thought. In your heart, you feel it’s wrong. But without him, you have nothing. “I’m yours forever, Sukuna.”

“I know you are,” he answers.

Sukuna holds you by the throat as he kisses you — not enough to suffocate you, but enough to make you a little dizzy. Your eyes cross mindlessly as his tongue invades your mouth; a deep groan coming from his chest as he tastes your lips. He always kisses you violently, possessively, like he wishes to suck your soul out of your chest. Beneath his size you can only shrink and hold onto his large biceps, the wetness between your legs growing as he takes what is his.

He pulls back, ignoring the string of saliva that connects you two. “Pretty little thing,” he muses, shoving his middle finger inside your mouth. “Suck for me.”

You do as he says and he smirks at the feeling of your pretty lips around his large finger. Soon enough, the same digit is invading your pussy, curling up so quickly that you see starts at your peripheral vision.

“Relax or it’ll hurt again,” he says — not like he cares about it. “I want you to remember tonight.”

“W-Why?”

“Because I’ll make sure that you’ll be mine forever,” he says, a devilish smile on the corners of his lips. “So no one can take you from me. No one would even try.”

Your breath is getting heavier, and you don’t even register what he’s telling you — he could do a billion things to you and you’d still let him. The time spent only in his company made your resolution vanish, and you became exactly what he wanted you to: another possession for him to do as he pleases. Because of him, you have nothing else. Besides him, you have nothing.

“You’re not cumming around my finger tonight,” he says and quickly removes his hand from your cunt. You whine at the sudden emptiness, walls spasming around nothing, but you know better than to protest. “It’s going to be around my cock, you got it?”

“Yes, Sukuna,” you say.

“Good girl,” he muses. His lower arms move to undo his pants as his mouth attacks yours once again. His sharp teeth drain blood from your lips and he groans at the metallic taste; drinks the little sob of pain you let out. “You’re all fucking mine. Forever,” he growls, “I’ll make you live forever with me.”

Months ago, that would be torture. But now, “It sounds like heaven, Sukuna,” you say. “I love you.”

Your vision falls to where his hands are working. His cock is massive, bigger than your forearm, balls swinging out of his shorts and falling heavy under his shaft. Your entire body tingles in anticipation as he strokes himself, aligning his cockhead with your opening. “Tiny fucking cunt,” he curses, rubbing it against your soaked folds. “I’ll train you to take my cock even better than now, kitten.” Your mouth falls open as he starts to push in and it hurts — no matter how many times you’ve taken him, it always burns. “Way too fucking tight for my fat cock, you know that?”

“I-I’m sorry, I’ll do better-“

He chuckles. “I fucking love it.”

In one strong motion, he shoves himself as deep as he can, pressing against your cervix as you whine at his size. It isn’t fair — it’s so thick you can’t even breathe, you can feel him in your stomach, pressing and pulsing until you can’t think of anything but the sheer size of his massive cock inside your poor little hole. Your walls hurt to accommodate his girth, stretching as far as they can, but it never seems like it’s enough.

“It’s t-too big, Sukuna,” you whine. And it is. You know he must be doing something to your body so you can even be alive right now, because it’s not humanly possible to take such a big cock. “I c-can’t…”

His hand lands on your head and pulls at the roots. “You are my special little human, my obedient little girl,” he reminds you. His cock throbs inside you and you whimper, the small movement alone makes you drool. “You will do anything I tell you to do.”

You nod. “Y-Yes.”

“So when I tell you to take it….” He rolls his hips even deeper and you call his name so loud that you’re sure the entire world will hear it. “You’ll fucking take it.”

You don’t even have the ability to answer as he starts to pound deep inside your soaked cunt, hard and violent, as he is. Your vision is blurry with tears as you look down to see his massive cock bullying itself again and again inside your cunt, taking everything you have to give.

“Look at me when I claim you,” Sukuna warns and you do it instantly. Your legs wrap around his hips and he squeezes your ass so hard it will bruise. There’s a malicious glint in his red eyes that never quite goes away, no matter how much he tries, and now it’s deadset on you. “My precious little girl,” he calls, voice strained with pleasure. You can tell from the way his cock throbs that he is close, but it doesn’t matter. He just keeps going. “You told me you love me. Do you only live for love, kitten?”

“I live f-for loving you, S-Sukuna,” you respond automatically. “I live for you.”

Sukuna groans like an animal — he adores what a stupid little fuckdoll he has turned you into. He can never get tired of this; he can never let it get away. “You’ll die for me, kitten?”

You nod so quickly you get dizzy. “Yes, a-anything… I’m yours f-forever.”

He calls your name like he has never done before, a little insane, a little sweet. If the sheer size of Sukuna’s genitals aren’t anything to go by, he cums a lot — it oozes out of your cunt before he’s even halfway through, cock throbbing and leaking again and again until you’re filled to the brim. His huge balls smack against your ass as he continues to bully himself inside you, a little more desperate now, intoxicated by his own pleasure.

There’s no rest, there never is. He only takes and takes.

“I’ll make you mine,” he groans.

“I’m yours, Sukuna, I’m yours…” you repeat like a broken record, half-aware of your own voice through the loud moans and hiccups. You watch in ecstasy as he uses one of his sharp nails to cut the palm of his hand, blood oozing out of it and dropping on your breasts. It’s like you know what he will say even before he says it. “You want me t-to-“

“Drink it.”

Perhaps you should be scared, but you’re not. Your mouth opens without a second thought and he presses his large palm on your lips, muffling your moans and allowing the hot dark liquid to invade your tongue. Sukuna’s blood is thick and it tastes like poison, but you do as he says, liking his flesh and drinking it until he seems satisfied and takes his hand away.

It strikes your body like an arrow, straight through your chest and expanding like deep roots. You feel as his blood burns your insides, changing something in your very existence. It’s hard to think through the sensations — the pleasure building up, the venom running through your veins, the mixture of devotion and fear that dances inside your mind. Your vision is double, black around the edges, and you think you might be cumming but you’re not sure you can even feel your body anymore. Sukuna’s voice echoes muffled in the background, and you can see his mouth moving in slow motion, but you don’t understand his words. You think you are crying. You think you can’t breathe. You think you are dying and being born at the same time and you don’t know why you feel so grateful for it all.

Your lungs are on fire and your throat is dry. You try to speak, but can’t. You have the vague flashback of the time your uncle made you drink alcohol, it burns just the same, but this time, no one is laughing. This time, you’re dying.

“… at me.”

This time, Sukuna’s voice rings sharp and clear. You stare at him, confused, as the flames inside your chest slowly subside.

“Keep looking at me,” he repeats, commanding.

You try to nod, but your head doesn’t move. You can’t see the room around you anymore. “H-Hurts,” you manage to get out.

“I know,” he says, and there’s a touch of softness in his voice you don’t ignore. “Focus on me. I’ll make it feel better.”

And that’s what you try to do, even if your soul seems to be floating miles above your body. You look down at where he is still moving in and out of you, at the white-coated mess that drips from your hole and soaks your inner thighs. It doesn’t seem to hurt as badly now, like your body is changing to accommodate him even better — in fact, it feels like heaven.

You look up at him, dumbfounded. “I t-think I’m going to cum, Sukuna,” the words come easier now, and you feel like you can move again. Though, it still feels like a dream. “It’s so g-good.”

“Cum on my fat cock, then, make me proud,” he coos. You close your eyes and nod, trying to focus on the paradise that blooms between your legs. You feel every ridge and vein of his massive cock; hear the lewd squelching sounds of his cum leaking out of you. It comes to you faster than you would have imagined, washing through your body like a wave as you cry and shake miserably. “That’s my girl, fuck, there we go, that’s my perfect little girl.”

The spasming of your walls manages to milk more cum out of him and he groans loudly as he releases inside you once more. Sukuna cums so much it makes you breathless, filling you again and again until he’s satisfied and the sheets beneath you have no salvation left.

“There we go, take everything,” he says in a strained groan, “every fucking drop inside this tight fucking cunt.”

Sukuna looks absolutely insane above you — fucking his cock so hard into you that it seems like he will never have the chance again; eyes blown wide and his teeth clenched. You cum again, this time a little softer, as you feel his thick cock shoot a specially large amount of cum inside your pussy, and wait until he’s done using your body.

Eventually, he settles, pressing his forehead against yours and looking deep inside your eyes. The redness in them is shining like flames, watching every movement of your face.

“Feels weird,” you say. “I feel dizzy.”

He chuckles and removes himself from you. Another white-hot wave gushes out of your cunt, and he sits back to watch it drip. “There we go, it wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You swallow, your tongue is still numb inside your mouth. “It was horrible, Sukuna. I felt like I was going to die.”

Sukuna smiles and uses two fingers to push some of his cum back inside you. “I can promise you it was better than when I did,” he says, and you’re confused for a moment. “But now we don’t have anything to worry about anymore, my sweet thing. Those pathetic little sorcerers won’t want you.”

“H-How are you so sure?” You ask.

“Aw, my sweet, stupid little girl.” He pouts, condescending as always. “No one will want to save a curse now.”

Your eyes widen. “Did you…?”

“I told you.” Sukuna licks his own blood at the corner of your mouth. “You are mine forever.”

#sukuna #sukuna smut #sukuna angst #sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #jujutsu smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #ryomen sukuna #smut #jjk smut

[ch3rriiii-bunn]

You belong to me

Paring: upper ranks + Muzan x Fem!reader

Synopsis: In different pov's, their jealously turn them a bit crazy

Content: possessiveness, jealousy, hinted smut, choking, fave grabbing, slight blood play, demon reader in Akaza, Nakime and kokushibo's part, kidnapping on Douma and Muzan's part, escape attempt, Muzan grabs you by the neck like that one guy in 365 days lol, arranged marriage theme on Muzans part

A/n: yall know that song by the weeknd? had to write some possessive jealous shit based on that song with some demons! WHAAAA I NEVER WRITTEN SOMETHING LIKE THIS!!🥴might do one with the hashira next🤭

Akaza

Akaza is known to not like his fellow upper ranks. You've seen it first hand when Muzan allowed you to attend an upper rank meeting since you became a demon by Akaza. He hated them all with a passion. Especially the ones ranked above him. With this knowledge, what in the hell possessed you to give any of them your attention?

Not just any upper rank, either. Douma in particular. In your defense, once Douma starts speaking, it's hard to shoo him off, especially given that you're much weaker than Douma is, so you play along to keep your reputation on a good note. You simply smile and nod at his nonsense. You knew Akaza wasn't going to step in since he'd rather run in the sunlight than talk to Douma if you were on your own.

How wrong you thought you were. Once Muzan actually left, Douma become more bold. Asking you personal questions, standing to close and even about to hold your hand, but before you could answer, you heard the sounds of blood splatter on the floor. Your eyes widened at how quick Douma's arm was severed.

"Oh, come now, lord Akaza. I was just joking-" "Shut up for once." Akaza snarled at douma in pure disgust. You wanted to say something, but you felt your feet leave the ground. Akaza had grabbed you and threw you over his shoulder and walked away from Douma while holding you. It always amazed you just how fast he was, but you knew how mad he was. The anger was just raiding off Akaza.

Akaza made sure to be far away from the other upper ranks in the infinitely castle and walked into one of the many empty rooms. Akaza put you down, but then, he backed you up against the wall. You felt your back press flat with your hands on the wall as well, giving how close he was to you. "Lord Akaza, please don't read too much into it. Douma was just being an idiot. " You tried to explain, but Akaza wasn't having any of it.

Akaza raised his brow. "So you're defending him?" His voice rasped as he tilted his head to the side. "No.." Your tone softened and looked at Akaza, worried since that wasn't your intentions. "I don't think I've made myself clear enough if my actions haven't shown it already." Akaza said and brought his hand to your collar bone and rested it there for a moment.

"Demon's I hate don't get the right to talk to who belongs to me." Akaza's face comes closer to yours with his lips now inches away from yours. His hand moves from your collar bone, up to wrap around your throat. "And you entertain a demon like him. Even saying his name from these lips. His fucking, name" Akaza's jaw clenched, and his hand tightens kts grip on your throat.

"Aka..za" his name hitched in your throat. His grip was deadly. You could still breathe. However, Akaza's grip was firm. He wouldn't dare kill his precious demon. It was just a "light" punishment. However, he needed you to learn your lesson and to show your loyalty to him and him alone. "Say my name properly. Or is my strength too much for you to speak?" Akaza smirked.

"L-lord Akaza. Lord Akaza~" you say his mamw twice. The second time you say it, you let out a heavy gasp as akaza lossend his grip on your throat. "You belong to me. Understood?" Akaza asked, keeping that eye contact and tightening his hand around your throat if you dared to look away. You nod quickly, your eyes almost teary from the slight lack of oxygen, and you watch Akaza's lips curl into another smirk.

"Good girl." He chuckled and gave you a kiss.

Nakime

Your girlfriend, Nakime, had summoned you to the infinitely castle. It's her job to always summon the 12 kizuki at the request of Muzan. Naturally, you felt terrified but remained to have a calm once you were summoned. However, Muzan was nowhere to he seen. Just Nakime, sitting there, a level above, and you looked up at her in confusion.

"Pardon for speaking out of turn, but where is lord Muzan," you asked, assuming it was him who wanted to speak with you, but it turns out that wasn't the case. "It was I who summoned you." Nakime spoke, her tone a bit quiet yet blunt. You chuckled and cut the formal introduction since Muzan isn't here, and you can speak freely since it's just you and your girlfriend.

"You do know it's probably a bad idea to summon me since you're taking me away from my work. Search of the blue spider lily and all." You grinned at Nakime and palced your hand on your hip. "I was keeping an eye on you. One of upper 4's clones has gotten closer to you. Haven't he? " Nakima said. You detected slight irritation in her voice, mentioning one of Hantengu's clones, but instead of asking a question for a question, you always knew it was better to answer her first.

"Ah, Urogi, yes. I wouldn't say we are close. However, he's a fun demon to work with. He likes to have a bit of joy and humor on our search," you answered. It isn't abnormal for Nakime to use her blood demon art this way. Especially since she's on the lookout to find the ubuyashiki family in the demon slayer core. Still, you couldn't hide your smile knowing Nakime was most likely thinking about you and wanted to check in on you.

"I forbid you to speak to him. Your task is to look for the spider lily. Not entertain each other with humorous jokes and touching," Nakime said. Her words made your heart spot for a moment and knew exactly what she was talking about. Urogi has always been proud of his sharp talons and would often tease you with them, but on this mission, he wanted to take it up a notch and poked your cheek.

To you, it was a wholesome moment. Urogi was just teasing, nothing different he dosnt do to the others, but Nakima had to see that, and she was furious. Urogi only touched you once in a playful manner, and it was enough for her to use her blood demon art to summon her back to you in that very moment. "He was getting too close to you for my liking and being bold enough to do that. Especially bringing those filthy claws of his to touch my woman's pretty face."

During this entire time, her facial expression remained unchanged until now. You could see her lips form into a frown and even watched as her teeth clenched together in a snarl. She was jealous. "Urogi was just being playful. I wouldn't read too deep into it, love. Sekido is probably scoling Urogi right now for wasting time to focus on finding the blue spider lily." You reassure Nakima, but she wouldn't let it go.

"Come here." Nakime took her biwa off her lap and rested it gently beside her on the floor and motioned her finger for you to come sit in front of her. You did as Nakime asked and sat down in front of her. You wanted to explain further to find the right words to reassure Nakime, but before you could, her hand grabbed your face

You gasped. Your breathing became unsteady as you felt her firm grip, her four fingers on one cheek while the other had her thumb, or rather her nail, poking onto your skin. The same spot Urogi poked at. "I will not allow a man's to touch to linger on what belongs to me." Nakime's voice turned cold. "You belong to me." She said as her thumb nail pressed harder, breaking your skin until blood slowly pours out.

Your jaw opens, and you inhale a sharp breath with your eyes barely open as you feel the sting. You're a demon, so of course it'll heal, and Nakime didn't pierce too deep. It was her way of wanting to hear her words come out of your mouth. You kept your eyes on her and eventually spoke up. "I belong to you~" Your voice hitched as you felt nails nail pull away from your skin.

Nakime leaned in closer to lick the blood from your cheek and watched as your cut healed already. She kissed your cheek and then came closer to your ear and whispered, "That's right. You belong to me, beautiful." Nakime said. Her hand lets go of your face and then trails her sharp nails down your neck.

You shivered until her fingers reached your kimono, near your tits and Nakime smirked. "I should remind you of how a woman's touch feels. So you'll never let another man touch you again," Nakime said. You bit your lip softly, feeling the heat rise higher in your body and your thighs squeezing together more. "I want that," you said, and Nakime's smirk only grew.

"Open your thighs for me and lay back. I'll show you how good these fingers work other than playing a biwa"

Kokushibo

His brother has been dead for centuries. Yet his name still echos throughout history but never would kokushibo think that his brothers name, yoriichi, would leave your lips.

Although you're a demon now and have been for a while now, you could still recount memories you had during your times as a human, especially in the demon slayer core. It was basically a law for any of the 12 kizuki to never speak of Yoriichis' name, yet you just had to talk about him since gyokko was curious to know how humans thought of him.

"Yoriichi has sun breathing. That's the best way to describe why he's well known even after his death. He could kill any demon in seconds. It's quite impressive," you admit to gyokko, and he nods his head, humming in response. Kokushibo had already been looking for you, but he never interrupted any of your conversations when you had them. However, hearing Yoriichis' name from you alone set him off to act out.

He came from around the coner and stood behind you. "Do I think yoriichi could beat Kokushibo? Well maybe-" you said but then saw both of gyokko's mouths open as he looked behind you. Your brow raised in question, and you turned around to see what shook him so much, but now you realized. "Kokushibou hi" you smiled nervously at him.

"It was good talking to you, bye!!!" Gyokko hides inside his pot, probably in another one by now, so it was just kokushibo and you. "Listen, I was just- oh!" Kokushibou picked you up, and then you heard Nakime's biwa sound, transporting you back to his home. You knew you fucked up. You and gyokko tried to talk in secret, but now kokushibo was going to punish you, a demon for speaking about yoriichi but in his own way.

Kokushibo put you down, turning your body away from him to face the wall with your body pushed up against it. You grunted from the sudden pressure but gasped once your hair was pulled back to face kokushibo. The view was upside down, but you could see just how angry he was. "You know to refrain from using that name. Have you lost your mind?" Kokushibou said, his deep voice almost turning into a growl.

His hand had a fist full of your hair, and not only that, his lower half was just inches away from pressing up against you. "I know- I was just telling memories from my human life I didn't think it was a big deal-" "and you actually believe a person like him could defeat me. Do you really think that? Dose his name interest you so much that you've forgotten just who's wife you belong to?" Kokushibou said.

You had a confused look on your face. Is he seriously jealous at the mention of his brother's name from his lover? You knew kokushibo was jealous, but you didn't expect him to be this possessive. "I'm sorry~" This is all you could mutter out. "Do not. Ever say that name. Again." Kokushibou crouches down to your ear, speaking slow for his words to be understood.

You mewl softly, biting your lip as you nod quickly, understand his words. "My name should be the only name said from those lips." Kokushibou now brought his other hand up to your chin and holding it while his other hand is still gripping your hair. Your back arches just a bit more once you felt Kokushibou press himself up against your ass.

He let out a heavy breath with a deep moan mixed in. "Having your jaw broken for speaking his name is the normal punishment from lord Muzan, since you're a demon and it'd grow back." Kokushibou grinds himself against, letting go of your hair and placing his hand on your tit.

"However, I have my own punishment. Just for you." Kokushibo's breaths become heavy, feeling himself get into heat, and he whispered in your ear.

"A punishment where you'll never remember to say his name and only mine. You belong to me, my pretty demon~"

Douma

His "church" wasn't a church at all. You made the dumbest mistake to have even joined this religious cult. Your "savor", the one who saved you that day from eating eaten like an animal from a group of demons and showing you such kindness was just a cover-up for his true identity, which was a man-eating demon and not just any demon, the 2nd highest rank in 12 strong demons led by an even more powerful demon. The realization sunk in, and you made an ever worse choice than the first one.

You wanted to escape. You wanted out. You thought you planned your escape for a week, asking around what Douma's schedule was like so you knew the perfect days on when to leave, but that back fired on you. When you noticed nobody outside the temple, keeping guard and, of course, no sight of douma, you made a run for it.

You felt relieved. No one was there to stop you until a dark figure appeared from the shadows and snatched you up like you weighed nothing. "I caught you! You sure ran fast. Are you sure you weren't a demon slayer before you came to my temple?" Douma said, smiling from ear to ear.

You tried to catch your breath from running up, but your breath quickly turned into a panic. Douma frowned for a moment, "Oh you poor thing. Don't be scared. We'll get you back to the temple so you can rest for the night," Douma said. With such fake empathy in his tone, it almost sounded sarcastic.

Douma continues to hold your body off the ground in a bear like hug. His muscles flexed to hold you firmly so you couldn't escape. However, looking at Douma more closely, you noticed changes about him. His teeth looked more like fangs. His body against yours felt so cold, almost like he was dead and worst of all. He had "upper 2" written in his eyes. Was this a demon's technique? How was he able to hide these features on him so well around his cult members.

"I don't want to go back!" Your voice trembled. You tried to speak soft, but the panic got to you. Douma only just smiled, speaking in his cheerful voice. "If you're worried about being eaten alive, don't worry, you aren't my type of woman to eat, but you are my type of woman to be around. So I will be keeping you since you asked for my help to save you from those demons that day, so it only makes sense for us to stay together." Douma chuckled.

"What??" You sighed, looking at Douma with worry, fear, and confusion. "I don't belong to you, so let me go!" You hit Douma, but you knew your strengths was no where near compared to his. Douma places his hand on the back of your head, making your rest your chin on his shoulder while he embraces you more and nuzzling his face to your neck, taking in your scent.

"You still don't get it y/n? You're mine. I'm going to keep you until your time as a human is up." Douma said, throwing you over his shoulder and began to walk back to the temple.

"You belong to me and me alone~"

Muzan

2 years had passed since you were kidnapping, and you were finally back and safe with your family. Although your kidnapper, known as the most powerful demon, kidnapped you was bad, he could've been a lot worse. So you like to think of it that way. He could dispose of you at any moment, even when you couldn't help him find the blue spider lily, but he didn't.

You're family for owning a flower company, educated on flowers even so that's the main reason why Muzan took you but he let you go when you were of no use to him anymore. The bond you had with Muzan wasn't always about his work. There was soft intimate moments between you two but you knew not to get your hopes up since in the end, your knowledge wasn't all that useful and he let you leave, putting his work before you.

Your life continued to move forward, and eventually, you had an arranged marriage. A soon to be husband for you. He wasn't bad. He did promise to treat you right, give you his money and etc but deep down, you knew you couldn't love this man but went along with it for the benefits and your familes sake.

The wedding took place during the night. Your in-laws thought it would be a great idea to see how lovely your wedding dress would look in the moonlight. You asked to be alone in the fitting room, and you turned off the lights. Despite being human, you've gown accustomed to the dark and toy opened the window, feeling the night's breeze. Your hands slide down your sides to your hips, and you smile at yourself in the mirror, seeing just how gorgeous you look.

"You look stunning, my dear. They were right. The way the moonlight shines on that beautiful dress is just Devine," a deep familiar voice said. You gasped and turned your head to the window and saw Muzan, sitting in the edge and watching his glowing red eyes trace every inch of your body and even smirking at how the dress hugs your hips and holds up your tits perfect.

"Why are you... h-how did you find me?" You stepped back. Muzan came into your fitting room further and made his way towards you. Your body froze, but your eyes softened once you felt his hand on your cheek. His hand was so cold. "Do you think I'd let just anyone actually go?" Muzan bluntly said. That line alone confirmed your thoughts from a year ago. You weren't actually free, and like you predicted, Muzan would come back to you. However, it wouldn't be for the reason you think.

"I don't have any more knowledge on the spider lily. Even after you let me go, I couldn't find it." You explained to Muzan, but he only grinned. "I have upper ranks to do the job much better and faster than you," He said. His words cut a bit deep since you used as much energy as you could've helped him before. "But you can be useful to me in... other ways," Muzan said as his eyes gestured to your body and then looked back at your face.

It's like the old feelings came rushing back. In your own sick way, you missed this man. Muzan is the worst, curel and dangerous man-eating demon you could've ever met. Yet you knew leaving with him was a choice you had to make now. Your mind snaps out of it once you head a knock at the door. You and Muzan look at the door and hear a woman's voice on the other side.

"Um, y/n? Are you almost done?" One of your maid of honors asked through the door. "Yes, im-" you paused. Your eyes look down to see Muzan's hand slide on your hip and even slide his hand down lower, just like how he used to, but you stopped him. "I'll be right out. Just give me a minute," you say in a worry, and then look at Muzan, his lips inches away from yours, and you spoke quietly.

"You can come by tomorrow night, and we'll talk about this. You came at such an odd time. " You rolled your eyes halfway, trying not to let all these emotions cloud you. You turned around, but the second you did, Muzan had grabbed the back of your neck, making you gasp as he pulled you back to face him. "Mm.." Muzan brought you into a heated kiss, making you stumble back and sit in the mini table in your changing room.

"Y/n!?" Your maid of honor placed her ear on the door after hearing a thund sound. "If you think for a moment I'd let you have some random mam in bed with you, then you're more stupid than I thought," Muzan said as his jaw tensed. You pant as you feel his fingers press into your neck and you placed your hands on his chest for some kind of support.

"You belong to me, and I'm taking you back. The connection we share won't ever disappear, so don't think for a second it will," Muzan said, pulling you into another kiss. This time, you kissed him back. His words may not have been the sweetest, but you understood them. He wanted you, and you wanted him. He pulled away once he heard hard banging on the door.

"Let's go," you said, lifting up your dress, not hesitating for a moment about leaving. Muzan had picked you up, and you heard a biwa sound, transporting you to Muzan's room in an instant. Muzan, put you down. His hands made their way to your body, with one hand on your ass and the other playing with the zipper on your wedding dress.

He smirked at you, letting out a dark chuckle. "Now. Won't you let me give you that wedding night you deserve to have"

#demon slayer smut #kny smut #demon slayer fanfic #demon slayer x reader #kny x reader #muzan x reader #muzan smut #akaza x reader #akaza smut #douma x reader #douma smut #kokushibo smut #kokushibo x reader #nakime smut #nakime x reader

[007reid]

So, still in the au of “secrets: Spencer Reid”..

I wanna see the teams reactions to reader and how cute Spencer is with her and how protective she is of him. Maybe Spence gets a little drunk and reader has an arm locked around him with a possessive scowl on their face. Pleeaasee??

you ask and you shall receive! i’m glad you enjoyed secrets, anon<3 sorry this is so late :(

secrets p. 2. spencer reid

spencer reid x fem!reader

part 1 | part 2 ♡ this can be read as a stand-alone though!

summary: everyone expected spencer’s plus one to be his grandma or a close friend visiting. to see him show up with you hanging off his arm, clad in a black dress and rubbing your blood red lips together, you become the talk of the night.

warnings: fluff fluff just straight fluff!! spencer introducing his gf to the fam, teasing, drinking, flirting , nothing out of da norm. r is tough and possessive and spencer is basically her girlfriend.

a/n: someone take pinterest away from me because i’m getting too good at scouring for mgg stills and staring at them for hours. tell me you didn’t stare at that picture too.

spencer texted morgan that night, telling him that he’s bringing a plus one. morgan responded with a curt “yea bring ur ma on over why not.”

it appears that morgan did not take spencer that seriously. so he texted garcia, and she responded with “which member of the family havent we met? ❤️” spencer was just midst of falling on to his knees.

the day rolls around and spencer dreads it, plots a plan to make you watch a star wars movie marathon so that you’d fall asleep by the time of the event. he’s not a social recluse, by any means (okay so sometimes he is) but he prefers an evening staying in over going out. and it’s sunday evening, too, and he just wants an early night and to kiss you lazily until he’s sleepy. he doesn’t want to start the car, doesn’t want to get dressed up and get tidy for the bar. doesn’t wanna go anywhere.

the marathon plan backfired on him. just as you’re halfway through the third movie, you start pushing the throw blanket off your bodies, nudging spencer’s arms off of you. spencer whines, and he tries to make himself look extra pathetic (which didn’t take much, considering how he’s already desperate to get out of meeting the team) so that you’d pity him.

you don’t fall for his act one bit, which is extremely humbling to spencer. his puppy eyes used to work on you, but he suppose you’ve grown an immunity to them. “lazy boy,” you chides. he hides his face in the crook of your neck and you laugh. “come on, we’ll be late.”

“fashionably late,” spencer quips. you laugh again, detangling your bodies and press a kiss on his cheek before leaving the living room. spencer sits on the couch for a while and contemplates.

he does end up dragging his ass off the couch and freshen himself up. you have decided to use the guest bathroom for some reason, and he gets ready by himself, shaving before throwing on a simple burgundy sweater with all kind of patterns on it and some black pants, smoothing his hair out a bit and tucking them neatly behind his ears.

he rubs at his chin, looking at himself in the mirror. he looks like a middle school civics teacher, but he couldn’t careless.

he grabs his phone and slides it in his back pocket, going to the closed guest bathroom door. he knocks softly, leaning in close to not miss your voice.

“yn?”

“almost there,” you respond through the door.

“can i come in?”

“uhh,” spencer frowns. it’s unusual you’re doing this. you guys have shared an apartment for five months now, and he’s basically learned to lived around your life, to always have you wherever. getting ready apart is definitely unusual, and you’re being hesitant about letting him in, even.

maybe you’re still mad about the lila thing. he should apologize the moment he gets the chance.

“sure honey,” you say finally. spencer cautiously opens the door, and you’re sitting on the bed, pulling up your black pantyhose. he melts and perks up simultaneously at the sight of you.

you’re wearing a shiny, black silk dress that goes halfway down your thighs, the material pooling on the white sheets as you adjusts the pantyhose, reaching for your matching black leather mary janes. spencer looks down at himself, feeling timidly underdressed. you look up and smile at him so easily as if you're not the most beautiful woman in the world.

spencer feels his throat clog up. he clears it but when he speaks his voice is still blurry. "hi."

"hi," you buckle up your mary janes, gold necklace hovering above your knee. spencer stands awkwardly at the door, too entranced to move. you look up when he doesn't answer immediately, and breathe out a laugh when you see the dumb, starstruck look on his face. "gonna stand there all night baby?"

"mhm," spencer says absentmindedly. he finally bounces off the door frame and carefully sits himself on the bed next to you, cautious with every move. he immediately gets a faceful of the scent of your perfume and you look like an angel, smell like one too. "new dress?"

"mhm, thrifted it the other night," you respond. you stand up from the bed and do a small twirl, the thin fabric forming the shape of a flower, flying. you remind him of a black cherry blossom, if those even existed. "you like it? found it for four dollars. can you believe that? deal of a lifetime. if i had gotten to the thrift later someone would've snatched it right up."

to be honest, spencer isn't listening to a single word you're saying. he stares at you, and your silver hoops and crinkling eyes and the silver necklace he gifted you for your birthday five months ago and gets dizzy with the thought of how lucky he is.

"crazy deal," he says. then blurts. "you look beautiful."

you smile playfully. "you're just saying that," you laugh, smoothing out your hair in the mirror installed in the wardrobe. spencer stares at your reflection. "looking dapper yourself, doctor."

"do you think i should change?" he asks. because right now, it looks like you're both dressing up for different events. him to a school-based textbook debate conference and you to a high class art museum. neither events are the actual event you are both going to.

"you look handsome, spence," you reassure him. "that sweater. it suits you."

"it doesn't suit the bar," spencer grumbles quietly, still upset that he has to show up. he's not a bar man. more of a picnic or joinery kind of guy.

"you weren't born to suit whenever you're going," you say and then grab his hand. "we're gonna be late."

***

spencer gets even more grumbly when you both enters the bar, but you know in his heart he's extremely happy. he practically lights up when he sees his team crowding at a booth, dragging you along by the arm. he says hi to everyone, immediately comfortable just from the presence of his team except his excitement isn't mutual. the team isn't looking at him, but at you.

goggling like an eagle, some might say. you elbow spencer in the ribs. spencer looks at you questioningly, as if he doesn't know what to do.

"introduce me," you urge, feeling more awkward by the second. a man staring at you with his jaw on the table, beer frozen halfway to his lips you assume is morgan has a terrified look on his face. everyone does, actually.

"oh yeah. sorry," spencer says, ears turning slightly red but his beam is still bright. "everyone, this is yn. she's my girlfriend!"

"sweet mary jesus," morgan finally says. he breaks the ice, and the entire booth corrupts in excitement.

"reid, what are you doing? sit the lady down," jj scowl, scooting over and making space, squishing emily against her. spencer lets you slide in first, next to jj and he sits down after you, hand gentle at your waist. "why didn't you tell us?"

"well i tried to--"

"i really thought we had nothing to hide from each other. you know you could've trusted me with it!" garcia quips, her thick neon red earrings moving back and forth.

"i didn't do anything deliberate to hide it!" spencer defends himself snarkily.

"i couldn't deduce you had a girlfriend. i just thought someone who made you really happy started crashing at your place," hotch says, thoughtfully.

"let the girl talk," rossi rolls his eyes. spencer definitely captures their personalities well when he tells you stories about the bau, you recognize everyone just from a sentence. the table quiets and you can feel the warmness of eyes all on you.

"hi everyone," you could feel your cheeks getting warm from the attention. you wanted to make an impression, but it's hard. you go for the standard, "i've heard a lot about everybody."

"we would've loved to hear about you," garcia chirps. "but spencer is a very private soul. how long have you been together?"

the evening dissolves into small talk and teasing, and out of everyone in the bau, perhaps the one who's most shocked and proud of spencer is morgan. he sits back, arm tossed around garcia, admiring spencer like a pleased older brother seeing his baby brother ask for his car keys to take his new girlfriend out on a date. hotch has the same expression on his face, one of a proud dad.

he knew that something had been keeping spencer extra upbeat than usual, the lack of eye bags and how he's always energized and better put together. hotch couldn't place a figure on what it was, but now he realizes it was you. spencer almost glows, basking in the shower of your presence and hotch knows that under the table you and spencer are probably doing something cringy like rubbing circle-eights into each other's knees or holding hands under the table. the same thing he did when he was hopelessly in honeymoon love.

the entire table are happy for the both of you, but there's probably isn't anyone in the club more happy than spencer. he is lovesick and you're so beautiful, he can't help it. he feels more comfortable than he ever had been in a club, and that encourage him to knock more drinks down, have a little more fun.

"i'll grab the next round," you say, noticing that the beers in everyone's hands are getting lukewarm. you press a hand against spencer's thigh as you get up. spencer looks up at you, eyes wide and sweet. "i'll be right back."

as soon as you absorb into the crowd, the entire table startles in cheers and whistles. spencer glows red, partly from the alcohol. mostly from the attention. "my man!" morgan praises, knocking a punch into spencer's shoulder.

"ow!"

"she's beautiful," jj says approvingly. "she knows how to dress."

"i'm sayin'!" despite how much he denies it, derek is a horrible lightweight. he slurs. "how the hell did you bag her? tell us your secrets."

spencer blushes like a newly courted bride, going magenta all over.

"okay stop bullying the kid," emily says, but she's grinning wide.

"he definitely likes it," garcia giggles, pressed flat against morgan.

when you return, beers in your hand, the entire booth are giggling like a bunch of schoolgirls and your boyfriend is rambling, on and on. "sorry i took a while," you say, and within a flash everyone's grabbed beers for themselves, knocking the caps over. it's reached that point of the night when everyone's breath smells of beer, and the music is extra loud and everyone's extra dizzy. spencer latches onto you immediately the moment you sit down, staring at you with fucking moons in his eyes.

"i was just talking about you," he says, pupils wide. you know your boy is beyond drunk.

"yeah?" spencer nods. "what about?"

spencer hiccups and forgets the question. "wanna dance?"

a small smile creep on your face. it's unusual for spencer to ask, usually he doesn't even want to witness the act of people dancing together at all. "you sure?" you lock an arm around him. no one pays attention to the two of you, lost in their own conservations. spencer nods again.

"can we dance? let's go," he makes to move, pouting his lips but you slither your arms all over him, trapping him into you. "y/nnn," he whines.

"stay put for a bit for me okay?” you murmur, trying to distract him from the dancefloor.

it’s not like you oppose to dancing. hell, you love dancing, but ever since you stood up to grab the table drinks, you notice unwanted eyes across the bar glued on your boy, women with sharp eyebrows and pointy chins and short dresses, and you can never help the awful feeling that coils in your stomach.

jealousy is an irritating feeling to feel, and it’s telling you to dig your teeth into his neck and mark him all over for everyone to see and look away. but you won’t do that, because you have a slightest drops of decency you have saved up, and the least you can do is pamper spencer with kisses and grab onto his hand so tight he’d think of you instead of the inviting dancefloor.

spencer falls for it immediately, returning your kisses and whining pathetically against your lips, the alcohol making his head spin. spencer ‘s never been a fan of pda but he couldn’t careless now, hanging on you like a cat, dancefloor forgotten. you smile against his lips.

victory.

#spencer reid #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #matthew gray gubler #mgg #my works

[antidesire]

im willing to sacrifice all my limbs for you write leon putting reader in a mating press

woahhh woah ethan winters, let’s keep all our limbs in tact

disclaimer.. afab!reader x leon s. kennedy. 18+ only! p in v, mating press, dirty talk, praise, biting, pet names, size kink implied, creampie, don't be like them, use protection and practice safe sex. feel like my writing got sloppy at the end, i apologise.

reblogs and feedback are appreciated. requests are open

“mating press?” you heard your boyfriend repeat, acting oblivious. blood quickly flowed straight to your cheeks, making them burn red,

“yes, it’s like a position, in bed, y’know..” you tried to explain, rather coyly.

leon laughed, which only caused you further embarrassment, your arms crossing over your chest and lips pressed together firmly, “it’s not funny.”

“it’s not, i just think it’s cute you still get all shy. baby, if you wanted me to turn you into a damn pretzel or wanted me crawling around on my knees in circles, i’d do it for you.” he cooed, mockingly as he cupped your cheeks.

“ugh, shut up, you’re such an asshole.” you groaned, jabbing his chest and swatting away his arms, suppressing the laughter bubbling in your throat.

you both had managed to make and maintain trust and comfort with exploring and talking about your sexual life, it made things much more exciting- not that it was ever dull, to begin with, but something about this all had made you become much closer, feeling like you both knew each other more than your own selves.

which is how you both found yourselves on the bed, tangled limbs and tongues, your fingers clawing at his clothing until they found grip on his belt, “m-mh, get off.” you huffed, almost scolding the leather holding his pants up, hearing leon chuckle against your ear amidst open mouth, wet kisses he was adorning your neck with, teeth grazing along your skin.

he was making it hard for you to rid him of his clothes- which you found quite unfair considering you had barely blinked and you were left in nothing but your jewelry, slick bastard.

his hips were grinding down on you, rough denim pressing against your bare cunt which had your body reeling upwards against him, “leon, help me out here.” you whine pathetically as you tugged his belt from his loop holes, throwing it aside somewhere amongst your pile of clothes.

he grumbled something- probably grumpy he had to turn his attention away from you, pushing himself up he raised his arms to tug his shirt over his head, your eyes wasting no time darting to the expanse of his bare chest, next came off the rest of his clothes in a haste.

“god, you’re so handsome.” you spoke your thoughts aloud, fingertips reaching out to rub along his stomach, over the bumps of his physic that all his years of training rewarded him with.

if you weren’t so distracted with your own advances you would’ve noticed the warmth that reached his cheeks, and his throat bobbing.

“I want you so bad.” your fingers curled into the flesh of his hip, legs parting until they clasped around his back, pushing against him with all intents to have him as close as possible, to entice him.

he could’ve sworn he felt all the blood rush straight down to his cock, evident by the way it twitched and the way his pearly pre cum sat pretty at the tip, “you’re gonna drive me insane.” he sighed out.

you would’ve laughed but the way the head of his length was rubbing past your puffy warmth and nudging your clit made your head feel fuzzy. your fingertips trailed from his chest up until they reached his shoulders, squeezing onto them in an attempt to retain some composure.

“please..” you breathed out quietly, nails dragging down his back just to scratch back upwards, feeling the goosebumps form on his skin.

to leon, there was nothing prettier than your sweet pleas, the way your features softened but your body lurched towards him and your fingers gripped any inch of his body they could get ahold of.

“i know baby.” he hummed, lips pushing against yours, you leaned up a little, eager to kiss him back with just as much passion, the taste of him your favourite thing in the world.

leon's arms ducked under your legs, lifting them upwards a little before his hips pressed flush against the lower back of your thighs, sheathing his cock inside you easily thanks to how soaking wet you were, “oh, leon..” you mewled, hand tangling in the long lock of his hair, squeezing his body into you.

“so warm.” leon squeezed onto the pillow beside your head as he began rocking his hips, back and forth, steadily at first, feeling your tummy flutter, that deliciously stretching feeling of adjusting to his size, how your body has gotten used to him, shaped exactly to him, for him.

“feel good, hmm sweetheart?” he pushed himself up a little, propelling your legs until they folded on each other, squished to your chest before lifting your calves to rest over his shoulders, “comfortable?” a smile tugged at the corners of his lips which had your heart fluttering.

“mhm, comfortable.” you squeezed his arm reassuringly before glancing down, looking between where the both of you were connected, the way you could see the bulge of him pressed against your tummy, drifting your hand down to push against it, “keep going.” you encouraged him, fluttering your eyelashes up at him.

leon’s eyebrows were furrowed and his tongue dashed out to lick over his lips, watching you beneath him like this was making his cock twitch inside you and it took every ounce of his sanity to not lose it all. he eased his hips back before stuffing inside you once again, leaning down to push his weight against you, the back of your thighs against his chest as your feet bumped in the air with every bounce, the bed frame creaking in tandem.

the tight, confined feeling of his weight pushing against you felt delightful, your body filled with leon, your mind, thoughts and heart swelling with him. you couldn’t move the lower half of your body an inch, not even a squirm, as close as he already was your arms flew out to crush him further into you, hugging him as close as possible, feeling his breath on your cheek- your own breath turned into small heaves, the air feeling like it was knocked out of your chest as he fucked you into the mattress, pussy squelching around him.

“i’m not going anywhere baby, this pussy is all mine to use, you’re all mine.” he gushed out, his arm reaching past your head until it settled on the headboard, tight-fisted grip making the wood creak and with every thrust it obscenely crashed into the wall.

“this what you wanted sweetheart? you’re so fucking obsessed with me, just can’t get enough..” he grunted, every pump of his hips getting more and more erratic and you could barely even form a sentence in your own head let alone babble coherent words.

“too much? i can slow down?” he teases, drawing out his words, chuckling when your eyes flew open in a panic,

“no, n-no—“ you gasped when he pushed flush against you, cock pressed so deeply inside of you, a strained squeal sounding from your throat, “oh my god, leon.” you cried out, “i love it s’much.”

that’s all he needed to hear, hips continuously slamming into yours, not even giving you time to catch your breath, your body bounces shallowly beneath him, clutching on to his arm before you turned your head to bite down on his wrist, hearing him hiss through his teeth.

“fuck!” he groaned, “i can feel you sucking me back in every time i’m not deep in your guts.” he chuckled out in bliss, finding the feeling out of this world, something he’ll never get enough of.

teeth marks were imprinted on his wrist when you let up, salvia glistening on your lips, eyes squeezed shut as you concentrated on that bubbling feeling at the pit of your stomach, “m’ so- oh!” you squealed when he changed the angle of his hips, somehow drilling his cock even deeper inside you, “leon!” you cried, legs over his shoulders spasming and your soppy, abused pussy was clenching around him as you climaxed, arousal coating his length, leon not letting up in his relentless pace, knowing you could take it.

he got whinier, higher pitched as he got even closer and closer to release, his pleasured sounds were oh so heavenly to you, especially in the state you were in, even though your ears were ringing and oversensitivity was kicking in, he was the most gorgeous precense.

his thrusts became sloppy, messy, and he buried his head against your neck, taking the opportunity to weakly reach up to his head, tangling your fingers through his hair and dragging your nails along his scalp, “cum baby, i want it so badly, please.” you pressed gentle kisses to his cheek.

“baby, you feel.. so, so good.” he muffled against your neck, feeling the way his hips stuttered before his hot release spurted out, filling you up. breathlessly gasping out at the feeling, you let him push into you over and over again to ride out his high, your nails still dancing along his scalp, occasional tug of his hair.

“mmh..” he panted out, eyes fluttering back open as he fell on top of you, wincing at the way your muscles ached, but you struggled to tell him to move yet, he was like a tired puppy all of a sudden, nose nuzzled into your neck and soft warm breaths fluttering along your skin, his arms maneuvered to around your waist in a strong hug.

“baby, as much as i love you so much, can we do this with my legs, not in the air.” you heard him muffle a laugh against you before pushing himself up, letting your legs relax back down on the bed.

“if i clean you up can we cuddle and take a nap?” he stretched his arms upwards before rolling his shoulders back.

“how could i ever say no to you?” you giggled, leaning up on your elbows and pressing kisses to his face.

“i don’t know, guess i’m just the best boyfriend ever- not to brag or anything.” he shrugged his shoulders, followed by a dumb wink.

#resident evil smut #re smut #resident evil 4 smut #resident evil leon #leon kennedy smut #leon smut #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil leon smut #re 4 smut #resident evil #leon kennedy

[yaksha-lover]

It Will Come Back

Summary: You take in an injured fox, nursing it back to health. It keeps coming back, some times more human-like than others.

Kitsune!Malleus Draconia x Reader

cw: very minor description of blood/gore, mentioned wild animal death, minor suggestive jokes, starts out a little spooky (or so i tried) but inevitably becomes wholesome-ish, pls ignore typos i’m too tired to proof-read

The fox you find by the riverside isn’t like any you’ve seen before. His fur is so dark that it takes a moment for you to even notice the wet blood matting the left side of his rib cage.

The sight of an injured animal is all too common for you. Living far from any big towns means there’s hardly any available treatment for them. Your neighbour, the only other living person around here, always dismisses your worries about the poor creatures, telling you that it’s only the circle of life.

As much as you know he’s right, your bleeding heart insists on taking the black fox home, if only for him to have some comfort in his last moments. You know he won’t survive the journey to town; he may not have the hours necessary to get there.

He’s large for a fox, too. You consider calling your neighbour to help, but you know he’ll only roll his green eyes at your pleas. Instead, you lift him into a wheelbarrow as gently as you can, and pull him back to your small cottage.

He whimpers a little as you move him, but his eyes remain closed. When you arrive, you transport him carefully to the makeshift bed you’ve put together, piles of blankets you hope will be enough to keep him warm and comfortable.

When you come back with water and some medical supplies, the fox opens one eye. It’s strangely eerie, the way he stares at you as you approach. His lime gaze is intense and focused, almost as though he’s trying to examine you, peeling away your skin with his eyes. You shake off the feeling, knowing you’re probably overthinking things.

He’s only an animal, after all.

The fox remains silent as you clean his wounds. Thankfully, they don’t seem as bad as you initially suspected. It’s strange - there seemed to be so much blood before, the wound was practically gushing. Was it a trick of the light?

You must be tired from your long day of foraging; now you’re seeing things.

You leave him wrapped in bandages and huddled in blankets to rest for the night.

-

The next morning, you awake to a warmth at your side. It’s been getting a bit colder, but even your blankets don’t tend to run this hot. You pop an eye open and panic for a moment at the fluffy black mass curled up beside you. You giggle to yourself when you realize what’s happened.

“How’d you get up here, little fox? I thought you’d feel too ill to move.”

The fox raises his head at the noise, tilting it as you speak. You offer him your hand, and he sniffs it, before moving his head to be cupped in your extended palm.

“I’m just glad you’re okay. Make yourself at home,” you say, petting him gently between the ears. He closes his eyes and settles into your touch.

As you get up to begin your day, you expect him to stay curled up in your sheets. Instead, he hops off the bed, suddenly wide awake, and prances happily behind you into the kitchen, no sign of the injury he suffered just last night.

Questions run through your mind, unease playing in your stomach. It’s all so bizzare, but you try to settle the anxiety. Why question a good thing, no matter how strange?

-

“What should I call you, little guy? I don’t want to keep calling you ‘the fox.’”

He stares at you, green eyes narrowed softly as he takes a seat on your couch, making himself at home by cuddling into the cushions. The seating is already worn down, but either way, you wouldn’t care much about where he sat.

“Hmm, how about Tsunotarou? Your ears are so pointy, they almost look like little horns!”

He raises his head to look at you, as though he understands. You smile back at him, mooning over his cuteness and reaching a hand out to pet him. You hover your hands over his head, waiting for his go ahead.

You beam when he pushes his head up into your hand, petting enthusiastically but remaining gentle for his sake.

You’re interrupted by a knock at the door. There’s only one person who ever comes over, so it’s no surprise to hear the voice of your neighbour ring out in the silence.

“Oi, open the door, herbivore. What’s all this blood outside your home?”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s not mine,” you call from inside. You walk to the door, letting him in. “I…made another rescue attempt.”

He gives you a look that screams ‘seriously’. “Another failure then? I don’t know why you do this to yourself.”

“Actually, Leona, this one was a success. Check my couch before you doubt me so fast.”

Leona pushes you gently away from the doorway so he can come in, and peeks around the corner.

The expression on his face morphs from surprise to confusion to disappointment. Leona sighs. “You didn’t…”

“Didn’t what? Save a life? Clearly, I did. Although, I’ll admit Tsunotarou wasn’t in such bad shape, so maybe I didn’t do too much of the work. But still, you can stop calling me silly for wanting to try-”

“Tsunotarou??” Leona stares at the fox. He stares back and almost seems…amused? Strange, your fox certainly was expressive and clever. “Ugh, this is too much for me to deal with. You’re an adult, you can handle it. I’m just going to leave these here.”

Leona drops a bag of meat on the counter. It was part of your usual trade; he’d give you part of his hunt, and you’d give him part of what you grew in your garden.

“No one asked you to help deal with him? What do you mean…”

Leona ignores your questioning, heading out of your kitchen and stopping as he passes by the couch where Tsunotarou still lays, watching. He turns to face him.

“Don’t hurt them. I’ll be checking in again soon, so no tricks, or else you’ll be dealing with me.”

“Did you just threaten my rescue fox?”

He ignores you once again, only pausing briefly in the doorway to leave you with a final warning.

“Scream if you need help.” With that, Leona is off, probably back to his cottage across the field.

You’re left confused, but Leona rarely cares to let you in on what he’s thinking, so you try your best to just ignore his words. There’s a prick of fear in the back of your mind, though, because Leona is never serious, but his warning certainly seemed to be.

No, he’s just been talking nonsense. How could the sweet angel on your couch be any threat? Tsunotarou had cuddled up to you just this morning.

You finally turn back to him. He’s watching you. Again. With a slight head tilt this time, his dark ears standing straight, as though he’s curious. You approach the fox to sit beside him on the couch. Once you begin your soft pets, he places his head into your lap.

“Don’t worry, sweetie. Big bad Leona won’t hurt you. I don’t know what’s up with him today. He’s probably just spooked from all the dead animals that have been showing up around the area. I mean, what does he expect, we live in the woods.”

Tsunotarou picks himself up from the couch. You expect him to jump off, maybe even try to escape through the door. Instead, he plants himself fully in your lap, curling up into a tight little ball.

Even the overwhelming cuteness of the situation is too much for you to ignore how strange it is. As you stroke your hand across his fur once again, you wonder how this wild fox could be so tame. Was he someone’s pet once? He had no collar, but he could’ve been lost years ago.

With the warmth of the fox in your lap, it’s easy to drift off to sleep for a quick nap.

-

Tsunotarou’s gone when you wake up. At first you think he’s just gone off to explore the house, but you’ve checked every room and he’s nowhere to be found. Which would normally be fine (he is a wild animal after all, he deserves to be where he belongs) except for the fact that no doors nor windows were open or broken. Tsunotarou had disappeared with no explanation.

-

You awaken to a familiar warmth, the brush of something soft against your bare legs.

“Were you hiding somewhere Tsunotarou?” You smile, eyes still closed as you snuggle against- skin?

“Not hiding. I had some business to attend to.”

Your eyes pop open as whatever is in your bed circles its arms around you, letting out a scream as two very human eyes stare back at you. You scramble out of its hold.

“What the hell?! Who are you? Get out of my bed!”

He pouts. “You just said yourself, I’m Tsunotarou.”

“No, Tsunotarou is a-” It’s only then you take notice of the dark ears poking out of his head and the three tails swaying behind him. “How did you- never mind, just get out of my bed first! Who told you you could be there?”

He steps out from your sheets, thankfully clothed in a loose black kimono. “My apologies. Children of man have changed much since I last spoke to one. I did not realize I would alarm you with my presence in this form.”

“So what, you’re some kind of monster?”

Malleus frowns. “I prefer the term creature. Monster suggests something…wicked.”

“Alright, creature then.” You narrow your eyes. “What kind?”

He approaches you and ruffles your hair, sharp claws dragging gently against your scalp before you have the chance to pull away. “Surely you can guess by my form. Have you truly never encountered a kitsune before?”

“A kitsune? I thought they were only tales told by bored grandparents.”

“I’m a mori kitsune, so it’s understandable you’ve never seen my kind before. But it’s likely you’ve met a different kind of kitsune who prefers the more…urban spaces that children of man typically occupy.”

“You don’t like being around humans?”

He hums. “I wouldn’t say that’s true. Rather, the opposite seems to be the case. Most children of man find me…unsettling, despite my best efforts.” He makes eye contact, a small smile appearing on his face. “But not you. You took care of me.”

“When…when I thought you were a fox.”

“Technically, I am still a fox,” he says cheekily.

You glare weakly, but your ire doesn’t seem to break his good mood.

-

You’re out gathering herbs for dinner when you spot it. A trickle of deep red, so dry it almost looks brown, which builds into a streak across the ground, as though whatever left it behind was dragged as it thrashed.

Although you know you live in a forest full of wild animals, the scenes you’ve come across recently have been…odd. Brutal. As though whatever’s been killing and eating the animals has a strangely horrifying way of committing the act, leaving behind carnage, but never a body.

You force yourself to shake off the unsettling feeling and return back home once you’re done.

-

“Hello, my dear.”

You jump slightly at the voice. Tsunotarou sits on your couch when you return. You’d asked him to leave the previous day, after your long bouts of questioning left you exhausted and unable to deal with all the information. He seems to have returned to reclaim the same place he occupied as a fox. You don’t bother asking how he got in.

“Hello…Tsunotarou? It feels strange to keep calling you that made up name…do you plan to offer your own?” you ask as you put away the things you’d gathered in your cupboards.

He waits for a moment to respond, considering your words. “I suppose I can, although I do not mind your other name for me. You may call me Malleus, if you wish.”

“Malleus, huh. Why do I feel like I’ve heard your name before?”

“Perhaps in another lifetime, you spoke it often,” his smile grows as you turn around and look at him skeptically. “Just jesting, of course.”

You roll your eyes when you turn around. He’s certainly made himself comfortable with you; you can’t really say the same, considering how long you’ve known each other.

Still, you’re so unsettled by what you’ve been seeing for the past few weeks, you risk allowing him to believe you’re closer than you are to have someone to talk to about it.

“You wander out in the woods at night, right? Have you seen the blood and…things, left behind by something?”

His reply is delayed, but you barely take notice. “Yes, I have.”

“Isn’t it disturbing? I just keep thinking, what’s moved into the forest to do something like that, like it’s some kind of performance of torment instead of an animal eating to survive.”

Malleus only hums, offering you no comfort. “I never considered that.”

The two of you settle into a comfortable silence. You start on dinner, and he seems content to watch you from the couch. Since he’s already here, you offer to make a larger portion so he can have some as well.

“Thank you, but I’ve already dined today,” he replies.

It’s only once you’ve finished cooking and have settled into your kitchen table that Malleus makes his way from the couch to occupy the seat across from you.

You’re halfway through your soup when a question forms in your head.

“Malleus, how did you get hurt when I found you?” You look up at him, his green eyes finding yours.

Another pause before he answers. “It was a mere tussle with a…friend.”

“A friend did that to you? I thought you were going to die?!”

“Well, perhaps he would not consider me a friend. And while your concern is certainly endearing, I was in no true danger. Did you happen to notice how fast my wounds healed?”

“I guess I did…” Although it raises the question why he’s so insistent on clinging to you when you barely did anything to care for him, let alone save his life. “Your friend…where is he now?”

“Across the field. What children of man call ‘your neighbour’.”

“Leona? Leona did that to you? How is that even possible, I thought kitsune are infinitely stronger than humans?”

“Is that what he told you?” Malleus drawls.

“No, you’re the one who told me…what do you mean?”

He sighs in understanding. “Never mind, I suppose that is his business to tell you.”

“To tell me what?”

“Why don’t you pay your ‘friend’ a visit? It seems you have some things to discuss.”

-

Leona answers within a few seconds of your knocking, standing in the doorframe. When you stare at him without saying anything, his tail starts swishing in discomfort. Since when has he had a tail?

“You need something, herbivore? That little fox causing you trouble?”

You ignore his question. “Can I come in?”

He doesn’t reply, swinging the door open and stepping out of the way. You take off your shoes at the door and head into his living room.

“Make yourself at home, I guess,” he grumbles, following you.

You turn around to face him. “Why did you hurt Malleus? How do you even know a kitsune?”

“‘Malleus,’ is he now? What happened to Tsunotarou?”

“I didn’t know he wasn’t just a fox, okay? You didn’t tell me, but apparently you knew this whole time?”

He looks away from you. “I figured the problem would resolve itself. Kitsune aren’t exactly known for sticking around humans. Unfortunately, it seems he’s taken an interest in you.”

“And you fought him? Do you have a death wish? There’s no way a human could take on a kitsune!”

“I’m not- never mind. Let’s just say I was in an…altered state of mind. Wasn’t thinking clearly. Can we leave it at that?”

“That’s all you’re going to give me? No explanation for why you attacked him? Are you responsible for all the brutal animal killings too?”

Leona rolls his eyes. “You’re accusing me? Like you don’t already know how those happened.”

“What?”

“You can’t be serious. Are you really this obtuse?”

“Just spit it out, Leona.

“Malleus is the one who eats them, idiot. He’s a fox who likes to play with his prey”

“But- his fox form is petite? How is that possible?”

Leona rolls his eyes. “He can go from fox to human but that’s your concern? He’s magic and a trickster, so don’t believe everything your senses tell you.”

-

You think Malleus has left by the time you return from Leona’s, but he’s really made himself at home in your bedroom instead. You don’t bother addressing it yet.

“Why did you lie to me?”

His eyes look up from his book. Your book. “I have never lied to you, child of man.”

“Leona told me the truth! I know you’re the one who’s been killing those poor animals. How can I trust you, no, feel safe around you after you lied, and did…all that.”

“Your ‘neighbour’ is just the same as me. Do you no longer trust him as well?”

You sit down beside him on the bed. “Leona’s a kitsune?”

Malleus chuckles. “No. He has lied to you, though. He is not human but wolf. He hunts, just the same as I do. He just happens to be better at cleaning up his messes, I suppose.”

“I…I guess that makes sense. But that’s different. I know Leona, he’s my friend. And he doesn’t torment his prey.”

Malleus’ ears sag and he pouts. “I believed we were friends as well. We dined together. I slept in your bed.”

“When I thought you were an animal! Now you’re somebody else.”

“I am the same. It wounds me terribly that you’d change your opinion of me based on my appearance.” He sighs. “I suppose it’s only natural. Others often judge me quickly as well.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “You know it’s not like that. If I’d met you like this, I wouldn’t have…”

“Wouldn’t have treated me so kindly?”

“No, I just…I don’t know how it is for you kitsune, but for humans, sharing a bed is…”

“Intimate?” he offers. “I am aware. I simply believed you were enamoured with me. ‘Love at first sight,’ isn’t that what children of man like to say?”

“You were a fox,” you deadpan.

“And now, I am human. Primarily.” His ear twitches. “I know now that changes things, but perhaps it is for the better? There’s many things I’ve yet to try in this form, and now I have my own child of man to teach me. Delightful, isn’t it?”

“Hm, I guess so. You can’t sleep with me, though.”

He tilts his head. “In what sense?”

You try to flick him on the forehead but he stops you, linking his hand with your own instead. “Do you even know how- uh-”

He laughs. “Yes, I am aware how children of man mate.”

“Never mind, we’ve gotten off track.” You glare at him. “I’m still angry with you.”

“I am aware. I find your flushed look quite compelling.”

“I wish you hadn’t lied to me.”

“Technically, I hadn’t. You never asked if it was I who killed them.” He shakes his head. “Kitsune must eat, but I would have never done so in that manner, if I had known it would be upsetting to you. I haven’t since our conversation, and I will not going forward, I promise you, dear child of man.”

“You’d do that? For me?”

“Of course. Anything for you, my darling.”

“But why? I’ve barely done anything for you?”

“You offered me kindness, which is in short supply for kitsune. And I find I quite like your abode.” He moves closer, catching your chin in his hand and turning you to face him. “I would enjoy spending more time here, if it would be permissible to you?”

“I guess that would be okay…but no funny business.”

His lips twitches. “None at all.”

-

Despite his inexperience with humans, Malleus learns how to settle into your life well. Tonight, he’s even insisted on cooking for you. He’s been practicing for a while, so you’re intrigued to finally try what he’s prepared.

As he plates the food in front of you, the smell wafts until you’re practically drooling. You catch him with a self-satisfied smile from the corner of your eye, as he watches you feast on the food he’s made for you.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asks.

“Yes, it’s very good, thank you.”

“The pleasure is all mine.”

Once the two of you finish your food, you take a seat beside one another on the couch. Malleus pulls out a small pouch. “I have something for you, my child of man.”

“A gift? You didn’t have to, Malleus.”

“I wished to. Now please, present me your hand.”

He takes your hand gently into his grip and straps on a stunning silver bracelet. It’s slim, but engraved with symbols, each segment a different kind.

“Thank you, Mal. I love it. Where did you get it, all the way out here?”

“I have had it in my possession for a very long time. Centuries, perhaps. It holds a protection spell from a strong mage. It will protect you, as you once protected me.”

You don’t know what to say, so you turn to hug him instead. You throw your arms around Malleus, squeezing him. It takes no longer than a moment for him to squeeze back.

It’s an hour later, once you’re in the middle of a game of chess, that Malleus speaks while moving his pawn.

“Do children of man desire life mates? I’ve observed, you live all by your lonesome.”

“A partner? Yeah, but not many options living out here.” You move your knight.

“Surely, there are some you might consider.” He moves another pawn.

“Nah, I’m not interested in Leona like that.”

“I did not mean the wolf. Someone a bit closer to yourself. Perhaps in this very room.”

“If you want to say something, you should say it. Humans prefer that.”

“Duly noted. Child of man, I desire to be your mate.”

-

The next time Leona comes to drop off your exchange of goods, he enters without announcing himself and accidentally gets an eyeful of you and Malleus making out on your couch.

“Leona! Knock much?!”

“Hello, Kingscholar.”

“Draconia.”

You shift your eyes between the two of them. It’s not exactly tense, but there seems to be no love lost between them.

Leona turns back to you. “So, you’re shacking up with him now?” His face scrunches up. “Do I need to prepare myself for little hybrid brats running around here sometime soon?”

“Says you, Mister I-forgot-to-mention-I’m-a-werewolf.”

Leona snickers. “I didn’t forget, I just didn’t feel like telling you. Humans can be annoying about those kinds of things.” He glances back to Malleus at your side. “Guess I didn’t have to worry about that, huh?”

“They are more kind than most humans, to be sure.”

“Right, and you’re not just saying that because you’ve been scr-”

“Leona!” you cut him off. “Thank you for bringing the meat. Your veggies and herbs are on the counter in the brown bag.”

He grabs his things and heads out the door, pausing to drop one last cheeky comment: “I guess if I hear you screaming, I shouldn’t worry this time. Maybe just for your legs.”

Malleus chuckles. “I will be gentle.”

“Hey, don’t enable him!”

-

A/N: Inspired by Hozier’s “It Will Come Back” !!!

don’t let me in with no intention to keep me / jesus christ, don’t be kind to me / honey, don’t feed me, it will come back ~

#wrote this for halloween but alas… #finished it six months later ahaha #every post i make is just ‘listen to hozier’ propaganda #twst x reader #malleus x reader #malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland